What makes my life colorful?
I am surrounded by beautiful, sun-kissed actors and models, producers and writers, movers and shakers. But you can spot me easily as I'm the one with chalk-stick legs, no Botox, and still wearing a teen-charm bra at this age. I dabble in the glamorous and colorful industry of movies. But I am not a glamorous or colorful woman by industry standards. It's the humiliating adventures that add a little color to my life. Years ago when I ventured into Hollywood for my first screenwriting seminar and networking party I promised my corn-fed Ohio mother that I would do her proud. I would NOT dress like a tomboy. I would stuff my size 8-and-a-halves into a pair of killer heels. I would glide on the lip gloss, sweep on the eye shadow – and for the love of Pete, I would even wear fake press-on nails at my mother's request.
"We don't want you looking like a corn-pone in the big city!" she said.
I decked myself out in all the glimmers, shimmers and potions you can imagine. Suit? Smart. Hair? Not horrific. And my fingers sported 10 glossy coral-colored Lee press-on nails.
After mingling with the crowd for an hour I found myself near the hors douvres table where a large butter sculpture of a swan swam on a bed of lettuce. Tiny goldfish crackers were sprinkled around the swan like confetti. (I don't get it either. I was hoping that if I shared that image someone might shed some light on what that was all about.) Standing next to the swan was a rather unassuming looking man. Bespectacled. Nervous. Quiet. I introduced myself thinking he was just another overwhelmed writer. After a few comments about the butter swan and scarfing down a couple handfuls of goldfish crackers he invited me to pitch my scripts. I had met my first producer … and I had a mouth full of goldfish mush embedded in my gums. A quick swig of Sprite and I was ready to go.
