I should have known better than to go to an on-camera class when I wasn’t feeling particularly confident with myself.
When I got in front of the camera yesterday and was told to slate (say my name, phone number, height) and I couldn’t remember my phone number at first I should have read the writing on the wall and just left the class right then. Because of course I forgot the entire script and just went into freeze mode. Standing in front of the entire class, behind the camera, I was like a dog in a Halloween costume. You know what look I’m talking about.
So I started reciting what I could remember, but for some reason the lines came out of my mouth sounding like Ron Burgandy.
“Just say the lines like a human,” the instructor shouted.
And my mind went, what’s a human? What am I? Where am I? My brain no know words.
It was terrible.
You want to know what threw me off? (Besides being on camera, that’s hard as shit guys I’m not kidding.) What threw me off was all of the pretty young actors in the class.
One girl in particular was super cute. Fresh out of college. Had black shiny hair like I’d never seen in person before, it was cut into a sharp long bob. She looked like Oliva Munn, but cuter. And younger. She had on tight fitting jeans, a crisp white shirt and a cool leather jacket.
And there I was sitting in my stupid fat grandma sweater feeling like an ugly old curmudgeon who just crawled out of my rat hole under the garage trying to make my old lady dreams come true of reading scripts on camera like Ron Burgandy. Like my friend Jake would say, I felt like a real garbage person. Why do I always wear ugly grandma sweaters? WHY?
And then when the instructor cast us with scene partners she put all of the young hot college kids together and she put me with the old man who had a cane. And an eye patch. And a humpback. And a pigeon. She put me with the pigeon lady from Home Alone basically.
What I’m trying to say is it’s my birthday on Saturday. And I think it might be weighing on me.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m exactly where I want to be in life right now.
You know, if I was turning sixteen.
Going to on camera classes with 20 year olds… Getting to ride on the back of my boyfriend’s cool new scooter… I have a t-shirt business that is killing it! (And by killing it I mean I can pay rent.) And I might be getting brand new braces soon (bottom teeth only, nbd.)
Oh, and my Instagram photo got 200 likes a few days ago… So yeah, 16 year old me is doing pretty damn good. Jealous? You should be.
27 year old me, soon to be…. 28 is another story.
What in the hell was I doing right after college? Why was I just dicking around waisting time? Why wasn’t I trying harder? Why am I still not trying hard? What am I doing now? Where is time going?
Help me, I’m lost.
Past the age of 25 birthdays have started to cause me mini panic attacks. Can you tell?
On one hand I’m the happy bday girl dancing around in a fun dress basking in the birthday glow. But on the other hand I’m saying oh shit oh shit oh shit about turning another year older and still feeling like a complete loser.
A complete and utter loser.
I know what I want to do. I know where I want to go. But I’m not getting there.
I’m scared I’m going to turn into the old pigeon lady at acting class. At what point do I throw in the towel and say hey, at least I made a half ass attempt to do what I’ve always wanted to do, but now it’s time for me and Harlow to get on our chunk of ice and set out to sea.
Don’t mind me, I’ll be back to my unwarranted confident self tomorrow. I’ve just got a case of the “I’m turning one year older and am scared shitless my life is going nowhere” blues.
*Today’s post is sponsored by all of my insecurities, doubts, and mistakes in life! All opinions are my own!