… And then I found myself completely out of my element, surrounded by actual singers, as in- voice teachers, theatre majors, baritones, and a microbiologist.
Welcome to my Les Miserables audition.
I believe this was the utterance of my thoughts to myself:
“Fuck. what was I thinking?! I’m scared to sing in front of my Rockstar unless I’ve the help of my good friend Jack Daniels. “They’re all gonna laugh at you!” What was that line from anyway? Whatever. What’s the worse that could happen?”
“You could become the inspiration for one of those horrendous audition montages you always see in movies. You know- the ones where the terrible singers all make fools of themselves, and then one amazing singer shows up and automatically blows everybody away.”
“But why couldn’t I be the one who blows everybody away?” I wondered sadly to myself.
“Because this isn’t a fucking boob competition, dumbass.” Myself is sometimes painfully honest to…myself.
“Well, at least this girl next to me has purple feet.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what the casting directors are going to be looking at. Her feet. PShhh. You’re pathetic.”
I p’shawed myself. “Well, they’re gonna look at MINE! ‘Cause I gots beautiful red heels on.” I mentally stuck my tongue out at myself.
“Ooh! The piano is free! We should go play it, and leave a talented impression, ‘cuz you know your singing isn’t gonna impress no one.” Myself speaks in Southern uneducated black woman bad English sometimes.
“Fine.” I go to the piano because I know she’s right.
Of course it would happen that the first audition I ever go to draws a crowd of hopefuls numbering 300. After sitting in a hallway for 5 hours with singers warming up and “lalala”-ing, I wasn’t a bit nervous. I just knew there was no way in hell I was getting a part, even if there were 301 parts to cast. But dammit, I fuckin’ stayed anyway, and I DID what I said I was going to- luckily the directors had the decency to compliment me on my choice of song-Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin’, even if I DID choke and make up a few words. No surprise when I didn’t get a call back today. The only consolation I have is that the people who can actually sing were just a wee bit disappointed when I had to cease my stellar piano playing to go make a fool of myself. That, and the fact that in all 300 people, I was one of the cutest, (the other being an amazing male singer with a nicely-shaped disturbingly shiny shaved head) and was the only one stupid enough to wear 6 inch heels. The Miserable indeed.