Ms. Robinson Goes to Hollywood

When my book became a TV show. I had to get myself camera-ready.

- By Phoebe Robinson

When Freeform green-lighted my half-hour comedy Everything's Trash, which is inspired by my life as a formerly broke thirtysomething cocoa Khalessi trying to make it in NYC, I was overjoyed, floating even, like when Sex and the City's Carrie Bradshaw skips while crossing the street for no reason. Imagining myself on set skip-walking to wardrobe to slap on some nipple covers? Don't mind if I do. Skip-walking to craft services to eat Cheez-Its even though I'm lactose intolerant? To be expected. Skip-walking to the wrap party once shooting is over and dancing and partying with the cast and crew? Duh! Never mind that a bitch (I'm said bitch) can barely walk after balancing precariously on what essentially amounts to toothpicks for 13 hours a day, five days a week for months? I'm a fool! But I also have to admit that my mind was full of fantasies about what getting myself "Hollywood-ready" as a mere "normal" would entail.

Before I go on, let me introduce myself. My name is Phoebe Robinson. I'm from Cleveland, Ohio; am a New York Times best-selling author/comedian/actress; and avail to be Jason Momoa's scrunchie holder/lover... stay on task, Pheebs. The TV show. Yes. The TV show. Whenever I mention it, folx ask how I got myself camera-ready, because the proce seems shrouded in mystery. But honestly, it's straightforward. Like, have you ever woken up at an ungodly hour so you could exercise in the hopes of your body turning into JLo's, only for it to resemble that of a contestant on MTV's Real World/Road Rules Challenge who just had two weeks' notice that they were going to do some rope climbs and barrel rolls? Then you know how to get Hollywood-ready, my friend.