Conversations from the Other Side

 

 

“Let me know if you feel anything creepy” my beloved friend Dev led me through the darkened tunnel beneath the underbelly of the Audience seating during my previous three-day gig on a painfully low budget sit-com.  “This stage is notoriously haunted” he mentioned ever-so-casually over his shoulder; a passing comment as if encounters with the Undead are quite natural and to be expected.   “We definitely have a Ghost here” Dev continued, “and it’s even whispered my name” he added, alerting me to the fact that our Craft Services lady seemed highly attuned to the spectral anomalies.

Reallly??? 

(Well, in her defense, she honestly DID have a knack at eerily hovering around the food just as I was about to abscond with both a banana AND a bagel – my devious, self-serving plot to provide myself with an ounce sustenance which apparently might sabotage the tiny funding she was allotted...) 

But as to the other-worldly communications, I kept an open mind.

After all, I’ve had many dreams where my deceased Grandpas and Grandmas come to visit and check on me – loving gestures which usually invoke not only the distinctive cologne of my Dad’s father (weird as it sounds, as my Grandma on that side of the family had no sense of smell); as well as my Mom’s father trotting briskly down a staircase (not sure I recall him ever that agile), looking forward to planting his grandchild on his lap in his La-Z-Boy recliner and playfully threatening me with “I’m gonna eat your ears, little girl!”  (I do believe those were the days that I first integrated the word “EEK!” into my vocabulary.) 

And yes, I did have to admit that not long ago, my heroic feline sidekick Pretty also appeared to me in one of the most lucid dreams I’ve ever experienced; where not only did I keep pinching myself to wake up, but I could actually communicate with my deceased bewhiskered best friend.  None of the dream made sense, as my apartment was exactly as it was when I fell asleep, but all of the sudden, there’s my kitty sniffing around, in and out of her favorite closet, jumping on the bed agilely with glistening green eyes and a loud purr of greeting.  I’d even asked her where she’d been for the last ten months, and she’d answered me enigmatically, that essentially wherever the music she heard and liked, she’d followed.

So who was I to discredit the potential validity of the possibilities of past and present communication? 

Yet while the barriers of consciousness may blur during sleep (personally, I often transport to Las Vegas in my dreams), you could have knocked me over with a feather when the aforementioned Paramount Ghost apparently swooped by the Audience seating and whispered my name in my left ear.

WTF???

“I just heard something freaky” I shared with my Second Team who were at the moment chatting about a cute cameraman.  “Did you hear it?” I wondered all perplexed, whipping my head around in a frenzy, curious if the Audio Department was playing some sort of juvenile trick on the newbie. 

And spotting my friend Dev, I was just about to ask him what may have transpired when he plopped down with a plate of food and casually announced that the Ghost had just whispered HIS name for the second time at Craft Services.

Please say it with me – “EEK!”

>>><<< 

Meanwhile, I found myself equally confused by conversations with the Living...

Not having worked at Paramount Studios in quite some time, I discovered that the world’s friendliest (and chatty!) Security Guard was not only the official Gate Keeper to thwart the entrance of civilian’s vis-à-vis the employees; he was also one of the most delightfully proud gentlemen who not only prided himself in knowing EVERY SINGLE PERSON’S name as he swiped their IDs and greeted them personally.

That is, until it was my turn to pass through the pearly gates.

“I’m afraid you’re not in the computer” he shook his head sadly, disallowing my passage to the other side.  “Why are you here?” he wanted to know, as I explained my current occupational Limbo.

“Hey!  Being a Stand-In is a good job!” he shared jovially.  “You never know who you’re gonna be next time around, do ya?” he smiled.

Excellent point, previous soul once apparently known as “Buddha”!

>>><<<

Meanwhile, back in the whisper-free solitude of my bat cave that evening, I quietly logged on to my poot only to discover that my earthly presence had been invited to two social functions:  The first would be a surprise Birthday celebration for a friend (age undisclosed) and gathering of a multitude of people whom all used to haunt my local watering hole some years ago; and secondly, I’d received an early heads-up notification as to my childhood pal RJ’s impending nuptials to his beloved partner Richard for an intimate wedding to be held on the East Coast “at a Widow friend’s mansion” in July.

(A “Widow friend’s MANSION???”  Oh good heavens, that’s like my ultimate MECCA!!!)

But, but, but, I wasn’t prepared for either amassing of souls!     

Certainly I was looking forward to catching up with a multitude of ghosts from the pub; but years had passed since the closing of our local establishment, and, well, let’s just say I wasn’t feeling particularly self-confident...

After all, what remotely interesting minutia did my unemployed pea-brain have to share with the rest of my gainfully-employed Hollywood acquaintances?  Not to mention the fact that as many of us hadn’t seen each other in ages, well, how could I gracefully account for tummy pooch, poor eye-sight and lack of memory for people’s names?  (Oh, and did I mention my parent’s assessment over the phone that the current inexplicable pain in my left foot may be attributed to GOUT?)

Clearly there was only one thing to do to bridge the gap between my past, present and future...

I bought pearls!

And OOOH, not just ANY pearls!  With a “Secret On-Line Only” email from Overstock.com (with an enticing coupon discount), I logged on to purchase two long-ass, (KICK-ASS) strands of necklaces; each opulent gem no smaller than 10 to 11mm!

OK, OK, OK, perhaps my purchases were a wee bit rash considering my current Limbo status of employment...  But at least my investment of fine jewelry (coupled with a surprisingly pleasant residual check in the mail) would (in the long run) become family heirlooms to pass down to my family.  Plus (in the short run), I’d acquired accoutrements that would not only be acceptable in the world of the Widow’s mansion; but equally conversational at the iconic Mexican restaurant El Coyote on Beverly Blvd. – a landmark established in 1931, and most well-known for its kitsch, affordable food and knock-you-on-the-floor Margaritas.

What I hadn’t factored into my other-worldly equation however, was the uncanny ability for one phantom to manifest himself in a drunken stupor before the Birthday festivities even began before noon...

“You look like something straight outta “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” he, offered, sizing me up with the one good eye.  “Well, except for that skull hair clip on top of your head” he added sloppily.

“Yeah, well, that’s kind of what I was going for” I smiled politely before he teetered back to his bar stool.

(Yeesh!  And to think that I was worried about conversation?!)

As to the party and my friends, I felt stupid for ever having an ounce of doubt as to re-connecting.  Our Birthday “Boy” was genuinely surprised, our Hostess had pulled off a fabulous gathering and even my silly pearls were a hit with my gal pals.  (Well, after they disencumbered the gems from my neck and took turns to make certain that the oyster formations were authentic and “gritty” when rubbed against their teeth.) 

And whilst I’m generally against Spirits during the daylight hours, I eventually succumbed to a couple of strawberry Margaritas (I had cab fare!) as some of us relaxed together near a delightfully gaudy piñata next to our cozy leather booth.

“I may have the gout!” I openly shared, propping up a foot.

“I’ve got a sore leg!” a male friend who prides himself on walking in LA chimed in.

“I’ve got an iPhone, but it takes three different kinds of reading glasses to see it!” another piped up, frowning at the glowing screen in her hand.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got THIS to lug around every day” a fourth amigo bravely bared her belly for comparison.  “What the hell?  I used to be “small” fat, but now I’m “medium” fat?  How the hell did this happen?!” she posited to the table as we assessed our various gravitational pulls and inexplicable shifts in “girth”.

>>><<< 

Gratefully accepting a free car ride home from a sober friend, and snuggling into my comfort zone under the warmth of my blankets, I made peace with the current angels and demons in my life as I vowed to go to sleep early for a change.

After all, the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.  (Well, that and the fact that El Coyote Margaritas did indeed live up to their historical reputation.  OOF!) 

>>><<< 

Yet just when I thought all eerie communications from The Great Beyond had come to an end for the meantime, I bolted up in bed at a scratching noise just outside my bedroom window...

With winds picking up to approximately 30mph a few nights later, I could hear the noise of heavy palm tree fronds thudding onto the cement; yet I couldn’t quite discern the unusual rasping which seemed to scuttle away and reappear outside my front door.  First I heard the sound to my left as I slowly crept into my living room; followed by a scurrying of shuffling which seemed to come from the right.  “Maybe it’s a possum” I thought logically, wondering if I shouldn’t grab my Louisville Slugger to shoo away the varmint.  (Yeah right – suddenly I’m “Granny” from “The Beverly Hillbillies”?  I think NOT!)  “Or maybe the Paramount Ghost has tracked me down” I conjectured (actually, a far more comforting thought than confronting a beady-eyed sack of fur which would surely scare the crap out of each of us as we BOTH involuntarily fainted).

Nevertheless, I stifled a squeal so as not to alert the Spirit (or marsupial) any further as I crept towards the closed blinds...

And holding my breath as a floorboard squeaked beneath me, I saw a shadowy (maybe four foot tall?) presence stop dead in its tracks as I peeked out the window into the darkness...

Yes, kind readers, I was truly haunted.  Haunted by a being so terrifying who could withstand 30mph winds, scurry from place to place unnoticed, disappear for months at a time, and yet reappear at will.

“So sorry!  I’m just raking leaves...” the widow of my Deceased Crappy Landlord apologized to my neighbors who had the bravado to actually open their door.  “My husband always kept the property so tidy” she apologized again.

Hmm...

I guess we all have our own ghosts to face...

Cheers to our Loved Ones who visit when they can,

~Open-minded P

 

Sixteen Again?

 

With only one day of gainful employment under my belt on a CBS show in approximately four months, I was starting to wonder if I was losing my mind. 

My previous sit-com was as good as dead, as the cable Network people had become sick and tired of the production costs, the cumbersome process of excessive nit-picky rewrites and the reluctance to let go of decades-old approaches as to how to script a simple nineteen and a half minute TV show.

Granted, the EP’s hearts were highly vested as they struggled through their own personal hell-on-wheels psychodrama as they portrayed their real lives on screen, battling each other politely with well-rehearsed ‘therapy speak’:

“I hear what you are saying, and I respect your opinion.  Thank you for your honesty.  However, this system worked very successfully for me when we did my other show back in the 1980’s”, my Gorgeous Actress had explained calmly; completely oblivious to the fact that all of our cable Network people WEREN’T EVEN BORN YET!!!

And thus I remained in my perpetual state of unresolved conflict, like an abandoned child cast aside in a messy Network divorce, left to my own coping devices...

The first month of unemployment wasn’t so bad, as I positively reveled in the lazy luxurious afternoons when I slept late; as well as the chilly, occasionally drizzly mornings when I awoke early, tuned in to the local news channel on TV, and proceeded to snuggle deeper into the comfort of my cozy warm cocoon as commuters (who weren’t me!) battled their way through clogged traffic.  (JOY!)

However, as days and days (and daze) passed after my (GLORIOUS!) day-player gig at Warner Bros studio back in February, I worried that my spirit might be waning...

As the majority of my friends and colleagues are all gainfully employed in Tinsel Town, social phone calls seemed to end abruptly (as they are wont to do in our superficial industry), and I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that since I haven’t yet booked a series, I was not only the red-headed step child flagrantly cast aside at a cousin’s wedding, but I’d also been, well, simply forgotten...  (Sob, sniffle, sniffle...)

Hmm...  Not buying it, are ya?

Yes, quite naturally, I easily adapted to my ideological life of autonomy!

Free of mundane constraints, I found myself rattling about my bat-cave at all hours of the night, finally able to rehearse and perfect my spooky “wooooooo” ghostly impersonation as I carried my recyclables past my neighbors’ apartment out to the trash bin under the moonlight; I’d also negotiated a truce between myself and “Mable” (the tiny spider under my far kitchen cabinet) as to her restricted boundaries (“you can hang out there and try to look intimidating little lady, but should you make any attempt to “scurry”, you’re a goner!”) ; and I’d even managed to annoy the crap out of a telemarketer by actually answering the land line and engaging him in conversation until HE hung up on ME!  (Geez, I didn’t even get to creepily ask him what he was wearing!!!)

All in all, everything was right with the world!

>>><<< 

“I drove past your street tonight on my way home today, and wondered ‘how’s Penny doing?”’ my (real live!!!) Movie Star friend Tony G wanted to know.

“I’m mostly great!” I nodded to the phone.  “But I don’t have a job” I sulked a little.

“You don’t know how NOT to work, do you?” he delved compassionately.  “Good for you, kid.  So let me ask; how’s the home life?” he quizzed, putting me uneasily on the spot.

“Well, I sleep.  And I have a healthy appetite, but I sleep A LOT.  I mean, seriously, HARD CORE like a teenager” I confessed.  “I can wake up early with no problem, but then it’s like I’ve been drugged in the afternoon, and the next thing you know, I’ve slept another six hours” I added, taking a deep breath and owning up to whatever awful diagnosis or condemnation should be sentenced upon my wildly erratic behavior.  (Seriously, if I were a dinner entrée on a restaurant menu, I’d be veal.)

“Well I don’t know how to break this to you kiddo, but you’re an Actor.”

“I know that I really oughta..., wait, WHAT?” I flustered in confusion.

“We’re performers Pen!  And when we’re not allowed to perform, we hibernate.”  (Insert audible *gasp* as that’s exactly the word I’ve been using!)  “Call it an Actor’s instinct if you will” he continued sagely:  a Hollywood veteran of the silver screen for over forty years.  “We store up energy for when we GET to go to work.  Plus, ya can’t spend money you’re not making if you’re sleeping!”

Touché!

“Enjoy your rest, kiddo.  You’ll appreciate it soon enough when you go back to work.  God knows I will, since I just finished a film up in Big Bear and can’t WAIT to sleep for the next forty-eight hours uninterrupted in my own bed!”

And hanging up the phone, I couldn’t help but ponder the validity of Tony G’s unique perspective.

Sure, I’ve always considered myself an Actor – well, at least after my first television appearance in front of a live studio audience of 250 people – but as being a Stand-In has become my basic bread and butter income, did I seriously deserve the recognition as a true Professional in the eyes of my Movie Star friend???

>>><<< 

Reporting to Paramount Studios a week ago for a three-day gig to assist in standing-in for a monster of a sit-com episode with pant-loads of Guest Stars and fifty-four (I think) separate vignettes wherein I needed to cover at least three Actors in twenty-five (I think) of the vignettes, I couldn’t have been more overwhelmed, nor more freaking ELATED!  Not only did I have a job (albeit temporary), but there were at least a dozen people that I know and love on the show!

“Here’s your paperwork and contract” one of my beloved peeps handed me a hefty packet.  “I know you work all the time Pen, so I’m sure you’ve filled out all of these before for this cable Network” he smiled warmly as I sorted through a monumental pile of legal forms.  “It’s just the standard background check” he chuckled comically.

“Sure” I chuckled back; “my blood type and what-not with a cavity search, right?” I laughed light-heartedly.  “Wait, WHAT???” I frowned, eyeballing the documents.

Holy crap!

As it turns out, this particular cable Network which is geared towards a younger viewing audience, does INDEED perform a legitimate background check to ensure that for the safety of the children, they are NOT employing sex offenders or pedophiles.  (Um, EEK!)  And submitting all of my required information, I checked and initialed the box, that should they choose to run a report on me, I could receive a copy for my own records of whatever dirt they might find.  (Well, that should be oodles of fun if I ever work there again, as one of my best friends is a Federal Agent for the Department of Justice and I’m probably already red-flagged with a redacted file!)

But embracing the moment and seeking out Craft Services to pop a sesame seed bagel into the toaster for breakfast, I heard a familiar voice behind me – our Hero of the show, and the (waaaay back when) teen idol whose Tiger Beat posters once papered my bedroom corkboard.

“Morning” he nodded at me, completely oblivious to the fact that we’d worked together years ago as he stuffed his bagel into the other half of the toaster beside mine.

“Good morning” I replied professionally (as all due “Ethel Mertzing” had long since passed).  “I’m Penny” I smiled as I shook his hand, gently reminding him of our previous work history together.   

“Wow.  How long ago was THAT?” he rubbed his eyes wearily, graciously indulging me in casual small talk until his bagel was toasted and he could finally retreat back to the seclusion of his private dressing room.

>>><<< 

Being that a mid-week day was my first baby step back into my comfort zone of a sit-com, I did my best to watch my specific Actors like a hawk. 

Granted, I was a tad rusty, and hadn’t yet been bitch-slapped into proper submission like my last show – but rather, given an ounce of freedom to actually enjoy the process, I unfortunately made a few mistakes...

1.    “OK, who’s laughing?” the insecure portly ‘Pugsley Addams’ version of a child star demanded to know; oblivious to the fact that being stared down by creepy dead-eyed ‘Wednesday Addams’ twins with blond braided pigtails sent me rolling on the floor at the dark humor.  (Oh, they were BRILLIANT!)

2.    Banished to the Audience seating during the Network run-thru like lower-class citizens who were not allowed on stage to mingle amongst the Higher-Ups, I sat ever-so-dutifully silent as admonished to the Second Team by the UPM (now, that’s a proper bitch-slap!), until once again, the spectacular duo of ‘Wednesdays’ skipped care-free onto the set in their adorable matching yellow eyelet embroidered dresses.  And looking up from my script, I witnessed the amazing transformation of all-around, happy-go-lucky children take their places on set, and most excellently OWN the stage as they lowered their heads, focused on a spot designated by the Director, and transitioned into two of the most TERRIFYING zombie-esque undead creatures – a fantastic occurrence which not only made me belly laugh and snort out loud (even before the Director called “Action”), but also earned me a serious head-whip glare from our Hero, who eyeballed the Audience to see just who had prematurely guffawed.  (As I said, the eerie children were BRILLIANT!) 

3.    Last but not least, given to understand that the Executives would have a note session after the run-thru before the Stand-Ins would be utilized for lighting, I excused myself from the Second Team under the guise of popping out for a half of a ciggy – a woeful falsehood, as I had actually disappeared into the ladies’ room down the midway to negotiate the egress of my morning bagel...  And returning back to the stage, not only was a fellow Second Teamer waving me home like a baseball coach, but the DP had already lit one of my scenes without me.  CRAP!  (Pun intended.)
 

Yet, I still had two more days to prove my worth, my professionalism and my ability to do my job well.  After all, I’m an Actor damnit, and I’m a Perfectionist!

Geared up at 9:00am (after an hour of transferring my notes) to tackle four vignettes for a comedic male in which I not only got to sing, dance and prat-fall, I euphorically bathed in the warmth of the compliment from our Camera Coordinator who shouted to her crew, “YAY!  Penny COMMITS to a scene!” 

I also enjoyed the absolute mayhem of bouncing around from a “reality TV mom”, to a “game show hostess” and back to “reality TV mom” in the same scene, as no matter what the roles, I got to PERFORM!

And snagging an apple box to plop down on before we rolled tape on my male Actor, I caught up with one of the Cameramen whom I’ve known for years.  “Your replacement on my other show was OK Pen, but she missed a lot of the nuances that you always brought” he shared with me openly.  “But hey, in her defense, she’s not really an Actress like you.”

Well, slap my ass and call me Happy!

As to our Hero slash “poster boy”, my inner tweenagers heart actually leapt a beat as he approached me head-on in the Audience housing; scaling the railings in what could have been a mighty Rapunzel-esque fairy tale reunion had I let down my ponytail and he actually remembered me – but instead I gave up my chair so as to allow him to frolic with his wife and daughter busily chatting away with my co-workers.

As to the show, I thought it was a hilarious episode -- despite my Capricorn proclivities towards attention to details, i.e. a “depressed teenager in a Snuggie” who sports a full face of make-up and an up-do hairstyle worthy of the red carpet, clad in jeans and adorable boots under said Snuggie?  Hello, how about socks and jammies?  Not to mention same “depressed teenager” sitting on the couch eating “sour cream flavored potato chips” (according to the neon green prop bag), yet the substitute veggie chips were red?  Let us not forget “Pugsley” exiting the pantry with a full bowl of popcorn (because we all keep our pre-made popcorn in an open bowl in the pantry?); nor the fact that despite multiple takes on camera in the kitchen set when said pantry doors didn’t properly close, not ONCE did anyone get up to fix them all week long?  (Oh, I could go on and on!)

But gently reminded by my Second Team that “this is just a kid’s show”, I closed my yap and held my tongue, all the while allowing the professional side of my pea-brain to absorb the happenings around me.

After all, I still have many lessons to learn before I win the Lotto and start up my own Network...  (Top-o-the-page, people:  I DREAM HUGE!)

As for me for now, I’m counting my blessings for the experiences (as well as the overtime paychecks to come!).

Plus, in hindsight, I think my Movie Star friend Tony G was quite right.  I’ll never again feel an ounce of shame for any downtime as long as I continue to give my all when I’m allowed to work and perform. 

And lastly, a sincere “Thank You” to all of you whom made me feel welcome and appreciated on your show.  (Promise me you’ll read the entire script, "C" - (you know who you are!))

Closing the curtains for now,

~Sleepy P

Paper or Plastic?

“That’s your total sir, and will you be needing a bag?” the friendly cashier wanted to know as the elderly customer ahead of me cocked his head in confusion.  “Due to the latest ordinance, bags are now ten cents apiece if you don’t bring your own” she informed him.  And agreeing to pay the price to conceal his (what ought to be private) purchases of personal hygienic necessities, my heart went out to the old fella.

“Next in line” the cashier waved me over, as I approached the counter with one item.  “Here’s your total, and do you have a reusable bag?” she asked.

“Why yes I do” I beamed.  “It’s bright white with neon orange lettering, and I hang it inside my front door to remind myself to take it with me when I go shopping” I told her.  “And when I left the house today, I promptly tossed it aside to get it out of the way.”

“No worries” she laughed, “none of us are quite used to this just yet.”

And striding out of the mechanical doors next to a ridiculously handsome gentleman who too had neglected to bring his own carry-out tote, we made an unfortunate glimpse of eye-contact at each other’s hand-held purchases. 

“Yeah, I’m not a real redhead” I shrugged unapologetically, my dazzling box of Miss Clairol Nice-n-Easy hair color catching the full beam of the LA sunshine.

“That’s cool, and, um... this Princess wrapping paper and twinkling gold glittery bow is for my, um... sister” he nodded.

(And my parents wonder why I haven’t yet met my future husband???)

But I digress!

>>><<< 

With a pit stop at home and my bright white reusable tote with the neon orange lettering tucked securely under my arm, I proceeded to my next task of the day.  I was running low on cleaning supplies – most notably, the world’s greatest invention whatever created, i.e. the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser – and upon entering my local Smart & Final store, observed the sign that they were now charging twenty cents per carry-out bag if you didn’t provide your own.

“Pfft” I snorted, now feeling like a true shopping pro as I made my way towards the back of the establishment.  And stuffing my tote with a box of Mr. Clean eco-friendly sponges whilst perusing a neighboring aisle for a fresh scent of Febreze Air Effects, a sales associate suddenly appeared by my side.  “Can I help you find something?” he eagerly wanted to know as I shoved a can of “spring and renewal” Febreze into my bag.

“No thanks, I’m good!” I smiled, toddling away for orange juice, completely oblivious to the fact that I appeared to be the BOLDEST, MOST STUPID SHOP-LIFTER ON THE PLANET.

And lining up behind a young guy who was apparently throwing a weekend kegger with massive quantities of chips, snacks and miscellaneous alcohol heaping out of his shopping cart, the cashier rang up his total to just over two hundred bucks.  “Would you like to purchase carry-out bags for an additional twenty cents apiece?” she asked professionally.

“Are you high?” he smirked, swiping his card and wheeling his stuff out to his car trunk.

“I guess it takes all kinds!” I smiled to the cashier.

“Yes it does, ma’am!” she replied.  “I see that you’ve brought your own tote for shopping!  Good for you!” she applauded me.  “Now, can you please remove all of your items and place them on the conveyor belt for me to scan in front of the security cameras?”

Oops.

>>><<< 

Making a second pit stop at the bat cave to refrigerate my OJ, shuffling a few items around in an effort to purge perishables approaching their “use by” date, and implementing my Mom’s highly scientific and well-proven extrapolation that “when in doubt, throw it out”, I was feeling relatively confident in my current unemployed capacity as a Domestic Diva.  And with the expulsion of some very sad looking wrinkly blueberries, a pod of three strawberries who appeared to be growing beards and one grease-stained cardboard pizza box housing a four-day-old slice of pie, my orange juice seemed safe enough.

Until...

Surveying the bottom shelf and eye-balling a compact Tupperware container, I winced at the possibilities.  I clearly remembered heating up the savory beef stew when I was just getting over the flu, but that was how many months ago???  I’d feel just awful tossing out the container, as the tub and snapping lid were a holiday gift from a friend (years prior to the stew), who had taken the time to bake me a slice of her incredible signature dessert, with the Tupperware serving as an added homemade bonus of a crème liqueur topping.  But as the Son of Deceased Crappy Landlord has yet to fix the garbage disposal in my kitchen, how could I keep the container, yet toss the contents without a Hazmat suit and a sturdy plastic baggie?

But again, I digress!

>>><<< 

Tooling off to my third task of the day, I wheeled Cecilia (my beloved Toyota) into the carwash for a much needed bath.  Clearly she didn’t mind my unemployment so much, as she had developed a symbiotic relationship with the neighboring Bougainvillea which was attempting to embrace her and bring her into its twining fold like a lost cub; but seeing her sitting idle beneath the Son of Deceased Crappy Landlord’s air conditioning hose which dripped relentlessly upon her roof in a Water Torture trickle was more than I could bear.

“Let’s get you cleaned up!” I patted her steering column, unloading one hefty brown bag of miscellaneous straw papers, napkins and tissues from her back seat floor before entering the car wash tunnel.

And that’s when I started to feel paranoid...

Granted, I’m always a tad uneasy in the confined space – particularly after Cecilia once randomly jumped the railing and got us stuck in the throes of the pink and blue foamy octopi tentacles (yikes!) – but this time I was mulling over the future of tackling the most mundane chores without the convenience of simple, free disposable receptacles.  Would I need to begin hoarding paper and plastic bags for my emergency earthquake kit?  Sure, I always maintain the obvious supplies; i.e. peanut butter, toilet tissue, Band-Aids and water (need I even mention the extra bottle of voddy?), but in this wonderful new idyllic world of cutting back on unnecessary waste, well, what would we do with our actual “waste”? 

Oh, the great state of California was indeed on a slippery slope for looting, and I wasn’t even thinking about the San Andreas Fault!

But of course my fretting was absolutely ludicrous.  Lord knows this City of Angels has already faced unspeakable challenges including riots, wild fires and mud slides; not to mention the fact that we Angelinos willingly climb into our automobiles every single day knowing full-well that we’re taking our lives into our own hands as we share the roads with Lindsey Lohan.  *shudder*

Still, I had a few more errands to run, and angling Cecilia like a shining Emerald into a cushy golden spot directly in front of the convenience mart, I took a winning Lotto Scratcher out of my purse ($2.00!) and headed inside to collect my booty and a couple packs of ciggies.  (Bright white reusable satchel with neon orange lettering FOLDED UP in hand!)  

Unfortunately, as the customer line happened to be rather long, I found myself standing directly next to the self-serve case of fresh donuts and pastries, the lard-laden waft of which seemed absolutely criminal to ignore.  And with a delectable tray of twelve mini chocolate éclairs (three for ninety-nine cents!) which seemed destined to be tossed by the end of the day, I deemed it my Civic Duty to rescue a trinity of the deep-fried cream-filled pockets of joy!

Uck, but THEN what?  An extra load of laundry to wash chocolate goo out of my only reusable tote?  Where would the madness end?  Ninety-nine cents for a moment of weakness, vs. $2.50 for the machines in the Son of Crappy Deceased Landlord’s laundry room?

Until...

Like a subtle wink from The Universe, I caught a glimpse of the nearly hidden contraption – an outright free-for-all spindle of pastry plastic baggies! 

And like a whirling dervish, I spun around the store maniacally, tonging (YES!) three mini éclairs into one sack, two bananas into another as well as an entirely self-contained wettish package of expensive pre-cut refrigerated watermelon chunks into a third.  And milk!  Yes, a quart of 2% milk slid easily into yet another sleeve, as did a chilled bottle of Vitamin Water, an individually wrapped two-pack of frosted cherry Pop Tarts (hey, those sprinkles could break loose at any moment!) and essentially everything else within my reach during my frenetic hoarding frenzy.

“Find everything you need, sweetie?” the cashier wanted to know as I eventually regained my composure and remembered my original plan to purchase smokey treats.  “No problem” he smiled as he reached under the counter.  “Are you gonna need a separate pastry sleeve for those too?” he giggled.

Doh!

“You know, I only used this many bags, ‘cause I brought my own tote and I didn’t want it to get all dirty” I lousily attempted to justify my behavior like a child caught making mud pies in the sandbox.

“Relax, honey.  We’re still using up our old inventory” he chuckled as he tossed everything into a plastic carry-out.  “Anything else?”

“Ooh, I’ve got a winning “Monopoly” Scratcher!”

“Cash in, or buy more?” he smiled broadly, waving his hand ala Vanna White at the plethora of opportunities to win big money.

“Buy more!  Buy more!” I clapped giddily.

>>><<< 

By the end of the day, this Domestic Diva was feeling “relatively” proud of herself. 

I don’t know for sure if it was Son or Wife of my Crappy Deceased Landlord who tended to the neighbor’s aggressive Bougainvillea with branch cutters while we ran errands all afternoon, but Cecilia was able to elegantly glissade into a lovely FOREST-FREE area to rest her clean, shiny green chassis in her usual spot.

As to the bat-cave, I was sufficiently and adequately prepared for any natural disasters (food stuffs tended to, as well as an orderly-Capricorn-neatly-folded-pile of paper and plastic baggies in reserve), all of which seemed to provide a comforting feeling of security despite the disturbing news on my Yahoo home page that Lohan is still free and driving amongst us.  *insert repeat shudder*

Even my hefty two buck investment of “Monopoly” Scratchers had paid off, as I found myself sitting atop a financial bonanza of silvery flecks which unearthed a whopping six dollars! 

The Choo-choo doubles the prize!

 But as an Actor and (most often) a Stand-In, and having played hundreds of various roles (all of which presented their own unique challenges), I must say that owning the head-lining marquee as a Domestic Diva in my own life has opened my eyes to a foreign world which, despite my best efforts, simply doesn’t suit me.

And as if The Universe heard my plea until I’m booked on whatever sit-com is destined next for me, a small package arrived via USPS – a purchase I’d nearly forgotten about, as my nocturnal hours have become rather wonky without the daily structure of an alarm clock... 

But there it was, in all its glory – a “daydream” pink and black satin sleep mask adorned with a crown of Swarovski crystals, accompanied by a blue plastic eye-cooling gel pack insert!

 

Ooh, it was a sign!  It was a gentle nudge from The Universe reminding me to embrace my current hiatus without question!  Oh clearly, this was a Cosmic hug, wishing me delightful slumbering until the time when my exceptional talents are once again required!!!

And choosing to go to bed early(ish), I slid the chilled blue gel pack out of my freezer and into the mask, turned off the lights, and laid down like Royalty with my Swarovski diadem situated just above my nose as complete darkness descended.

Aaaah, heaven... 

Glorious pampering!

And drifting gently off to sleep without a care in the world, I’m relatively certain that I banked a solid nine minutes of actual REM before bolting upright in my sheets yelling “What’s on my head?!  Get it off me!  Get it off me!”

Um...

Still working out the kinks!

~Temporarily Domesticated Diva P

Author’s Addendum:  I believe I was approximately three minutes into the acclaimed TLC show “Hoarding:  Buried Alive” last night, when I actually RECOGNIZED the lady who was being documented.  I hadn’t seen her in decades, as she was a Happy Hour fixture at a local bar on Melrose that I used to haunt back in the 90’s.  I immediately remembered her eccentric taste in fashion, her flair for hats, her tremendously huge and generous heart in offering me financial support if I ever needed it after I quit a horrendous job on Rodeo Drive; and all of her wildly impossible Hollywood stories that I assumed she fabricated as to being an actual heiress, without ONCE dropping a name to “implicate” anyone.  (I may have just fallen off the Indiana turnip truck back then, but C’MON, what kind of an “heiress” drinks alone for half price at Happy Hour???)

Doh!  A REAL one!

Cheers to “Louise” for reaching out for help, and in her honor, good-bye to my creepy Tupperware container of beef stew!  EEK!  When in doubt, THROW IT OUT!!!