Monthly Archives: June 2012

Dear Idiot…


Dear People in Love,

I am so happy you’ve found each other. I really am. I love love. I just don’t love your love. You two need to stop slobbering all over each other in public. The table at the restaurant is for eating food, not eating each other’s faces and horrifying children and old people while ruining my appetite. Your back pockets are for carrying wallets and condoms. Not secretly squeezing some of that Grade A new boyfriend ass. Go home and get it on all day and night. Hell, even tape it and put it on YouTube if you want. Just stop dry humping each other in line at the store. You knocked over the gum display. And that’s just rude.



(I dare you to smell your hand now.)

Dear Guy Who Cut Me Off,

Congratulations, asshole. You are now one whole car ahead of me. You are still stopped at the same light as me. You just get to sit there longer because you got there first. You are a wizard among men for almost damaging my vehicle, your vehicle and both of our selves so you could get to the intersection 4 seconds faster. Not only do you get to be in front of me, now you also get my wrath. Think of me when karma happily kicks you in the nuts for being such a jack ass.



(Christa says “hey”, Speed Racer.)

Dear People Trying to Open My Eyes,

I know there are horrors in the world. I know children die every day from hunger and abuse. So do animals. I am very aware of this and it upsets me greatly. But for the love of God, please stop posting pictures of starving, dead babies and bleeding, suffering animals on Facebook. This is a social networking site. For like, socializing and stuff. Not giving people nightmares. There are ways to help these situations and get sympathy for your cause without exploitative, disturbing photos that cause people to turn away immediately in abject horror and, therefore, giving your cause no thought at all other than to make the pictures go away.

Thank you.


(And they poop rainbows, too!)

Dear Emotional Wreck,

I understand from your Facebook post that there is something terrible and depressing going on in your life. I also understand that you say you don’t want to talk about it, based upon your mysterious “Don’t text or call. I don’t want to talk about it.” post. But let’s be honest here. If you really didn’t want to talk about whatever it is (I’m guessing it’s a guy who didn’t do what you wanted), you wouldn’t post that stuff on Facebook. You’d just turn off your phone and computer and take a pint of Ben & Jerry’s to your room and watch Titanic. But you do want someone to ask. So stop fishing and go ahead and say, “Johnny Depp broke our date because he said his grandmother died but he just posted pictures of him and Grammy Depp and Christa Woomer at Disneyland. I hate him and everyone else should, too!” There. Now don’t you feel better after saying how you really feel?

Your friend,


(Why does everyone keep asking me what’s wrong? I’m fine!)

Dear Person Busier and More Important Than God,

I understand that you are, without a doubt, the busiest person on the planet. No one has nearly as much work as you do and no one could possibly accomplish in a month what you do in a single day. You are a machine. You should be given a plaque for all that you manage to do whilst being the only one in your office who ever does anything. Brava! I also understand that if you go on vacation or get sick or have to take time for a number two bathroom break, you think the office will crumble without you. Let me ease your mind on that count. We are all replaceable. Even you. When River Phoenix dropped dead in front of a nightclub while filming “Interview with a Vampire”, he was replaced in mere hours by Christian Slater. The only irreplaceable one is God. But if you think you are more important than Him, I’ll let you discuss that amongst yourselves. And since you are so damn busy, shut the hell up and go do all that work you’re always bitching about.



(This never would’ve happened if you only took a ½ hour lunch.)

Dear Person with Bratty Kids,

I know that babysitters can be expensive. But if you really feel it necessary to bring all 8 of your screaming, misbehaving, rude loin droppins to the store with you, please make sure you either beat them or drug them or whatever you have to do to keep them from running into me, stepping on my foot, taking things out of my cart, knocking down old ladies without apologizing, shoplifting, farting, sneezing and coughing on products I was thinking of buying and, in general, causing mass public chaos and shrinkage of my reproductive organs.

Yours truly,


(Drink up, Timmy. It’s Dress Week at Ross.)

Dear Person Behind Me,

I’m flattered by your fascination with me. I understand that I am an intriguing individual whom you would like to get to know better. That being said, we are in line in a public shopping store. Please remove yourself from my ass. We are not German Shepherds. There is nothing you can really learn about me by being so close to my butt despite what some scientists might tell you. There is no need to inch up on me. I’ll be done as soon as I can, then you can have a turn to buy your items. Don’t make me fart on you. Seriously. Back off. Now.

Kindest regards,


(I told you, if you bumped me one more time…)

Dear Negative Nellie,

Stop being negative. You are alive. You have a job. You have a roof over your head, clothes on your back and food in your stomach. Quit your bitching before God gives you something to bitch about.



(Cheer up. You could be…well, either of these two.)

Dear Women in Public Restrooms,

Why in the hell are there always pee drops on the toilet seat, ladies? First off, you’re supposed to use the little butt paper to cover the seat so you don’t get any ass-related diseases from others. Because we all know that the butt cheeks of every stranger we pass is just crawling with germs. If you are a tough broad though and don’t want to use the butt paper, then just sit your ass down and pee! Stop hovering and swaying and dancing or whatever the hell you’re doing that makes you leave whiz all over the seat like some kind of urinating lawn sprinkler.

Thank you.


(Yes, fellas. This is how we actually pee.)

Dear Driver with Cell Phone,

One of these days, I am going to pull up next to you, get out of my car, tear your car door open, rip that fucking phone out of your hand and beat you half to death with it. The law says you cannot drive and hold a cell phone to your face. Are you insane, stupid, selfish or all of the above? And it’s not like you’re having Syrian Peace Talks, either. You’re discussing with your other idiot friends driving and talking on their phones which Real Housewife of Who-Gives-A-Shit made the biggest ass out of herself last night on tv. Here’s a hint: It’s ALL of them! Those shows are worthless. Go get a Bluetooth before you hurt yourself or someone who doesn’t deserve it. Like me. You can get one for as little as $19.99 at a discount retailer near you. Bottom line, sweetheart. The law applies to you, too. Put. The phone. Down.

Thank you.


(You’re gonna be calling Jesus when I’m through with you.)

And that’s all I have to say about that.


A Star Is Born…Eventually


As an actor, I get to go to lots of (never enough) auditions. My co-workers and friends are super supportive. And they’re always asking, “How did it go? What did you do? Did they like you?” and so forth. Actually, there are no easy answers to these questions. So, I’ve decided to blog on this issue so my non-actor friends can get a brief glimpse into real Hollywood auditions and my actor friends can nod sagely in agreement.

(What is my motivation for agreeing with yon blogging wench?)

Now of course, as usual, there will be a lot of hyperbole and comedy stylings in this entry. And by the way, that word is hy-PER-bo-lee. Not HY-per-bowl. I know, it was a surprise to me, too. It means a gross exaggeration. (see Mrs. Whittenburg, I was paying attention in class). Anyway, I love, love, LOVE auditioning! Even though after this article, you may not understand why.

Answering The Call

So I’m going to focus in on commercial auditions as that is what I’ve been doing for the most part recently. I have commercial agents (Hi, Kenneth and Nelson. You rock!). They spend their days submitting me, and I’m assuming a few other people, online for commercials. When the stars align and all their hard work and pagan sacrifices come to fruition, I will get a happy text. It says, “SMS Casting-You have an audition! Check your email for details.” Kaloo-Kalay! I will shove paperwork, old ladies and attorneys to the floor to get to that sweet, sweet e-mail. I check the email and it will tell me where, when and what I will be auditioning for tomorrow. I have people asking me, “Do you have any auditions coming up?” I have honestly never gotten more than 24 hours’ notice for any audition. So the answer to that question (unless you catch me between 4pm and 7pm the day before said audition) is no. Now, after the text comes in and I confirm with the agents and rain blessings upon their heads, I have to head home to decide what to wear.

(Does this say, “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter?”)

So since I decided I just had to have straight hair for my headshots, I go home to smash my curls into flat oblivion so I match the pictures my agent sent in for this audition. After printing directions to the casting office farthest from my work place, picking the yellow polo that makes me look like suburban mom instead of the blue polo that makes me look like I work at Wal-Mart, picking the earrings that make me look the least pretentious and most trustworthy, emailing my boss to tell him I’ll be late tomorrow, praying and offering any other listening gods my sister’s first born, I go to bed early to rest up for my chance. Sometimes though, I’ll get a call for a super cool audition that says “Chef attire” or “Victorian attire-hats are a must”. I really like getting to take that stuff to work for a middle of the day audition. It’s easy enough to run to Michael’s and get a chef’s hat and apron or something. But finding that Victorian attire about killed me and my mom both. Who keeps Victorian clothes around? My mom’s old but I’m pretty sure she was born post-Victoria. I think…But necessity and passion for my art is the mother of invention, so my mom literally pulled the kitchen curtains down, a la Scarlett O’Hara, and made me a for true Victorian outfit. That’s some sweet ass dedication there, people.

The Audition

So as I noted earlier, it is, by law, a guarantee that any audition I have be not less than 45 minutes from wherever I am an hour before said audition. So I fight Los Angeles traffic and hopefully find parking within a half mile of the casting studio, I am ready to go. After I show up hot, sweaty and out of breath from fighting the Crips on the corner for my bag (my headshots are in there, bee-yotch!), I sign in and wait for my turn. After checking my Facebook, Perez Hilton, e-mail and playing 6 games of Vegas Pool Sharks on my phone, it’s my turn! The casting director will point the camera at me and ask me to “slate your name”. Now, when this first happened, I thought there must be some chalkboard or clapper thing that I forgot to get at acting school. Turns out “slate your name” means “say your name.” Ohhhh, I can totally do that!

(Hi, my name is…uhhh, what’s my line again?)

Anyway, after the formalities are over, I will have one of four types of audition.

No. 1:

Casting Director: Tell me something interesting about yourself.

Me: I have webbed feet.

Casting Director: Heyyyy, that’s great. Walk to the left. Your left. No, not toward me. To the left. No, your left. LEFT!

Me: How was that?

Casting Director: Great! Thanks so much. Have a great day.

<End of audition>

No. 2:

Casting Director: Read the lines on the board.

Me: You Can Energy Drink gives me energy every hour of every day!

Casting Director: Try British.

Me: You Can Energy Drink gives me energy every hour of every day, guv’nor!

Casting Director: Great! Try it New Jersey.

Me: Yo! You Can Energy Drink gives me energy every hour of every day! (fist pump)

Casting Director: Perfect! Do Southern.

Me: You Can Energy Drink gives me energy every hour of every day, y’all!

Casting Director: You are so versatile! Thanks so much.

<End of audition>

No. 3:

Casting Director: You are in Antarctica. You are cold. Freezing. You pee on yourself to stay warm but it only lasts a moment. You’re remembering your life before the cold. Your family and friends and pet rabbits. Oh, so many rabbits. And you are leaving them all. Leaving them…

Me: What am I auditioning for again?

Casting Director: Harry’s Extra Sharp Toe Nail Clippers.

Me: Ah, yes…you were saying?

<End of audition>

No. 4:

The free reign, improv whatever you want, balls to the wall, all out fun acting audition. They give you a very brief scenario and say “go!” This is when I shine, y’all. And actually the kind of audition I just booked my last job with last week. Because no one can “act” like a lazy employee nearly as good as me!

The Call Back

Now, after all the fun above is over, I wait for the next call. This is the call back. This is what separates the men from the boys. My agents say call backs are special and not to get upset if I don’t get one every time. Most actors get a call back for about one out of every 7-10 auditions. Personally, I get a call back about every 2 out of 3 auditions. I’m not saying that because I’m super great or anything (you can say that in the comments below) but just because that’s how it works out for me. When I go to the call backs, I do basically the same thing I did the first time, except now the actual director of the commercial is there along with some guys from the ad agency. You can tell which one is the director because he’s the one who actually looks at you and not his laptop or the food table to the far right (my right. no, right. well, it’s their left which is my…never mind). I always do the same thing (to start) in a call back that I did in the first audition. They called me back because they liked what I did before and I don’t want them to be all confused (“Hey. Where’s the girl with the webbed feet?”). Then, the director will give a few directions just to see if I can do what he says. Now, since I grew up with a military dad, if there’s one thing I can do well, it’s follow directions.

(You are an actor! You are in Antarctica! You will pee on your leg! You will sell toe nail clippers!

You will like it!)

I usually get a lot of calls for “real” people. Which I assume is opposed to imaginary people. I like those auditions. I don’t think I could really do well if I had to audition as imaginary. So they tend to spend call backs trying to match “real” me up with some other “real” people so we can make a “real” family that enjoys eating “real” wasabi peas or something. That’s always weird. Do I look like this kid? If not, can I fake it? Can I pretend I’ve been married to this loser picking his nose and trying to pretend he’s not wiping it on the chair? Well, I did it before in real life and I didn’t even get paid for it then, so…..let’s do it! And therefore, I work my call back like my ass is for sale and the rent is due tonight.

Booking…or Not Yet

Now, I play the waiting game. Like that movie The Crying Game but with less surprise penises. After all of this is said and done, there is a 3-7 day waiting period to see if I booked the job. If I book the job. HOORAY! These days are too few and too far in between because I should totally get every part I try out for, right?…<crickets>…Anyway they are the very happiest of days. Actually booking a job is a totally different blog, though. There’s a lot of rejection to deal with in this business. I know if I don’t get cast, it’s not because I’m not the awesomest. Cuz I am the awesomest. My mom, my sister and dog told me so. Thankfully, my mind does not accept rejection and if I don’t get a commercial I will make up one of the following excuses:

No. 1: The person who wanted to cast me (director/ad agency/client) has died. This is very sad. I hate it when this happens. This wonderful, creative being has left our world. His dying wish was that I would represent the product on screen but since he is now gone, the commercial and the role that the deceased wanted just for me is gone forever. Never to be seen again. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

No. 2: I see the ad I auditioned for on t.v. but the people in the commercial are not me. Hmpf! Now, how in the hell did that happen? I have to think of something else to ease my poor bruised ego. I know I was the cutest, smartest thing in shoe leather to cross the threshold into that room. So then I tell myself the person who wanted to cast me (director/ad agency/client) has had their cat kidnapped by communists. Yep. Even though he pleaded, “Please! No one will be able to sell Harry’s Extra Sharp Toe Nail Clippers like Christa Woomer! In the name of democracy and capitalism and justice, can’t I please cast the most talented commercial actress I’ve seen this millennium?” The communists laugh deep in their chests and say, “Niet! Not if you value your cat.” So, they made the commercial without me. How can I be mad? Come on, it’s me or the poor guy’s cat!

(Cats back for everyone!*)

When people ask me, “Do you think they liked you?” My answer is always, “Of course, they liked me!” We are talking about likeable, loveable, huggable me, here. And as you can see, auditioning in Hollywood is lots of fun, glamour, fame and excitement. I love being an actor so much. Each step of this process makes me smile. I wish I had more auditions and more fun every day. I thank God for making me strong enough to follow my dreams and move to L.A. Every time my phone beeps in the late afternoon, I know that rumble in my tummy is happiness and not just the Del Taco #4 combo I had for lunch. I can’t wait for the next adventure.

(“Follow your dream. You can be an actor if you really want to. Just make sure you can type or something to support yourself.”

Nikki Burgett-my high school drama teacher.)

Note #1: I never auditioned for this role and have nothing but love for Flo.

Note #2: I don’t really have webbed feet.

Note #3: I started this blog last night and now I’m ready to post with a brand new audition waiting for me tomorrow. WOOT!