Im not dead: The time Lady Gaga almost stole my boyfriend

Wow, 2 weeks away from the blogosphere- hope I didn't lose you all!?....I do have a good excuse, no really....I do.

Two weeks ago my agent (from when I lived in Hollywood and was fancy) called me about an audition. He said in an agenty-we're-important-and-make-shit-happen way, "Can you send me your headshot, resume, video clips, mp3's and an mp3 of you singing a Lady Gaga song......"

...naturally, seeing where he was headed with this, I internally popped a hypothetical bottle of champagne for how awesome my life was about to get, I said, "Is this for her tour?......"

Awesome Agent, "YES. She's casting backup singers for her World tour.....Dress the part, hair, makeup, etc and book this gig."

The first few days her casting directors sifted through submissions and weeded out the people they weren't interested in seeing. Sure enough, they were interested in seeing me.....in New York City. Then, I found out they were hiring MUSICIANS also.....so, shablam! I scoot in My Super Sexy Man Piece and get him an audition via agent/headshot submission to fly out to NYC and audition to be her violinist.

Broke Chelsea and Chelsea's broke Love ask our parents for a "loan" to get us our plane tickets, since, obviously- we were planning on booking the job and we mentally prepare to OVER TURN THIS AUDITION and MAKE. IT. HAPPEN. I sang that "RA RA OO LA LA" like nobody's fucking business- for all I cared, I was about to pay off my credit card debts, cross off a few zillion to-do's on the Life List and generally, live an awesome existence worth flaunting and having an ego for. Money? Psh.... after booking this, My Love and I would be ROLLING in the dough. I wanted it SO BAD. I wanted this tour more than I want heart shaped Little Debbie cakes on February 1st.

Our parents gladly obliged to help us, hoping we'd finally get out artistic-hippie-shit together, then, My Love could "put a ring on it," our family could be proud of us having "real jobs" with perks and status, that weren't at dive bars where all we get is a measly drink ticket and back pain from loading in our equipment.

Day one: we found an amazing friend who let us stay at his apartment while he was out of town. The morning of the audition comes, I dress my GAGA INSPIRED BEST, white wig, blunt bangs, Cirque Du Soleil makeup, a deconstructed 80's bridesmaid dress cut into a corset and gold lame` booty shorts. I was like a Disco Alien Prom Queen and it was hot.

I show up to the audition spot and am the FIRST ONE TO AUDITION.....hundreds of girls dressed in their scantily clad-what the fuck-chic-best are lined behind me, trilling their most impressive notes and humming Aretha Franklinesque versions of Lady Gaga songs. I kept my game face, ignored the fluff....and kept repeating; I'M. BOOKING. THIS. GIG. Everyone could've slept in, or gone home.....I was that confident that this time, after auditioning for Maroon 5, Ashlee Simpson, Macy Gray- everyone and their mother....THIS TIME, would be MY TURN. I had paid my dues....

People from Jamaica, the UK, all over the United States were showing up....hundreds and hundreds. All beautiful and talented.

.....I step up to the mic, and stare dead on to the four judges sitting in the stark grey room, looking unimpressed at best....and I SING. I SING LIKE I WAS TAKING IT TO CHURCH. And the casting director says, "ALRIGHT! That's what I'm talking about!.....I can tell we're not in L.A. anymore hunny....the talent is in New YORK! Thanks for giving me life!" the other judge follows up with, "You weren't messing around when you said you wanted to set the bar high."

So right? In my mind...I was in...they were loving me. Trembling and excited, I make it through the first cut with flying colors.

The second round comes with the musical director, the vocal coach, Lady Gaga's management, etc. etc. I make it through. The third round of harmonizing to "Paparazzi" comes, I make it through. The fourth round of harmonizing in three parts...I make it through.

....at this point they'd cut down from a few hundred people (not including picture submissions) to 6 alto girls. SIX. ME & five other girls. The room is practically empty......

.....I could taste the tour this close to my lips, I could taste Japan and Ireland. The bus and the hotel rooms. The echo of my voice on the stadium walls. I could feel the rumbling of the stage right before the lights go up....I could feel the sweat dripping off my palms while we clutched hands and said a prayer before a show. I could FEEL A DREAM COMING TRUE.....I WAS THIS CLOSE. thisclose. So close, I could taste the freedom. The validation and the weight tumbling off of my shoulders. I could taste it all.

I go up to the mic for the 6th time; I finish singing in three parts and I hear that phrase, the one that says- this is over, "Thank you all so much for coming."

I felt like someone killed my first born. In a second, one. snap. decision....everything I'd built up in my mind, was GONE.

As I walked outside choking down the reality that this particular dream was over for me, the reality that the LOVE OF MY LIFE still had to audition the next day hit me like a fucking ton of paperweights. Not bricks, fucking cold, metal, paperweights.

What if he booked the tour?.....and I didn't?

I stumble into our friends apartment grief stricken and looking like a fucking clown, pink feather eyelashes dripping with big, wobbly, wet tears. My Love is holing a bottle of "celebratory" champagne and then he sees my face..... the champagne turned from a brilliant idea into a "shit, this may make her want to jump out a window" idea.

I pulled myself together and got a little drunk. Thankfully and like a "big girl" stopped the selfishness, genuinely hoping My Love would book it, if I couldn't have it, he should be the next in line. Then he could buy me a fucking engagement ring and I could pour my entire life into wedding planning and become a sexy version of Bridezilla...while he played for sold out stadiums and saw the World. It'd be awesome. This was my inner monologue while I slowly died inside, a slow vapid-stare death.

We left our friends apartment when he got back in town and used our parents generous loan to get a tiny hotel room sans bed bugs. At 2am....I hear the phone ringing....it's my panicked friend, "CHELSEA, DID YOU LOCK MY KEYS IN MY APARTMENT???"

.......PAUSE. Did I? Fuck? What? Shit? This is where I consider running into head on traffic and begging "god" to just take me already. At this point, I was actually becoming an Atheist.

My generous and lovely friend is now locked outside his apartment and has to find a place to stay- not only that, but in the morning....WE WOULD HAVE TO PAY FOR A LOCKSMITH.

Can someone throw me a fucking bone? Or a dart covered in cyanide so I could at least die an "interesting" death?

We ended up forking over $400 dollars to a Russian spy looking douche hole for a job that took him 5 minutes. Our "saving money" plan, ended up costing us triple. I look at My Love, bawling, knowing that that was LITERALLY ALL THE MONEY WE HAD. No, not just in New York.....but in our LIVES. $400.

THAT'S IT.

GONE.

....So now, more determined than ever....My Love goes to his audition with the eye of the mother fucking tiger. Rawr, bitch, rawr.

He makes it through the first round. He makes it through the second round. He makes it the second DAY. Then, he makes it to the THIRD DAY. He makes it from a few hundred people, down to the final FOUR.

He makes it to the fourth day.....and comes face to face with Miss Gaga herself. He plays her a rendition of "Speechless" and she says, "YOU, are. AMAZING."

6 days worth of broke, heartache and worry, high HIGHS and low LOWS, we were BOTH CERTAIN he was going to book it. HE WAS THIS CLOSE. We were sure that $400 was nothing...we'd be "OK," better than okay- he'd be a touring musician with the Madonna of our time.

....then the moment of reckoning. They come out solemn and unforgiving, with the final names.....and they didn't pick him. At that point it had nothing to do with TALENT, but with a look and what not and fate??- they went with two Asian girls....since a curly headed white dude standing next to an Asian girl on stage isn't as "visually pleasing" I suppose.

The last night in New York we lay in bed with a packet of dried ramen and the stench of day-old pizza permeating through our room. We laid there trying to remember that the lives we HAVE currently don't suck.....but in comparison to the life we were ALMOST going to have, it sure seemed like it.

We spent the last three days licking our wounds with tequila.

So, everyone keeps saying, "what an amazing experience" which yes, later on, that will be true but with this kind of thing, you don't get a medal. You don't get a gold star, or second place. You either get the job, or you don't..... and we didn't. So all we can do, until the next "amazing experience" is dust off our Club Kid outfits, pick ourselves up....and try again.

...like we have for the last 10 years. After all, we're THIS CLOSE.