"... five hurrahs! Give twelve 'hip-hips!', Gaston is the BEST and the REST is all DUH-RIPS! *deep breath* ...Nooooo ooooone fights like Gaston...!"
I mean. I don't even know how to explain that.
Anyway, I hurriedly dressed myself and got ready to go shoot a pilot for HBO about bikers. Um. Okay. When I got the call from the casting agent at 10:00 last night I was a wee bit standoffish about the whole thing, but whatever-- she's the casting agent, surely she knows what she wants right?
*just in case you forgot, this is what I look like:
Um. What about me says biker? I'm just wondering...
Well, I showed up this afternoon as the mercury climbed to a staggering 107 degrees at this big dusty field in North Hollywood. As other cast members began arriving it immediately became clear that they were NOT actors... These were real, legit, straight-off-the-street bikers and there were hordes of them and only one of me.
It was sort of like that game on Sesame Street-- you know, "Which of these things is not like the other?" There I am in my J.Crew jeans and fitted black tank top (the only things I own that seemed even REMOTELY biker-ish), surrounded by leather chaps and sequined bandanas and spandex bell-bottoms with red and orange flames from hem to waistband (no joke). Oh dear.
So I spent my day sitting in a dive bar the still, oppressive heat of the San Fernando valley, surrounded by more bikers and "old ladies" than I have ever seen in the entirety of my life-- let alone at once-- wearing a pair of (wardrobe-supplied) cut-off shorts and drinking a fake beer while listening to a fairly talented cover band sing Janis Joplin over, and over, and over, and over...
There was enough leather in that room to strangle every single PETA member from here to the nearest polar bear reserve, and I listened to all these bearded men talk about police corruption and so-and-so's brother who got his hand broken by some dudes on Bourbon Street, and badass Kim let me borrow her hot pink lip gloss. I really feel like I earned a little street cred when one of the old weird guys at the bar asked me to pose with him on the back of his bike. Slightly skeezed, but proud. (Sort of...)
Tomorrow I'm going to a ladies' luncheon and then must bake a three-tiered birthday cake. Clearly much more my speed.
From a secretary in 1962 to biker chick to ladies' luncheons and birthday cakes. I mean... Is this really my life?
3 comments:
Because you are an ACT-or! (said in the best Jon Lovitz voice I can muster)
Sometimes, when I'm knee-deep in diapers and Transformers and my oldest daughter is asking me if she can get an iPhone for her birthday, I too ask myself, "Is this really my life?"
And then, after bedtime, I go have a beer. And you can bet your sweet bippy it isn't a fake one.
"...enough leather in that room to strangle PETA member from here to the nearest polar bear reserve" Ha Ha Ha! I love it.
I think your life sounds fascinating!
Suz
ps you look beautiful in that picture!
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