My "Should've", Ought to", "Have-to-do" Ado

 

“So where the hell is Sherman Oaks...?” I wondered, hunching over my poot and sparring with the internet for the precise location of the café where I was to brunch on a Sunday at noon (oh for the love of God, NOON?!) with two dear Birthday gals and three other Industry professional women.  “OK, so Laurel Canyon over the hill (I know that route!), hang a left on Ventura Blvd., and then go how far?”

Yes, kind readers who are familiar with Southern California, for the sake of two of my cherished friends, I agreed to lunch in The Valley.  (For those of you unfamiliar with the territory, just crank the summer heat up by a minimum of ten degrees and attempt to breathe normally as if facially shrouded by a woolen blanket.)

But piling into Cecilia (my 1997 Toyota) with festively wrapped Birthday presents, Cecilia positively purred over the canyon as we were committed to accomplishing good deeds.  And despite a few panicky premature attempted left turn jabs before we crossed the Canadian border (seriously – how much farther North could we possibly travel without a passport?), we successfully wheeled (after a U-turn into an abandoned lot a city block away) into the proper valet attendant for the café.

“Oh, I should’ve left ten minutes earlier if I wanted to arrive early” I fretted to myself.  “Oh, I ought to have stopped at the store and bought individual birthday cards with gift bags and tissue paper” I continued to mentally beat myself up.  “Uck; and I really should’ve had the presence of mind to dress more appropriately” I punched myself for stepping out of my safety corner (clad entirely in black) in the swelter-weight heat.

But handing Cecilia’s keys to the parking attendant at the charming restaurant that (according to my online research the night before) prides itself on celebrity sightings, Tuscan white bean and kale soup with kabocha squash (if I can’t pronounce it, I’m not gonna eat it); various salads with organic mixed field greens (what am I, a goat?), and filet mignon omelets (Seriously?  Oh, my Indiana-born heart wept for the utter disrespect to the cow...); I, the ever-so-adaptable/resilient Actress, with humble gifts in hand, was prepared to enter the arena!

“Um... excuse me sir”, I caught the valet before he could whisk Cecilia away and tend to the impatient couple in the expensive luxury convertible behind us.  “Um... where do I go to actually enter the restaurant?” I whispered somewhat embarrassed.

“No problem!” he beamed, happy to step out of the role of car-fetching-guy and into the heroic position of helping a damsel in distress who was obviously uncomfortably out of her league. 

Breezing through the throngs of people waiting to be seated at the popular restaurant, I was immediately cock-blocked (if you will) by a protective Hostess who upon witnessing my wrapped Birthday presents, decided that I was deemed worthy to be seated at one of only two Birthday parties.  And confirming that I was indeed with the latter, I held my chin up high as she led me to the table.

(Ahem...  Wee adjustment to the story...  Having woken up early enough to properly groom myself in order to be presentable, I lithely hopped into the bathroom for a shower, and attempting to dislodge the fluffy, light-as-air loofah off of the wall, I inadvertently clocked myself in the face with the rubber suction cup.  (OW!)  Yes, that would make for pleasant conversation:  “Hi ladies.  I would’ve been here earlier, but I lost a boxing match with a dangerous suction- cup-wielding puffball.”)

But with make-up properly applied on said chin, I thanked the Hostess for directing me to the party as I settled in with three Script Supervisors (two of whom I‘ve been blessed to call friends for decades), a Post Production Editor (who I only met a year ago at the previous Birthday lunch), and one well-respected Director (who I worked with maybe 18 years ago). 

And as a gathering of feasting ladies are wont to do, we initially made only as much pleasant talk as necessary before burying our heads into the massive multitude of menus highlighting breakfast, brunch, lunch and café specials.

(Ahem... Wee adjustment to the story...  The lovely ladies who earn anywhere from five to a gazillion times my general pay scale, cooed at the selection of options as I “Scroogely” scanned the prices vis-à-vis my previous two weeks consisting of mostly peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at home.)

And that’s when my own pea-brain punched some sense into me.

Hey, this little fighter didn’t have anything to prove!  Our mutual work in Show Business by no means defined our friendships!  I was there for the sole purpose of celebrating two cherished Birthdays!

And with the “should just get a salad”, “ought to have gotten gift bags and cards” and the “have-to make sure I order a cheap item off the menu” nonsensical noise defiantly rejected from my inner chatter, I decided to splurge on a smokey B-B-Q bacon cheeseburger with fries, as my lovely friend Ellie laughed out loud and shouted across the table, “you’re my hero!” 

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Unfortunately, as the hefty menus were whisked away, the light-hearted conversation inevitably ensued as “Hollywood” infiltrated The Valley...

“I know you from somewhere, Penny.  Are you a Writer?  Are you a Producer?  Were you my Boss?” the Director wondered honestly, searching her mental archives as to where our paths might have crossed.

(And, here we go...  Round One:  *Ding*)

“I know you too!” the lady to my left beamed with a hug, equally baffled at just where on earth we might have met.

(And the hits kept coming...  Round Two:  *Ding*)

Yes, there it was:  Show Business in a nutshell:  Festive birthday celebrations TKO’d by Hollywood and a polite pissing match of who worked on what with whom.

>>><<< 

Had my druthers, I would have preferred to spend more time actually catching up with my Birthday friends.  “I should’ve pulled up a chair there” I mentally re-blocked the setting as my inner Director attempted to make better sense of the day.  “And I ought to have raised my hand in utter defiance at the possibility of attending a “Sound of Music” sing-a-long  group event (let me double check Dante’s “Inferno” for just what level of Hell that would be); but as for the “Have-to-do” list, I was pleased that I’d chosen to throw in the towel.

Sure, I’d taken a few more sucker punches as I attempted to bond with the Director who casually mentioned that she had done an episode of one of my favorite “dramadies” (I was sooo ready to Ethel-Mertz her!); until she abruptly ended the conversation with the information that the lead actor is still “a dear, dear friend who drops by the house for dinner all the time”, and immediately changed the subject before I could ask any hard-hitting questions.

And yes, my fragile ego had also been bruised by the lady to my left who had recently inherited an apparently fabulous villa in the south of Spain and was looking to rent the property for blah-blah euros a week if anyone was interested (Hmm...  Where DID I misplace that helpful “euros to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches” conversion chart?).

So, not surprisingly, I was quite ready to feign major head trauma and hit the mat sacrificially as the time to open gifts had arrived.

*Ding*

“I love this card!” my friend squealed joyfully to the Spanish villa-owning heiress.

“Oh my gosh!  I KNOW the lady who designs that artwork!” the Director chimed in.

“Of course you do” I sighed internally, slurping the last of my water.  (Seriously, could someone just whack me on the skull with a bat?  They could always pin the murder on my loofah!)

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Awaiting the arrival of Cecilia in the outdoor oppressive heat, my ears were still ringing from the heavy-hitting beat-down.  “The valet cost is three dollars and seventy-five cents.  I’ve got some change if you need it, Penny!” the Director politely informed me, generously plopping three quarters into my hand to accommodate the fee.

WOW. 

But hopping into Cecilia and handing the valet attendant a five dollar bill, he nodded subtly, as clearly he had chosen to park my car into a pleasantly cool and shady spot.  (Again, my hero!)

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Perhaps I’ve become a bit more sensitive to the underdogs of the world this year.  I’ve not worked nearly as much as I would like to; and whilst I trust The Universe that I’ll find my next niche in the Hollywood ring - whatever arena I’m tossed into - I’m looking forward to approaching  that chapter with my feet on the ground.  (Chin up!)

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As for what I “should’ve” done? 

Well, I “should’ve” known better than to order a burger at a place that’s oblivious to the utter aberrant behavior of serving a spectacular cut of filet mignon mixed with eggy stuff and miscellaneous accoutrements.  (Oh, the HORROR!)

As for what I “ought to” have done?

I seriously “ought to” have sent the burger back to the kitchen immediately, as three bites into what “should’ve” been a culinary delight, made itself quite known as not only particularly distasteful, but also a most unpleasant burgeoning, churning-belly case of food poisoning.  (I’ll spare you the details.)

Finally, as to my “have-to-do” ado, Cecilia and I beamed all the way home over the canyon as I reflected on my chosen presents for my friends.  Granted, mine weren’t the most expensive gifts, but they were thoughtful and meaningful to my friends which is all that truly mattered.

(Ahem...  Wee adjustment to the story...  As altruistic as I would like this tale to be, my competitive pea-brain was absolutely delighted that my gifts ROCKED!  Take THAT, little miss scented-soap-giving heiress and equally-wealthy orchid-bearing lady!!!)

Working on rising above,

~Underdog P