Screen Test Surprise

I survived the dog- eat- dog/ "survivor style" audition procedure for a feature film co- directed by, and costarring, a major Hollywood celebrity.  The celebrity's identity remained a secret, but I immediately embraced the notion that two- years my junior megastar, Justin Bieber, was said celebrity. Admittedly, and unfortunately, I caught a sorry case of Bieber fever and, in preparation for my screen test, imagined myself greeting Mr. Bieber with professionalism and grace instead of passing out or puking. Alas, I was met with a roller-coaster of emotions, (confusion, disappointment, fear, excitement, loss,) when I discovered that my screen test partner was, in actuality, Will I Am from 'The Black Eyed Peas'.

This was my first feature film audition with my new talent agency, and, after somehow stumbling through several rounds of callbacks, one fuck up at a time, I beat out thousands of ladies and secured one of two possible screen test slots for the female star.  I waited eagerly next to my screen test nemesis, a blonde, knowing that, at this stage in the process, a particular 'look' determined who secured the role... an unusual casting circumstance unbeknownst to most industry insiders.  I considered begging the director and his crew, on hands and knees, for said role, professing some unimagined and non- existing love for Will I Am's music, or duking it out with blondie, but concluded that any and all of these methods of persuasion would produce an opposite effect.  Thus, I popped blondie's tires.. just kidding... I proceeded into the room, took my position next to Will I Am, and acted the shit out of the sides...

Several days later, I was met with disappointment when blonde domination came to fruition, and I, in a depressed flurry, subjected myself to the couch with two jars of buttercream frosting.          

Why do I keep subjecting myself to this bullshit?

Simply because I thoroughly enjoy eating, and my unsuccessful endeavors justify said binge eating habits.

In short, Will I Am, I implore you, please, reimburse me for the parking meters, and send me a personal trainer.  As much as I enjoy fueling the economy, one callback at a time, I'll send you a bill in the mail... Perhaps we can discuss logistics over coffee because I am, admittedly, slightly offended by your string of callbacks, leading me on to believe that I, indeed, secured a role in your feature.

Kindly,

(soon to be blonde,)

actor kid