Since the pig's flew, or rather, flu, I've had two exciting auditions that ended in total defeat like running to Vegas to get married and finding out you're cousins a week later.

I called to apologize about the Octomom role and they asked me to come in before callbacks. Ooh. How exciting. I spent the next three days getting my lungs back to sing and I sounded great. The writer, CD, and music director all seemed to take a shine to me even though I could've run around in circles kicking myself for not coming up with more clever improv ideas. Damn! And there's another even funnier thing I could've done.

Anyway, they indeed held me for the callbacks so I motivated myself to memorize the sides as best as I could in order to paraphrase through it. My concern, however, was that in the notice they asked for someone not too charactery who could dominate, but I don't see the actual Octomom having a lot of power. She seems a bit like flat champagne for all the fanfare about her. But I figured I'd give different reads. There were fifty people at the call backs, I believe. Men and women. I know there were doctors, bankers, media folk, and grandmoms. There seemed to be only one other Octomom! You'd think that would be good news, but there was this girl - calm with a slightly cocky air who had gone in to sing. It was her second song. They'd called her back from last week to have her do ANOTHER song. I brought another song. They didn't ask me for another song. I could hear her. She seemed a bit out of tune. I could sing better. But she had one thing far superior to anything I could offer in this role.

She was the spitting image of Nadya Suleman.

I suppose they brought me in as Plan B. Great. Plan B. During the callback, I even stepped up to the plate to cold read for a girl reading for Grandma and I killed it. I decided not to book my trip to Detroit, just in case this Nadya look-a-like got knocked up. Oh, wait, I guess that would be perfect. I'd always thought having babies too early would ruin my career. I see now where I went terribly wrong. While half-expecting this actress would get a gig on Dr.Phil posing as Miss Suleman, I went on a voiceover audition further postponing buying flights to Detroit. I did so well, I decided to wait even longer. I don't have the slightest clue what I did wrong there, but I didn't get the gig and I'm not in Detroit. In reading the character descriptions, I'd guess the problem was that the producers were either unsure of what they wanted to hear or didn't know how to ask for it. The developers were slightly younger than me and work more with musicians like themselves than actors. However, after these two experiences, I'm certain I need to get back into UCB's improv track because I don't think I went far enough on a limb.

Can you believe it? Me, not far enough out there! Sigh. The audition process is just so strange. My creative processes don't start until it's too late, but I made use of them by meeting up with a friend in Santa Monica to develop his sitcom idea. People who go on those reality contests have no idea how lucky they are to get honest criticism. I wish I had a little Simon following me around to shape me up and a Bruno Tonioli to cheer me on.

So, I'm missing festival weekend in Detroit for the first time since it's inception, um, I guess nine years ago now. So, it must have started when I was 19. Yeah. Nineteen. And I'm pressing forward, because today I started my new voiceover job. And while my manifestation skills may not be precise, I'm going to be recording part time from home every single week for quite some time. The only thing out of line with my request to the universe is I'm going to get paid for ten hours of work what I'd hoped to earn per spot.

Meanwhile, my friends will remind me that even though that regular choreographer for NBC programming will not be pulling out my best moves in Octomom, I came very close which means I must be moving forward. Maybe it's difficult for me to recognize what moving forward looks like being a kitty who likes chasing her own tail. But, my new friend Jon, has purchased a lovely prosumer camera for me to play with so now there will be no audition that I can't submit video to and no sketch comedy occurring in my head that will not end up on youtube. Unless it really sucks. Then I'll try to sell it to Comedy Central. And if it's smart, maybe the Onion. I would plug Jon here, but I don't know that he has anything to promote. He's got this letter's HERO title. Sorry Lonny! I know you don't really read this and just look for your name. Sorry to disappoint. Oh, ok. He can share it with Lonny who's been graciously driving me and Jeremy all over the place and making sure I get out in this little town.

I'm taking a break for the week. My only audition invite was at the same time I was taking Jeremy to the airport. Until a callback next Saturday, I'm laying low. Now it's back to my bathroom to record these tutorials. But before I do, know that the Freak of the Week is the Rich Dad, Poor Dad organization that my friend Henry, using the power of google, determined is behind the constant calls that start at five AM that I've been receiving with no messages. I don't know why they think I'd be interested in talking to them NOW! Had they left a message and been forthright with me rather than stalking me, they may have had a chance. I will say that I finally answered and very sweetly, no, really, I sweetly asked them to stop calling and the woman on the other end politely agreed. They seem to be keeping that commitment.

So my recession buster this time? Don't answer strangers numbers on your cell phone before 9PM. Or seven depending on your service. Or EVER. Don't waste your minutes.

be equipped,

me