Girly Girls and Tomboys

I'm still trying to decide whether to keep blogging. It seems a bit narcissistic and I'm not sure I want my thoughts archived for just anyone to read. Some friends have encouraged me to keep writing though, so here goes.

A lot of people told me it was crazy risky to head for an unknown future in Hollywood. Maybe they were right, based on some of the advice I've been getting.

So I've been advised to look more "Hollywood" - closer to how directors would cast me. 

The problem is my outside says "girly girl" - not just any girly girl, the PERKY one - but my inside still screams tomboy.  Don't let my curves and sweet demeanor fool you.

I was such a tomboy growing up that I'd charge girls a nickel for "protection" on the grade school playground.  For five cents, I'd threaten the boys with boxing moves my dad taught me if they tried to peek under the girls' dresses to see their underpants.

I was pretty intimidating. So strong and fast and TALL (early growth spurt) that our sixth grade teacher even gave me my own gym class along with her son. Brett and I were the biggest kids in school; teachers were afraid we might accidentally maim the other kids kicking a soccer ball or tackling them.

My self-image apparently remains rooted back on the playground (though I haven't threatened to beat anyone up. lately).  

Still, my acting coach is encouraging me to work on the girly stuff.  You know: wearing more makeup; slapping extensions in the hair; wearing more form-fitting clothes - the kind of stuff that matters immensely in Hollywood.  

And so I'm reminded of a viewer's advice at my first TV job. She'd written a note on a Kleenex saying: "Honey, blot your lips!"  

So here I am in Hollywood. Finally blotting.

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