When I started working at G4 I thought I would be able to continue acting in other projects at the same time. And within the first six months of starting on Attack of the Show I booked two different theatrical jobs. But because of my G4 time commitments, I wasn’t able to take on the additional work. I started to become creatively frustrated and stunted. I was having a great time on AOTS and the ratings were fantastic. But I needed to do something else, too. I needed to become a different character and create something new for myself. That’s what I love about acting—putting on a new persona, delving into a new world and just pretending. Or, alternately, putting on tights and gold, bullet-deflecting bracelets and letting ’er rip!
So, yes, I had an artistic void that needed to be filled. A creative itch that needed scratching. A performance bug that needed . . . swatting? An inspired vaginal condition that needed ointment.
Um, forget that last one.
Anyway, I decided to start doing skits for Attack of the Show. This was around the same time that rumors were circulating that Wonder Woman was going to be made into a feature film. I called up G4’s comic book expert and my close friend Blair Butler, and told her I’d love to do a skit about Wonder Woman and what it’s like for her to be a female superhero—there are no pockets in your super-spandexy hot shorts, invisible jets are hard to find and the bad guys are always hitting on you. We shot the Wonder Woman skit and it was so much fun. I put on the spandex starry shorts, red bustier, tall red boots and headgear. I felt . . . powerful and indestructible— I felt like a superhero! I felt badass enough that if I saw the real Wonder Woman I would’ve told her to suck it! It’s funny how putting on a costume can completely change your state of mind and how you walk. I totally now understand how everyone looks forward to Comic-Con and dressing up. You feel invincible and strong and any social awkwardness you might normally have is hidden behind a mask . . . literally. Blair and I had a blast shooting the skit. I was running around, posing, being a badass saving people . . . but eventually you do start to feel like you’re becoming the character—and that’s when trouble happens. There was a fight scene where Blair dressed up as Cheetah and I had to take her down. I threw her to the ground and the next thing I heard was a loud crack—it was Blair’s head hitting the concrete. Oh, shit. I completed the scene and didn’t let her injury ruin the shot. Because hey—it’s already happened. Why ruin the shot and have to have her do it again? And yes, I would’ve stopped if she screamed out in pain or yelled “cut,” but she didn’t. Thankfully, the cost for Blair was just a small bump. But now when I shoot skits I’m much more careful when I bludgeon someone to the ground. In fact, we’ve come up with a safe word: Petunia. When I hear that, I know got to stop immediately. Or buy flowers. Luckily never had anyone use the safe word . . . yet. Now, little did I know at the time, but this was the beginning of what would turn out to be my calling card on the network. Soon after the great response came back from the network on that first skit, we created a master list of all the geek icons that we could turn into a skit for me—Slave Leia, the Baroness from G. I. Joe, Emma Frost from X--Men, Silk Spectre from Watchmen, Lara Croft, the Wonder Twins, and Catwoman, just to name a few. I love doing these skits, but at some point it gets to be a little much. I mean, really, can someone answer this for me: Why are all female superheroes packed into spandex and hot shorts? Okay, of course I know the answer. I know why they’re all scantily clad. It’s because men draw them and if there is one thing men love it’s boobs! And legs! And boobs! But really what they love is boobs. The truth is, I actually dig the outfits. They’re sexy and fun and I feel really fucking awesome in them. But, Jesus Christ, you can’t eat for a good week before you put these things on. Not even pie. Sigh. When I put on Wonder Woman, I didn’t eat any carbs for a week (suck it in, Wonder Woman), didn’t eat past 7 P.M. and did Pilates morning and night. I got a spray tan for the first time (first of many) and hated every second of it. When you get spray-tanned you are in a booth with a total stranger and you get completely naked. It’s like Times Square in the seventies. As she sprays you with the cold dark liquid, you can see the tan land on your skin. It’s as if you’re getting painted. I call it “getting dipped” because that’s what it feels like. Like you are just a giant human ice-cream cone getting dipped in delicious caramel dipping sauce. Holy crap, I’m hungry. And then there’s the bustier. Contrary to popular belief (and what you see thanks to the magic of Photoshop), I don’t have very large breasts. I actually created my own bra that specializes in giving you amazing cleavage, especially when you wouldn’t normally have it. I created this bra on the set of the Wonder Woman skit. Because when I first put on that bustier I noticed how sad my boobs looked, how very un-Wonderful they looked, and how powerful the outfit was. Didn’t really match, you know? So I fashioned my own bra. I’d love to tell you exactly how I created my bra, but I can’t. Trade secrets, bitches! Because I’m in the middle of creating and patenting it as you read this. But I promise, for the next book, I’ll give out a free bra with every book you buy. Deal? So I invented a bra and my boobs have never been the same. Some mornings they thank me and other days they just scream at me and cry, “Just leave us alone! We’re not meant to be pushed up so goddamn high! We need a break. Just one day of relief.” Which reminds me, I have got to get back to listening to my How to Speak Boob in Five Weeks or Less tapes. Now for something a little bit unpleasant: the hot shorts. Every girl hates her ass. It’s true. And I am no different. Except that no girl hates her ass as much as a girl whose ass is packed into a Wonder Woman costume. So here was the scene: Me, hating my ass, in full Wonder Woman gear and hot shorts. Running. (Despite how horrible I’m making it sound now, it is actually one of my favorite outfits. And I hope to one day put it into the Smithsonian . . . or at the very least be able to wear it when I’m eighty. Sorry for that visual. Old lady ass in hot shorts is generally not a pretty image, unless that old lady’s ass belongs to Demi Moore. Then, let’s talk.) In short, I could’ve used the assistance of another superhero: Magical Ass-Slimming Man.