I Didn't TOUCH That Cherry Tree

Imagine this:

Four founding fathers of America (that means olden-timey Presidents, so like pre-Obama) come together to form a rock-boy-band and travel the country to teach kids why they should care about the American government. Throw in a spunky black schoolgirl as the heroine and it sounds like award-winning theatre right?

Well, it's probably not...

but there I was auditioning for George Washington, the lead-singer of the group who makes girls swoon. I mean, TALK ABOUT TYPECASTING!

I was told there would be sides to prepare, so I showed up plenty early. I'm not sure why I thought the sides for a musical involving dead Presidents rapping about the American government would require a lot of preparation, but I did know that I wanted to spend as much time as possible with the other crazy auditioning schmucks.

and boy was it an experience.

As soon as I sat down, I learned who Chatty Cathy was. She was a pleasant looking Italian boy (you remember Jefferson was Italian right?) wearing khaki shorts. KHAKI SHORTS?! I'm sorry, but unless you have the calf muscles of a GOD, you should stick to pants for an audition.

This was the boy that thought his job was to sweet-talk the audition monitor as if this was just her temp. job because tomorrow she was casting the Book of Mormon...and we all know had THAT been the case I'd have been in her lap. Anyway, Cathy chatted with the monitor about their hangovers and what kinds of alcohol he can afford to drink the night before an audition and still sound his best.

You should know that prior to this "dream audition" for the role of a founding father, Cathy was extremely wasted the previous night from too many margaritas and still miraculously managed to attend an open call for a NYMF show that morning and SANG. HIS. ASS. OFF. I mean, the best he's ever sounded in an audition. EVER.

1. Remember this is an audition for a children's musical.
2. Remember that Cathy is an Italian boy auditioning for the young rock version of Jefferson.
3. Remember that I'm just listening as I prepare a scene in which I'm dressed in an eagle costume.

the AMERICAN DREAM here folks.

Just as I was relaxing into my amateur atmosphere, a muscular blue-eyed blonde boy came strutting down the hall...and he was wearing shorts...and he earned them. As the monitor handed him the sides for George Washington, I tried to stop imagining his calf muscles in George Washington's knee socks.

I was done for. The future George Washington of this award-nonexistant children's musical entered the room and I knew it was over. I had already seen one boy receive a callback so I knew that as soon as he excited Future G.W. would be handed his packet of materials by the monitor and told to return August 15th. Future G.W. exited and...

he left.

The muscular blonde boy picked up his bag, said his defeated thank-you, and exited the building.

Before I could run after him to get his number, I was called in.

You'll remember I hold what happens in the audition room sacred so I'll just tell you that I received a packet upon my exit.

See you August 15th bitches. Oh...except for you Cathy. Good luck on that NYMF show and slow down on the margaritas.

Stars and Stripes Forever,

TJB: Making It

Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head...oh wait it's pee

I've received a lot of comments recently about how my blog makes my life seem really exciting...even more exciting than the lives of my readers (who are probably financially stable and can afford to eat at least two meals a day).

I'm not sure my readers are really grasping the honest truth of this blog...so let me put something in perspective for those of you who are "non-actors" or "real people" as I like to call them ("professionals" and "those who live happily past 29" are also acceptable).

Pretend you are starving. Pretend you are broke, panicking, living in a small room and, hell, perhaps even sharing a bed with someone you'd only met twice. You are tens of thousands of dollars in debt and you're only weeks out of college...in fact, you attended one of the top universities in the nation and you still remember the days when you were acing Calc. exams.

(now breathe and remember this is all hypothetical...for you)

You need a job and you need a job BAD.

JUST THEN! You see a posting for a job that you are perfect for. You know in your heart and soul nobody could do this job better than you could. But you realize the job isn't even offering to pay you...YOU DON'T CARE! Your entire being yearns to work and you must get this job.

You score an interview. Weeks before they send you materials to prepare.

What's this?! They send you a large paragraph of text. The text is a story. They want you to tell the story at the interview. This particular story is about a time you went on a date with an older gentleman who pretended to be interested in you just so he could take you home, remove your clothing, put you in his bathtub, and pee on you. Then, he tells you you're disgusting and to leave so he can go to bed.

You're a little embarrassed, but you give it your all and for weeks you memorize and practice telling this story to anyone who will listen regardless of the public shame.

The day of your interview arrives and you show up early, motivated, ready to win. You're called in to meet the bosses and you perform like the little dancing pissed on monkey they thought you were just from seeing a picture of your face.

...and then they don't give you the job...they don't give you the job that wasn't even going to pay...in fact, they don't even give you a second interview for the job...

Still think my life is more exciting?
OK YEAH IT KIND OF IS.

Look away Mom,

TJB: Making It

V.I.Me

Tomorrow, I have an audition for a PLAY. It's a production in Brooklyn that wouldn't pay me but...wait...why am I...

is this desperation?

Well, I might as well make the most of it.

The character is "an attractive, straightforward male hustler". Now, you'd think I would have a lot of experience in this field seeing as I've been in NYC for a whole month, but I'm going to pretend I don't. So I decided to try out some method acting this weekend.

As any method actor knows...well...ok I'm not entirely sure how method acting works (maybe I should've gone to a conservatory) but I know that it has to do with living like the character or viewpoints or operative words...ANYWAY

So I found a Sugar Mama.

Her name was Miss Green. She met me after work promptly at 5pm and from that point on it was VIP treatment. We went to happy hour at a posh bar, dinner at a trendy restaurant, and then checked in to a luxury hotel in Midtown East. She toted me around like her Adonis, and boy did she shell out the dough. This was GREAT! Not only was I being treated like a king, I was practicing my craft.

Miss Green made a call to the front desk to ensure that the Concierge Lounge was ready for our arrival and would have our specified cocktails ready. And then it happened:

they told her the Concierge Lounge was CLOSED.

EXCUSE ME?! This was Saturday night and the staff had NO idea who they were dealing with. Sure, I LOOKED like an escort, but really I'm a future award-winning actor and SHE'S and extremely successful young business woman and you're going to tell us the lounge will re-open TOMORROW?!

Let's just say there's a certain hotel on 49th and Lexington that will be receiving a strongly-worded letter.

The night ended in a packed dance club where we were greeted by the party promoter who tried to swoop me as his own escort. Miss Green made it very clear I would be going home with her, but allowed him to buy me a few drinks as well. Just. Kept. Getting. Better.

Carrie Bradshaw should've reconsidered this lifestyle.

But since this was method acting, I knew when I woke up the next morning with my angelic head resting on a plush down pillow it would all be over. I'd be trekking across Manhattan, back to my 9-5, pockets empty, once again.

VIP can't last forever.

Oh wait, yes it can, because I'm me.

Thank GOD I'm pretty,

TJB: Making It

Whining in the Wings

I thought my days of checking the cast list in vain were over. Turns out, you can do the same thing on Broadway...you just have to wait for the website to be updated (or the Playbill if you can actually afford to go see the show. I, obviously, cannot.)

My co-worker and I were discussing a role she thought I would be good for in a certain Broadway show. I would name the show, but because of my bitter demeanor due to my lack of casting or ability to obtain tickets, I refuse to freely advertise for them. Since she couldn't remember the name of the actor who played the aforementioned character (she is not a gay and is blonde so I forgive her blunder), we checked the website.

...and that's when I saw him...that lopsided smile in an ill-fitting, unpressed button-up. He stole my role.

Well...he stole my stand-by.

But it goes beyond that. I had seen him in a YouTube video years ago when all I had of Broadway was wireless internet and a rainbow aura. I quickly stalked him on Facebook like any 18 year old in a Musical Theatre program would do and begged for friendship...and he delivered...ooooh did he deliver. Just another under-pitch upperclassmen at the program formerly known as CAP21 (Oh...are they still calling it that?) he reached out to me with encouragement.

and then he stole my role.

SEE IF I EVER LIKE YOUR PHOTOS FROM YOUR DAYS ON THE DISNEY CRUISE LINE AGAIN!

Begging for the tour,

TJB: Making It

The Price of Fame

I spent all of yesterday knowing I had $6 to my name. No, I didn't have an emergency credit card with my daddy's name on it and my Visa was already maxed out...that's probably why I'm a platinum member...

Of course, I started off my day by purchasing a Diet Coke in the midst of a gay breakdown. When the Diet Coke didn't help, I purchased an iced coffee from Starbucks. I was embarrassed to have to order a grande for fear the card would be rejected with the price of a venti.

so then I was down to like...$youdothemath.75

As I arrived at work (you'll remember I'm a full-time employee now and still broke), I felt something funny underneath my shoe. I lifted my foot to see if I had stepped on something. Oh no, it was just a large hole torn in the bottom of my favorite patent leather sneakers. The shoes that had carried me through such beautiful memories (ex. the most unsuccessful NYC showcase in history) were even beginning to fall apart.

If my fashion couldn't hold up, what hope did I have?

I laid my head down at my desk and softly began to sob into my keyboard. My beautiful blonde co-worker (and coincidentally good friend Guppy) spoke to me in her soft, soothing voice and whispered the magic phrase:

"I'm taking you out for a drink."

Gulping down my G&Ts we discussed the balance of happiness and money. Sure money couldn't buy you happiness, but with holes in my designer shoes on my feet and roots that needed some lovin on my head, something had to be done.

As we began to think about our futures, I realized that even when I do reach fame, there's no way to ensure that I won't crash right back down to the rock-bottom, stank-pit life I'm living now....and then it hit me.

I had the most genius idea I've ever had.

I will slowly begin to release nude photos of myself into the public. SURE, some random people who haven't heard of me in years will wonder why me, a nobody, is e-mailing them nude photos of myself...and SURE, some random people will only use those pictures to elaborate upon filthy, filthy fantasies they've been having of me since 8th grade...

but when the time comes and I've won my three Tony's (2 for acting, one for lifetime achievement) and I'm 32 and sitting alone forgotten in Midtown EAST (the horror), I can recontact my list of nude-photo holders and they'll know exactly what to do.

and we'll all benefit.

So reserve your blog space now Perez Hilton because my tush has a future date to re-gain fame. This boy is going from Playbill to Playgirl and skipping right over bankruptcy.

For the rest of you...cross your fingers...you might have a present waiting in your inbox.

Don't forget to check your texts.

Not you mom,

TJB: Making It

Fiji Fail

I had an audition this morning...sure I looked too young for the roles, sure it wasn't my vocal style, sure it mean I'd have to move to some state called Connecticut for a few months and probably get paid in jellybeans and skittles...but I wanted to kick its ass.

When I exited Penn Station (probably my least favorite subway stop ever fyi) I was dripping in sweat and my vocal chords were dry. I spotted a Duane Reade on the corner (I call it Walgreens) and knew exactly what I needed to nail the audition.

FIJI WATER

I was going to swag my way up to Ripley Grier looking like a champ, sippin my H2O like a pro, and weren't nobody gon say shiz.

Then I got on the wrong elevator...but don't worry, a very ornery young lady was nice enough to point out how irritating it was I had to take the right elevator up just one floor...she was a ginger with frizzy hair and terrible shoes and bad skin.

DON'T MESS WITH ME WHEN I'M IN MY AUDITION OUTFIT

Anyway, forget her. I arrived to the audition, they were running on time, and my vocal chords were soothed by the waters of Fiji. My Fiji water and I even had a good laugh at the case of Poland Springs water sitting on the bench. This was going to be great.

I entered the room like a ray of sun. They asked about my relation Christine. We had a good laugh. I sang my ass off. I owned my exit. The assistant outside raved. I took a seat to wait for more info.....

.....and then they thanked me for auditioning.....I could leave....

It took everything in my soul not to run back in and chuck my bottle of Fiji water at the piano. THAT WAS A $2.22 BOTTLE OF FIJI WATER! IT WAS SUPPOSED TO GET ME A CALLBACK! YES I CAN PLAY LATE 20s!

and that's why my future solo tour will not be stopping in Connecticut.

Crawling back to Poland Springs,

TJB: Making It

Brooke, Boobs and Besties

I saw this again...um...I don't have anything else to say...

BUT right before that I had dinner at my favorite restaurant Vynl with one of my favorite gals T.Cook.

You know those times when you just sit down to dinner with somebody and you just talk for an hour straight and you just feel so good about life? That's dinner with T.Cook.

And if you ask me, her boobs looked better than Brooke's.

GET THIS BITCH ON STAGE!

Sorry, what did you say?

I was staring at your boobs,

TJB: Making It