here's something i have been playing with...
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I was just 21 when I first stepped off the plane and into the California heat. Excitement coursed through my veins and a giggle bubbled in my throat as I stepped out of LAX and spun myself around slowly, taking it all in. I was here!

I was one of thousands of shiny-faced, new hopefuls that arrived that summer. I’d done my homework, I knew the stats. Most would never make it, some would die trying. But I was different. In my heart I knew, I would find what I was looking for here.

I had $3,000 in savings, my portfolio and my dreams. My parents were mortified when I announced my plans and refused to support my decision. Time had eased the tension enough that they had seen my off at the airport but not without strain. And not without my mom trying one last time to get me to give up on this pipe dream, as she called it.

“Be serious Tasha,” my mother spoke sternly. “Do you really think a girl from small town Canada is going to be a big star in Hollywood? It’s not too late to change your mind, you know…”

I smiled sadly and looked from my mother to my father. I hugged each of them in turn and stepped back as the announcement for my flight called over the loudspeakers. “I’ll find my place, Mom,” I said quietly but with conviction. “Count on it.” With that, I turned and made my way through security without even a glance back.

I can’t recall the first time I felt this restless emptiness, it had been a part of me for so long. Growing up, I had always felt as though a piece of me was missing. Through the years I had plenty of opportunities to reflect on that, and the flight was no exception. I wondered what it was inside of me that seemed to have me constantly searching, and for what? Was it excitement, belonging, fame…maybe a combination of all that…maybe more. All I knew was that I hadn’t found it yet.

I rented a limo at the airport and stared, wide-eyed all the way to Hollywood. It was as beautiful as I had imagined. The sun was beating down, casting a surreal golden glow on the buildings. The palm trees stood majestically tall, wavering slightly in the breeze and the ocean sparkled invitingly alongside as the driver made his way north on the 405 before turning inland to our destination.

I gasped with delight as the Hollywood sign came into my sight for the first time. I had always been a little star struck and for as long as I could remember, I had wanted to be here, to see this place and take part in this life. I snapped a photo as we continued, to remind myself of this moment.

The limo slowed to a stop in front of The Standard hotel, right in the middle of the famed Sunset Strip. As the driver came around to open my door, I donned my trendy, over-sized sunglasses, tousled my fingers through my long, blonde curls and took a deep breath. I flashed him a huge smile as I accepted his offered hand and stepped regally from the car.

My skin tingled and the hair on my arms stood on end as goosebumps dotted my skin. There was an electricity in the air that was undeniable. Curious tourists, with cameras poised, lined the sidewalks as they whispered to each other, wondering. Don’t you worry, I thought to myself as I made my way to the main doors, you’ll know who I am soon enough.

I checked myself into my reserved room and unpacked quickly, eager to be settled in my new home. Exhausted but happy, I flopped down on the bed and placed a collect call to my parents, to let them know I had arrived safely.

I didn’t notice my mothers cool quiet as I rambled on enthusiastically about what I’d seen so far. Our call ended with her comment, “Tasha, enjoy a little vacation, have some fun…and then come home.” I started to remind her that this was not a vacation but stopped myself. What was the use? We ended our call with bitter disappointment in each other.

I allowed myself the luxury of two days to play tourist and check out my new home town. At 5’5”, with my tumbling-loose blonde curls hanging nearly to my waist and vibrant green eyes, I imagined myself to fit right in as a born and bred California Girl. Of course, my wide-eyed stare and constant companion of my camera gave me away instantly, not to mention my skin, still as white as the driven snow.

I walked along Hollywood Boulevard looking at the stars and thinking about the day that my own name would be added. I knelt in front of Mann’s Chinese Theatre and pressed my hands into the cement prints of Dean Martin and Sophia Loren, feeling the power of their legends. I splurged on a dinner at Spago’s and a night at the Viper Room. I window shopped Rodeo Drive and took a guided tour of the stars homes in Beverly Hills, dreaming about attending my first party at the Playboy Mansion. And everywhere I went I watched, and I listened and I learned.

My days were spent pounding the pavement, with portfolio in hand. I went to every general casting call I could find but someone else was always just right for the role. I purchased a book that listed all the licensed agents in the area and made appointments at each office. The story was always the same – too tall, too short, too thin, too heavy, too blonde, not blonde enough – but I kept trying.

If my days were full of work, my nights were busy with the same. I spent my time, with a small group of friends I met at auditions, going from one place to another until the wee hours of the morning. We visited every see and be seen location we could squeeze into each night. Mostly we spent our time in line, trying to get in. Once night we were with someone, who knew someone and we excitedly approached the private entrance of the Skybar, but we were still turned away.

Celebrity sightings became commonplace and I developed the habit of greeting them respectfully every time. “Good morning Miss Roberts,” I would cheerfully smile as I passed her on Rodeo Drive. “Good evening Mr Perry,” I would comment as I glided by his table in the House of Blues. Sometimes they would smile but more often than not, they wouldn’t even acknowledge me. One day they will know you, I reminded myself quietly and continued on my way.

For the three weeks, I had faithfully called my parents on Sunday afternoons from my room. Every call had been the same. I excitedly reported on my week and then my mom would try to convince me to come home. Our relationship continued to sour with every call. On the fourth Sunday, one month after I had arrived, I ended our call abruptly, yelling into the phone, “If you can’t try to understand how important this is to me and support my dreams, I just won’t call anymore!” before slamming down the receiver, fuming.

After a few moments, the phone jangled loudly and I smiled to myself, knowing it would be my mother calling to ask my forgiveness and give me her blessing. I let it ring three times before I picked it up. Let her think about it a little, I laughed to myself and then, straightening my face and getting serious, I answered the call. “Mom…” I answered and waited for a response. “Miss Hamilton,” came the vaguely familiar voice on the other end of the line. “This is the front desk. Miss Hamilton, I’m afraid we have a problem with your room payment.”

My credit card had exceeded its limit and I was close to the end of my savings. I had no way left to pay for my room and with that, my world came crumbling down around me. I called my friend Lilly, who came right away to help me pack my things. She chattered away lightly for a few minutes and then she stopped, and took me by the arms, looking closely at me. “You’ll move in with the rest of us, of course,” she generously offered, “Just for a little while until you get back on your feet.” Stunned, I could do nothing more than nod as I followed her down the hall and out into the street with everything I owned in the suitcases we were dragging with us.

Lilly lived in a three-bedroom, walk up apartment on North Alta Loma Road with three other roommates already. Steve was her boyfriend, his friend James and a shy girl who had only arrived last week, Amanda. It was a crowded set up and I got the couch. Eventually Amanda and James became involved and starting sharing a room, which allowed me to move off the couch and into Amanda’s old room.

Lilly was a Godsend to me in those first few days, dragging me out to auditions during the day and out to the bars at night. I was growing desperate and was down to my last $50. I had to do something. With little choice left, I got a job as a waitress at the upscale eatery Morton’s…just until I landed a role, of course.

That had been 17 long months ago.