“OK Penny, see THIS part needs to be
filled out by your Spouse”, the nicest (God love him, but chattiest) Notary Public whatever lived hesitated
before authenticating my most recent documents as to “Transfer upon Death”
titles regarding my miniscule stocks and bonds.
“I don’t have a husband” I shrugged
matter-of- factly, palms in the air.
“Why not? You’re an absolute delight! Oh... It’s
“us”, isn’t it...” he winced, apparently expressing an all-encompassing apology
for the entire male species. “We’re just
awful, aren’t we?!” he searched my
face for some sort of confirmation to his oblique justification.
Here
we go...
“No, of course not” I tried to allay
the fragile feelings of the ‘common law’ officer who seemed to be rummaging for
a topic in common. “I just haven’t found
my ‘Mr. Right!’” I suddenly found myself equally apologizing for all of the
picky women in the world who refuse to settle for any man less remotely
ridiculously charming as George Clooney.
“Men are pigs, huh? We don’t deserve women like you!” my Notary puled
like a whiney chick.
Was
I at a Notary or a therapist?
“You remind me sooo much of this slightly younger actress who comes in here” the
Notary continued to ramble on. “Have you
ever heard of (insert unfamiliar name)?
She’s like a breath of fresh air; but she kind of smells like a combination of
cotton candy and bubble gum.”
Oh
dear...
“Um, no” I replied, trying to
pleasantly disguise my baffled brow (seriously
wishing that I’d opted to wear bangs that day), and continually
experiencing the acutely intense weirdness of a waaay too personal conversation.
“Well anyway, she was performing
Stand-Up at this club in San Bernardino, and she gave me a free pass! But sadly, I was the only one who showed up
to support her.”
“Aww” I responded kindly.
“Aww!” he mimicked me. “That’s just exactly what SHE said!” he giggled
like a school girl. “But you don’t smell
anything like her” he nodded sagely all the way across the counter top. “You smell more like citrus. Let me think for a sec; it’ll come to me” he
happily surmised, officiously replacing all of his office supplies in their
proper slots before he could ever even begin to process my paperwork.
Awesome: “Hyperosmia”,
i.e. acute olfactory awareness, and OCD to boot.
(Side note: I’m not entirely sure precisely which fragrance
my favorite exotic French ‘Eau de Parfum’
was specifically designed to emanate, but with a spritz or two mixed with my
physical chemistry, apparently I’m an apricot.)
“Sooo” I piped up cheerfully. “If you could just possibly, any time soon,
while I’m in a thirty minute parking space, send those two faxes to my
Accountant, make copies of these other documents to mail to my sister, and
notarize the paperwork of “Transfer upon Death” agreement, I think we’ll be all
done here!” I gently urged along the process.
“Forgive me, but a few of these necessities kind of give me the willies”
I added perfunctorily so as not to further encourage any additional witty banter.
“”Give me the willies!”” the Notary
mimicked me for the second time. “People
don’t use phrases like that anymore!”
Here we go again...
Here we go again...
“Well, I sure do” an elderly
gentleman war Veteran chimed in behind me in line; waiting ever so patiently as
a torrid hurricane of a twenty-something girl blathered relentlessly on her
cell phone, who LITERALLY absconded with the pen IN MY HAND (“can I borrow this?; thanks”); unfurled
a package and disappeared like a whirlwind tornado from the store whilst
continually yapping incessantly on her Android.
Oh
my!
“Kids today are what they are” the
Vet shrugged complacently. “But I
appreciate your archaic phrasing” the Veteran beamed. “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone speak like
you since World War II.”
Aww!
(Personally, I’d have married that
blue-eyed handsome devil of a Vet on the spot if he wasn’t already sporting a golden
wedding ring! (Well, if he wasn’t apparently approximately ninety years old and if my
Notary wasn’t such a total basket case.)
>>><<<
Startled awake by a broken
English-speaking “IRS Agent” dubbed “Johnathan Knight Badge #46719” on my
land-line, I listened to the message intensely
with all due panic.
“During sensitive audit, we find YOU
hiding MONEY from US Government! You
call back NOW at this number with debit or credit card or you be ARRESTED!”
WTF?
Now I was the basket case, despite confirmation the night
before that my bank had already received my tax refunds!
And logging inquisitively onto my
poot as to area code 202, I was promptly alerted to a false notorious IRS scam
that often occurs this time of year.
(FYI, if you get a phone spam as I did (or an email phish), the IRS has
an official link to report your incident if you wish to do so.) Take THAT, phony “badge #46719” – I gave the
IRS your scheming phone number!
Additionally, I got spammed once again,
via email, that “your have resume
listed with CalJobs as Actor which is set to expire”, from a “Do Not Reply”
bogus address presuming to be the Unemployment Department.
Now, I don’t know who these
people are or how they sleep at night, but I’m sick and tired of being bullied.
And clicking “reply” to the “Do Not
Reply” address (surprise, surprise); I was able to send the following message: “Your might have my resume, but spam
me again and I’ll report you to Federal Authorities.”
Sometimes, you just have to be
present, diligent and take a stand!
>>><<<
>>><<<
Meanwhile, I’d been presently tensely prepping myself for a Memorial
Service to celebrate the life of a gentleman that I knew on my very first
television show.
Quite frankly, I wasn’t entirely
sure how I’d fare to see so many beloved faces from twenty-four years ago (YIKES!);
nor was I remotely certain how emotional the evening might become. (I’d
already packed my purse with tissues just in case I might blubber uncontrollably
like my Notary.)
Now I absolutely MUST bestow a
monumental “THANK YOU” upon my friend Ellie Mae; who, with BRILLIANT
forethought, arrived with a heaping stack of photos as visual reminders - an
enormous collection of composite pieces of all of our mutual histories
together.
And with three of my most cherished
friends, like four chickens in a free range pen, we hen-pecked each other’s
brains to remember just who the heck was who.
Faces we knew (kinda); but names? We barely
had a clue!
Yet entering the elegant open air
patio overlooking Sunset Blvd. (eyeballing
the free food, and seriously wishing I’d brought a bigger purse and some
Tupperware); I embraced that which made feel most at ease, i.e. a host of my
very first television family, happily comingled with an assorted manner of
adopted relations from all of the spin-off shows where I was blessed to be
hired as a contributing participant.
And whilst I ought to have fallen
asleep a mere few hours later after the Memorial, instead I sat wide awake in
the middle of the night; completely consumed yet oddly comforted by ever so
many ghosts of the past.
>>><<<
Personally, I trust the fickle
Mistress known as Hollywood to help me find my next niche; wherein I shall land
somewhere soft and comfortable that offers me a new opportunity to shine and
thrive. (After all, I’m an apricot!)
And with a giant genuine hug and a peck
of a kiss to my favorite handsome Producer (who
will be thanked profusely when I eventually win my Emmy), I looked forward
to the present and the future, sans tense, or pretense.
>>><<<
Final note: Padding outside last night to gather my snail
mail, our beloved friend “Matthew Money” who passed away, apparently still
gives with all of his heart from the great beyond!
The return address was of course SAG-AFTRA;
but underneath was the ever so tiny printing “Residual Department”, enveloping a
check from my first television family amounting to $72.88 after taxes.
Dinner is on me, Matthew!!!
Written with love,
~P
