Roadtrip Realtalk #3: Auditions and Superstores of the Grown-up Variety..

Just some of the things that crossed my mind on the way to Florida. I listened to way too much Natasha Leggero while I recorded this. 

Roadtrip Realtalk: Marriot rules.

This is why I've got love for Marriot Hotels.

Who remembers when I got stranded in Alabama? Luckily for me, my parents both use the Marriot Rewards Card and, through their sweet and simple rewards system, have enough points to live in a Marriot hotel for six months.

Members are supposed to make reservations a couple of weeks in advance. However, when the interstates had iced over during the great Snowpacalypse of 2011, the awesome folks at Marriot said, "Um. Girl. We got you covered."

Conclusion: Stay at Marriot. They have your back.

The Film Gods said, "Go to Florida." So I did. And there was much rejoicing.

A last, last, last minute booking came up. So it's off to Florida we go! Vlogging all the way!

Silliness of the Meowing Variety.

 Yesterday, I found myself sitting in a tire store watching Charlotte's gay wedding planner from Sex and the City sing the Meow Mix jingle on The View as a full orchestra backed him up.

Take a minute to let that imagery sink in.  Moving on.

Apparently The View just received a giant check from the Del Monte Corporation, the master of Meow Mix, to pimp the hell out of their new Tender Centers™line of kitty treats. When he finished, Joy Behar bum rushed the stage and basically told me that if I actually loved my roommate's cats, I'd better get to the store and make sure that they had Tender Centers in their mouths immediately. 


Then, to seal the deal, the show cut to commercials where I once again laid witness to one of mass marketing's greatest contributions:







I am way too invested in singing cats. I'm way too invested with cats that do human things in general. Here's proof:



My friends in real life have this to say:

A head shaking moment, indeed.

For the skeptics.

Preparing for a move to Los Angeles is no small feat. I have a a lot of stuff I have to sell off. I can't really go out anymore without feeling guilty for spending a few bucks that I need for the move. I still have to figure out how to get the AC in my car fixed. I still have to figure out the route to go. I still have to book the Marriot rooms, thanks to my awesome parents and the sweet system of Marriot Rewards Points. I still have to do so many things.

I also still have to ignore the constant questioning of the skeptics.

I recently met an actress who has been around the block a few times after one of the V/H/S screenings. I approached her and introduced myself. Her demeanor, composed yet stiff, seemed colder than the occasion called for. I couldn't help but feel the familiar sensation that this woman was sizing me up.
"So," she began after we had exhausted chit-chat about the film, "What's next for you?"
"I'm moving to Los Angeles."
She raised her eyebrows and asked, in a tone that indicated she was clearly talking down to me,
"Mind if I ask why?"
"Because I'm serious about doing this and that's where I need to go."
"I strongly encourage you to reconsider," she responded dryly, "I was in LA for about six years. It's rough. I had to come back." 
"Yeah?" I asked, my interest fading.
"Unless you can still play young. Then maybe. Can you play young?"
"Sure."
She looked at me skeptically.
"Are you SAG?"
"Nope," I replied.
"I mean," she paused, "I wish you nothing but luck, but -"
I can't recall the rest because I stopped listening. I have heard this spiel one hundred times and then some.

People see a young woman who realizes what she needs to do to further her career and instantly want to discourage her because they tried it and they didn't make it work. I am sick and tired of listening to actors bash and bring each other down because they still maintain a crippling amount of bitterness over their own failures. Men and women alike have told me to wait in Georgia like a sitting duck and cross my fingers that the casting trickle-down effect will give me a nipple to suck on long enough to maybe get a SAG-AFTRA eligibility form.
 
Rest assured, everyone: I'm not going out there and expecting miracles. I know it will be hard. I know it's going to suck for a while. I know that I am going to have to work very hard. I know that I'm going to have to be clever if I want to get Taft Hartley'd. I know that I may ultimately decide to come back home. The best part about that, though, is that Atlanta isn't exactly going anywhere.

Here's the thing about LA: It's not impossible; it's just really, really hard. I can do something.

The only thing stopping me from doing anything is staying here.

The Illusion of a Chubby Girl

I have two auditions today. This is a first.

My first audition is for a character who is described as "slightly overweight."

I'm not really overweight, although I did used to be a chubby kid before college. If we were to discuss the Jas from a few years ago, I could rattle off the countless crazy, unsafe, and intrinsically weird things I did to myself to shed the extra pounds.

We are talking about present-day Jas, however, and if someone tells her to look chubby for the chance to be in a movie, well. She'll do it.

 To emphasize my exquisitely expansive jawline and ample cheek room, generously given to me via my Native American ancestry -

Thanks, guys!

- getting back on track, to give off the illusion of chubbiness, I executed the "Curly Sue" effect on my hair. Maybe the added volume will give the illusion on camera that there's more meat on my face.

Also, maybe if I up-play the awkwardness, they'll look past the fact that I don't really fit the physical character description and cast me anyway.

Or maybe it's the film industry and I really do fit their definition of chubby.

Either way, I want to book it.