She'll Take It Read Online Free

gripping their headshots and resumes, trying their best to intimidate each other out of the line. They were auditioning the union actors first, so us non-unioners had plenty of time on our hands to do what unemployed actresses did best—feed off each other’s insecurities like a production of A Chorus Line meets Lord of the Flies.
    At the time I was enrolled in serious acting classes and considered myself better than the phony, tap dancing divas that surrounded me. I was a method actor, studying at the Village School of Acting, where I was immersed in the practice of Sense Memory. The concept was to bring your real-life experiences to bear in the roles you were playing instead of “pretending” to be someone else. No matter what role you were playing, you simply had to scour your memory for an experience in your past that matched the one your character was immersed in.
    For example, if you were playing someone in a fearful situation, you needed to dredge up a fearful memory and simply insert that memory into your scene. More than once I’ve longed to be the victim of an armed robbery or a carjacking just to ingrain myself with a shot of pure terror. It’s brilliant because everything in life becomes fodder for your work as an actress. Aunt Betty died? Use it! Use dead Aunt Betty the next time you need to cry in a scene. Unless you hated Aunt Betty, in which case you could dredge up her hateful memory to make you shake with rage or vibrate with disgust. Did your favorite childhood cat get run over by a truck? Yes it’s very sad, it’s tragic—but it’s golden material! Everybody in my class dredged up these painful, wonderful memories, and we used it to make ourselves laugh, cry, or spew rage all over each other. Acting is the art of the damned, and I was its humble servant.
    So while the other actresses were chatting and strutting and bragging, I was scouring my inner soul for my relationship to milk. I knew if I could dredge up a really powerful, painful memory of milk, I would get the part. Problem was, I was lactose intolerant.
    Okay, I’m not exactly lactose intolerant, I just can’t stand the stuff. On the other hand, I had really nice breasts, and I was hoping that would balance out the whole hating milk thing. Unfortunately, as I looked around the sea of cleavage surrounding me, it became apparent that everyone else was banking on their beautiful breasts, and in a fit of inspiration I knew I had until my turn in line to become one with milk.
    Mmm, milk. Mmmmmm. Miiillk. Should I be sexy or coy? Or both. Maybe I could do it with a Russian accent. I was really good at accents. Da. Milk. Maybe I should think about milkshakes! I do like a thick, frothy milkshake. MMM Da Milkshake. Drop the stupid Russian thing . Mmmm, milkshakes! Does the body good. Except they make you fat. Strike that! Don’t even think fat or you’ll project an aura of fat. Shit, why did I do that? Think skinny, Melanie! Mmm, skim milk. Does the body good!
    This isn’t working. The great acting teacher Uta Hagen would tell me to use the technique of substitution. I don’t have to like milk! I just have to substitute something I like and imagine it’s milk. No—not something I like. Something I love. Something I’ve gotta have for milk. Go deep, Melanie. Yes, that’s exactly what I have to do. What shall I use for my substitution?
    Chocolate? Sex? Fame? Wait a minute—what if I substitute this very audition for milk? I want to get this part more than I want anything else in the world—so this part will become milk. Yes! I want this part with my very soul, and therefore I want milk with my very soul. God I’m brilliant. Mmm. Milk. Does the body gooooooood. Yes, I’ve got it.
    And three hours later I get to say it. “Don’t be sexy” the woman coming out of the windowless room whispers to me as I’m about to go in. “They’re sick of