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February 22, 2001

So yet another audition where I'm the fattest in the room and I'm positive that's why I didn't get the part.  I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, but I can NOT be a size 2 when my bones are a size 8, okay?  It doesn't work like that.  I just hate it.  I can ACT!  I'M GOOD!  At least, I think I am.  I hope I am.  I'm pretty sure I am.  And all they do is look at the outside.  Yeah, dumbass, that's what they're supposed to do.  You want them to look at your insides, go be a doctor or something.  Idiot.  Itís so depressing, this endless round of auditions and rejections. 

  How much longer?  How much longer before we decide to pack it up and move home?  But thereís some perversion, some sense of if I just hold out for one more month, Iíll last longer than the thirty other girls that decide to pack it up and move home.  Thirty girls every month.  I actually donít know if itís thirty or not, itís just a number that I made up to make myself feel better.  To make myself feel that Iíve got a shot, because thirty girls (that I donít know if they even exist or not) decided to move back  home.

I mean, I do know quite a few folk that have moved home.  And itís always such a shock.  You mean youíre giving up?  No, wait, I didnít mean it like that.  You mean, youíre moving away?  You mean, you have other options? How great!  How wonderful, that you realize that thereís a completely normal life outside of L.A. that youíd be happy taking.