I.C.E. or R.I.P. ?

Sex: female.
Ethnicity: LH.
Weight: 47 kgs.
Age: 35
Declared dead at 12:05 pm Friday the 23rd of October 2009.
Circumstances: run over by a yuppie on the intersection of Santa Monica Blvd and Poinsettia Ave.
Who is she? Nobody.
I.C.E.? None.
To the morgue. If not claimed in 3 days, incinerate. No funeral, no speech, no last goodbye. No family around. How long would it have taken for Stéphane or my brother to know that I died?

What a shame cause at least I would have been a very easy body to prep for an open casket funeral. All hair and make-up ready. Not like when I had to redo my mom’s, right there on her casket, a few minutes before her funeral because I just couldn’t stand the atrocity they did with her face. My Mom was beautiful. She deserved to look like her. Thank you.

WAKE UP CALL. Well, Today I learned 2 important things. 1- It doesn’t matter if you are running 5 minutes late for an audition (where you’ll still have to wait for an hour before it’s your turn) 2- the meaning of the abbreviation I.C.E…. Basically, after recovering from the shock, the first thing I realized was that I didn’t have any contact number on me. My husband is in Paris. My cell phone has a security pin. I don’t have a ID plaque hanging from my neck, and the AAA car or the GYM card aren’t that helpful after all. I.C.E. Now I know…

I screw up big time my audition. I drive all the way down to the beach. I decide to go for a walk to shake that out and thank the universe for being alive. Call my husband. I can’t reach him. There is 9 hours difference. I keep on walking. I see the ocean, I feel the sand,(always wanted to live by the sea). I see happy people, families, babies, couples, enjoying their beautiful Friday afternoon.
I thank again. Try to enumerate 30 things I’m grateful for. I feel better. I sit away from the happy people.
I cry. Just a bit, I mean, come on! I'm still in the City of Angels and one of them saved me from... Plus, I don't have kleenex.

I call my friends to go out for a drink. I could use a drink. Plus, I’m celebrating, damn it. So many things to celebrate, if I really, really want to. Karla is programmed for a C section for next Friday. So she might not be able to drink.I think. Marissa and Karen prefer a nice cozy dinner. So they rather go somewhere close to their place. Of course! All the happy friends that are happily married live on the happy Valley, where there are the best happy blue ribbon schools and where the happy houses are adorned with happy Halloween decorations. “Aroma café” they say. Fine.
I drive all the way up to Tujunga. I see Karla. I say… “You look beautiful”. And I mean it. She is glowing. I can’t resist the temptation of touching her belly. Ivanna moves. My heart stops, roles down the precipice and shatters in silence. I don’t even know if I can have kids, but I’m 7 years older than her.

We make the line, yes the line, to order something to eat. I observe the people around us. The fauna is different over there. So behind us are two teen actresses I’ve seen on Glee or Community or god knows where else. They can’t say a sentence without at least 3 “like”. In front of us there is this guy with the very studied neglected-look bragging about the movie he is producing with Ben Stiller. I think, DING! I should mingle. I’m supposed to approach 3 strangers a day to grow my Rolodex. WHAT A HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY. Hey! I like your show. Oh, great thanks. Welcome. Bye. Bye. Hey! So you are a producer. Are you into indie character-driven, female lead- movies in Spanish?. Are you serious? Yeah, that's what I thought. Need an assistant who can't write in English? No. OK then, bye. Bye. Fuck it. So, I keep on my nice conversation with Karla.

After 4 hours debating about how age changes our metabolisms,latest anti-aging resorts, how dangerous is to sleep next to blackberries, illnesses mutations, vaccines, good places to buy a house, wonders of motherhood and how they all managed to quit smoking, I feel “more prepared” for when it’s my turn. Only I’m not going to get the H1N1 vaccine after I saw this one hour solid explanation of the reasons why not to, I don’t want to live in a isolated house where I’ll spend half of the year alone with my baby, and I’m kind of considering a water birth now that my newly-parents neighbors insisted on me watching The Business of Being born.
But I do have the motivation to quit smoking...The coughing is getting ridiculous.

So I get back home. No dog to welcome me, no happy tail swinging. No cat, - I don’t even like cats anyways-, no hubby to hold me or share with me his latest thoughts. NOPE.
But I won’t complain. I love these girls. They are my family. We laughed a lot. I’m good at making others laugh. People find amusing my fevered argumentation, my sarcasm, my crudeness, my shamelessness and my flowery expressions. The rest is gimmicks, and we clowns master the art.

So it was not a bad day after all. I’m still suffering. Yes, but that means I’m alive. Pretty alive.