Safety Blankets

 

Thrashing around in my sleep (as a perimenopausal woman of my age is apparently wont to do), I awoke abruptly at 1:30 in the morning, completely astonished that within the small window of three and a half hours of hardcore REM sleep, I’d somehow miraculously managed to remake my bed with the top covers all splayed upward.  (One end even had a proper hospital corner!)  WTF???

Did I have a hot flash followed by cold feet?  Possibly.  But more than likely (I surmised with all of the inexplicable genius-ness that seems to manifest itself in sleepy-tude, wherein, without so much as the assistance of counting on your fingers, we share that Divine Supernatural Gift of Einstein-esque ability to discern to the exact MINUTE of how much longer we get to sleep):  yes, more than likely, I was having a small panic attack.

As our sit-com had been on hiatus for a week, I’d stayed up ‘til 10pm, waiting patiently for the script to arrive via email so I could at least have a handle on what I might need to do, plus once again, we had a new Director coming to our stage that I’d never worked with, nor did I have any input from friends as to what to expect!

And logging onto the poot all bleary-eyed at around 1:37am, still without a script to glance over, I thanked God for my… um… my… (Well, see, I can’t do the math NOW!); but for my precise timing left until the 6:30am alarm clock!

Flopping back on the pillow, I flailed around a bit in the darkness wondering how I’d ever get back to sleep.  I missed my feline companion Pretty who was such a comforting, warm-bodied, albeit wet-nosed opiate.  And worse yet, I’d screwed up the date of her adoption in my last blog post, which was actually Oct. 29.

But being still in the silence of the night, I heard the strangest sound coming from the left side of the bed…

Call it a Halloween miracle if you will: but my animatronic, “Perfect Petzzz” snow white fox “Cousin Itt” stuffed animal (who seemingly sighed his final “breath” two months ago), suddenly started purring like a kitty in its creepy little make-shift fake bedding.

And… sleep!

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Grabbing a paper copy of the missing script (apparently lost to all “Yahoo!” users) early in the morning and graciously informed by my Second AD that I would be filling in for the extraordinarily artistically challenging roles of (my words) “Hot tub Blonde #1 and Hot tub Blonde #2”, I thanked him for the heads-up. 

Taking our shoes off and clambering into the spa with our Guest Star (clothes on, no water!), I nestled appropriately into the arms of a swarthy Englishman whom I had done a series with (short-lived, as many may be) back in 1995.  And re-introducing myself, we hugged warmly as old friends do at the prospect of once again performing scenes together after so many years!

Feeling particularly honored that our new Director respected me enough to ask me to stand up on a spoken line (always a good sign, as we Stand-Ins are often completely ignored), I did as told, all the while acting the part (according to the script on the day) of a 20-something year old “flotation device”.  (Crap!  Had I known in advance, I might’ve been able to drudge up a ten-year-old Wonder Bra!)

Yes, such is my occupation… 

But to think, in hindsight, that I should be even remotely nervous the night before? 

Pfft! 

After TWENTY PLUS years (insert hands-on-hips posture as I mount the saddle atop one of my High Horses (yes, let’s call him “Pfft!”)), in the niche of the sometimes inconsequential cobweb that dangles precariously from the bottom rung of the Hollywood Ladder, I’ve established my NAME in this business!!!

And thanked for my assistance in the scene, my Englishman briefly casually massaged my shoulders as we stared together at our catered Craft Services sterno flames heating trays of blackened salmon, almond chicken and miscellaneous side dishes.  “It’s so nice to work with you again” he smiled genuinely, with an affectionate gesture of a cheek to cheek face hug.  “So, what’ve they got there for us to lunch on, Peggy?”

After TWENTY PLUS years in this business (insert hands-on-hips posture as I may or may not have lost my footing dismounting my High Horse), I had established my NAME in this business!

And apparently, that NAME is once again “Peggy”!

>>><<< 

Climbing into my car parked on the roof of the structure at my favorite studio lot shortly thereafter, I actually looked forward to running some errands.  After all, I was off from work early for the day on my first week back after a one week hiatus and (Luddite that I still am); I had officiously mapped out my entire route of tasks to achieve on a Post-It note.

Until…

*click, click, click*

WTF?

*click, click, click*

Seriously, WTF???

*click, click, click*

AW, C’MON!!!

Call it a second Halloween miracle, but dialing AAA once again (and feeling ever so proud that I, with my security badge, had the authority to allow the truck onto the premises!) we scurried up to take care of my car who, much like my animatronic Cousin Itt, had apparently died.

“I can get her going with a few taps to the starter to get the cogs in place, but if you have a good mechanic, I’d get that starter replaced today because this is just gonna get worse and keep happening” my friendly AAA Superhero Jack recommended.

And scurrying over Laurel Canyon, I wheeled Cecilia safely into the comforting arms of my brilliant mechanic and friend Jose. 

“Uh-oh” Jose hugged me.  “What’s Cecilia up to now?” he smiled, well aware of the bond between me and my automobile.

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Normally, immensely grateful to embrace our bizarre schedule of having Tuesdays off for the Writers to work, I couldn’t help but fret.  What if Cecilia couldn’t be fixed?  After all, we’d been through so much together!  And to this day, after our “ordeal”, she STILL has safety pins on her dashboard as a gentle reminder!

And walking five or six city blocks to Jose’s business, not yet sure of Cecilia’s status, but feeling the need to be close, I hovered around Sunset Blvd., waiting for the call.

There was a delightful flower shop with spider webs and black roses in the window; a garishly lit neon tattoo parlor (tempting!), and an Eastern European Deli where I stopped to buy a bottle of water and was blathered at in a foreign language by the shop keeper.

“I’m sorry, how much?” I pointed to my water.

“Oh.  Not Russian?  One dollar” he smiled, carefully displaying four ones from my five on the countertop for the security camera.  (Was I in Vegas?!)

And lurking around the corner to get a glimpse at Cecilia, I saw that her hood was up, which meant that I STILL had to buy some more time.

So continuing my walk, I happened upon a comic book store.

Harmless, right?

Quite frankly, I’m not sure which made me the most uncomfortable…

There were Hollywood technicians setting up video for a live chat with someone highly respected in the comic book world, as well as a small throng of said celebrity’s followers who seemed completely unnerved at the presence of an actual female in their store.

WTF?

I was Penny (myself, with my red-headed ponytail), yet somehow I seemed to be standing-in for Kaley Cuoco as “Penny” on The Big Bang Theory…

“So sorry, I’ll get out of your way” one scrawny lad who was decidedly not in my way and who couldn’t make eye contact with me scuttled off hurriedly. 

“I’m just gonna… over there…” another twenty-something kid with a pierced lip disappeared down an aisle with an armful of graphic novels.

And feeling bad for making the kids uncomfortable in their natural habitat, I returned to the maternal task of stalking Cecilia.  After all, I just wanted to collect my car and once again appreciate the simple joys of the safety of my vehicle!

>>><<< 

With Cecilia home (sporting her eager new starter AND a swanky durable front tire!), I witnessed my third Halloween miracle – an envelope in my mail box, hand-addressed from the Department of Unemployment.  I’d endured one demoralizing telephone interview from the EDD, plus two written appeals that the Adjudication Center had flat-out denied.  But having Xeroxed my paperwork from SAG/AFTRA, as well as the envelope with the postage highlighted in yellow to indicate the DATE RECEIVED of my RESIDUAL CHECK from a CBS episode, I withered at what fresh Hell EDD had to bestow on me now for telling them the God’s honest truth for the FOURTH TIME.

Not an apologetic vase of roses?  Nor a thoughtfully written card?  Just a dismissive notation once again allowing my benefits after FUCKING ME UP FINANCIALLY FOR TWO MONTHS IN A ROW?

Well, bloody hell, thank you very much.  (Seriously, am I the very first Actor in Hollywood to ever get a residual check?)

>>><<< 

Staggering through another thirteen hour day of camera-blocking, it was finally back to bed for me!

Well, not exactly MY bed…

“Can I see Penny on the monitor under the covers?” our DP wanted to know as he trained two cameras onto the set to check his lighting.

Oh don’t get me wrong – there was nothing in the world I wanted more than to kick off my shoes and crawl comfortably under the blankets on our cold sound stage!  Unfortunately however, having accrued two Union Meal Penalties (we have to break every six hours of production for a real meal, or we get paid a small stipend) I had taken the liberty of grabbing a snack from Craft Services backstage; a most unfortunate choice of pita bread and hummus.

Now, to be delicate, may I remind you kind readers, that hummus happens to be a bean-based dish…?

Stalling to the best of my ability with the DP, I diplomatically explained that I needed permission from Set Decorating before climbing into the bed.  (True!)

And call it my final Halloween miracle; I was blessed that Set Dec needed to swap out all the covers for a different look on a separate day, as I gently excused myself into a dark corner out of the way before ever approaching the bed.

Starting to think that “Pfft!” is a REALLY bad name for a High Horse,

~Perimenopausal Penny