thin is in, but you're still not

I recently auditioned for a staged reading (no, not a show) written by Scott Schwartz (no, not Stephen Schwartz...his son) at a casting office on the Upper West Side (no, not the theater district) in the living room of the casting director whose apartment serves as her office.

As you can imagine, I was back to feeling a little D-List (if listed at all).

Nonetheless, I was feeling #blessed and #grateful...albeit #shitty

The character breakdown?

"(Caucasian, 18-22): Innocent and lovable, with a puppy dog quality. Should not be muscular; he needs to look and seem a little sickly and weak... Tenor"

And those ellipses belonged to them, not me, as if to say "Yeah, feel flattered yet?"

So my seemingly sickly and weak self arrived 45 minutes early (just in case I wasn't on the list again), and waited for my chance to be innocent and lovable. 

You know, 45 minutes in a waiting room and you get to meet a lot of people. 

There was, of course, the overly confident generic brunette girl who assured us we were all going to "break so many legs" and that the creative team was "so nice" and she had "the best time" and would it be awkward if she stayed "just to use the restroom before I have to get on my bus to Jersey?"

Well, since you asked...now it is. 

Then, there was the Broadway veteran congratulating the boy who just made his Broadway debut while discussing her husband's Broadway show while I thought about how many times I could nervously click my pen before somebody asked me to stop.

Then, there was the boy wearing the same shirt as me with the same hair as me and with the same name as me who was going before me because I chose to arrive 45 minutes early. He, of course, had done shows with both the Broadway-veteran and the boy-with-the-Broadway-debut, so as they hugged, I kept clicking.

Then, there was HIM.

He walked in the door smelling like leather, wearing leather, but acting smooth as suede. The boy I had idolized in college (and he didn't even have a 6-pack then) who I had awkwardly introduced myself to at an H&M back in 2007 when I thought a celebrity was anyone who made $200/week and it didn't come from their parents. He must have thought I was so charming that we became MySpace friends and even went on what I thought was an exciting date to Subway which I later realized, to him, was probably an all-too-common "date to Subway".

and let's just say there's a reason MySpace flopped.

Subway...I sure was a cheap date at 19.

Well, even though he did give me the sheet music that got me into Northwerstern's Musical Theatre Program AND introduced me to the sweet vocals of Adam Lambert (PRE-American Idol), I never saw him again. 

But I never forgot that boy. 

So when he walked into the basement of the living-room-casting-office...I froze...

Well, I froze, but I kept clicking. 

I gave him time to hug the Broadway-veteran the the boy-with-the-Broadway-debut before he sat on the bench next to me, slowly leaned forward and said, "Hey?"

Yes, part of me wished he wouldn't remember who I was

but can you blame him for remembering?

I awkwardly tried to make small-talk as if I didn't know exactly what he'd been up to for 4 years, but the only plus side was that I managed to stop clicking my pen. 

The other plus side was that his audition fell into that 45 minute window I had left for myself so he wouldn't have to hear me sing. 

But as I sat in the basement and listened to the voice that I had idolized for years while the boy-with-my-name and the boy-with-the-Broadway-debut tried to guess how high he was singing

(I knew because I have great pitch)

I melted again. 

And as he quietly snuck out the front door taking his musky leather with him, I didn't even care that he didn't say goodbye. I probably wouldn't see him for another 4 years.  

SO you can imagine how awkward I was when I ran into him again tonight, in the dark, on an empty street in the middle of Queens, while I was gassy from Chinese food and tipsy from wine

and as he gave me a hug and all I could say was

"I promise I'm not stalking you..."

I'm sure this blog post isn't helping.

Smooth as suede, TJB. Smooth. As. Suede. 

Ugh, I know ladies...the worst part is knowing their inflated ego isn't trying to compensate for anything. They really have that much to be confident about. 

I can't even book sickly and weak,
 
TJB: Making It