Call Me

Last week's "30 Rock" had me “lizzing” – what the very clever Tina Fey dubbed whizzing while laughing. When her character’s old slutty chat line TV commercial surfaces, I flash backed to when I auditioned for just such a gem.

At age 18, I didn't quite grasp why guys would phone strange women to chat. "Hey Trixie, what's the weather like there?" You could have reached me at 1-800-Clueless. But I wanted to act.

The audition was all about mile high hair, more makeup than a Broad Street hooker and the cheesiest lines ever. I’m sure my sultry come-hither stare looked more like confused anger as I purred, “Call me, call me now” into the camera.

I was devastated when the director didn’t “call me” to say I’d gotten the part. It didn’t occur to me that I lacked the requisite C cup and looked more like pedophile bait at that age. It’s hilarious and scary to remember how disappointed I was at missing the opportunity to humiliate myself. So if something doesn’t work out for you, it might just be a saving grace.