Do-over at the Big G

After 45 minutes spent on the phone manually re-dialing the Guthrie’s Audition Line every 37 seconds, I got through to a real person with four minutes to spare in their pre-designated “window of opportunity” (my term, not theirs; likewise for the snark). I scheduled an audition for March 31st at 3:40 p.m; hung up the phone; and allowed myself five, good, uninterrupted minutes of spastic panic before I got to work.

I e-mailed my dear friend, sometimes-director, and always strikingly-brilliant Cooper who had, just days prior, returned from a 3-month life-adventure touring South America, and begged her to help me choose my two audition monologues and direct me in them. Stories of exotic fruit, impoverished children and harrowing Latin-American border-crossings would have to wait (kidding - we had already met over drinks and a guilt-ridden over-abundance of food by that point – I’m not that self-centered). She proved herself worthy of sainthood for the seventy-sixth time and agreed to help.

The result? Never have I been more prepared, nor, ironically, more nervous for an audition in all my life. I guess it’s because now there’s something at stake – I never really committed before (five+ years clinging to a day-job, anyone?), and now I am so committed it kinda burns a little. I want this. Badly. And when I want things, badly, I tend to be disappointed – that’s just the way things roll in my world.

But this time I’m not bogged down by should-haves – I know I was prepared (okay, okay, I could have started preparing a lot earlier than I did – but I still did a hell of a lot more prep than I’ve ever done before). I did my homework. I got real direction from a real director. I don’t regret much other than my nerves, and overall that’s a pretty sweet feeling.