When Cheating on your Wife can be GOOD
I got to travel a lot as a child. Here’s me in Paris at age 9:
And some other places…
Even when my dad was married to my stepmother for 13 years my entire family of 7 traveled all over the states, Hawaii and Europe. (Usually in a van of some sort to fit us all!) I don’t know HOW they managed but I am grateful they did.
The icing on the cake is that we usually stay for free. With family.
I have family in France and England because my grandfather, Nick Putnam Sr. had two wives.
Here he is looking rather sly.
My grandmother, Victoria, once told me, “He had more charisma in his pinky finger than most men have in their whole bodies.” Yeah, I guess so.
I Was Simon Cowell Today
I teach improv to adults ages 20-70 at the Groundlings Theater, where I am also a writer and performer in the Main Company.
What that means is that at the end of each session I am in the position of sitting face to face with another adult and telling them “You move up a level,” “You must repeat this level,” or… “Sorry, this place is just not for you.” And although I am much kinder than say, Simon Cowell, it’s kind of a similar process.
I Ran a Pie Eating Contest & Run With Wolves
I am now the Secretary of Roan’s School’s PTA.
Last week I ran the Pie Eating Contest at the Spring Carnival.
The Riddle of the Stinx
Last month I had a terrible Strep throat. And before it was diagnosed as Strep throat, I did what most moms do, push myself through my busy day telling myself it would pass. But my throat hurt and it hurt to speak. Roan loves to talk. I wouldn’t say he’s one of those kids who won’t stop talking but with my throat on fire, each time he asked me a question or said, “Mama?” It was like nails down a chalkboard as I tried to eek out a response. And though I kept a nice tone for the most part, on the INSIDE I wanted to say, OMFG STOP TALKING!!!!!!
How to Write Your “My Accomplishments Since Graduating” Blurb For Your 20 Year Highschool Reunion
My 20 year high school reunion is this August. I feel lucky to still be in touch and close with many of my high school friends- especially Kory- who makes me laugh harder than anyone else. I consider it an accomplishment that we have been friends for over 30 years.
Kory pointed out that on the reunion sign up application there is a section where we are asked to list our “Accomplishments Since High School.”
“Yeah, I saw that too.” I said. “It’s weird.”
“I mean, what are you even supposed to write?” She said.
Exercising with Megan Fox Made Me Feel Like Sh*t About Myself
Have you ever exercised in front of a mirror next to Megan Fox? Well, that’s what I did today, and let me tell you, It makes you feel like shit about yourself.
I have lived in LA for many years. Yet I rarely find myself in “LA” situations. My girlfriends are EXTREMELY down to earth comediennes, character actresses and moms like me who wear no makeup and slum it in sweats. When people talk about LA women being a certain way- well I never agree- because my friends are the coolest most laid back non “LA” women I know.
Take Jill, for example.
Ok, that’s not entirely fair because she’s in costume. And she’s actually an extremely beautiful actress and dancer who looks more like this normally:
But she rocks because she’s talented and hilarious and while she IS in great shape, she’s not afraid to look ugly. Those are the kind of ladies I surround myself with. They care more about making you laugh from your gut than… having no visible gut.
But today I found myself in a group pilates class in Hollywood and every LA stereotype came to life in living color.
I had taken pilates before privately and found it extremely challenging but loved it. This is because I had a wonderful teacher who made sure my body was in the right position on the reformer and how to do the exercises in the correct way so as not to kill myself.
This was not the case in a group class. I arrived to the shiny studio and noticed that the other women in the class looked like this:
Because one of the women WAS HER. In person. And the camera adds 15 pounds. So figure it out.
I walked toward my reformer and the teacher, who looked like this:
asked me if I had “Toe socks.”
“Ummm, what are toe socks?” I asked.
“Here, we’ll add them to your account” And she handed me these: 
The following five minutes consisted of me clumsily attempting to shove each of my toes into the proper toe holes while sitting on my reformer and sweating.
The room was extremely hot and the class hadn’t even started yet. “It’s Hot” I said under my breath, hoping she’d turn on the AC or one of the big fans nearby. No such luck.
Once my toes were stuffed into the toe socks I got on the machine. With no guidance or help I flailed like a red sweaty cow for one hour while the rest of the women, all a size zero, gracefully pulsed their bodies on the machine.
I work out. Daily. On my ellipitcal machine. I sweat and feel the burn and I love it. I raise the resistance and lengthen my time each session. I end my exercise feeling good about myself and invigorated.
But as hard as you think you push yourself on your own, you never seem to push yourself to the level you do when you are in a room of women who look like Sports Illustrated Swimsuit models. Apparently I am in TERRIBLE shape.
At one point the teacher walked by me and said, “sweating already?” She was MEAN.
I looked into the huge mirror at myself and had to laugh. I will never be one of these women. My face has wrinkles and is starting to sag in places. I also like to eat.
But it ain’t easy in LA. I mean, when YOU work out is it next to Megan Fox? Probably not. In LA They’re everywhere. The women you see in magazines and on TV. They walk among us in their otherworldly perfection.
Last week one of my best friends was at the local pediatrician with her three kids. She is a beautiful blonde with perfect skin and a strong yoga-fied body. But she’s got curves and looks like a woman. And she’s tired. Because she has three kids. And gave birth recently.
And who should be sitting next to her at the pediatrician with HER child but Heidi Klum.Yes. Heidi Klum.
My friend said, “Yeah, I felt… kinda gross next to her.”
“SHE’S A SUPERMODEL! That’s her JOB! She’s not normal.” We, her friends, chimed in. But it got us to talking about how everything is relative. You can be really fit and beautiful and you go to the doctor for your kid and you are sitting next to THIS:
(well she was probably wearing clothes but literally… THAT woman was there.) And you don’t feel so fit and beautiful anymore, do you?
My friend grew up in a very small Midwestern town and said, “It’s weird, when I go home, people back there— they are all a good 30 pounds overweight and so I feel thin. But when I’m back here, well I’m not so thin anymore. I mean, you don’t realize because you live here… but LA is home to some of the greatest bodies and greatest talents in the world.”
We fantasized for a while about moving to smaller towns where all of the sudden we’d be the thinnest on our block able to afford huge houses for what a storage facility costs in LA.
***
My pilates class ended and I caught eyes with one of the other women. “Oh My God!” She said looking at me. “Oh my God, I’m so flustered. This is embarrassing.”
“I know that was a really hard class” I said.
“No, No. I’m flustered because it’s YOU! It’s YOU!” She said.
At that moment I thought she must have been addressing Megan Fox. But then I realized she was looking at me.
“Me?” I said.
“I’ve seen you perform at the Groundings! You’re amazing! I’d die to get to perform there!” She said.
And I had to think, how’s that for irony. I guess it IS all relative. And with that I waddled down the street in my multi-colored toe socks too sore to bend down and put on my shoes.
***
PS
The comments part of this blog is under construction. I am sorry. Soon to be fixed.
Sick
I’m sitting in bed next to my very sick little boy. The smell of vomit wafts in the air. Loads of puke laundry are on a cycle upstairs, more standing by. The doors of my new Honda CRV are open wide to air out the stench of last night’s barf-o-rama. The car will never smell the same.
Roan has the stomach flu (apparently) and a very high fever.
It makes me ill at ease because Roan is rarely, very rarely, ill at all. He’ll be six in August and he has never had an ear infection. Not one. Although I was the kind of mom who encouraged sand eating when he was a tiny boy (it builds the immune system!)
And he was in preschool and exposed to all sorts of things, he somehow convinced me he has this super immune system. He’d never get sick. Fevers are rare. Sore throats rarer and stomach problems rarer still. In fact the last time he threw up was after eating a whole box of star wars gummy candy. So you see he’s more of a glutton than an invalid. Here he is a couple years ago with his grandfather in full glutton joy.
But today he’s burning up, asleep, holding stuffed animals, a cool wash cloth on his head, slightly moaning. Already showered once to get the smell off of him, we’ve reached the point where you no longer care about that sort of thing. When he’s better we’ll clean him off properly.
It came on so suddenly. Yesterday we had sort of a marathon play day. He and his friends played for hours at a friend’s house. At one point Roan stole my iPhone to make a movie of them all in some production revolving around an old plastic easter egg called “The Egg of Destiny!”
Coloring, board game playing, running wild thru the lush Beverly Glen post rain trails, a playground, dogs, dinner at a diner and a trip with me to the mall.
And much like The Very Hungry Caterpillar much much food was eaten. Not good food.
In N Out Burger, A milkshake, Chicken “Fingers”, A Hot Dog, Frozen Yogurt, left over Easter candy, sandwiches, pretzels, juice, … and at one point at the diner Roan was licking jelly from the little foil jelly packets much to my chagrin.
I’ve just noticed he stole my i Phone once again during this jelly-imbibing as there is a whole home movie featuring the gluttony with my voice in the background telling my friend what I needed to buy at the mall.
Nonetheless it was a wonderful day and Roan seemed, as usual, the picture of health.
Until we were driving home and he said, “I feel car sick” - followed by copious amounts of barf. The kind you need a shovel to physically remove from your car.
As a child I was sick rather often. Since Roan is always so robust, this may sound crazy, I always sort of wished he’d have a “Sick day” where he’d stay home and we could cuddle and watch movies. But now… the gorgeous blue spring sky outside- we’re in bed and it’s not quite as fun as I’d imagined.
Still, I love my boy, stinky and barfy as he is. I’ll always be by his side.
(Bad?) Habits I’m Teaching My Son
1. At the end of a long day it’s ok to leave your bag/ backpack/ purse/ lunchbox full of half eaten food in the car and “deal with it tomorrow.”
2. If you really have to, it’s ok to go to the bathroom “in nature” even if “nature” is bordered by a somewhat busy street.
3. If at the beach without a bathing suit, any article of clothing can be “made” into a swimsuit.
4. It’s ok to eat in bed if you don’t feel like sitting at the table. On special (or not special) occasions.
5. It’s ok to let the house get really really messy and then clean it all at once, instead of keeping it clean and tidy on a daily basis.
6. Although they belong in the hamper, dirty clothes can often be strewn about the floor of the house to be dealt with “later.”
7. Eating your own boogers saves kleenex and therefore trees.
8. Frequent costume changes are fun.
And lastly, a not so bad habit…
9. There’s nothing a good session of cuddling and giggle fit won’t cure.
It’s Spring Break!!
It’s Roan’s Spring Break. Which means we’ll be partying like this all week:
Just kidding.
It means we’ll be partying like this:
Today we’re kicking the first day of Spring Break off at “The Coop” a “modern / stylish” indoor/outdoor play area in Studio City that looks like this:
It is owned by an ex-model-esque Australian woman and is the antidote to indoor play areas like this:
Sometimes when I look around the Coop I feel it’s a little “too cool” what with these tiny plastic chairs as decor and the array of British and New Zealand issues of Elle and Vogue magazine strewn about.
The same three Adele songs are playing over and over on a loop.
At the same time Child-Friendly Techno music blasts from the ball pit.
It is kind of nice to be in this color coordinated, garden party feel of a space as opposed to say, Chuck E Cheese. (Which, of course, Roan loves equally.)
The Coop supplies a number of unique costumes. Today Roan has played digital dodge ball dressed as a frog, jumped in the bounce house while dressed as a Pterodactyl, and hidden in the ball pit dressed as an an Octopus Man. He’s sweaty and delighted.
Of course it’s beautiful just outside the coop—and Roan spends some time wandering around looking for four leaf clovers.
But like a true Californian who takes for granted the fact that he can play outdoors year round— it’s back inside to the various apparatus.
At one point I’m in the bounce house sitting being tossed in the air back and forth and Roan says, “Mama, watch this!” and does some sort of leap. “Wow, Roan that’s great!” I say. Then, this very cute little child, starts saying to me, “Mama! Watch This!” I say, “Wow!” Then the child continues on and on, “Mama! Watch This! Mama! Hey MAMA!”
I don’t want to say, “I’m not your mama. Where is your mama?”
Instead I have a surge of estrogen and want to adopt this adorable child who is so sweetly calling ME Mama.
But then the child’s real mama comes and it’s one of my favorite actresses. Ashley Samantha Jensen. She’s Scottish, known for playing alongside Ricky Gervais on British shows like, “Extras.”
We chat for a while. “What’s your son’s name?” She says in a thick Scottish drawl. “Roan” I say. “Ahhh, Rooooowwan” she says. “What is he? About 7?” she asks. “Oh, no, just 5, he’s very tall.” “My goodness yes he is!” I want to say, “I love your work” but I’m nervous for some reason and don’t want to make her feel awkward, although she’s so down to earth I have the feeling she would have appreciated it.
Believe it or not, people come up to ME saying, “I saw your show at the Groundlings, I liked it” or whatever, from time to time and of course I appreciate it, so why shouldn’t she? But she’s a celebrity— and perhaps me bringing that up to her would ruin her nice day out being Mommy. I wonder how she finds America, Studio City, and this color coordinated play area. She seems to love it.
For the most part it’s moms with their kids, although there are a few nannies.
One nanny has a disfigured face and as she tries to feed the child she is taking care of the little boy gently strokes his nanny’s scarred cheek. She’s feeding the child from a large plate of rice, peas and chicken. Roan’s eating dehydrated apples and a fruit roll up. He kisses me on the lips.
When I’m at places like these I have to say, I’m having fun. But every so often the thought crosses my mind, “Wow, I’m REALLY a MOM. I mean, I don’t have a job. Should I have a job? I should have a job. The moms who have sent their kids here with nannies are probably at their really interesting fulfilling jobs wearing suits and running coroprations (for some reason that’s what I picture them doing.) And here I am with my kid in a bounce house. That’s my identity. Didn’t shower today. Oh, wait, I forgot - next week I’m teaching Improv all week. And performing in shows. And working towards getting my children’s book published. Which is so fulfilling. So I’m working next week, oh yeah. Oh, wait oh boo, I won’t be able to come here next week. :( I’ll miss Roan.”
Always on the wrong side of the fence it seems… So today I’m just going to enjoy being here. With disfigured Nannies, Scottish actresses and adorable arrangements of succulents.
Jennifer Love Hewitt’s Boobs & My Son’s School Field Trip
Today I was a chaperone for Roan’s first kindergarten field trip.
I arrived at school and was immediately given the task of taking pairs of kids to the little tiny kindergarten toilets to pee before our walking journey about 3/4 of a mile away to a local theater to see a production of “Aladdin.”
One of my favorite little friends of Roan who has an exceptionally cute voice, told me, after he peed, “There is another wurrrrd for pee. Urrruuunate.”
“That’s right!” I said.
Then the small class of 19 kids lined up and about 6 parents and the teacher started walking off campus down a steep cactus and tree-lined street toward a very busy Cahuenga Blvd.
The kids were delighted and elated. “I’m used to this kind of walking.” One boy said. “I live in the hills and I have learned to navigate traffic and nature, like falling pine cones, very well.” Then that same boy did NOT STOP TALKING for the remaining 15 minute walk. Not once.
The teacher pointed out various flowers, cacti,
blooming trees
which the kids were all excited about.
Then we passed THIS:
One child said, “Well… I guess that’s a show about BOOBS!!!”
(Pretty keen observation if you ask me. I mean… what ELSE could the show be about?)
And then Roan said, “Well… That’s a pretty DYNAMIC poster…”
Me: “What does dynamic mean, Roan?”
Roan: “I don’t know.”
Then we arrived at the little theater.
There were a few other classes there. The play was Aladdin. Only it had been SEVERELY rewritten. In this rendition Aladdin lived with his stereotypically Jewish mother who was old enough to be his grandmother. Aladdin was played by a 40 something white actor. There seemed to be something wrong with his hands, which hung motionless from his wrists. In order to make them move he had to flail his arms and then his two hands would bounce around like jellyfish.
The Genie or “Gene” as he was called in this production was played by a man with less charisma than a carpet salesman. (or at least the carpet salesmen you see on TV, I am sure there are many carpet salesmen with amazing personalities.) He was almost 70 years old and was wearing a full Genie costume but on his feet had large white Nike tennishoes which stole focus even when he was doing his “Sleight of hand” magic tricks. He looked like this:
None of the actors could sing which was unfortunate as it was a musical.
There was a princess at the very end. She was played by a matronly and thick woman. Which, again, great out of the box casting! But I had sort of expected Disney’s version. I mean, we were walking distance from the Vivid corporate offices, you’d think there’d be a lot of “actresses” who fit the part.
Snarky remarks aside, it was a fun production about finding the magic inside of you that, while it made no sense and was terribly executed, the kids adored.
On our walk back Roan and his buddy held hands. Which was pretty cute. Especially since they call each other buddy. Or “Best Buddy.”
Their conversation was as follows.
“Hey Buddy! I just stepped on a bug.”
“Was it a STINK BUG, Buddy?!”
“HAHAH!”
“That was a good play, Buddy, but it wasn’t as good as Les Miserables.” (Roan says.)
“Yeah You LOVE Limizzerarbles”
“Hey, Buddy, you know in the play when he met the princess? That was… SEsssssy.”
(Me… in my head… WHAT!?!?!?! Sexy!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! Um, Roan doesn’t know what that word means. Sessy or Sexy. Yikes. When do kids learn what that means? What DOES It mean?)
Then we passed by Jennifer Love Hewitt again. But the kids were too engrossed in talking about the play to notice her ample tetas.
And such was my first experience as a field trip chaperone. Oh! And, Make sure to catch this new show about Jennifer LOVE Hewitt’s Boobs!
Submarine Missiles
Roan is home sick today. Only, he’s not sick. This morning he said he had a sore throat. Now I am realizing as he’s sneezing as much as I am, we both have terrible allergies. The same flowers that smell SO good and bloom every time this year make me (and apparently Roan, only lesser than me thank God) MISERABLE for a couple weeks every Spring.
Roan didn’t WANT to miss school. He loves seeing his buddies and teacher and on Mondays there is music, Jiji (the computer program they do) and a special art teacher comes in. I shouldn’t have kept him home. But we were both sleeping and sneezing until after 8 and I just figured… he’s sick. But he’s not.
Oh well. Anyway. Here we are. He’s sitting at the coffee table writing words out on a new big notepad I got him as I eat two small sweet potatoes in an effort to withdraw from white foods and sugar (HA!!!HAHAHA!! Let’s see how long THAT lasts!!) and write this.
Next to him is his new Star Wars Droideka
and his little ducky (which is very sweet, how little boys are simultaneously into things like Star Wars and soft sweet little baby ducks… kind of sums them up.) The duck was some free gift from the insurance company Aaflack and I feel slightly guilty he’s playing with that and not a Flo bobblehead, seeing as how she’s our friend .
ANYWAY… he starts spelling out the word submarine. From what I gather, all parents are pretty amazed when their kid starts reading and writing. ALL OF THEM DO IT, and many of them do it at age 2 or 3, not at 5 like Roan…
but there’s something exciting about it. For me, I’m excited because he seems to love figuring out how to read and write words. Not because I think he’s some sort of prodigy. It’s just fun to see him enjoy things like, Les Miserables and… reading. When we’re out he is constantly trying to read street signs and figure out what they spell. He’s in the “Spy Club” at school and it’s like trying to decode a secret message. “WAIT! I know what that says!!” He’ll say… “NO PARKING!!!” As if he’s just discovered the secret of the Sphinx. (Is there a secret of the Sphinx?)
What’s even more exciting is seeing your kid get interested in how to sound out words in French or Spanish. I’m curious to see how he reacts when we are in France this summer. Even being in England, staying with two little boys his age with THICK English accents, will be sort of a fun challenge for him. In England, the English language is filled with many different words he will not know.
So anyway my point is, he’s sitting there spelling out Submarine. All by himself he got, “Submerene” which is pretty good. I wasn’t even sure he was ready for kindergarten, if you recall I wrote about it in a past post in detail. Then he spells Missile as Missele. (Again, I know there are kids writing in Russian and Mandarin at this age so I’m not saying this is any great feat, it’s just leading me to a funny ending.) Then he asks me how to spell Quiche. Which is a tough one. When your kid is learning how to read and write and it’s hard enough explaining that there are TWO LETTERS that make the SAME sound, “C” and “K” - I say, “Actually it starts with a Q!” “WHAT??!?” He says.
So you know how parents are always saying things like, “WHERE DOES SHE GET THIS STUFF!?! MY GOD!” Well, sorry to burst your bubble, they get it EVERYWHERE. It’s not a big mystery. Their brains are filled with 1/1000th of what’s mucking up our memories and they are always picking up on things. Sure… Sometimes kids DO say amazing things (That they MAY or may not have heard from someone or seen on a TV show) Like, my friend’s young daughter recently said, out of the blue, “So, is BP back in business and how is that even allowed?” And when Roan said “I chose you as my mommy when I was up with God, before I was borned.” When he was 3 and not even really watching TV. But most of the time these “Brilliant” things kids say (and they are brilliant) do come from somewhere. (or God, which is somewhere.) Submarine and missile aren’t brilliant and I assumed they came from Star Wars or something.
So Steve sent me the following text regarding Roan’s spelling:
“Do you know how submarine missiles came up? I was telling him about somebody that pooped in a bathtub, when we were taking a bath. I’m glad it has been channeled into learning.”
Gross!!
If you can tell me how Quiche fits in with all of that you win a prize.
All in a Day’s… Work?
My day was as follows.
Woke up at 7 am to this scene:
Pretty great. Also makes it hard to get out of bed.
Had a moment of gratitude that Roan’s school is 2 seconds from my house allowing us to sleep until 7 or sometimes 7:30 and not be late.
Said to Roan, “I hope the kids like my book!”
Roan responds, “Of course they will… but if they don’t… it doesn’t matter. Not everybody likes everything. And… That’s OK!!”
Me: “I’m nervous!”
Roan: “Mama! This is getting ridiculous. First you are excited, then you are nervous, I mean come on!”
Ran upstairs to get myself ready for my huge day whilst getting Roan ready for school. Realized that you really CAN’T simultaneously get yourself ready while getting a child ready.
Plugged in my hot rollers to tame my beastly hair.
Made Roan pancakes with chia powder and strawberries for breakfast. Started the oatmeal, almond slivers and raisin breakfast for me. Ran downstairs and organized the two scripts for my two auditions as well as the children’s book I had written the previous days before which I was to read at “Family Reading Day” at Roan’s class that morning.
Looked at the script covered in French and felt anxious.
Why did I lie on my resume? I am NOT FLUENT IN FRENCH!
Remembered the text from my agent saying, “See! Being Fluent in French comes in handy!” Except, um, when you are not. Told myself… one thing at a time. First I gotta read the book I wrote to the kids! What if they hate it?
Packed a bag with the various wardrobe items for my auditions.
Ran upstairs to overflowing oatmeal. And to start making Roan’s lunch.
(except Roan’s says ROAN, not MICHAEL, that would be weird.)
Ran downstairs to Roan who was wrestling with Ned but who also managed to get himself dressed quickly.
Packed the car with costumes, homework, book, scripts, packed lunch and Ned. Wait. Ned? No, Ned can’t be in the car! Oops. Uh oh. I locked myself out. Oh no. Don’t have key. Better climb up side of house through jungle covered stairs and unhook the side gate. Set Ned down and said goodbye.
Finally arrived at school. Listened as Elton’s dad read Dr. Seuss’ brilliant, “Oh the Places You Go.”
Wherever you fly, you’ll be the best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.
Except when you don’t
Because, sometimes, you won’t.
I’m sorry to say so
but, sadly, it’s true
and Hang-ups
can happen to you.
…And thought, what great words, and those are just a few. But how on EARTH can I read MY piddly book after the master Dr. Seuss?
Walked up to the front of the class. Read my book. Was relieved when they laughed. Realized a lot of the things that needed to be fixed. Was happy at the end when Jimmy yelled, “Again!! Again!!”
Melted when Roan came to me and lightly kissed me on the cheek.
Rushed out of class to drive to Culver City for my audition where I was supposedly a Fluent French Speaker. Reminded myself I did just wrap four months of a French character performed live at Groundlings.
But that was a silly comedic thing. This was for (gasp) a DRAMA! Reminded myself that my training at Groundlings has made me nearly immune to humiliation.
Went over lines and audio file of French cousin reciting lines for me on my iPhone. Arrived at studio.
Walked half a mile across the lot in shoes I only too late deemed far too small as my big toes were numb and purple by the time I arrived at the correct building.
Sat in a waiting room with women who looked EXACTLY like my high school French teacher.
Waited AN HOUR until casting director called me in.
Thought “I don’t want to audition any more. I could be home working on my book. This is a lot of waiting around for completely chancy results! Plus, I don’t even know if I am a very good actress.”
Was frustrated but then the casting director was so nice I couldn’t be frustrated any more. Did the scene three times. CD said “This is fabulous, I love what you’ve done… really great really great.” Thought to myself, “That’s what you tell ALL the girls, right?” But reconsidered quitting…
Hobbled back to my car feeling good about the audition.
Drove across town to second audition while listening to Mark Maron’s podcast. Received text from agent saying, “Arrive with hair and makeup camera ready. Wardrobe: Gown.”
?!?! What? The role is for a bride. I had a pretty white blouse hanging in my car ready to change into.
A Gown?? Skidded into my driveway, ran upstairs and started making my hair and face “camera ready” Thought, it’s a lost cause. I am extremely sweaty from my previous audition. Rummaged through trunk of “Gowns” I have and put one on. It would not zip up around my ribs. So I folded it down under my armpit and wore a shawl to cover the exposed area. Put too much “illuminating bronzer” on my face. Tried to rub it off.
Went down to my car and my car wouldn’t start. My car is only 1 year old. I had left the lights on. Knocked on my neighbor’s door. In a GOWN. Jumpstarted my car with my neighbor. Drove into Hollywood.
Sat in waiting room in my gown as every comedic girl I know in LA arrived in their gowns. Thought how fun the French role was because since it was for a Drama (Action Spy Drama) I was the only “comedic” girl there. Enjoyed socializing with my friends / colleagues and complimented them on their extremely pretty dresses.
Recognize one of them is a recognizable singer from a past American Idol season. She says to me, “I love your work at the Groundlings. Right on!” Then to someone else she says, “I am doing all music now. Just finished my record.” Then the two of them told each other how skinny they looked.
Did my audition. CD said, “This is very short, and there’s nothing really you do. Just say the lines.”
Did that.
“GREAT!”
Left. “Oh hi!!! How ARE YOU!!?” to a million girls in gowns.
Drove to pick Roan up from School. Other moms agog. “WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?” (Oh yeah, normally I wear torn sweats or pj bottoms with ugg boots, no make up, a hat to cover my hair and Steve’s oversize sweatshirts to school pick up and drop off.) “Oh, haha, I had an audition!”
“I hope you get it!!!!”
“Yeah, there are like 100 girls so, it’s sort of a long shot.”
“What a strange business.” The lawyer mom says. Indeed.
Hug my wonderful Roan.
Ate a snack, took Ned on a walk, did Roan’s homework with him. Drove down to Steve’s cafe and packed a box with the special of the day. The “Pasta Bar” (Various pastas and sauces) for my friend who just had a baby. Drove the food and Roan and Ned to visit the friend and baby. Ned sat in my lap and Roan had a snack in the backseat.
Realized my car was a mess from my day. (note jumper cables from earlier atop scripts.)
Sat with friend on couch and enjoyed friend and baby.
Drove home. Roan fell asleep in car. Got call from agent, “You have a session with the producers tomorrow, great work!”
“For the French Speaking Spy Drama?”
“Yes! See? I told you, being bi-lingual really has it’s perks!”
“Ummm, yeah.”
Terror. What if I have to speak more? I’d basically just memorized the sounds. Oh no.
And that was all in a day’s work. Except none of that was paid work. But I guess we do the things we love most for free. Wish me luck tomorrow. Or shall I say, “souhaitez-moi la chance!”
Crazy Foot Massage
A few weeks ago I saw that a new Foot Massage place had opened up nearby my house. These Foot Massage places have been popping up in strip malls all over and promise reflexology massages at very little cost. In dire need of a little de stressing as my solo show was approaching, I decided to treat myself.
As I walked in the place I noticed a woman, dressed like a prostitute, standing outside. “Getting a massage?” She said
“Yes” I said.
“Good for you!! Go on in!”
The way she said Go on in, and the way she was leaning up against the door made me think she worked there, as a receptionist, perhaps.
“Do you work here?”
Then her mood changed; “Work THERE? Honey, I AM A FILM PRODUCER! I get paid HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS OF DOLLARS A DAY!!! I AM A FILM PRODUCER!!!!!!!”
She was clearly crazy and went on ranting and raving about her billions.
I entered the Foot Massage salon and a nice man said in a hushed tone, as if to convey a secret, “She’s not really a movie producer.”
“Ummmm, yeah.” I said. (no Shit!)
“So what we do here is a full body massage, but in our special chairs. It’s one hour for $30.”
“Wow! that’s a great deal! Ok!” I said.
He brought me over to a chair that was, indeed, special. It fully reclined and there was a little hole for my face when I was to go face down. “First we soak your feet in hot water to detox as we work for 20 minutes on your neck and shoulders. Then we turn you over and do your feet and the rest of you.”
“Great.” I said.
So he walks me over to a massage chair and then goes and gets a female masseuse and in another language I don’t understand they proceed to get in an argument. The woman pointed at me and shook her head. Then the manager said something. Then she pointed to a man sitting and waiting for a massage. Apparently she didn’t want to massage me, she wanted to massage the man. Fine.
So then a fragile male masseuse comes over and offers to massage me. Meanwhile I can still hear the “Film Producer” outside yelling. The male masseuse says, “She crazy.” I say, “yeah.”
Then he fills a bowl with scalding hot water and places my feet in it. I wince and he says, “Good for toxins to release.”
“Ok.” I’m sure I have a lot of toxins. But now I’ll also be burned.
He moves toward my neck and starts massaging me — only apparently this man has extremely long and sharp fingernails because all I can feel is a knife like sharpness against my neck.
“Ahhh” I say.
“Too much pressure?” He says.
“No, um, the nails. Sharp nails.” I say, trying not to hurt his feelings or be rude.
Oh Lord.
So then he takes my red swollen blistered burned feet out of the bucket and starts massaging them. I then notice his nose is running and he’s breathing VERY hard. He’s obviously sick and tired.
I feel sorry for him. What a terrible thing to have to do when sick. And what percentage of the $30 does HE get? Shit. This is a lose lose operation.
When he’s done with the massage he lets out a huge grunt as if to say, “Shit that was HARD!”
“How was it?” The manager asks.
“Not so good. Very sharp fingernails. I think he’s sick too.”
“Sorry.” He says.
I leave and walk by the crazy prostitute / Film Producer and she says, “How was it?”
And I say, “Pretty bad.”
“See!?! I told you!!!” She says, then starts fake talking into an old broken cell phone making movie deals.
In Trouble on the Lot
The day after my show I had an audition on the Fox lot. I had German friends visiting from… Germany… and thought it might be fun for them to come see the lot, have lunch in the commissary while I did my audition. We also brought Ned. I have an affinity for the Fox Lot because Steve worked there for over 10 years so I still have some friends who work there. Some of the sound stages are painted with great murals- like this one of Star Wars-
I thought it’d be a fun thing for out of towners (Out of country-ers) to see. Much different than the “Studio Tour” at Universal Studios.
So after my audition where I ran into like30 people I know who were auditioning for the same role, (but had a lot of fun auditioning, but realized, once again, that I may as well be playing the slots in Las Vegas it’s such a crap shoot…)- My German friends and I went to eat. They had been enjoying walking around the “city streets” with Ned.
In the Commissary I had the feeling “I probably shouldn’t have Ned here… around food” but he’s so small and everyone kept smiling and petting him and complimenting him I figured I’d get my food quickly and we’d eat outside.
I ran into about five different people I knew from my past while awkwardly holding my tray AND Ned at the same time. I started to worry I’d get reprimanded for having Ned with me but then remembered when Steve was working on a Drew Barrymore movie I’d often see her in the commissary with her golden retriever, Flossy. She even asked me to watch the dog once when she had to walk away for a moment. But then, SHE’S Drew Barrymore so…
Anyway we ate our delicious lunch outside and people watched. Finally we were done and as we headed out a man in a suit came up to me smiling.
“HI! Great to see you!” He said. Then, as if he knew me really well, “Really nice to see you today.”
For a brief moment I thought he was perhaps one of the suits who was at my show the night before. Because he looked at me like he knew me very well.
“SO great to see you, super cute dog!” He said.
“Thanks” I said.
Then he reached into his suit pocket and took out a business card.
As he handed it to me he said,
“I’m (name) From the Fox Commissary Health Safety division. I am SO sorry to tell you this but you are not allowed to have a dog in the commissary.”
Then he placed his CARD in my hand and looked me in the eye.
“I am SO sorry” I said. “We are leaving now. Very very sorry.”
Then we walked away and he and his suited entourage watched us carefully.
WHY THE CARD?!?!?!
Crazy.
“Fun Party Activity”
I recently had a dinner party or about fifteen people. Steve and I used to do this all the time. Entertain. And I remember thinking, “This is so easy!” Steve’s a great cook and I can set the table, be a hostess, clean the house and do the dishes. No big deal. Well it’s not so easy anymore. I perform most every weekend night and we both work odd hours and… we have a small child. So playdates have become the new dinner parties around here. So when I started setting up for this “Adult” party I told Roan to help me make the house nice.
And this was his idea of that:
During the party Roan was his usual social self, and even though I had given him permission to go downstairs and watch a movie as the night went on, he came up with another idea.
We’re all sitting around the couch and he excitedly says; “I have an idea for a FUN PARTY ACTIVITY WE CAN ALL ENJOY TOGETHER!”
He leaves the room and I am wondering what this great activity could be. Perhaps a game of some sort? A song?
He returns with his red kindergarten homework folder saying, “We can all look at all of my wonderful school work together!!”
Oh Lord.
He passed a month’s worth of work around and seemed QUITE pleased with himself.
What could be funnier than homework!?
