WWW.THEWORKINGACTRESS.COM

The time has come.

I confused all of you a few weeks ago into thinking the new site was up. And I tricked myself into thinking that I was tech savvy enough to move a website (and have some remote clue of what I was doing). Not so much.

So after a little tweaking, and the help of a couple verrrrrry patient friends, we have moved to: theworkingactress.com

If you want to keep up with the hustle you can find me there.

Come follow me & subscribe to the new site.

Cheers!

This movie blew my mind

Rarely do I go to screenings where I am just overwhelmed by how good a film is. The acting, the story, the heart of this film....I could see it over and over again. It's like being in a Master acting class. You leave this film learning something about your craft, and (as with all great films) about your life. You must see it.

Opens December 31st, 2010

A little BBM chat

So I love my Blackberry. Don't try to sell me on the iphone -- it's not happening. I love the Blackberry Messenger feature (free anywhere in the world!), and I am constantly chatting back and forth with my buddies. I usually don't think that anything we rattle on about is notable, but today my friend and I were chatting and at the end she wrote, "Hahahahaha. THAT is a blog entry." She, by the way, is one of the few people who know about the WA.

Here is a glimpse of our banter:

Me: Just watched your show while I was working out. Great job and you looked hottieboombody! Red is such a good color on you. It makes me look like a whore. ha.

Friend: Hahaah! Thankssssss! That's hilarious. I'm sure you don't look like a hobag!

Me: Ok but I do. It's ok. There are plenty of other colors in the world. And sometimes I need to look like a slut, so it's helpful to know that red gets the job done.

**Please don't judge me for using the word "hottieboombody"....I know, I know.**

The Working Actress Cheat Sheet

The Hollywood Reporter started doing this new format -- magazine style, oversized, and filled with insider tidbits about things that can actually help you in the industry.

I'm not talking about nonsensical crap like what breakup some TV star is going through, or which actress has the worst cellulite (info found in the likes of the TMZs of the world). Here, you'll find where Spielberg eats lunch, that Nina Tassler (President of CBS Ent) loves Scrabble. You'll find out which execs recently tied the knot, you'll hear about the new trend in casting, and discover every other little insight that can actually help you.

So if you meet with Nina Tassler for a general, you can chat about something a bit more personal than your reel. That if you are struggling and trying to figure out where to wait tables, you can plant yourself in a place where hardhitters eat.

And it's entertaining too.

Kinda like US Weekly, except that it doesn't suck your soul.

The format is great. It's a clean, easy read, and it is an incredible resource.

You can thank me later.

You know the industry is insane when:

You find out that after you broke up, your struggling actor-ex-boyfriend had sex with your agent. And your agent is a dude.

Awesome.

And yes, that did happen.

Some things are so f*&ing awkward

I've been doing a lot of traveling lately, and needed to decompress yesterday. I decided to take a respite at the day spa, and try to escape from it all.

Great idea in theory, until you're sitting there naked in a steam room and a woman says, "I know you from somewhere," and runs through all the possibilities until she realizes it's from seeing you on TV. At which point I am awkwardly adjusting my towel to cover my little bits, hoping she won't recount every detail of my bikini line and tits to her friends.

So much for a relaxing steam.

It was, however, nice to come home to an email of an interview I did last week. Not as myself, but as my anonymous WA self (yet, another awkward thing to wrap my head around).

But here it is-- full of advice, musings, and tidbits I haven't mentioned before: Click here

**Note: the above photo is not me (clearly) but that's kinda what my day at the spa felt like....without the smile. So thank you random German Spa advertisement for providing the photo**

How to hitch-hike on a studio lot

One word: Golfcart.

(Or is that two words...?)

Either way it is the chosen mode of transportation to get you from point A to point B on a labyrinthian lot.
Problem is, as a guest on the lot you aren't privy to getting your own golfcart to get from the parking structure to your audition.

Solution: flash a little smile, stick out your thumb, and grab a ride with a passing cart.

Now, there is a lot of charm involved in this one, and there are some important things to note:




*Guys are generally more receptive to helping a little headshot clad girl out, so look out for them (especially older crew guys who are surrounded by sweaty dudes all day)
*Rain helps (if it's raining, most people are kind enough to help you out so you don't get to your audition looking like a wet rat)
*Heels are good too (not to whore it up, but to ask someone to help you because your feet are killing you)
*Never neglect the power of being lost -- if you don't know your way around a lot, don't just ask for directions, ask for directions from someone on a golf cart

Keep in mind that there's nothing wrong with good old exercise and actually walking to these appointments, BUT when you have to go to CBS Radford, where you literally have to take a bridge to cross a river to get to your appointment, flag down the best mode of transportation on the lot.

Do you ever feel like the saddest person?

Like the loneliest, most miserable person in the world?

Because I do sometimes.

And it's disgusting.  

I wallow in it.  In wondering what my purpose is, and that it must be something greater than being paid to read words.  

Because that is what I do.  I read words.  Believably. 

And so I try.  Everyday I try to do and be more. Emphasis on "try."

Like the time a homeless girl asked me for my leftovers, and I happily gave them to her.  Only to have my boyfriend ask me a few blocks later if I remembered what was in the box... because my leftovers were five alarm Thai spiced chicken wings, and the girl had no water, and no toilet, and I basically just set her ass on fire.

Shit.

Or the time I saw a man in front of the Wells Fargo ATM sitting on the curb, and ran to my car to grab him a zone bar and some boxed juice, only to have him turn to me appalled and say, "I'm not homeless. I'm waiting for my girlfriend."

Sorry guy.

But it's more than my interactions with the homeless (or those that I mistake to be homeless).  I help my friends.  I take care of my grandmother. I race to hold a door open for a mom with a stroller (even when she doesn't say thank you), and sponsored a little boy named Mphatso in Malawi, sending toys and books endlessly...only to realize the whole thing was bullshit, and that he didn't exist.

But I keep trying.  Because I want to believe that we have to do good in this world.  That we have to be good in this world.

And an actress friend of mine, who is as talented as she is amazing, and has a face that was literally made for HD, always says "Good guys win." Like those of us actresses that are good, and kind; those of us that pay our dues....we book.  We win.

But when do we win?

Is it just the booking of parts that's a win?  Or is it finding happiness in all the lulls between the jobs that's the real win?

Still working that one out....

PLEASE VOTE

That's all I have to say.

What do you get when you cross a working actress, 50 Cent and three bodyguards?

An incredibly shitty audition.

Last week I go in for a film with Bruce Willis and 50 Cent attached, only to arrive and see that the auditions are in a room with floor to ceiling glass -- so not only can you hear everyone's read.....you can see it.  Everything.

Forget the fact that 50 Cent is in the room.  Or that he's flanked by his bodyguards -- (because that makes sense... us actresses, we're mad dangerous with our headshots and sides, ya know?).  

Forget that I haven't seen this casting director in a while and want to impress, or that I happen to be completely consumed by other stuff in my personal life at the moment.  

Forget all of that and focus on the absurdity that you can see and hear every audition right in front of you like it's f-ing performance art...at the old Death Row Records building....with 50 cent & his bodyguards...and sides that have you crying in the first scene, and in a fit rage for the second.

Nightmare.

I watch the girl in the room. How she cries in her first scene, how they stare at her ass when she turns around for the second; I see the director give her adjustment, and compliment her work ("wow," "really really good,").  They all shake her hand as she walks out, perfect ass shaking side to side, and the casting director gives her a little wink. She nailed it.  Who is god's name wants to follow that?

They call my name.  Of course they do.

I walk in.  No smiles. No handshakes.

I do the first scene.  Can't get tears down because I'm pushing and I can feel that it's off, which is the absolute worst.

No adjustment.

I do the second scene. It's awful.

No adjustment.

They all look at me and say, "Great, thanks," and I get up feeling the eyes of the other actresses through the glass who just watched that train wreck.  I say thanks and go to open the door to leave, and it's stuck. Of course it is.

I push it forward (nope), I pull it backward (nothin doin), and I become acutely aware that I am now the moron who can't figure out how to get out of this glass cage...all the while I have an entire audience on both sides of me watching this nightmare like I'm in theater in the rounds. 

....And scene.