'Bout a month ago I booked a regional commercial...some kooky monster trying to sell custom suits to the rest of the LA monsters. It was five dudes on set, and me. I agreed to the treatment I was handed the day before we shot...come shoot day we get through half of the script and I'm handed something I had never seen...couple extra pages of script...crude language, actions that objectified the shit out of me, and things I never signed up for. Being that this was a period of time I wasn't repped by an agency, I didn't have the protection I needed...it was me on my own. So, the heart starts pounding and I'm instantly overcome with fear. My brain was screaming, "Fuck the money, get off set!"...but I froze! The director came up to me (as sleaze ball as they come), saw the expression on my face and pleaded I carry through with shooting...told me "he could have SWORN he had shown me the added pages of script!", and that if I wanted, "he would call his wife to stay on set while we filmed." I wanted to destroy him. A part of me momentarily actually felt guilty walking off. Can ya believe it? Luckily the inner wolf finally kicked back in...I looked at him, told him I didn't feel the slightest bit comfortable, told him he had completely taken advantage of my nature, and that I was fucking OUT. I walked off set, sat in my car and cried...super embarrassed and ashamed that I had somehow gotten myself in that position. Hey, if I wanna sit in a chair in the desert and pose for a photo taken by a talented GF of mine, or use my body and brain in some medium where I see fit, great...that'll always be on my volition. I hadn't thought about that commercial moment in a minute. It popped into my head today while looking at these desert photos. I'm happy I walked out and hope that more women stand up and walk out when/if a pack of useless dicks tells them to do something they ain't comfortable doing.