When we last left our heroine

Mucho apologeociocios for the lacksadaisical posting. Been feeling a little uninspired/blue for the past few days and until a new episode of ANTM or celebrity scandal comes along to make me feel like I know my rightful place in the world, I'm apt to be a bit off my game.

Have I mentioned that commercial auditions are ridiculous? Has that theme reared it's oh-so-comical head yet? The other day I went in to play a fussy French poodle for a spot. They were looking for a French accented Paris Hilton/Zsa Zsa Gabor type - which is exactly who you think of when you think of me. So I get there and - aw, crap - it was like a freaking Guess girl convention. Every one of them was leggy and blonde and, what's the term I'm looking for? Bustacular. Several were even French, just to piss me off.

I wandered over to one of the casting directors and inquired if I was there for the wrong spot. Was there, perchance, a perky plucky goldfish role? "No," she sighed, with a look that said she knew my pain, "I think they want to see you for the poodle". Aw, crap. But cliches exist for a reason and while the blondes may have been bodacious - they were not brainy.

(Bewildered look) "Do I 'ave to memorize dees?"
"What's a 'size card'?"

One girl didn't even bother to look at the copy - she just stared blankly into space, as if patiently waiting for someone to mention how shiny her hair was or how nice she smelled.

The casting director called me in and explained ("as best I can with this thing") the sitch: I was a French poodle who had absolutely no idea I was a dog. They wanted her to be extremely snobby, yet warm and approachable. (As so many heiresses are.) Sexy, but not sleazy. Funny, but still very, very real.

Right.

So I gave it a go. Thank God for Madame Stull and 4 years of high school French, is all's I've got to say. After spending two hours coaxing mannequins, the c.d. was clearly ready for someone (anyone) who knew what she was doing because I was great. And you know what? I felt pretty great! I did it a few more times, sometimes a little more real, occasionally a touch more sexy-like, but through it all I was certain of one thing: I was probably, maybe going to book this thing.


I took the elevator down with the model who'd gone before me. She turned to me with an anxious look and asked, "Did it go well for you?" I said that I thought it had. "But... was it good the whole time? Or was it maybe less good at first?" She seemed so insecure and in need of reassurance that I couldn't help but fib. I told her that it was a tough audition and that she shouldn't worry, that she looked perfect for the part (which was of course true). She sort of hiccupped/laughed and said, "Well we all look perfect for the part." She was kind enough not to add, "except you, shorty" for which I was grateful.

No callback.

It's not too late to check out Scientology, right?