Funk it all, This is the year of Annie!!! I am not really an actor and I'm too short to be a model in America, but Mississippi goddam, there may not be a tomorrow, and so now is the time to grab life by the short curlies and say "Listen world, ready or not, here I come, and I am going to rock you. Hard. Annie-style."

I'm a writer, so I write a lot, and watch television a lot, talk to my cats a lot and try without luck a lot to cyber-stalk Vincent D'onofrio, who I love, really and truly love, but who doesn't seem to own a computer. Anyway, right now I am also trying to get onto this reality program on Oxygen -- it's all about women with phobias, i.e. the phobia show. I'm Agoraphobic, which is pretty much the worst one, so I thought for sure I'd be the star of That show. But by god it didn't happen.

Unfortunately, during the interview process I may or may not have inadvertantly insulted the Oxygen Network (their programming), The Bad Girls Club, and/or the contract I was given to sign. I may or may not have said that it was literally the worst idea for a television show that anyone has ever had, ever, in the world, ever, and so that I was increasingly anxious to hitch my wagon to THAT star.

I mean, The Worst Show Ever has cache and is ultimately going to be memorable and covered, so I really didn't see it as an insult per se. It's spin. The original working title for the show, "Face Your Worst Nightmare," speaks for itself vis a vis inevitable litigation by phobic women and their analysts, but I'm pretty sure that was only a joke. Pretty sure... So, you see, it's really not such a bad idea for a show at all. It could actually help people. Crazies. Like me. Sometimes I sabotage myself, you know, for fun.

I also gave the casting producer multiple suggestions, such as the show could be called The Sad Girls Club, and then the Bad Girls could help out and teach the phobics how to pop off and drink to relieve tension, and we could teach them stuff too like what having shame feels like. At the end of the show, everyone has learned a valuable lesson. (Actually, I admire those girls. Their so-called badness-- which is an unfair judgment to cast upon anyone-- may come from a place of pain, but they really know how to be in the moment. I wish one of them would take me under her wing and show me how to live. "Annie and the Bad Girls". Split, man... It could happen.)

So anyway, I didn't get the job, not yet anyway, but I've gotten so endeared by the possibility of possibly being on television that I will be facing a ten piece bucket of bringdown chased with special killjoy sauce if a little scrap of TV exposure doesn't find me this year or someday at least before I turn dead. I mean, as an agoraphobe, television is pretty much my life.

The television addiction has moved from just watching TV all the time to actually wanting to get inside the box with all my imaginary friends, or at least wanting to be snarked and made fun of by Joel Mchale or Perez Hilton or some talking heads on MTV, VH1's "Best Week Ever" or Bravo. I would be perfect for that show, and I could only make it better, even if I don't 100 percent agree with the basic tenets of Facing My Worst Nightmare on the Oxygen Network. I mean, I love television, god knows it has never done wrong by me, and now I wanna do right by it.

I love everything about television, I love everyone ON television, the characters, the actors, the hosts, I love people who write for television, I love the jokes, the cheap shots, the gestures, the expressions, the wardrobe malfunctions, the bad grammar, I love television sets, I love reading about television, I love the people who fix televisions, I love the little kids who make televisions, I love my remote control, I love Tivo, I have a huge hard-on for television.

Yes, I really wanted the show - to be on/in the TV set that I love so well, to have some break, some small, regrettable misadventure. And my dream of being on television cannot be dead. I starved myself all week for that webcam interview for nil and then I couldn't poop at all. I coulda died like Elvis, in my favorite room, waiting, just waiting for a break...

BUT, here's my scheme for winning back the heart of a certain casting producer named Luke: I'm following the example of Joaquim Phoenix and getting aboard the caucasian/batshit crazy hip-hop train. My first venture into dropping beats will be in the form of a little ditty called "Get Ovah (Get Ovah) Yah Phobia (Huh)," and it's going to be hot.

My Facebook link is down below, please message me if you try it and it doesn't work. I'm also on Skype and Windows Live Messenger as Silvermannie and on Myspace as monkeytozero. A video of some kind is to be added soon. My other profile can be found under Annapproximately, which is on Match. com.

Yes, I'm online dating. Jealous? And, for the record, I really DO want to get married. Someday. Why not on reality TV? I can't think of anything more apt, even more romantic. I think I may be the only one in the casting who is actually willing to go ahead and get arranged-married. At 33, worse things could happen to me, no? I could die alone in my Brooklyn apartment and get my face eaten off by my cats. Or I could get arranged-married. Let's root for the latter!

Help me Kathy Griffin, I didn't even make the list. Help me, Tyra, I can't smile with my eyes, I think you made that up, Help Me Chelsea, Lately I am Facebook-engaged to my cat. And I love you. I mean I really and truly love you...

(On a sidenote, you all fuckin' rock and I'll keep on voting for you no matter what. You can vote for me or not, it's a free country, it's your decision and all. Some of you have real talent and I'm honored to know you. I mean, really honored. Good luck to everyone, I hope you all have fun, comic misadventures you can tell your grandkids about someday... "And To you, may all the weird worlds be opened" --e.e. cummings. That's what she said.)

Holding back tears, inadvertant insults, blaming things on other people, dog grooming, air guitar, decent impression of Ellen Page in Juno, catching the light, making loud noises when I blow my nose, eating cookies two at a time, cat dancing, comedy writing, being funny in a sad way or sad in a funny way, smiling to hide the pain, laughing to chase away the tears, being good at sex, baton twirling.

Commercial
Primary	The Face of Vaginal Dryness	N/A
Theatre
Written by Harriet Halloway	Bea Arthur	Wide-Set Vagina: The Ricky Lake Story