Over the weekend I received a call from a casting company. I'd been cast in a trailer for "Hung" in which they'd be filming a close-up on my face while I faked an orgasm and cut to other women doing the same. Funny stuff, but I said, "Well, I have two auditions Monday." "Oh, well..." the guy says, "I don't know the time frame yet but I'm sure they'll want you available all day. I'll call you in a couple of hours and if they do a morning shoot I'll make sure you're first" Crap. I knew exactly what he was saying. Now what?

So I thought a minute and figured I'd bail on the theater audition, but the paid film, um, no way. So I called back with my offer of availability until 4:30 with the possibility of moving the other audition back. He called to check back with me several times in the next hour. During that time I got on the service and wrote emails to both auditioners. I canceled my 3:30 and wrote a crazy pleading email with the other explaining my bind. Not even ninety seconds later and I get another call. I knew in my heart exactly what he would say, "Amy, I'm so sorry. They just canceled the project." Yep. Just what I thought. And here I've gone and acted a fool all over the internet. Here comes my wacky apology mail. I'm going to look so insane.

The most difficult step in the audition process in Hollywood is getting dressed. In the theater world in Detroit and even in NYC, I just showed up and delivered. The theater is, of course, called for depth over visuals, is more forgiving, and more reliant on the imagination. When I signed with commercial agents in Detroit I had no idea how imperative makeup and clothing were for that initial meeting. I kept learning with each opportunity and it was just before I left that I realized I probably need a bra under those lights. I wonder how many times I was too revealing and accidentally offensive while trying to be the wholesome mom in an Onstar commercial. My challenge this time is to appear to be a 26-year-old costume designer and daughter of Berkeley hippies who is suffering with the concern that her newly imprisoned father may in fact be a terrorist bomber. Sounds easy, right?

Before that, however, I audition as Monica Geller for that theater call doing an adaptation of Friends. If you were ever my roommate you know that's hardly a stretch for certain traits. I didn't realize the theater requires you to invest with the possibility of earning from ticket sales. I can not pay to be in the theataah. Get real. But I decide to audition anyway because I'm there. Thankfully it's a cold read which I excel in. The "mostly offbook" doesn't work so much for me because it gives me the false need to hang onto my script. Unbelievable. The sides I'm reading from are from the "Erogenous Zones" episode. I can't say I remember it well, but I get the picture. I get to read through it twice, borrow the director's pen, and go to town showing my imaginary Chandler how to work the seven spots on my diagram and work them he did. Or, rather, I did. It was brilliant and HBO totally missed out on it, but it was obviously in the stars for me to do that on this day, paid and televised, or sitting at an imaginary kitchen bar in front of an excited middle-aged lady. I climax and I'm off as fast as mama's boy who's done with his catch from the college bar because I've got twenty minutes to get to my callback.

Slam. There they are. Dozens upon dozens of girls waiting to read for Jessica. Perfect. I still need to do my hair and put my boobies in. No one is really sure how late they're running, but as I swish by, one of the few men in the room begins the flirt. I don't take it seriously. It's obviously just his nature. As I'm getting myself together, he walks in and gets a bit flustered, though. "No biggie", I told him truthfully. "I wanted to leave it open because I'm just playing with my hair and I don't want to hold anyone up." I help him run his lines, I chat with my competition, go to my car to make sure I'm not in a tow zone, and help him run his lines again. He reads to my liking, he's soap-opera handsome, and he brought a sparring partner to show off his marital arts. I would hire him. But when he goes in I hear him begin to yell so clearly the director had a different approach than us.

Just as he leaves and a new name is called a girl enters the building carrying a Subway sandwich. She stops, takes notice of me, and says, "I know you." Well, we've all seen each other before so I'm not too moved by this. However, she's quite serious. Suddenly, we both reach the "Aha" moment via different routes and I ask, "Do you know Teresa Arena?" while she asks, "Are you Teresa's cousin?" I then yelp a bit and cover my mouth. I don't quite have it put together when the P.A. comes out looking for a Marina. In my confusion, I think he's looking for "Arena" so I answer, but he giggles at me. He knows it was my short squeal closing out the last persons audition. However, Marina and the next person are nowhere to be found before I get to catch up with my cousin's old partner in crime, Stephanie. As he walks past she says, "That's my husband." I find that peculiar since he seems a bit young to be married, but when I enter the audition room it is clear that Moziko, the namesake of the film, is her husband.

He briefly tries to explain to her how he handpicked me from the audition room of another film while she tells him who I am. Meanwhile, the other guys in the room want to know if I'm going to hold the script and the mic pac or if I've got it memorized. I shouldn't have told them that I had to hunt down the script because they didn't send one, but I did. Also, I shouldn't have rushed through the whole mic and introduction thing, but I did because I felt bad for the dozens of people who'd been waiting over an hour already. I didn't want to be selfish. And I should've been, because the whole scene took me a bit out of focus and I sooooooo could've done that without the script. But in the end I heard mutterings of "Great" and "Very Good." I get Stephanie's email and rush out the room to text my cousin.

Ok. So what. My cousin's friend is in the room. Yeah, but it's my cousin who's couch I slept on when I performed improv in New York and got the gig with The Donkey Show. Yeah, yeah. Look it up cuz it's not that kind of show. Stephanie was also an actor in the city and those two were always up for an adventure. Running into her was completely random and surprising. And now I have "family" in town pursuing the same goals. Somebody to talk to. Somebody to abuse with my new HD camera while I try out my sketch comedy ideas! I'm so excited that I honestly don't care if I nailed it or not and for the first time I really can't remember. I'm always so present even when I'm blowing it, but this time I received my gift before walking in. He really did pick me in an odd cosmic pull that may not even be to round out his film. Maybe.

Now I just need her to return my email.