Episode · 1 year ago

Swiping on Set


Cleo swipes left until Tinder offers up a familiar face. Who knew these things could go from zero to sexy in all of 24 hours? (We did.)




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I Hook my thumbs into my belt loops and jump a few times, willing these slim fit Khakis to be higher rise than their cut to be. I'm not sure what I was expecting out of the Wardrobe Department, given that I'm playing a minimum wage gift shop employee, but walking into my first day of filming and being handed a light blue Polo and Khaki Pants, it's punishing, to say the least. Misery loves company, though, and luckily joy is rocking the same uniform. Even her teeny tiny figure and Perky boobs can't magic this outfit into looking like anything other than a private school uniform. fucked an IT guy. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I sort of think we are pulling off these polos. Bless her delusional little heart for thinking this looks good. By pulling off, do you mean literally pulling them off, like over our heads and straight into a trash can? Joy Cocks her head, straightening her collar, in the mirror of our diy bathroom turns dressing room. The visitor center doesn't have a lot of options in terms of rooms with doors that lock, so we're making do with what we have. I don't know. Maybe they're like best by employee chic. I nodd, slowly, making my fingers into a frame and lining up mymaginary shot with her front and center. Okay, I'm seeing it now. Girl squad meets Geek Squad, coming to a runway near you. She snickers, practicing her best supermodel poses in the mirror as I play Paparazzi with my invisible camera. I love it. Maybe this show will bring them back in style. Oh my God, please don't put that out into the universe. Two Thousand and six was a dark time for fashion. I turned back to the mirror, looking over my shoulder to triple check for any signs of visible panteline. My ass doesn't look bad. Actually, I'd sooner let Khaki make a comeback than Polos. There's a triple knock on the door and with a unison come in from joy and me, Hakim's face appears in the doorway. He does a standing impression of the thinker sizing up our messy little makeshift dressing room. So this is what a woman's bathroom looks like. We laugh, as though he didn't help us set up in here this morning, because Jakim is a sweet, overworked cinnamon roll who deserves to have his jokes laughed at. Joey, we're already when you are, Cleo, you've got a good half hour yet. You can go check out the fallows if you want. Ten Four. I give him a little salute, which is something I've literally never done before in my life. What is my deal? Are My nerves getting to me? Maybe a little fresh error will clear my mind. And if I'm back to being a lone, I might as well be alone with a view. With joy off... film her scene, I dig my phone out of my purse and shove it into the back pocket of my Khakis. Then I follow the signs out to the observation deck. Web Flix rented out the whole Visitor Center for the week, so this place is a ghost town apart from the smattering of casting crew running around. I've got the whole deck entirely to myself and that view. Well, the front desk. I wasn't kidding when he made that lame joke about fall in Niagara Falls. You'd think we were filming for National Geographic with all these vibrant autumnal colors. and not to be that girl, but this can only mean prime selfie content for the Graham. As I'm lining up my shot, trying to decide on portrait mode or no portrait mode, my phone buzzes with a notification from tinder. Oh, new match. I guess it's a bit unprofessional to be checking on potential hookups while on the job, but then again, no one is around, what's the harm? I snap a few picks, then open the APP to see the winning bachelor. I've matched with Devin twenty seven. Ooze is big Dick Energy. I'm here for it, or at least I am, until I spot his bio. Fat Girls and Liberals, Snow flakes. Swipe left. Okay, Devin, you fat phobic fuck. Why did you swipe right on me? Then? He's probably one of those douchebags who just findly fires off right swipes to have his pick of the litter. I immediately on match him with a huff. If this is any indication of the talent pool I'm working with, things aren't looking up in upstate New York. Maybe I shouldn't have bristled at Helen's off or. After all, one steven is unmatched. Tinder does me the solid of serving up yet another bachelor, as if to say, Hey, sorry about that, asshole. WHY NOT TRY PJON? For Sighs. Well, nice, try tender, but PJ is plagiarizing a skizy one thousand nine hundred and seventy five lyric and his bio and features the same doide girl in two of his photos, assuming she's not his cousin or some shit. I don't fuck with cheaters, so he goes to the left. Next is Andre, who calls himself a spiritual empath and simply cannot be taken seriously as, and I quote wordsworths rapper son. So that's a No. Suddenly I'm swiping to my heart's content, fully aware that, yes, I'm on a dating APP instead of soaking in a national monument. I better put a cap on this. Ten swipes. That's what I'll allow myself, just ten. Then I have to go back inside and prep for my scene. Okay, tender, take your best shot. I'm not looking for Mr Wright so much as I'm looking for Mr doesn't have any fish or guns in his pictures, which rules out the next three men who pop up left, left WED bummer. But the guy after that is less disappointing. He's hot, even and a little familiar.

It takes me a second to place him, but when it clicks, I nearly drop my phone into Niagara fucking falls. It's Freakin hot elevator guy or Hot Hotel Bar Guy, depending on which running you want to label him by. Beneath his first picture, which looks more like a workhead shot than a dating APP photo, is his name, Dean, age twenty nine, less than one mile away. My heart thrumbs in my chest as I click open his profile, eagerly scrolling through his chosen pictures, each one less corporate looking than the first. One shows him standing next to a few equally hot guys at a wedding, either laughing or pretending to be laughing for the picture. Is that a thing guys do do? The next is a low angle selfie in a pair of sunglasses, which is, unfortunately the only kind of Selfie any guy knows how to take. Next the coup de Gras, a shirtless beech pick showcasing a killer set of ABS and a pair of navy blue swim trunks hanging just low enough on his hips to hint at that Chiseled v shape that winds me up like a God damn clock. I shamelessly take a screenshot, knowing my future self will be grateful. But of course there's one picture left, a shot of him at a bar toasting with yet another familiar face, that disgusting drunk asshole who was playing his wingman last night. I cringe at the memory of this guy sluring his words, calling the artist formerly known as hot elevator guy a pussy machine. That shit leaves such a bad taste in my mouth. I'm so over these overgrown Frat boys who think they're whiskey. Dick is God's gift to women, and if that's the kind of Guy Dean here associates himself with, the odds are pretty high he's not my type. Maybe I'm being too judgmental, but come on, this is tinder, for Christ's sake, and APP created on the age old fundamental of judging people off of a first impression, and the impression I got from Dean says he should be a hard swipe to the left. But then again, if this choice was based off his profile alone, not our previous run INS, he'd be a no brainer, obvious swipe right. Jesus, why am I putting so much thought into a stupid tinder match. It's a swipe, not a marriage proposal. This guy could be the free drink and no strings hook up I need to keep me from rotting away in loneliness this week. Before I could make up my mind, I realize I'm no longer alone. Evan, looking bored and sucking the soul out of a vight pen, has wandered out onto the observation deck. When I catch his eye, he lifts his free hand in a halfhearted wave, then pulls the East Sig from his mouth, unleashing a huge bubble gum scented cloud. Speaking of bad first impressions,...'s the King of them. I didn't know you could smoke out here. It's more of a dig than an observation, but he doesn't take the hint not smoking. He wiggles the pen in my direction. I shake my head, no thanks. I was an offering. I was showing you I wasn't smoking. My Chin drops to my chest and I give him a look that I can only describe as unamused librarian looking over her glasses, only I don't wear glasses and Evan doesn't want to play along. Instead, he takes another long pull on the pen, maintaining eye contact with me the entire time. I pocket my phone, hiding the evidence that I'm turning online dating into a life or death situation over here, and focus my attention on the real life, non digital boy in front of me, the one who low key kind of sucks. But that doesn't mean I don't want him to at least kind of like me, or just tolerate me even it'd make the whole playing forbidden lovers thing a lot easier. And I've met a hundred guys like him before. Hell, I've slept with a few. I know exactly how they work. Have you been to Niagara Falls before? Not My smoothest conversation pivot, I admit, but the key to winning guys like Evan over is to talk about their favorite subject themselves. Nah, it's my first time. Pretty Dope though, Huh? I nod, leaning over the wall to get a better view of the miss rising off the river beneath us. It'd be too easy to make a joke that Niagara Falls can generate a way better vape cloud than Evan can, but I hold off, silently congratulating myself on my self restraint. Definitely hard to believe this is the same state as New York City. Do you live there? I live in La why am I not surprised? Jealous? It's my go too answer whenever anyone mentions living somewhere that skips all the shitty seasons. We're about Echo Park. Where is that? He's scoffs, eyes rolling back into his head. In La. No, I meant right. I chomped down on the inside of my cheek to keep from calling him out on his bullshit. Maybe Evan isn't like other guys I've met before. Maybe he's way worse. What about you? Sounding Board? As ever, he tucks the vape pen into his suits breast pocket. His character is a blackjack dealer at a casino on the Canadian side of the falls, the much fancier side compared to the tourist trap that is the American side. Lucky for him, it means he's exempt from these unflattering Polos New York. I grew up in Ohio, but HARLOM and I are coming up on our nine year anniversary. He puffs up his cheeks before letting a lifeless breath slowly leak...

...from his lips. Yes, so, what's your favorite part about La open ended question, not possible to give a yes or no response. Ten out of ten. Ice Breaker. Ivan just lifts the shoulder, fishing his vape pen back out of his pocket. Don't know, and silence again. Shit, this is a lost cause. I pull my phone out, scrolling back through Dean's photos until I'm gazing into the creamy Brown eyes of his corporate headshot again. At least our limited conversation was natural, unlike this forced torture I'm enduring at the moment. Yes, he might be a drunken playboy, but at least he'd be a hot drunken playboy and someone to keep me company this week without blowing vape smoke in my face. That's it. I'm pulling the trigger. As my thumb slides to the right, the screen dims and a tiny white box pops up featuring both our profile pictures and a giant green check mark. A BUBBLE OF EXCITEMENT FORMS IN MY belly. Well, I'll be damned, it's a match. Hakeem's familiar voice carries across the viewing deck, queuing me to power off my phone and put it away in one swift motion. WORKTIME, I guess. I'll have to wait to find out if my latest tender match is dean the Dreamy or dean the Douchey. Catch you later. I give a quick wave to Evan, which doubles in purpose as a method of weaving off the bubble gum cloud, then trot off towards Hakim. I follow close behind him as we weave through crew members and cameramen to the gift shop where joy is having her makeup touched up between shots. Now that's something I've only seen happen in movies about movies, never in real life. The director looks my way and jets her chin toward the cash register. You Ready, Carmen? For a split second I consider the very real possibility that she may be using my character name because she doesn't remember my real name, but that's a concern for another time. I'm here to work, so I follow the point of her Chin to my spot next to joy, who gives me the kind of weirdly genuine smile sorority girls give a new member, like I'm joining her in something truly beautiful and action M oh, so we're humming now. I always hum and I always hate it some and the second the cameras start rolling. I understand why. This isn't the feeling I got filming the cottage cheese commercial. It's not even the feeling I've gotten working on student films or in storefront theater productions. This is a rush and every time we redo the scene to shoot a new angle or get another take, even for a fourth or fifth time, I wait for the rush to die down or...

...just dial back a few notches. But that's the best part. It never does, not even in the afternoon when we film The flirty scene between Evan and me, which is shockingly painless. He's a good actor, I'll give him that. A whole day of shooting speeds by in a blur of takes and retakes and, unfortunately, no wardrobe changes, unless you count changing out of one Blue Polo for another identical blue Polo without pit stains. I'm still writing the rush of filming when I returned to the bathroom turned dressing room, where I pull out my phone to hunt down my next rush. As my phone boots back to life, I run through a silent pep talk in my head, the kind I'd normally rely on Ingrid for. Keep your hopes low. See he might be a mindless swiper like that fat phobic Douche I unmatched earlier, or if I misread his friendliness as flirtation yesterday. It wouldn't be the first time. But either way I got one really valuable thing out of this whole experience, a screenshot of his ABS that I can masturbate to later. So we're all winners here. My phone screen fires up, welcoming five hours worth of notifications. Snap from Ingrid, a text from Helen double checking that yes, I will be back next Monday to watch brady. My Eyes Gloss over them, landing on a Little Red Circle in the corner of my tinder rap. Dreamy and or Douchey Dean has messaged me. First. BECCA here from consensual here to talk to you about clitteracy, as the only organ in the human body designed only for pleasure. There's a reason we're never shutting up about it, and neither are our friends at or Lena. Their clit sucking vibrator was voted number two most wanted vibrator in two thousand and twenty by Holf Post. That's kind of a big deal, considering how much masturbating we all did in two thousand and twenty. And if toe curling oral at the press of a button isn't enough of a draw, buying from ORLINA also means you'll be supporting an entirely women run minority operation. Use The code hook up at checkout for ten percent off any product on their site. Plus, you'll be supporting consensual every time you get off nice. That's CODE HOOK UP FOR TEN PERCENT OFF AT O R L NA dotnet. Hey guys, it's Becka here from consensual cock blocking our regular romance programming with a quick message from our friends at early to bed. Whether your booed up or totally single, I'm just saying you deserve a new vibrator, any and every sex toy you'd ever want. You can find it at early to bed. It giving Jeff Besos your money and support this queer, friendly, woman owned Chicago based sack shop that has guaranteed the world better sex since two thousand and one. That's twenty years of orgasms. With an extensive collection of curated toys to choose from, this feminist sex shop aims to be accessible to adults of all genders, orientations, experience levels and relationship statuses. Yeah, sisters, are doing it for...

...themselves. Find them on instagram at early to bed. That's the number two, and online at early to bedcom again, that's the number two. Fast, discrete shipping, check, top notch customer service, double check, founded on the kind of feminist sex positivity that we're all about. Do you even have to ask? All right, all right, let's get back to Cleo and dean. Catch you later, masturbaders. Put the phone down and let me complain about my swollen feet with your undivided attention. Monica's voice echoes inside the Indoor Pool Chamber and I snap my eyes up just in time to dodge the spray of water she sends my way. I stuffed the phone in my pocket and raise my hands in surrender. Please tell me more about your Bunyans. She flicks her wrist, sending another splash in my direction. This time the water lands on my loafers. Watch the shoes. These puppies don't do well in moisture. Hmm, that's what you got. Throwing the POTANS to the pool. I didn't realize this work conference would require board shorts. She shrugs, leaning her elbows on the edge of the pool, I take a seat on one of the lounge chairs. We have the pool mostly to ourselves, save for a few old dudes hogging the hot tub. I pull my phone back out of my pocket to find another tender message notification waiting for me. My Gut does a triple axel. Time to put my charm in overdrive. My usual jokes are going nowhere with this one. Earth Tadan, what's going on with you? You've been glue to your phone all day. Oh it's just say you're answering emails and I'll climb out of this pool and throw you in myself. I should have known. Monica's always had a solid radar for bullshit. I Sigh and rub my hand over my eyes. Maybe if I say it fast she won't give me as much grief. I met someone. I think I'm in the process of meeting someone. She smiles and props her Chin on her hands. Tell me everything. I explain my brief history with Cleo, the elevator, the hotel bar, the tinder match. Monica nods along, her smile widening by the second. Oh my God, you like her. I can't help the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. Leave it to Monica to see right through me in a heartbeat. I run my hand along the back of my neck and shrug. She's just unlike anyone else I've met before. Dean, Holy Shit, you've had about point two interactions with this girl and you're already gushing. I don't know if gushing is the word I'd use, but yeah, I like her. She pushes...

...away from the edge of the pool, stretching her arms over her head until I swear I hear something in her back pop. She sighs and looks at me with her face screwed up in a knowing smile. For you, this is gushing. My mind snaps to the other night at the hotel bar. Maybe Monica is right. From the few interactions we've had so far, I've learned that a Cleo is confident, be Cleo is sexy as hell and see Cleo is just, I don't know, different, the kind of different I want to take to dinner and learn meaningful information about, the kind of different that gets under your skin and stays there long after it's gone, the kind of different that always has me this close to feeling like an idiot. Every brief moment I've had with her has been a rush and I can only imagine how mind blowing she'd be in the sack, and I've done my fair share of man engining. But I saw the look on her face when todd crashed our conversation. I have to see her again, which means I've got to salvage what I can of this relationship. To do that, I have to use the only resource available to me, tinder chat. I've already got the ball rolling with a smooth opener. Please tell me you got chicken fried rice, simple, to the point, a call back to the bar. It's my best attempt at making the transition from guy she's seen around the hotel to guys she thinks is cool and funny and definitely wants to fuck. And, based on her response, and I think I'm on the right track, I'm more of a low main girl myself. Love a good nude. I read the exchange to Monica and she stares at me blankly. That's it. What do you mean? I mean, it's a start, but dean, come on. I cross my arms. I didn't realize I was speaking with the tinder chat police. She narrows her eyes and points to her belly. How do you think I got this Bun in this oven? I don't know. You've been married for five years, four years and eight months. It takes work to keep a spark alive. You know, believe it or not, this baby was not on purpose. Fine, what do you think I should say? Local harbinger of love and sex related wisdom? She scoffs in exasperation. Just keep asking her about herself. Show her you're interested. There's nothing worse than a self absorbed asshole who won't let you get a single word it. Don't be an asshole. Great, thanks for the tip. She rolls her eyes. Try. Are they name? That's what brought you to Niagara. I Sigh and type out Monica's suggestion. I had send and wait for those three little dots to appear. Did you send it? Monica's voice is...

...a little too loud. She's floating on her back now, her ears just under the surface. I give her a thumbs up. Why did she say nothing yet? I like this girl doesn't want to seem thirsty. I lock the screen just as the phone pings, and I quickly unlock it to view the message. She said yes, and a week of filming for a show I just landed. I'm guessing you're here for the mysterious conference. That's a good sign. She's interested in you too. Tell her about the thirty under thirty. CLEO and I go back and forth for a few minutes. She explains what her shows about and I tell her about the panel. It's pretty standard stuff, but there's some kind of energy underlying our conversation that I can't quite name. Whatever it is, I like it. How about a do over at the hotel bar tonight at seven? I hit send and watch the DOTS come on. Cleo, just give me another shot eight. Don't bring your friend way ahead of you, Cleo. A couple hours later, I've changed into clothes that don't smell like chlorine and made my way back to the hotel bar. I wouldn't say I'm nervous. I'm excited, anxious even to see cleo again, to confirm that the spark between us is as undeniable as I think it is. I belly up to the polished wooden bar, making sure to choose an opening with at least one empty stool. I make eye contact with the bartender, a short guy in a penguin suit, who nods before turning back to the craft cocktail he's making. Against my better judgment, I check the time on my phone. I'm early and only half worried the girl I've apparently been gushing about all afternoon won't actually show. You Clean Up Nice in a tight black skirt with buttons down the front and a top that has my brain going hay wire. CLEO has more than shown up to this date. Same to you. My fingers brush her waist as I invite her to take a seat next to me. She looks so good I almost lean into kiss her on the cheek, but that's the kind of thing the old me would do. The current at me is pretty sure that, outside cultures where that's the norm, that's just an invasion of someone's personal space. What's your poison? I flagged the bartender down and he walks towards us while Cleo scours the cocktail menu. One Niagara and new GROANI please. She says it more to me than the bartender, before giving him a wide smile. Make that too out of habit. I lay my card on the bar before the TAB is even mentioned, and the bartender takes it, the metal clinking as he taps it against the wood. Open. I nod and turned to find...

...cleo staring at me with a smirk on her face. What we get it? You're rich. My family's rich. The card is the last of my residuals. Sounds like something a rich person would say. Her eyebrow curls as she rests an elbow on the bar. The shift in posture gives me an even better view of her body. Damn, it's going to be hard to focus. Well, what about you, a young, beautiful, wide eyed actress carded all the way to Niagara? You've got to be swimming in it. She snorts and the bartender returns with our drinks. She thanks him and we clink our glasses. I raise my eyebrows to let her know she hasn't escaped the question. I might be swimming in something, but it's definitely not funny. Oh is there a word for that feeling where you think something life changing is right around the corner her, but then you can't tell if it's your big break or a huge fucking disaster? I pause and sit my drink, the bite of vermouth warming my throat anxiety. She laughs. It's sexy, deep and in her chest, like she's not afraid to let you know what she thinks. I don't know. I love the kid I nanny, but I can't help feeling like I'm getting too old for my main work responsibilities to include after school pick up and making sure he eats his vegetables. But now you have your show, where I'm assuming your main responsibilities are reciting words from a script and looking pretty okay, ouch. We gotta find you a less reductive definition of acting. I square my shoulders to her and lean in, my eyes dipping to her cleavage for just a split second. She notices her lips twisting into a half smile enlighten me. Then her eyes flash with something dark and needy and her lips part my room. Ten minutes bring another round. She pulls a key from her purse and places it on the bar. I Arch Brow and she gives me a challenging look. This grabbing a drink has escalated quicker than I ever could have imagined, but that doesn't mean I can't keep up. I take the key and she takes her drink, leaving me to settle the TAB. I flag the bartender down while my mind races with the possibilities of what I'll find behind her hotel room door. Ten minutes later I'm standing in another nondescript hallway, a grone's in hand, trying to figure out how to swipe the key card without spilling bright orange liquid down my front. I'm about to resort to knocking when the door swings open. CLEO's standing in front of me in the same close as before, but a darker lipstick defines her full lips. Only this time she looks at me not with interest or approval, but with surprise, like she's never seen me before.

Can I help you? Sorry, I couldn't get the key out of my pocket. I'm sorry and you are. I stare at her and disbelief. What the fuck is happening? She holds my gaze, her expression unchanged, and then it hits me. She's acting. She's teaching me how to act. I clear my throat and stand up straight. Here with your Negroni, my acting voice comes out robotic and monotone. I crack Cleo a weak smile, but she ignores me, waving me in and sacheting into the room, where she perches on the edge of the bed. I hander the drink and take a few gulps of my own. She does the same, her eyes trained on me as she tilts the glass to her lips. What makes you think you can just show up here unannounced? Her tone is sharp and accusatory, but her face is telling a different story, one where she's into me, one where she wants me bad role playing. I'm game. I down the drink and slam the glass on the table. It makes a sound louder than I meant to and I flinch and mouth sorry. But CLEO is unfazed. She's somehow managed to hold all that tension, all that raw desire, despite my own fumbling attempts to keep up. I think I'm starting to understand the lesson. Sitting on the bed next to her, I meet her gaze. Just the look on her face sends a shiver down my spine, and I'm ninety percent certain I can't hide it nearly as well as she can. The the thing is, you drive me crazy. I haven't stopped thinking about you since we met. The words are less robotic now, probably because I mean them. She sniffs and turns away, but her hand stays mere inches from my own. Can I kiss you to show you what I mean? A random piece of information from the one Improv Class I took in college floats into my brain. The whole yes and thing. It feels wrong in this moment and I hope it doesn't apply, but something tells me me cleo wouldn't be here if she was still relying on the wisdom from some Balding Jackass who wouldn't shut up about the one time he got an SNL audition. When she looks at me, it's clear it's Cleo and not whoever she was pretending to be, who's leaning toward me. She grabs me by the Lapel and pulls me toward her, and when our mouth's meet, I couldn't be happier to cut to the chase. The Kiss is urgent and breathless, like we've been wanting to do this from the second we saw each other in the elevator. I know I have. CLEO climbs into my lap and straddles my waist, running her fingers through my hair. My Hands Wander her curves before landing...

...on her ass. She makes a sound of approval and I grip her tighter, my insides tying themselves into a knot of desire. When she grinds into me, the not ties tighter. A hungry growl escapes my lips. As I moved to her neck, my tongue tracing the soft expanse between her ear and her chest. Her skin smells like vanilla and something fresh, almost like citrus. She drapes an arm across my back, her chest against mine, and it's like our bodies are instantly sinked. Everything else, the panel, her shoot, even the fact that we're in a hotel room, fades away. It's just the two of us here together and God, every part of me once more. She tugs at the thin strap holding her top up and in the same moment a wave of excitement washes through me. Something else rears its head, something that tells me to pump the brakes, no matter how badly I might want this right now. Before she can expose any part of herself, I stopped her and pull away, leaning back to look into her eyes. We shouldn't we what? I know we only had a couple drinks, but I just think we're better safe than sorry. She readjusts the strap, the look on her face half confused, half impressed. We have all week for other stuff, and I shouldn't be here anyways. I should be in my room preparing for the panel. She nods slowly and climbs off me, straightening her skirt over her thighs. I'm worried I've offended her, made her feel unwanted, until she looks up with a playful smile on her face. You're really taking this conference thing seriously, aren't you? I stand and smooth my shirt, dipping my head to the side. It's more than just my reputation on the line right, the whole loaded family thing. I nod and the company my roles still relatively new. She follows me to the door. Well, you wouldn't be on this panel if you weren't good at it. I think you'll be fine. I smile and place a hand on the doorframe. Tonight definitely kept me on my toes. She smirks back and leans into me, placing a kiss on my lips. That makes the not in my gut unravel into molten lava. Will work on it, and just like that it happens. I'm fucked, totally, completely absolutely fucked. Hook up state of mind is written by Becca Morgan and Amelia J rose, produced by consensual creating steamy feminist first romance for riot grls. Special thanks to baby money in the down payments for the use of our theme song, Oh boy,...

...streamable on spotify. Head sound engineer, John McNeil. Studio recording by John McNeil and Sam Silver, mood lighting engineer, mixing by spiral like creative and mastering by aiding a Vura. This episode was performed by Nadia Pelletier, Daniel Jordan, drew Michelle Evan Wiseman, Jen Nicole Herschel Bot, John McNeil and me, Beca Morgan. Tune in next week to hear Dean say so. Other than skipping drinks with your co workers to bone, what's to day in the life of a working actor likes.

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