Future, Present and Past Tenses

“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...

“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

 

A Heartfelt Hypothesis on the Hierarchy of Hesitations

“I’ll just wait out here...” I casually SAG/AFTRA professionally acted my way out of a paper (or plastic?) bag, lolling in front of the automated doors as a friend of mine entered the brightly lit megalopolis to purchase a few items from the magnificent shopping arena wherein one could purchase everything from clothing to radial tires to a yearly bulk supply of toilet paper.

To be sure, there existed absolutely no Spock-logic behind my hesitation, as whilst I could’ve saved God knows how much money on kitchen trash bags (and a lifetime supply of vitamins that theoretically might expire before I do!); all of the little hairs on the back of my neck stood up in a perfunctorily profound protest.

In fact (from a purely scholastic point of view mind you), the Greek Philosopher Aristotle once said that “Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil.”  (!!!)

After all, I was situated with my friend who’d driven us somewhere deep into the heart of The Valley at the time!  (I don’t much care for abandoning my “comfort zone”, nor did I have an escape route without so much as my alter ego Wonder Woman invisible airplane!)

And yes, in 20/20 hindsight, OF COURSE I was reacting overly dramatically to irrational fear...  But all I knew (that betwixt the two), there was absolutely NO way anyone could possibly ‘Pepe LePew’ me through those doors!

>>><<< 

A decade or so later, I found myself temporarily befriended by an on-line blogger who confessed that she as well, was irrationally hesitant of confronting two things in her world – one being uninvited spiders randomly carousing about her home (not so irrational in my opinion), but was most predominately stricken with absolutely paralyzing terror at the daily strands of hair from her husband lurking in the bathtub drain.  And curious as to whether or not she might be uncomfortable with the idea of potential male pattern baldness in her handsome hubby, she assured me that I was completely off the mark.

“For whatever reason, soapy, slimy wet hair sticking to the shower just totally grosses me out.  I can’t explain it!” she shared her personal idiosyncrasy for all to read.  “I have to put on arm-length rubber gloves to even try to touch that.”  (Call me crazy, but these are the moments of honesty that I totally respect!)

Amidst the same decade whilst I was dating a certain boyfriend, I was blessed to be befriended by said boyfriend's dog “Jack”; a most beloved loyal canine hero who’d been rescued from the mean streets, and despite canoodling with the likes of A-list movie stars (I’m neither confirming nor denying that Jack actually knew “Jack Sparrow”), this pup never forgot his humble previous life, and took a full-body eighty-pound belly-up leaning to the liking of me.

Jack was protective!  Jack was fierce!  Jack was a serious bad-a@@ pit bull/boxer mix who feared nothing and harbored no hesitations!!!

Well...  except for shopping carts...  and skateboards... (Apparently miniature wheels were PTSD reminders of life on the streets, and ergo, Jack’s Kryptonite.)

But there again, these are the moments of heart-felt honesty that ultimately move me and help me feel connected as one less oddball on the planet.

>>><<< 

“Like it or not Penny, you’re currently unemployed.  You don’t have the luxury of catered food all day at a Studio, so you’re going to have to learn to feed yourself on a budget until you’re booked on another television show.”

WHAAAT?!?!

“They have a hot food bar here, a cold salad bar, a full deli, and if you have any questions they’ll even let you taste a sample before you make a purchase” a different friend of mine gently guided me into the welcoming arms of a smallish local establishment a mere mile or so down the road from my home.  “Certain things are obviously overpriced since we’re in an upscale store, but you can figure this out for yourself.  I believe in you” she patted me on the back as she moseyed off with her own list.

Hmmm...

Left to my own devices of attempting to stock my fridge and freezer without wasting too much money, my friend once again patted me on the back as we met in the checkout area; where much like Las Vegas casino card dealers, the cashiers stood in uniform at the front of their lines, ready for takers as if they had an open ten dollar minimum Three Card Poker table at the Bellagio.   

And having spent only about forty dollars, I was feeling quite confident!

Now, this is not to say that I didn’t make a few mistakes in the following weeks... 

Yes, on occasion, I over-purchased like a whale in Vegas... 

(Note to single people out there -– pre-sliced fruit is edible for only a day or two before it begins to smell like compost;  plus I’m still rather iffy on the whole concept as to precisely when creamed spinach morphs into something “more” than goo.  It’s already moldy-green and stinky when it’s fresh, and yes; I now irrationally fear that whilst I’m sleeping, the tub of iron-based vegetation is secretly bulking itself up like Arnold Schwarzenegger to impress the ocularly popular tub of butternut squash.)

Nevertheless, I digress!

I’d spectacularly miraculously overcome my irrational fear of Grocery Stores!  (I can hear my friend Richard in NY laughing that I’ve thus surpassed spending a gazillion dollars at my local 7-Eleven for mustard); but a knack for shopping for ONE person is DEFINITELY a learned skill.

Who would ever have thought (with my dismal disabilities as a Domestic Zero); that I could possibly teach myself how to make a seriously fabulous fried egg/sharp cheddar cheese sandwich?   (Hint:  if you slather your heart healthy whole wheat bread with real mayonnaise and fry the egg in butter, you’re good to go.) 

 

(Brilliant idea that some years ago I purchased a spider-web "Joan Cleaver-esque" apron.  Yay! I can cook!  (Well at least, I can kind of barracade myself from splattering grease.))

And although I may be temporarily unemployed, by my mathematical calculations, I’ve successfully tackled the ability to devour proper feasts in my bat-cave for less than a few dollars per feeding!

>>><<< 

Irrational (or rational?) fears are significantly difficult to conquer.  Believe me:  I get that.  (My ongoing psychopathy with regard to prepping eggs is the incessant need to spoon out that creepy SOLID WHITE ganglia-blob lurking ominously in the albumen (the clear goo by the yoke)).  Seriously!  What the HECK is THAT?  Is it an undeveloped chicken spinal column?!  (Frankly, I don’t even want to know...) 

Yet despite my heroic ability to triumph and conquer a fear which used to paralyze me back in the day, a few more hesitations have thus presented themselves of late which I feel the need to address and analyze:

With four rather determined canine paws dug deeply into the tile floor in defiant rebellion, the owner of “Muffy” profusely expressed regret to all of us shoppers who couldn’t help but ‘coo’ and ‘aww’ regarding the adorable ‘Toto-esque’ wired-hair terrier being gently “dragged” by his leash down the Yellow Brick Road toward the refrigerated section of the Grocery Store.
    
“Muffy hates anything cold.  I can’t explain it!” his owner continued to apologize, straining to reach for a quart of low-fat milk as Muffy (all of about maybe twenty-five pounds?) doggedly (pun intended) stood his canine ground and shied adamantly away from that which made him most uncomfortable. 

Yet in a heartbeat, with all due proper puppy smiles and sociable happy tail-wagging as he trotted proudly about the aisles (away from dairy case!), Muffy won over every customer in the store.  (Give me a high four, Muffy!)  

Honestly, I was just about to self-congratulatory pat myself on the back for my smug courage of accomplishing at least one irrational fear, but standing at the Deli counter, I too shied away from that which I truly fear the most...

And all I could think of was, “there but for the Grace of God, go I”.

Granted, I didn’t see the wobbly-wheeled heaping shopping cart of street trash ‘valuables’ at first (Jack would’ve ran like the wind!); but there was no avoiding the indelible odor of the homeless man standing in line in front of me who was mid-negotiation with the hair-netted lady behind the counter as to just how much hot food he could afford.

“I may be a bit short on cash, but I do have some money” the homeless man suddenly turned to me with a wad of crumpled singles in his crusty hand; eyeballing my Humane Society T-shirt which proudly purported “Adopt Your New Best Friend!”; a photo of a droopy-eyed Beagle puppy looking particularly hopeful below the caption.

(Note to self – perhaps I need to choose my wardrobe more carefully.)

“Um, I’m so sorry, but I’m using a credit card for my groceries” I explained honestly, feeling absolutely awful for telling the absolute truth.

“That’s OK.  You can just put MY food in YOUR basket and take all my money” he suggested rather Spock-logically.

Oh, good Heavens... 

Now, yes of course, everyone should most certainly have the right to eat! 

But God forgive me:  There was NO way in the WORLD that I was going anywhere NEAR touching his gnarly paws.  (I don’t even nosh at a Drive-Thru restaurant in my own car without so much as half a bottle of hand sanitizer!)

Yet blissfully, before I could even begin to try to form another sentence, much like the Security in Las Vegas (with ever-so quiet efficiency), the Manager of the store and a few Guards eased all of the man’s ‘aromatic’ belongings in his personal shopping cart outside into the breezy air.  And escorting the gentleman through a proper checkout line, they presumably came to a civil agreement as to a compromise.

“I guess we’re going to need to use a lot of Febreze!” my own Vegas-esque Cashier attempted to make me feel less uncomfortable as he scanned my items.

>>><<< 

Personally I think all of us (in our own wonky ways), share the hesitations and fears of that which make us significantly “uncomfortable”. 

Perhaps too, my senses have been a wee bit heightened, as for the last couple of weeks I’ve been getting all of my affairs in order.  And quite frankly (my macabre sense of humor notwithstanding), this entire process has kind of creeped me out!

Now I’m healthy as a horse mind you, but as I’m approaching “middle age”, I’ve been encouraged to (at the very least) prepare a last Will and Testament, an official Power of Attorney, as well as miscellaneous paperwork regarding who gets to pull my plug if my body is somehow horrifically mangled in a bizarre five-mile-an-hour car chase on my beloved congested Santa Monica Blvd. 

And whilst  I’m not entirely sure if the use of the term “no-brainer” is politically incorrect, I’m definitely pro-DNR, donate what’s usable, and after that I don’t much care.

But even with all such awkward tasks accomplished, signed by a Notary, copies made and mailed, there remains yet MORE paperwork with regard to financial institutions and my chosen beneficiaries?  Good grief!  It’s NOT like I’m a millionaire! 

(Well, perhaps not YET, anyway...)

>>><<< 

 “***IMPORTANT NEWS REGARDING AN EXECUTIVE OVERRIDE MAILING YOU’LL BE RECEIVING THIS WEEK*** Not everyone will receive this message.  It’s a special alert being sent only to past participants – and you are one of them.”” 

Yes, Publishers Clearing House has offered me the one (in a megabazillion) chance to win $14,000.00 a week for life, allocated with flowers, balloons and a theoretically big old honking check.

Hmmm...

I suppose I could handle THAT paperwork with no hesitations.  (What can I say?  I continue to believe in dreaming HUGE!)

Wishing you all a week of utter and profound fearlessness!

~P

The Luddite versus the Megabyte

“Great news!” the email from my CPA’s assistant informed me.  “We’re going green and paperless this tax season!  Click here to download and print your necessary forms at www.blah, blah, blah”.

Hmmm...

“Register online to receive your W-2 forms from this payroll company!” another email reveled joyously; who too, had apparently jumped upon the save-a-tree bandwagon.  “Click here!” I was prompted to access the website and divulge all of my personal data including my social security number to be transmitted to God knows where (a “cloud”?), so as to minimize paperwork.

(Yeah, NO.)

But by the third letter in my email inbox regarding the extraordinary importance of all things digital from yet another source (of EIGHT previous employers!) who blissfully track my Residual checks for payment of re-run television episodes, and who were equally lauding the vital preservation of paper (versus the protection of my private information?), I was prompted yet again to “click here!”; visit a website, set up a user name and create a password.

Again:  yeah, NO!

As I’m currently the possessor of a list of nearly fifty disparate (unrelated) websites with passwords (that aren’t even actually WORDS); handfuls of security question answers in case I have a “senior moment” (seriously, I had to think for a second to even recall what I ate for breakfast yesterday); not to mention a gazillion different user names (none of which I can remember without a cheat sheet), I chose to “click THERE” and simply turn off the computer.  

Granted, this Luddite (me) started this blog in a quiet effort of trying to make sense of the world as it pertains to my moderately eccentric, occasionally neurotic and rather unusual life in the “glamorous” world of Tinsel Town; but frankly I don’t ever recall clicking a hearty universal “OK!” as to the approval of scattering my personal information regarding every single penny (if you will) that I’ve ever earned, all willy-nilly into megabytes across the stratosphere of the internet for any bored hacker to access after he or she has lost at a multi-media role-playing game and would like to tap into my finances to digitally purchase ogre-repellant armor for their fierce warrior ostrich avatar.

Yet facing the rather undeniable and formidable future of the ridiculous technological crappy hoops that we are all apparently destined to jump through , I chose to take a step back and looked scholastically to the past for guidance.

“Our new Constitution is now established, and has an appearance that promises permanency; but in this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.”  ~Benjamin Franklin (1789).

Granted our ‘new Constitution’ in the USA of “Reality TV” and “Non-Fiction” programming has most certainly taken over the air-waves (an unfortunate amendment to my personal delicate dietary constitution of ingesting quality writing/acting/directing);  additionally I’ll likely have to continue to slam on the brakes of my car (even though I drive like a slow-poke granny) as throngs of ear-budded pedestrians mosey like utterly oblivious cud-chewing cattle whilst jay-walking/texting with no regard to their personal safety; and yes, worst of all for a Luddite like myself, at some point in the future, I suspect that I too, will have no choice but to be Borg-like assimilated as a cybernetic organism into the Collective, as apparently “resistance is futile”.  (Hey, my aversion to current technology has absolutely nothing to do with my love of watching old repeats of “Star Trek:  The Next Generation”!)

But by golly, as an eternal optimist, I still felt that there existed a few Luddite battles well worth fighting for!

>>><<< 

Conceding to a potential “middle ground” of the Luddite versus the Megabyte, I surrounded myself with all due necessary paper documents as to my legal claim regarding my rights as a temporarily laid off Actor with the Unemployment Department. 

“If all of the other out of work people in California can figure this out, I can do this too!” I rallied my spirit as I attempted to complete the online EDD form from my home laptop.

I’d logged in successfully!

I’d found my World Wide Web Official history of existence and employment!

I was sooo on my way to completing said form! 

Only TEN more pages to go (after half an hour) of confirming the initial questionnaire that I’m indeed a US Citizen; no, I’m not involved in Military Service; no, I’m not a primary share holder in a major corporation; nor I am not currently attending school, nor am I an ‘illegal alien’ (I’m not yet a cybernetic Borg!), when suddenly I found myself abruptly stymied by Page Five regarding my income...

Hmmm...

Yes, I got paid by Sony Pictures.  Yes, I received multiple checks from NBC Universal.  But where was the little computer online box to record that I haven’t physically worked on those shows for eight (or twenty) years or even visited those Studios?   And where, oh where might I find a teeny tiny two-space block wherein to reply that yes, I received income from a previous on-camera performance on a cable show, wherein I was ostentatiously compensated for the whopping amount of seven cents?  (Yes, that would be BEFORE taxes, of course.  The US Government took three cents.  No joke!)

Quite frankly, I was loathing this whole Internet ‘meshugas’ once again. 

And so yet, with another defiant “click THERE”, I shut down the computer and unplugged every cable.

Perhaps there are some battles that you just can’t win...

But by golly, this Pen would still attempt to be mightier than the sword of the Megabyte, darnit!

So in true dramatic Hollywood fashion, I went Postal!

>>><<< 

Wandering about my CPA’s website the next day, I finally found a “Contact us!  Click here!” link (FFS); and promptly alerted the assistant via email that I’m still a stead-fast Luddite; sans scanner, sans printer; and if they wished to continue my yearly business since 1991, they would most necessarily appropriately print out my designated paperwork and kindly forward said proper documents through snail-mail.

Additionally (not particularly sure when I grew a set of menopausal metaphorical testicular balls), I brazenly attempted to tackle the Unemployment Office via landline all the way to Sacramento, CA to open a new claim with the EDD; as despite my Bachelor’s Degree from an accredited University, I’m still apparently too phenomenally digitally-stupid to accomplish the task on my own.

“Do you have any disabilities?”  I totally lucked out with the world’s most patient Government employee “Sarah”, who gently guided me through the process for the next forty-five minutes over my landline telephone.

(Do I have any disabilities?  Umm... Would that include technological challenges?  Am I ‘disabled’ when my tablet suddenly refuses to send an email, yet promises that all information is either stored in an inaccessible outbox or on a “cloud”?  Or am I ‘disabled’ when my laptop opts to take a nap, and spins an endless visual wheel cog whilst I sit for twenty minutes?)  

“I wear prescription glasses and occasionally contact lenses”, I thought it best to confirm to Sarah, lest the Government fine me an additional three cents.

>>><<< 

With my (ever-so-reluctant) appointment rescheduled (four times over) as to the appropriation regarding the technological up-grade of my landline and laptop to fiber optics by a complete stranger re-wiring my bat-cave, I steadfastly ponied up the street for a chocolate shake (with whipped cream!) and brought home a Swiss cheeseburger with french fries to properly sturdy myself as to the oncoming futile resistance...

After all, I wholeheartedly deserved a reward as I’d accomplished a preliminary extraordinary week of tidying, dusting, vacuuming - as well as Dirt Deviling obscure areas - and by all accounts, I’d achieved the perfectly designed, properly desired, Hollywood façade of successfully disguising my (in this case, “house-keeping”) less than-ideal flaws. 

And thus, sans the red carpet, sans the paparazzi, I welcomed (fifteen minutes of fame early!) my very own Oscar into my Tinsel Town abode.   (OK, seriously?  What are the infinitesimal odds that for the second consecutive year during the week of the Academy Awards, The Universe presents me with an “Oscar” in a supporting role of upgrading my home?  Pinch my cheek, and call me Meryl Streep!)   

Spelunking with his bald (just like the golden statuette!) bright head-light above his full beard (not at ALL like the golden statuette, but very rock-n-roll Hollywood) as he explored every cavernous nook and cranny of the clusters of my inner-sanctum dust-bunny walls and closets in search of phone jacks, I sat rather anxiously on my pristinely covered bed as my award-winning Oscar casually tossed half of his cable equipment from the bowels of his service truck onto my comforter.  (My retinas are still burning from the visual assault upon my beloved Sanctuary...)

“Do you mind if I move your dresser?” Oscar asked politely as he propped open a drawer and hefted my heavily-laden firmly-implanted 1988 “Brobdingnagian” behemoth of a bureau away from the wall.  (Uck!  I didn’t even want to THINK about what he might find lurking behind that particular curtain of Oz!) 

But two hours and forty-five minutes later, having escaped the possibility of drilling a hole through the wall behind one of my regal bedside lion sculptures poised upon its Corinthian column, and with only a staple gun to secure my fiber-optic cable running from an outlet in my hallway up and over the door, right through some seriously fierce dust-bunny congregations (Hello?  Who looks up there?  Had I known, I would have Swiffered!); Oscar firmly affixed and relocated my land-line to a better and more secure location closer to my new (second) “wireless” computer modem.

>>><<< 

Frankly, this Penny is rather uncomfortable with “change” (pun intended), but I’m truly (slowly) attempting to adapt to the new Constitution of Technology.
Don’t get me wrong kind readers; I’m certainly not racing out to purchase a smart phone any time soon as I’m still ridiculously befuddled by the world of data plans, megabytes, fiber optics and what-not; nor am I in any rush to leap into the baffling world of social media.  (God love you all, but to each, his own!) 

And granted, it totally sucked that whilst loyally Luddite-ishly tearing out a crossword from a perforated Simon and Schuster book of 300 challenging puzzles, I suffered a wee paper-cut on my pinkie...  (TRAITOR!) 

But at least I managed to complete all of my snail-mail tax forms, joyfully drive to the US Post Office, and with Certified Mail ensuring my vitally secure signed-for delivery; my eventual refunds shall be successfully processed and electronically deposited into my checking account sans any further “Click Here!” promptings.

And as to Oscar?

Well, I’d like to thank the Academy of fiber optics, as I just discovered that for the first time since 1988, I have “call waiting” on my landline!  (I don’t yet know how to properly use this feature, but perhaps eventually I can assimilate?) 

Forever bordering tentatively on the collective Borg,

~One Penny of the Millions

P.S.  Logging on this morning, I was joyously surprised and happily overwhelmed to discover that a similar post to this one (that I published two years ago in January titled “OOOGH!”), had received over a hundred hits in just one day last week from somewhere in Europe.  Thank you, my fellow Luddites!  We shall neither be ashamed nor admonished for feeling digitally-challenged!