My name is Angela.  I am an actor.  I have a new blog and a fuzzy cat named Ozzy who likes to stare at me.  He likes to lay on my desk and sit on my lap while I'm working, and he takes exquisite pride in getting his long hairs stuck to my fingers so they end up in my eyes and mouth.  I have lived in Los Angeles for the past five years and I love it here.  I am racing the clock.

I have auditions for two musicals next week.  I thought that in Los Angeles I'd be going out for more films and television shows, but apparently plays are easier to get auditions for without a theatrical agent.  On the casting websites, I submit myself for anything and everything I might possibly be right for--student films, independent films, webisodes, plays, musicals, table reads, scenes to be shot in college classes--but most of the projects posted for those of us who are unrepresented are looking for girls willing to take off their tops, Scandanavian dance troupes, little people, amazon women, amputees, or circus performers.  I am proud to say that I am none of these things, but I WANT TO WORK.

...And so, I will keep sending out headshots, resumes, and postcards with my picture on them, crossing my fingers that someone will notice the spark in the eyes of the girl in the clear photo envelope staring up at them from the top of the stack of headshots in the mail bin, and pray that they will actually give a damn and give that girl a chance, and do good work for her.  And I will keep auditioning for plays and student films, doing showcases and nagging my commercial agent to send me out so I can land that job (she hasn't sent me out in a month and a day and I am NOT happy about it!), and I will shoot those scenes with my friend and edit that reel, and I will bust my ass every single day until I explode or move to Iowa. 

I am Angela.  And I am racing the clock.