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Pop quiz: How old am I in this photo? Thirty? Thirty- five? Nope. I’m still not thirty-five. That was me at twenty one. Barely legal to drink, but I look like I’m going out for a district-attorney role in Law and Order. I had just dyed my hair black because I was in a loveless relationship and had the photographer crop the photo to hide the waterfall of cleavage.

I’m twenty-eight here, looking a decade younger than my first head shot. Different hair; same blazer. I’m working my best face to compensate for my boobs. Signature look of not looking at the camera because I’m so uncom-fortable, but like in a cute way.

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I had brought my favorite JLo album (On the 6) be-cause I wanted to feel beautiful and weightless—“Feelin’ So Good”! But my boobs brought me right back down to earth. I was distracted and demoralized, and I needed de-odorant. The photo session ended: Boobs 2, Brodnick 0.

I rolled my suitcase away from the hip Meatpack-ing District studio over the romantically charming but heel-tripping cobblestone streets, feeling defeated. My hopes had been drowned by a blazer. I started to doubt my whole acting career. “Maybe this is all I can offer? Maybe I will just have to be cast as the Sexy Dog Walker or Preg-nant Aesthetician?” I treated myself to a cab, sat back on the smelly pleather seats, and tried not to cry.

I wanted to escape my body. I wanted to propel my life into the future. I felt this way in middle school and college:

When in doubt, block your boobs with a cat! Show casting directors how good you are with miserable animals.

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I liked, not based on the threat of cleavage. I finally had my ’80s-montage moment!

I, of course, wore Spanx and wanted my arm fat to be hidden—that will never change. But I was confident being straightforward, up close, and every inch of my now perfect chest. There it was again, the lights, the camera, the styling products. This was my victory lap home.

Now I could proudly send my photos to casting direc-tors and agents without fear of being cast as Pregnant Door-to-Door Salesman. And it worked! This year I was cast in a commercial for a cell phone battery and a deodorant com-mercial. It might not seem like a big deal to someone else, but with each experience I was living my dream. It felt un-believable to be on a set, in front of a camera, and doing what I love.

Here I am on a more recent shoot, with another great photographer, Alex. Alex takes photos for all the hosts on

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I still have my hang-ups, as outlined in this entire book, but even those don’t feel like the end of the world. It’s been a few years, but I am proud of the decisions I have made. Body. Be. Bangin.

And now, since my body is right where I want it and I am finally feeling like myself again, it’s time to blow shit up and make a baby! Allen is into it, or at least I think he’s into it. Hopefully, he will be into it, when I tell him, which I will very soon . . . and then we can focus on baby making, and honey, you know I’m gooooood at that.

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