I hate auditions. I absolutely hate them. Anytime I do one, I’m just this anxious ball of oogly fear. For several years, I have been able to find or get theater work without auditioning for it. I have only had one formal audition in the past 5 years, and I had an honest to God panic attack right before going up. I remembered my monologue, though it was rather flat. In fact, I usually have to just kind of robot myself through an audition… just kind of void myself of any emotion so I don’t remember that I’m an anxious ball of everything and vomit on the auditioners.

It doesn’t leave a very good impression.

Acting is different. I love acting. It’s a sharing of an alternate reality, an offering, a gift to your audience, to take them away from their frustration and sadness for an hour or so. It’s giving them a mini-vacation.

Auditioning is judgement. You are specifically there to be judged. Maybe not right or wrong, but judged “appropriate” for a character or show. Not judged on previous doings or accomplishments. You get 5 minutes to be judged appropriate, even though you have no idea what that means to the director’s vision or whatever.

We find you guilt of a horrible performance.

In the past 3 formal auditions I’ve been to, I was found lacking. Gross.

So there’s a show I really want to be a part of, and it has auditions. Which means I’ll be auditioning. It’s a little like cheating since I’ve worked with the company a couple times already. I mean, they at least have background in who I am, so it’s not JUST the 5 minutes of judgement. From these people, I think I can handle that.

They have 3 open auditions, and so far, I’ve missed 2 of them. But I swear it wasn’t my fault.

Last Saturday was the first open audition. I was sick for the better part of the day. Not because of the audition, but because I have so many allergies and intolerances it’s impossible to eat today’s heavily loaded foods without once in a while accidentally ingesting something you shouldn’t. So I decided to skip Saturday and make the Tuesday open audition. It’s just as well. I couldn’t find my purple hoodie and really wanted to wear it.

Last night, I was prepared. I was fucking ready. I was so ready, I got cocky and posted this to my facebook:

I took a nap, a shower, and vitamins. I’ve had a good meal (not too filling, but definitely enough for a while) , and I’m about to make myself pretty before stretching and yoga. I’ve even gone over a couple of exercises and updated my combat resume with my latest weapons specialist credit (Zastrozzi with Six Elements Theatre- this weekend is the last weekend to see it. GO!). I’ve never been more prepared for a stage combat audition.

I’m totally going to stab myself in the foot.

I was fucking ready! I even found my purple hoodie! The only thing I had left was to stop by FedEx and print off my acting resume on the way to the audition. The only thing that could go wrong would be Bill not getting home in time.

Three hours later, I posted this:

…ready to go as soon as Bill got back. Usually gets home about 7ish, probably get to auditions 8ish. Bill had to work late, but auditions go to 10, so even if I got there at 9ish, no big deal.

I just found out that Bill left his car keys in his coat at a customer’s house. Had I known earlier, I could have gotten a ride. But it went undiscovered until the last possible minute. I could technically get a ride, get my resume printed, and get there by 10, but no one likes the kid that shows up at the restaurant just before closing. Also, now I’m just a bundle of nerves and anxious frustration. No one wants that.

So I didn’t audition last night. Tonight is the last night of open auditions. I have a ride with someone else who’s auditioning, and a back up ride lined up incase that somehow falls through. I washed all my audition clothes, including my purple hoodie. I plan to go through the same process as yesterday with the nap and shower. I AM DETERMINED!

On a related note, YoungNotions is co-producing a sketch and comedy series with Fearless Comedy Productions called “Young and Fearless.” Our first production is “A Day in the Park,” and will feature some fantastic sketches that take place in a park. Hence the name.

I think we have all the ladies cast, but I desperately need a man. Or two. Not like that.

If interested, please read up by clicking on the appropriate links, and send an email to YoungFearless@fearlesscomedyproductions.com. Send a resume, clip, write up, picture of your cat… whatever you think is going to show me what you can do. If I know you, it’s easy, as I already probably have a good idea.

I’d hold auditions, but I don’t think my stomach could handle it.

I was picked on a lot in elementary school. I mean, I get it. I was weird and poor and wore hand-me-down gym suits. I had no hygiene, and being raised in a nerd environment, going to Mn-Stf (MN Science Fiction and Fantasy) meetings every other week and working a RenFair… I was very defensive. I mean, it doesn’t make it okay that Lisa pulled a chunk of my hair out of my head, or that Stacey pretended to be my friend and then turned around and told my secrets to all the other girls, or that the other kids invited me to a party just so they could un-invite me.

Most of those kids have apologized to me. Because when we grow up, we stop being horrid little elementary school kids.

I remember one confrontation, where we were sharing our favorite animals. Mine was the snake. They feel awesome, have pretty patterns, and they slither. Slithering is the best-looking mode of transportation. It is absolutely impossible to look uncool when slithering. And I very desperately wanted to be cool.

What’s cooler than a snake in sunglasses? NOTHING

Anyway, I said snake, and one of the girls piped up with “The snake tricked Eve in the garden. Only Evil people like snakes. You’re EVIL!”

I said something about how God made all creatures, even snakes, but of course no one listened. It was just another way in which I was a bad person that deserved to be picked on. It’s all in the justification. Just ask Mitt Romney about his 47%.

Years later, when I read Harry Potter and the title character could talk to snakes, I felt vindicated. SEE? Harry Potter’s not evil. Talking to snakes is fine! Great heroes talk to snakes!

You can only imagine the betrayal I felt when we found out it was because part of Voldemort’s soul was in Harry. Fuck you, J.K Rowling! You broke my heart!

Anyway, when I asked my mom for a snake, she said no. I begged and pleaded, and finally, she brought me to a truth I hadn’t yet faced about owning snakes. I would have to feed them mice.

I’m okay with snakes eating mice. Mice are horrid skittering creatures that deserve to die. Mice are stupid scary fast, and could crawl up your pants in half a second and bite you or something.

Look, I don’t know why mice are so scary to me while snakes aren’t. All I know is that HOLY FUCKING SHIT THERE IT WENT! You never know where it is, but you know it’s there, lurking around the corner, just waiting to skitter up to you and scare the hell out of you.

We had a mouse once, and I flipped my shit. I spent several hours on a chair while Bill set out poison and traps and those electronic noise things that are supposed to keep mice out.

It was probably a mouse from down the street where the church was being worked on. Church mouse. Not evil. Just looking for a place to crash.

Pious my ass!

BEFORE IT SKITTERS UP YOUR LEG AND- …well, it’s just too horrifying to say, really.

All of this came up for me because of the invasive brown tree snake population in Guam. They don’t belong there but they snuck in “aboard boats or in the wheel wells of airplanes.”

Mother fucking snakes on a mother fucking plane.

They’ve been eating up all the other animals, so scientists are trying to control the snake population by dropping mice bombs on them.

From the NPR article:

In April or May they’re going to lace dead mice with painkillers, attach them to little parachutes, drop them from helicopters and hope that they get snagged in the jungle foliage. Then, if all goes well, the snakes — which as their name implies hang out in trees — will eat the mice and die from ingesting the painkillers’ active ingredients.

Mice. Falling from the sky. And killing snakes. THIS is what’s wrong with the world.