So, This Starving Artist Walks Into HBO...

It's been a week.  I feel like I can actually talk about it...jinx-free, and all that jazz.

So, right:

There I am, on my break and I get the email from my manager with the subject headline:  Bored to Death Audition.  And my heart stopped.  I know that means "HBO" and I know that that's never happened to me before.  And that's awesome. 

And then I read more of the fine print:

"Late 20s-early 30s"...Check.  (Gross.)

"Could be very lovely, or perhaps more charactery." ...Check.

"She has a sweet disposition, but also speaks her mind." ...Check. 

"She doesn’t have much filter/shame."...Check.

"A recovering alcoholic..." ...OK, no.  But I could figure that out.

"Recurring."  ...Oh. 

Oh holy crap.

And then I find out that she's Ted Danson's daughter. 

And I start to wonder how the crap that any of this is happening.

And I can't hear anything else in the room, all the white noise etc. is drowned out by the fact that my heart is like screaming directly into my ears...and I've stopped breathing, and I'm grinning like a son of a bitch.

And I notice that my manager has sent this email to me, and only to me.

"If you would like you can come in tomorrow to go over the scenes. Let me know."  Yes.  Yes, I will.

I immediately run home after work and quickly memorize all four scenes.  She's a recovering alcoholic/pot-head living in LA who collects FiestaWare and met her current boyfriend at a seance.  Her current boyfriend who she treats like a dog (literally) and who happens to be the exact same age as her father. ...She's quirky, she's weird, I love her, I'll take it.

Then, I research every inch of this show possible (...They're filming in my neighborhood constantly--that is neat.  Jason Schwartzman is EXACTLY who he is in I Heart Huckabees, Zach Galifianakas is almost the straight man and that's crazy, and godDAMN Ted Danson's good.) and buy my share of episodes on iTunes.

There's still 36 hours before this audition, I can't sleep, I have NOTHING in my closet that would suit this character (...Yes I do...No I dont.) and I.  Am so.  Excited.

Because here's the deal:

I already don't really care whether or not I book this.  I mean, I do, but that's not the most important thing.  The most important thing is that I now have the opportunity to say "Hello, my name is Angela and I have auditioned for a recurring role on an HBO-sitcom to play Ted Danson's recovering alcoholic-daughter."

Pardon my French, but that's pretty fucking cool.

And that's enough.

It would be MORE than enough, however, if I don't blow it.

And so, I walk into my manager's office 14 hours later (after having gone over the lines two dozen more times, done more research, and having had 5 cups of coffee) and go over the scenes with him.

And he is pumped.

(This in itself is enough to make my day.  I've already made my manager happy...So good.)

We discuss her look, we discuss her motives, and then we discuss my motives:

"How are you feeling?"

I'm so stupid excited I can't deal with it.

"Good!"

I've never done anything like this!!

"Awesome!...Don't tell them that."

Oh.  Right.  I won't.

"Good.  What else have you done to get ready for this?  Have you taken any classes lately?"

...

And then I remember back to the workshop I had just a little over a week ago, the RubberFace-experience.  How the casting director told me that the wheels were turning in all the right ways and that he could see where I was going but that my physical theatricality just kinda betrayed everything.  "Watch the play-back tape, you'll see how to pull it back a bit, how to be smaller.  It'll be a really easy adjustment for you."

...Timely.

Yes.  Yes I have, actually.

And I recount the details of the workshop for him.

"Amazing.  His office is right beneath us, by the way."

(Fancy that.)

"And it worked."

Really?!

"Yeah.  I liked what you did with that.  A lot."

Really?!?!

"Do exactly that and you'll be great in that room."

Oh yay!  ...Really?

"Yes.  I am so excited, I want you to book this."

Meeeee tooooo!

And so, I leave the office, biggest stupidest grin on my face & with all of the confidence in the universe.

There is no way that tomorrow won't be anything but good.

And then, I go shopping.

(Side-bar:  Why on earth does getting an audition automatically equal an opportunity to go buy more clothes?  No matter how much money you've got, somehow immediately before an audition, you have no kind of problem justifying buying new jeans/sweaters/shoes/a dress, things that would better suit the character.  ...Maybe it's just me that does this.  ...I chronically do this.)

I go home, I reread through the scenes, and then work towards looking as pristine as a pseudo laid-back/recovering alcoholic/potentially crunchy/potentially Daddy-complexed/lovable/charactery/seance-seeking/FiestaWare-collecting/late 20s daughter in LA could possibly look.

I think I could have this.

I take a deep breath.

I pass out.

The next morning, it is pouring rain.

I don't want to take this as a bad omen, so I don't and I gather myself and and my lines and my heels and head towards midtown.

And then I'm in front of the building.

And then I'm in it, and they're scanning me and my IDs while I'm standing wide-eyed betwixt posters of  Bill Maher with his arms proudly folded across his chest and a bunch of half-naked vampirey folks.

Holy shit, this is the HBO-building.

And then my temporary photo-ID and I are heading through the main lobby towards the elevators.  And I'm in shell-shock.  I feel like I don't know what to do with myself.

Holy shit.  This is the HBO-buildling.

And then I'm in this little elevator mini-hallway all by myself, waiting to head up, and I get smacked upside the head with this enormous sense of calm.

This is only a building.

These are only people.

This is only an opportunity--this is not life or death.

You've already gotten here.  That's enough.

And suddenly, it was.

I got upstairs and I looked around and I saw cubicles and an officey-carpet.

This is only an office. 

Granted, an office where they're playing Wolverine on a huge screen right smack in the middle of it.

But, it's an office.

Calm.

And there were three of us waiting there, three of us out of a relatively small list of names, and all of us doing our best to keep to ourselves and focus solely on the thing that we were all there to do.

We could not have looked more different.

(I thought I looked the part best, but that's just me.)

But it was a crazy way to ground yourself before walking into an audition room--to look around and see that you were nothing like your immediate competition appearance-wise, and that it was certain that you would all bring something wildly different into the room.

If they don't choose you, it's not because of you, it's that they want something different: 

                                                   maybe that goth-looking one, maybe the put-together one.

That's entirely out of your control.

Just go in and have a conversation with "your Dad"/the camera.

And then, I went in.

And then, it was done.

I heard "Really great, you did a really great job," by this smiling woman behind the camera.  Done.

I told the other two actresses Break legs, have fun & walked out of the building.  In shell-shock.

And then eventually feeling really really really stupid good.

...

I've been told that it takes about two weeks to hear anything either way.

I refuse to get my hopes up (because that's just a foolish idea), but I refuse to feel any sense of defeat either (...that would be equally as foolish).

Regardless, I get to say that I was handed this amazing opportunity, and that I know that I kicked ass with it.

I'm crossing my fingers.

Just as much to book the thing as I am to have more opportunities like that come my way.

I feel like they will.

I feel like I'll fall on my face a few times, and I feel like I'll nail it even more.

...I feel like I'll be lucky to actually book something once or twice.

We'll see.

I'm hopeful.