Feeling: encouraged
Listening to: Third Eye Blind - Jumper
Reading/Watching: Scrubs, season 2

I spent over half an hour getting ready for my audition tonight. For those that know me, you know that is a long-ass time for me. Generally my primping period consists of putting the hair in a ponytail or finger-combing gel through it, putting on my glasses, and walking out the door. If it's really hot outside, my beauty regimen might include a light sunscreen on my face. I'm a ten-minute primper, maximum.

But tonight, I was auditioning for Comedy of Errors at San Pedro. It's Shakespeare. It's a show I did once before and utterly loved, and it's the last audition for any play for quite a long while. So yeah. Important that I make a good impression.

I washed and combed The Beast (a.k.a. the Tumbleweed, the Poodle Pouf, or My Hair), pulled the sides away from my face, put in contacts. I applied base and powder. I brushed on mascara. I wore eyeshadow, for God's sake. I carefully chose an outfit that said "I'm not actually trying; I'm just naturally this cute." I wore a thong and some gaucho pants that drape very, very well. I changed my earrings twice. I practiced my monologue in front of the mirror three times.

At the audition, the women sat and chatted outside to hide the fact that we were nervous. I mostly spent the time catching up with Mini-Me, the darling girl who I don't get to see nearly as often as I'd like. We plotted how we could make ourselves most look alike, and thus snag the leading roles of the two sisters.

My monologue was decent, could have been better, but then I think I peaked in front of my bathroom mirror. The director handed a scene to Mini-Me and me, and we rehearsed a dialogue between the two sisters. We practiced makeshift blocking, we reminded each other to react when the other is speaking, we ran over interpretations of the text.

The director asked us both to come back tomorrow night at 8:30 to read again.

I got in my car, and realized, "Dammit. Now I have to look all cute again tomorrow."

Theater life for a low-maintenance woman is very, very hard.

Comments? 1 so far...
Not a Diaryland member? Sign the Guestbook.