Saturday, September 6, 2014

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

Back in May, I wrote about my reality show audition. As part of the process, I had to fill out tons of forms, including a detailed background questionnaire: When was the last time you used drugs? How many X-rated movies have you been in? Are you current on your child support payments... and so on. Filling out the forms were exhausting, and kind of painful, because they were intended for 25 year-olds. Contestants for these shows are evidently kids who actually know the e-mail addresses of their college roommates.

With all the work I put into getting on the show, I started getting really optimistic, and truly interested in the idea of changing the world and being on TV. My plan to just enjoy the experience went out the window. The show loves me! And I love the show! We were meant for each other! I spent a lot time imagining my new future.

Months went by, and I realized my love affair with the show was one-sided. The show did not pick me. The show did not love me. I'm embarrassed to admit that I was actually mad. And then I was sad. And then I was all, "The show is gonna suck anyway, and besides, the show picked nothing but narcissistic, high-concept lack-wits." And then, finally, I accepted the rejection. I had a pretty happy non-Hollywood life before, and I would again.

Less than a week ago, I got a phone message from the show. My love needed me! I was thrilled and flattered. I knew the show was being filmed, and had heard there was some trouble with the contestants not following the rules. Happy that the show loved me again, I returned the call.

The show was, as I suspected, looking for alternates. Yes, I was still interested in being on the show. Yes, I could be ready as long as I got two weeks notice. But at the end of the day, I was massively irritated. Why had my great love returned? All the emotional work I did to get the show out of my heart and mind was wasted. I started dreaming about my new and exciting Hollywood future again. Which is nuts because the future is bleak: The young casting assistant who spoke to me knew only my name and number. Nothing else. Not the forms I'd already filled out, not what sort of person I was, not that I already had an audition "package". 

I'm pretty sure the show called me only because I'm an entry in a little black book. Some love. Heh. If anything exciting happens, I'll post an update. Otherwise, I'm going back to my happy non-Hollywood life.