The Comparison Inadequacy

Still feeling like a leper with metaphorical seeping boils and flesh-eating bacteria as I finished recovering from my bout with the flu, I stood as quietly as possible in line with my orange juice and vodka (medicinal purposes) at a local store.  I was only one person away from the cashier, five minutes to check-out max, and thirty seconds to walk to my car.

But just as I stepped up the register, it happened.  My arm was already inside my purse digging for my wallet, and as polite people do in such situations of societal etiquette, I delicately coughed into the protective crook of my elbow.

And just like that, I was Typhoid Mary.

“She touches the bar on belt between groceries!” a little hunched over lady with a scarf over her head warned the fastidious gentleman shopper behind me who was already bathing himself in hand sanitizer.

Frankly, I couldn’t blame them...  The flu has been a monster this season, and I wouldn’t want me within coughing distance either, Emily Post Etiquette or not.

Wheeling Cecilia (my beloved 1997 Toyota Tercel) home - with no prospects for work until pilot season gets closer - and feeling a bit glum, I parked Cecilia in our designated spot and sighed out loud:  “That’s all I’ve got for today, my friend”.  And as empathetic as an automobile might not necessarily be, Cecilia lit up her “check engine” light like a fist-bump of solidarity.

>>><<< 

Having lost four irretrievable hours of my precious existence on this planet playing a “match three alike or more” App on my Kindle Fire HD wherein I travelled from Rome, to Greece, to Troy etc. on a mindless yet strategic journey (for the fifth time – the first time took me twelve hours!), I was shocked to hear my cell phone ring at 6:30pm.  I’d had maybe two calls in the last three weeks, as apparently the flu might be contagious over the cell phone waves too, and absolutely no one wanted to talk to me.

“Hi Penny, this is Adam from Casting.  I was wondering if you were available to Stand-In tomorrow for sure; and possibly Thursday and Friday?”

“I...I...I... would love to” I squealed, trying ever so hard not to sound desperate.

“Oh, I’m so glad!” he smiled over the phone.  “Let me book you immediately!” he added, gathering my info.  “So, you’ll be going to Warner Bros. Studio...”

(My heart leapt a beat, as I rarely get hired over there!)

“And your call time is 10:00am...” he continued.

(Oh thank God, I had time to color my hair that evening!)

“Park at the Forest Lawn Gate...”

(Plan ahead, plan ahead, they won’t let you in before one hour of your call time!)

“...And you’ll be reporting to Stage 26.”

“Excellent!  And what’s the show that I’m working on?”

>>><<< 

Fretting all night as I’m prone to do with every new adventure, I triple checked my back pack with supplies.  Did I have Kleenex tissues (with lotion)?  Check!  Throat lozenges so I wouldn’t be thrown off the set for coughing?  Check!  Three layers of clothing in case the stage was as cold as a meat locker?  Check!

Successfully passing through the first security gate with proper identification, Cecilia angled into a spot where she could overlook the studio; and with me toddling off to my job (come what may), I passed through the second security check easily.

Eventually winding my way to Stage 26, the monstrous weight of my previous dog and pony cable show hanging around my neck like an albatross, I took a moment to catch my breath before I opened the door to inhale the sweet smell of a highly successful ten year Network series.

Ahhh...

“And you are?” the storm trooper barricaded my entrance.

AHHH!!!

“Um, um, um, I’m Penny” I stuffed all of my IDs into the hand of the Security Guard monitoring the stage. 

“You weren’t here yesterday” he frowned, double-checking my info. 

“No I wasn’t – they just called me in last night.  I don’t even know who I’m standing-in for” I sweated profusely.

“Well then, good to meet you, and welcome!  I’m Anthony” the gentleman tipped his cap as he handed me back my documents.  “Let me escort you to the AD’s office!  Craft Services is here if you’d like to grab some breakfast, and the ADs are just inside that door on your right.”

Checking in with a familiar face and asking if I needed to scamper out of sight into the audience seating, our AD smiled compassionately.  “That’s OK Pen; feel free to hang out down here on stage.  We won’t start rehearsal until ten, but thanks for being early!” 

Oh, it was all so civilized! 

“And you are?” an innocuous looking gentleman wanted to know as I plopped down my backpack - his ear piece visibly spiraling down the back of his shirt to a walkie talkie.

“Um, um, um, I’m Penny” I fretted again, searching for my paperwork and hoping to avoid a latex-gloved cavity search.  “I don’t know who I’m standing-in for, but...”

“Oh right!” he smiled.  “I saw your name on the call sheet.  Welcome to our show!    Here, let me get you a script.  And since you’re a red-head, you might be standing-in for her” he added, pointing to the Cast list, but the ADs will tell you for sure.  I’m the set PA, so let me know if you need anything!”

And pouring through the pages, I was already feeling overwhelmed.  Good heavens!  This character was in eight out of twelve scenes!  And if my Gorgeous Actress from my previous dog and pony cable show was any indication, I’d be working my ass off!

Now if there’s one thing I learned from suffering though the flu, it’s that your body is of absolutely no use whatsoever without nutrients.  I needed breakfast.  I needed apple juice.  And abandoning my script for the moment in lieu of sustenance, I was just about to tong my second dollop of hash browns onto my plate, when a third voice demanded to know just who the heck had permitted my access onto the highly secured stage.

Oh, this was definitely going to be a very long and arduous day...

“Penny?”

“Sweet B!” I screamed, happily hugging the second familiar face on stage.

And given a lay of the land, with private nods as to who was who on the crew as well as a heads up on the part that I was standing-in for – a blonde Guest Star in ONE scene, who literally PIVOTED on her mark, checked her cell phone in her left hand and exited upstage right - I tried to shake the boulders out of my head.

“That’s it?” I asked Sweet B stupidly, unable to comprehend the menial task at hand.

“That’s it!” she laughed.  “We do have to stay for lighting tonight, but after your scene is lit, you’re done.  Now, you just relax...” (Sweet B knew first-hand the pressures of my previous dog and pony cable show, and understood exactly why my head was spinning), “...and enjoy yourself for a change!” she beamed.

Quite frankly, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the concept!

“Hey you, hey you, hey you” our friendly Director arrived on-set, pointing his finger at all of the Second Team, pausing momentarily to study my face.  “Hey...”

“Penny” I helped him out.  “I stood in for Jennifer Lawrence on ‘The Bill Engvall Show’ a few years ago.”

“Has it been that long?” he clutched me in a warm embrace.

OK, seriously, could my day get any better?!  I’d transformed over night from Typhoid Mary, to a gainfully employed, seasoned veteran, trusted to work (if only for a day!) on a highly rated CBS Network show!!!  And I was huggable!!!

By day’s end (and I type with shame that that was maybe 4pm?), I had once again learned invaluable life lessons in my humble career.

I re-discovered the danger of rumors in our business, as one Second Team acquaintance pulled me aside to congratulate me on becoming my previous Gorgeous Actress’ Assistant and thereby doubling my salary.  “Uh, no – she already has three Assistants, and where would I find the time to stand-in for her, cook chicken breasts for lunch and take her aging dog for a push in its baby stroller?”

I was also reminded that no matter how low on the Hollywood rung your job might be, if you respect the work and do your part to the best of your abilities, once in a while, someone slightly higher up just might give you a hand.

And lastly, I remembered how fun and exciting my job is supposed to be!

“You do know that you can probably leave any time now...” Sweet B offered, “as long as you clear it with the DP that he’s done lighting that set, right?”

“Yeah” I sighed, grateful for the best day in the last three weeks.  “But not until I finish chatting with you, and I have a slice of pecan pie from Craft Services!”

Albatross-free,

~Ecstatic P!

p.s. As I’ve treated myself to a trinket at the Warner Bros. store whenever I’m hired to work on their lot, I shuffled off in search of the perfect sparkly doo-dad to celebrate my visit to the Network show.  I was “one and done”, since my actress’ scene wouldn’t be shot until two days later, and their regular Stand-In had successfully conquered the flu and was prepared to work that Friday...

But that couldn’t take away my joy!

In fact, on the way to the Warner Bros. gift shop, I actually ran into three more people that I’ve worked with – most of whom were also filling in for their very own fellow Typhoid Mary!

And yes, that probably should have been enough to exchange more hugs and cap off my glorious day – but I needed solid proof for myself...

Nine bucks; the leisure suit of cheap jewelry as it has a spandex band (and yes it turns my finger green), but I warmly give you my heart with a bow:

 

Rock on, WB, rock on!

 

THE CLEOPATRA PARAGON vs. THE YANG CURSE PARADOX

 

Waking up to brutally cold 35 degree weather outside a couple of weeks ago in Los Angeles (WTF?), I bundled up like a toddler unable to move my arms underneath all the layers of clothing, strapped on my gloves, and was just about to pull on my booties and my backpack for work, when, once again like a toddler, I immediately had to go to the bathroom.

Granted, I was rather annoyed, but when ya gotta go, ya gotta go.

With only a few days left on my current show, and no notice as to whether or not we’d gotten a pick-up or cancellation, I vowed to make the most out of my favorite studio lot.  And waiting for the red light to go off outside the sound stage down the midway, I was actually a bit nervous...

I knew with all my heart that I would be embraced with love, but that didn’t stop the butterflies in my tummy.  I only had a half hour lunch break; I was invading someone else’s Stand-In work environment, and by all accounts I could’ve been tossed out on my ass if Security saw me sneak into the far side double doors.

But with the buzzer signifying a tape cut, I sidled onto the stage near Craft Services, only to run directly into my friends Lori and Dev who smothered me with happy hugs!  And two seconds later, I was clasped again by my dear friend Diddy!  Oh, I missed the camaraderie of having so many friends all together on the same show!

Don’t get me wrong – I’ve been blessed to have three wonderful friends with me on my current show – but there was something truly magical about six and a half years on a sit-com that really felt like family...

“Is she on-stage now?” I wondered.

“Yes!  Come around this way” Lori and Dev guided me.  “Ooh, I wanna see the reunion!” Lori beamed.

And standing in the darkness, maybe half way into the light of the stage, I stood quietly between the cameras as a certain red-headed Country Music Star contemplated her dialogue (with a writer?), before she randomly caught my eye.

“PENNY!” she squealed, racing off the set to give me a hug.  “How are you?!  I almost didn’t recognize you in that baseball cap!”

“I’m good!  I’m trying to be incognito...  I’m here on the wrong set!” I blathered like an idiot, throwing my hand over my current sit-com’s title on the hat.

“Yes you are!  You should be here with us!” she laughed.  “So good to see you!” she smiled genuinely.  “I’m so glad you came by!” she hugged me again.

>>><<< 

Quite frankly, I couldn’t have been more full of myself.  I was happy!  And dare I say it, I was smug... 

Even at lunch the next day, when our Cable Network had treated our Crew to a special meal by a highly rated Korean Food Truck (???), I poo-pooed the potential poodle menu in lieu of accepting a free flu shot from a once-a-week visiting Health Care facility associated with the Entertainment Industry; topped off with a most delicious fountain Diet Coke from the Commissary, as I shared a splendid hour break with friends.

My world was perfect! 

My Universe was exquisite!

My arm hurt a little from the needle, but my helpful friend James had copped me an ice pack from Props which seemed to reduce the potential swelling: and settling in for a lengthy night of pre-shoots, I took full advantage of moving the ice pack around towards any wayward sore back or neck muscles. 

And just as I was beginning to feel like Cleopatra on a luxurious chaise lounge, a tickle caught my throat.

Oh bother...

Scampering to the opposite end of the stage with four tissues in hand, I blockaded my face as both a torrential sneeze and a ‘productive’ cough expelled themselves from my head at precisely the same moment.  “Well, timing is everything” I consoled myself, grateful to be the only person on stage to witness the unbridled power of my sinus cavities and their Technicolor wonders.

>>><<< 

Arriving early to work once again the next day, and intercepted by our office PA who was eager to guide me towards the Executive Dining Room above the Commissary (all this time, and I never knew such a place existed!), I sat amongst the crew as the Production meeting took place, prior to our Table Read for our final episode the following week.  Our Oscar-winning Actress was unavailable, as she was attending the Inaugural Ball for the President of the United States, and I had been offered the honor of standing-in to read for her!  Ooh, our office PA even printed out a placard for me at the Actor’s table, with my name and the character’s name beneath!  I was Cleopatra once again!  I was receiving the royal treatment!  I was... I was... I was about to hack up a globular green mucous ball, the likes of which my deceased feline sidekick Pretty would have been most proud.

Blissfully however, Actors, Producers and Suits consume lengthy amounts of time as they enter a room, hob-knobbing, getting coffee, smearing creepy dead fish on their bagels and what-not, before eventually winding their way into taking their seats.  And ever-so-prepared Capricorn that I am, I had not only managed to ‘produce’ said globule, but I’d also managed to discard it; with additional napkins on my lap should my mucous-brain consider an encore.

“Let me just scoot this chair next to you Pen” our office PA made room  and plopped down a placard next to mine – that being the name of our Co-Creator, Co-EP and Director for the episode.

“Morning!” our Triple Threat Director smiled.

“Morning” I smiled back; “yeah, this isn’t intimidating at all!” I added, uneasily, visions of mucous flinging uncontrollably from my face.

“Relax sweetie, you’re great” he added, as I wearily clutched my napkins.

Now, I don’t know if anyone else noticed, but I felt off my game.  I was supposed to stand-in for a Puerto Rican woman doing a Flushing, NY accent, and although I was close, I knew my performance was lacking.  On the flip side, I was also reading a small part for a British woman – specific to London – which I thought I nailed.  But once we got into camera blocking later in the day, I was all over the map.  Some of my movements were incorrect, and whilst I was gung-ho to defend my notes, I couldn’t contradict our boom operator who was covering only one line in the entire scene.  Yes, my Gorgeous Actress had walked to the door, but only half way.

What the hell was wrong with me?  I was so embarrassed!  I was so humiliated!  Clearly, The Universe was teaching me a lesson about being smug, and well, by golly, humbling flu lesson learned!

Or so I thought...

With a fever of 99.8 degrees, I whimpered at the water leaking out of the bottom of my toilet.  I’d added a pitcher of water to fill up the basin, only to watch it disappear into the piping.  The tank was filling up properly, but by all accounts something was wrong.  And terrified to have my deceased Landlord’s son threaten to evict me for any little reason, I woozily scrubbed the floor around the lavatory in a hot sweat, and eventually made the call.

“Wow, are you sick?” ‘Sherlock Yang the Younger’ wanted to know, as I coughed all over the telephone, barely able to form a complete sentence.  “I’ll come by and take a look” he added with the confidence of a stoned surfer dude.  “Whoa, sorry you got the flu” he kicked off his flip-flops before entering my apartment; his baseball cap strapped on backwards over his long mop of hair.  “Ya know, I’m just gonna say, don’t use it for now” he nodded as he crossed his arms; clearly his first executive decision as ‘heir to the throne’.  “You can just knock on our apartment door if you need to use a bathroom” he concluded obliviously.

“I’m sorry, wait, WHAT?”

“Well, today’s a holiday and all, and I can call the plumber tomorrow.  Just knock on #6 if you need to go, okay?” he added, whisking the door shut behind him.

I probably stood there in a fog for five whole minutes, trying to process the idea of waddling up the stairs at three in the morning to make a surprise deposit in Sherlock’s family’s toilet.  In fact, the way my body was attempting to fend off the illness, I might easily make contributions at any given moment!  (And in “hindsight” (if you will), that’s precisely what I should have done.)

But not willing to risk making any waves regarding my precious rent-controlled bat-cave, I put my fuzzy, mucous-filled Capricorn pea-brain to task to make my life as simple as possible, and lined my commode with a plastic garbage bag. 

And as natural sleep should be ever-so-easy, I plopped my ginormous head on a pillow, clasped a preventative tissue in my paw for any erstwhile productive coughs, and without any warning whatsoever, sneezed a bloody nose geyser all over the bedding.

AW, C’MON!!!

Clamping my nostrils together with a Kleenex, I stared forlornly at my heroic feline sidekick Pretty’s urn...  Oh, I missed her so.  Oh, I missed the unconditional love and comfort she’d provided me for 17 years whenever I got sick...  Oh, holy crap, I suddenly understood why she’d always feigned a sudden interest in her furry toes when I cleaned her litter box; for now I was the one carting my own pee and poo baggies to the trash!

But hearing Billy-Butt-Crack (our local Plumber) snaking drains upstairs the next morning, I knew my world would soon enough make sense once again.   He’d popped by my apartment (Sherlock camped outside in his usual flip-flops) to have a look and confirm that all manner of creepy silt-like crud had gurgled two inches high into my bathtub (WTF?????), and thus his probing had been successful throughout the building (THIS is SUCCESSFUL???).   

And retiring back to bed, amazed that my enormous mucous-filled Charlie Brown head could even fit through the corridor, I sent a desperate text to my friend JB:

“Any chance you could drop off some supplies after work?”

Armed with three mega-boxes of Puffs Plus Lotion, two different flavors of Nyquil, hundreds of various cough drops, a couple of mindless paperbacks, gallons of orange juice and vitamin waters, and a contingency of chicken broth based soups, my friend JB wished me well, shutting the door quickly as I gratefully coughed all over my groceries.

>>><<< 

Like it or not, I learned a few more lessons this month.

You can spend one whole day on top of the world! 

And just as quickly, you can find yourself carrying your own pee bags out to the trash in triplicate confidential carriers to hide your humiliation in the middle of the night...!

But if you are true to your heart, a small sense of dignity is but a moment away.

Now, I’ve gotta say, that out of all the roles I’ve played or stood-in for in the last twenty two years of my life in Tinsel Town, “Sickly” is not my opus.

Despite my complete and utter disgust of all things chicken, I actually ate one can of double noodles in chicken broth; and feeling adventuresome the next day, I opened a second can of “Scooby Doo!” shaped pasta with actual chunks of chicken the size of my knuckles...  EEK!

And that was that!

Call it mind over matter if you will, but I was done with the stupid flu.

Holding a shot of whiskey (desperate times people, desperate times!) in the back of my throat that burned like hell for thirty seconds, I eventually swallowed and took back my dignity.

“Hi, this is Penny” I rang my deceased Landlord’s son.  “Can you give me an estimate as to when I can safely use my toilet again?” I demanded to know.

“Oh, dude, sorry” Sherlock kerfuffled.  “I didn’t want to bother you, ‘cuz I knew you were sick.  The plumber guy finished around 5:30 last night; you oughta be fine now” he offered.  “Go ahead and flush it a couple of times, just to make sure it’s cool” he suggested as I did so.  “Yeah, I’m gonna put up a whatchamacallit, uh, sign, near the whatchamacallit, um, mailboxes, to let people know, not to put whatchamacallit, uh, ya know, stuff into the pipes.  So did your toilet flush twice?” he wanted to know.

“Yes, it did.”

“Awesome!  Then you’re good to go!” he beamed over the phone.  “Call me if you have any more problems, OK?” he metaphorically swung a “hang loose” hand symbol.

“Uh, buh, buh, buh, buh!” I quashed him before he could disconnect.  “There’s still silt in my toilet, and a chunky film of scum layering my bathtub.  What the hell am I supposed to do with that?” I queried.

“Oh, just turn on the whatchamacallit, uh, shower, and it’ll all drain down.  Have an awesome night!”

>>><<< 

As I’m now 99.9% better, off of all cold/flu medication and settling back into the happy normalcy of a bit of voddy at happy hour, I’m beginning to make sense of the last couple of weeks: 

1.    Whilst Nyquil was my best friend for achieving a decent night’s sleep, it couldn’t prevent me from strapping on the booties and backpack and heading off to work in my dreams, as I still owed my show four more days of employment.  (Ironically, my friend Tara had to stand-in for me, and according to her email, our Triple Threat Director called her “Penny” all week.  OY!)

2.    Whilst I’ve lived in fear of the Yang Curse hovering over my Sanctuary, I admit I was blessed to discover that Sherlock Son of Yang possesses approximately as much self-awareness as a turnip. 

3.    Last and most importantly, I’ve been reminded of the harsh reality of not taking anything for granted. 

YAY!!!  My toilet still flushes!!!

Curling up for a warm winter’s nap with indoor plumbing,

~Cleopatra P

OOOGH!!!

 

Verily, merrily thrilled with the acquisition of their Kindle Fire HD and wanting me to share their pre-Christmas joy, my parents in Indiana asked if I might be interested in such a gift a few weeks prior to the holidays, as I honestly didn’t need anything nor had I asked for anything specific.  “I spend more time on the Kindle than I do on the laptop” my Dad suggested, helpfully.  “I check my email, play games and even have the Fort Wayne Obituaries loaded so I can see if anyone I know has dropped dead!” he added cheerily.  (And that would be yet one more reason why I love my parents!)

As I did used to enjoy playing interactive backgammon on the computer with my friend Cindy in Toronto (until I realized that my internet provider was tracking my game play), and as I did eventually find a free site where I could whup the bejeezus out of the world’s dumbest Artificial Intelligence (provided I sat through 60-second advertisements every other roll of the dice), I did miss the game...

“You’ll be surprised at just how far advanced technology has come!”

>>><<< 

Logging groggily onto my laptop poot with sleepy seeds in my eyes last whatever weekend afternoon (don’t judge me, I’ve been on hiatus!), I read the cheeriest message from my favorite online company, EAT24, who spoke directly to my tummy:

“Hi Penny:  We were just thinking about you, and we thought you might be hungry.  We also thought you might be too busy to read a boring long-winded email.  So how about we just shut up and give you a coupon.  BOOM.  That’s the sound of your wish being granted.”

Oh, at last, at last, the World Wide Web had welcomed me into its icy-cold, Borg-like animatronic bosom!  This boded ever-so well for my upcoming Christmas present!  The Universe was welcoming me out of the Paleolithic Era, and quite literally offering me Kindle FIRE and FOOD!!!

And specifying my late lunch order to include ricotta cheese on the pepperoni pizza; un-selecting a salad (hey, it’s not like I was on a date – pajamas don’t judge) and adding a Diet Coke to my delivery (call it a primal chick instinct), I didn’t even bother with the “BOOM” coupon, as I’d already begun to salivate in eager anticipation of my delivery!

[ADDRESS NOT IN DELIVERY ZONE]

Well, clearly, this was my mistake somehow, as the selected restaurant had already delivered to my apartment three times before.  And retyping all of my information, I was met once again with the same response:

[ADDRESS NOT IN DELIVERY ZONE]

WTF???

Well, “BOOM” all you want, but come hell or high water I was bound and determined to gnaw on the carcass of the best cheesiest pizza delivered to my door!  And opening a chat box with EAT24, they apologized ever so profusely, promised that nothing like this would ever happen again and all problems would be immediately resolved.

“Just place your order as a pick-up for now, and I’ll make sure that the restaurant knows it will actually be for delivery” the helpful on-line representative typed.  “Please let me know when you’ve submitted your order.”

“Done” I replied in the chat-box a few minutes later, as a lengthy pause took place.

*ring, ring, ring*

Bolting into the living room to answer my land line, I was greeted with the following exchange from an unknown wireless caller:  “Hi, I’m calling from ‘Pizza Al Forno’, to confirm that an order for Penny is actually for delivery?” the gentleman wondered.

“Yes, that’s correct, and someone should have alerted you to that via the World Wide Web” I explained Spock-logically with one raised analytical eyebrow.

“OK, yeah, got that, but as your purchase was supposed to be a pick-up, we didn’t charge your debit card with the delivery service.  You gotta provide $2.50 in cash to the driver.”

“Not a problem” I nodded to the phone.

“Oh, and the $2.50 is for the service delivery only, and doesn’t include any financial compensation to the driver as a tip” he added, crossing his tee’s and dotting his I’s.

“Yes sir, I understand” I added compliantly, lest anyone be tempted to whack me with a club and drag me by the hair until ten quarters fell out of my pajama pants. 

With my EAT24 Agent still logged into the chat box, I padded back to the laptop to read a message that basically stated that I should relax in comfort, as my order had been placed, my food was already being prepared and I needn’t bother with a care in the world, as sustenance would soon be on its way directly to my doorstep.

“Thanks for all your help” I typed sarcastically – a subtle art most often lost in this digital age without a stupid animatronic emoticon rolling its eyes.

“Anytime!” the Agent responded happily.

“Um, you do realize that this is a shit-load of unnecessary work from a service that’s supposed to make ordering food easier?” I nudged.

“LOL!” typed the Agent.

Oy!  Insert stupid animatronic emoticon rolling its eyes...!

Now, I know I’m a dinosaur, but WTF?  Do people even bother to use a land line anymore? Or must every person-to-person discussion be prefaced with a text message that says “can u chat L8r 2nite?”  Well here’s a novel idea:  pick up the damn phone and ask me!  And if I answer, I'm apparently available!

God knows that elegant cursive writing has gone the way of the Dodo bird unless you’re 40 or so (I must insert a special “Thank You!” to my sister who wrote sooo beautifully in my Birthday card!); but I couldn’t quite let go of the image that eventually I’d be buried or cremated, possibly next to a placard etched with the ever-so solemn words “OMG!  WTF?  RIP, BFF... TTFN...”

But I digress!  And I attempt to evolve.

Approximately forty minutes later, my land line rang yet again, this time from yet another unknown wireless caller.  “Hi, pizza delivery – your security code isn’t working and I’m outside your gate” the driver announced.

“I’ll be right there” I sighed, throwing on a winter coat over my pajamas and plodding out into the rain; six bucks in hand to cover delivery and tip.

“I pushed the star key and the pound key, but nothing worked” the driver shrugged.

“Didja ever maybe consider the big, bright-red, jolly candy-like button that says “talk” and my two digit number written here on the receipt?” I shrugged back.

“Hunh.  Let me see...” he mused, as he held my pizza hostage in a wet plastic baggie while he played with the keypad.  (Once again, sarcasm lost; yet lo and behold, there was my answering machine!)  “Oh.  Well, sorry to make you come all the way out here in the rain” he shrugged again.

>>><<< 

Having celebrated “Orphan” Christmas Day with a group of friends at a festive Mexican restaurant (with a mariachi band!), I was finally feeling more in touch with humanity.  We’d enjoyed lively conversation!  We’d feasted communally upon the never-ending baskets of tortilla chips and bowls of salsa!  (And I’d only scorched my arm hairs once on my fourth strawberry flaming margarita!)

And walking home safely with my friend Lon who was house/dog sitting near my apartment building, we parted ways with a hug, as I padded into my bat-cave to warm my chilly hands over my spiffy new Kindle Fire HD.

“OOOGH!” I think I said, tappy, tappy, tapping the screen.  “Make Fire go” I commanded, as a myriad of screens presented themselves as to registering the product, connecting to my router, negotiating with my computer, additional options of charging the tablet with my cell phone cord, and logging onto WiFi troubleshooting.

Hmm...

Yeah, OK, insert stupid emoticon scratching its chin...

Yet pragmatic as I may be, logical to the point of obnoxious and perhaps overly confident in a once-a-year tequila-induced haze, I was yet again, bound and determined to make sense of my world.

Me make Fire. 

Make Kindle Fire go!

Me need help.  (Me pour vodka?)

Ooogh...!

>>><<< 

Now as a general rule, I’m not one to mix alcoholic spirits, but somewhere in the darkness of my humble bat-cave as I slept off my holiday hangover, alchemy was afoot.  Mr. Kindle had met Ms. PC, and whilst I’d shut down the poot early in my stupor, they’d apparently discontinued negotiations.  And whilst I’d required a full night’s sleep (and then some) to reboot my pea-brain, upon wakening, apparently Mr. Kindle Fire Pants required four hours of solid battery charging through the router all by himself. 

Yes, yes, feel free to once again insert stupid emoticon rolling its eyes...

And high-maintenance as Mr. Kindle appeared to be, I acquiesced and gave him some alone time in the cave.  “OK.  Me wanted to continue to carve wheel anyway” I sighed.  (I had a tasty port wine cheese ball in the fridge.)

Yet not long after, Mr. Kindle woke up.

Ooogh...

Hunched over a high-def screen of seven inches like a complete Neanderthal afraid to go near fire, I tentatively scrolled through options of Amazon Apps.

“Free backgammon – good” I clicked with a metaphorically hairy knuckle.  “Free slot machine – good” I clapped happily, having not ventured out to Las Vegas in about two years.  “Free ‘Old School Video Poker’?” I pawed my chin, disbelieving that such a relic might still exist in our world.  But, free Euchre?  A card game that I’d grown up with that was dear to my heart?  “Get App!” I pounded my chest with my fists triumphantly!  (Ow!)

Perhaps my parents were correct all along.  Technology had come quite a distance.  Not only had the icy-cold Borg infiltrated my humble cave, but they had even time-travelled me back to my childhood!

Yes, yes, you may insert melancholy emoticon if you need to.

Setting Mr. Kindle aside (after what felt like ten minutes, but turned out to be four hours), I logged on to the poot once again for sustenance. 

“Hungry?” EAT24 wanted to know.

OOOGH!

I suppose there comes a time when we youngish old farts (I just made it to 47!) have to step out of the ice age, and learn to assimilate with the inevitable.

And choosing to attempt to unite the paradoxical planes of existence between my cozy comfort zone and the Mother Ship of Automaton Zombies, I logged on to Yummy.com as a satisfactory compromise.

Yes, I would have food!  I would purchase groceries online!  And I would even cook it all by myself.  After all, I had made FIRE go!!!

Does anyone out there have an emoticon that screams “bad idea?”

With a metaphorically hairy knuckle once again rapping at a computer screen, I tapped on food stuffs, entered my debit card, and reclining for a moment, looked forward to the evolutionary growth that a simple primate such as myself was destined to achieve...  Never again would I dwell in the darkness, when Enlightenment was but a key stoke away!   

I do believe that within thirty minutes or less, I discovered (again) that I am absolutely, 100%, a born and bred, hardcore spoiled brat. 

The three-pack carton of Egg Beaters were threatening me with immediate use within the next seven days to “maintain safety” -- lest I care to take my chances with god-knows what – yet they also delightfully neglected to include even the minimalist of preparation directions (i.e. low or high heat; or maybe an approximate cooking time for “safety”?); as apparently I needed to check out cooking instructions on the website.  (Oh, FFS!)

Meanwhile, turning my lusty carnivorous appetites toward the package of Farmer John uncooked bacon, I scratched my head in confusion as how to even open the damn thing.  I hadn’t cooked bacon in probably twenty years, but the hungry primate in me was already ripping and tearing at the corner, only to discover pink piggy juices dripping down my arms...

Yep, that was the end of THAT!  (I can hear you laughing, Mom and Dad...)

Yet the day wouldn’t be a complete loss.  With a tub of “I can’t believe it’s not Butter!” waiting patiently in the fridge, I pulled out its hearty companion -- Pillsbury Crescent dinner rolls.  And flashing back to childhood once again, I lovingly recalled my Mom so effortlessly thwacking a tube of breakfast cinnamon buns on the counter, popping out the dough, and arranging them on a baking pan for my sister and me to ice whilst we slobbered at the aroma.

Oh, where’s that melancholy emoticon?!

Unfortunately, only half of my genetic make-up comes from my Mom...

Despite all of the thwacking, smacking and essentially beating the crap out the Crescent rolls, every effort proved unsuccessful as the tube continued to roll-over, show it’s soft underbelly, and essentially mock me.

Ooogh.

Luckily, the other half of my DNA comes from my Dad...

Turns out, one mighty blow from a hammer in my Sears Ladies Tool kit does the trick!!!

Grateful to be back to work (WHERE THEY FEED US!), and planning on a face-to-crackly-monitor at my local Mickey Dees drive-thru for dinner tomorrow,

~Troglodyte P

p.s.  I had a couple of photos to upload for this post, but Google seems to be having its own "OOOGH" moments!!!