Monologue Resource Site - Female Audition Monologues

"Gracie and Butch" by Susan Brabant

Grace: Okay. Okay ... so lemme get this straight. You’re saying you ... as a man ... are my natural protector, and that you know things I don’t. This is a little confusing to me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Butch. It’s poetic... It’s very romantic, actually. I just can’t figure it out. If men are my natural protectors, why can’t I walk down Flatbush Avenue alone at night when I wanna? Who am I afraid of?

I trust God, but I am convinced he’s a man, too. I mean, WHO ELSE woulda come up with cramps, or the monthly blues, or this horrible way to have babies? WHO ELSE woulda come up with menopause and hot flashes and stuff like that? I agree with you, Butch. God’s a guy, no question. Now don’t take this detrimental or anything... but... I don’t get why I have to give up all my dreams when we get married, and you don’t. All my dreams, like... I wanna be an actress, Butch. Not for the money or fame. Just to do it. Because I want to. It’s... what I do. Me, y’know? I wouldn’t be me without it, ergo, I wouldn’t be the person I am now, and since this is the person you’re in love with... how could we get married and expect it to last? Who will I be in five years anyway? Are you even gonna like her? Am I?

Why do I have to go live with you, and cook and fold your underwear an’ stuff, just cause you were born with that which I was not? Or vice versa? I guess what I’m saying is, I don’t want to get married. Nothing personal, oh, please don’t take it personal. I just realized that... this wife stuff is one heck of a deal... for one of us... And just because I don’t want to do things exact, according to the “plan,” you call me a ballbuster. A BALLBUSTER! Ever notice when you match wits with a guy, and you win, he calls you a ballbuster? “Hey, she’s a real ballbuster.” Kinda makes you wonder just where they think wits are. I’ve been listening to you for ten thousand years... I’M speaking now! I’m telling you I don’t want to get married, ever - unless I can find me a partner instead of a king. I’m sorry. G’bye, Butch. Take care, huh?

"When a Diva Dreams" by Gary Garrison

Miss Red: You were hardly eighteen when you stood up at the dinner table and announced with your shoulders back, head up and chin high that you didn’t need your family, you didn’t need your sister, you were ashamed of all of us for being so---- “common,” is what I think you said.
What I KNOW is you left a mama and daddy heartbroken, and a sister holding a handful of dreams. THAT’S WHAT I KNOW! And even though you got as far away as you could, and went to a big, old impressive college and took to studying Broadcast Journalism, what I know is you never once - in all that time- called your mama and daddy and brought them back into your life. But they were proud of you anyway. Daddy told anybody who would listen how proud he was of you ... And he wanted to tell you, too. For ten years he wanted to tell you. Every day he waited for that phone to ring - that call to come. And every time that phone rang, and it wasn’t you, he swore under his breath, wiped his forehead ... and waited for the next call. He never gave up, bless his soul. He’d sit by that pitiful Magnavox t.v., those rabbit ears twisted almost in half to get a good picture of you on CNN. Yeah, honey, he’d scream from the back of the house: “There she is. There’s my girl. She’s in China, Mama. Our baby girl’s in China!” or, “She’s in Moscow, Mama. Look at our girl. Wouldn’t I just love a phone call?” And he’d wait. And when your call never came, and this is the worst, he started imagining the phone would ring. We’d be sitting at the dinner table and he’d say, “Emmy Jo, get that phone.” Do you know how many times I answered a goddamn phone that didn’t ring? At the nursing home, he ‘bout drove those poor people crazy, ‘cause you know a phone’s ringing there all the time. Everybody knew he was hangin’ on just to get that call. He didn’t weigh more than sixty pounds - that’s what cancer does to you- and he’d be wallerin’ in his own mess and still be asking for the phone. Wouldn’t die. Wouldn’t give up. So I had to call him ... and tell him I was you, and that it was okay to die. And he finally got to say, “I sure am proud of you, baby girl.” ... He was gone that night. Mama followed, a week to the day. After they passed, and I was all alone, I understood what somebody like you can do to a family. Did you ever-for just one moment-hurt? Did you ever cry about any of it? Had a sleepless night? One regret? One goddamn moment of sorrow? AND DO YOU REMEMBER THE LAST THING YOU EVER SAID TO ALL OF US WAS “I’LL NEVER FORGET YOU.” AND DO YOU REALIZE YOU DID?

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