Valri Jay Jackson Schwartz Jackson Smith - Schwartz?

This beats EVERY stupid, frustrating or unbelievable thing that has ever happened to me before . This goes down in the "Are You Sure You're Not Making This Whole Thing Up?" file. And while I don't drink anymore, I have been given a compelling and justifiable reason to start again.

After being laid off last month and losing my insurance, we were in the process of rolling over onto the Screen Actors Guild health plan through Bob. I was so excited - the insurance is excellent - better than what I had with my company - and all we had to do to get enrolled is provide birth certificates for the girls to prove them as dependents and a marriage certificate for me and Bob. Getting all the documents together was easy due to the fact that I had set up files a few years back. All birth certificates were right where they should be - but missing was a marriage certificate.

Bob and I got married at San Francisco City Hall on August 2, 1991. My mother-in-law and brother-in-law signed as witnesses, and my friend Cyndy was there to witness as well. It is my belief that we obtained the license in Los Angeles County. In fact, I am fairly sure of it because there were three babies at home in Van Nuys (where we lived) and we couldn't take a real honeymoon so we decided to take advantage of a really short business trip I had coming up in San Francisco. I could write off the trip and then make a little "wedding weekend" of it. And we wouldn't have had time to get a license in San Francisco. We would have needed to get it here. But I can't be certain of that. We arranged for our friend Charles to stay with the girls, and once my business trip was scheduled, we flew up north, rented a car, I did a little business in the city on Thursday, we got married on Friday (having made an appointment to do so with the San Francisco City Hall), spent two nights in Napa, and flew back home on Sunday. All of this is recorded on video - our trip up there, the ceremony, our honeymoon - to say nothing of photographs, etc. There is even a photograph of Bob and me signing the certificate. But where that certificate is - I have no idea - and this isn't the kind of document one typically "misplaces". Or one wouldn't think. But then, "one" isn't me.

"One" would also think, though, that obtaining a record like this is relatively simple. Not so. At least not in this household. I went through Vitalcheck - an online service that will facilitate getting what we need and I filled out the online form but of course, we have to get a notarized form to accompany the online portion. Oh, and it will take a bloody month! Okay - that's a headache but I suppose I can wait. But gnawing at me was the possibility that I was going to the wrong Hall of Records because I cannot say for absolute certain where the license was actually purchased. And it would be a real drag to wait a month only to hear "we cannot locate the license you are looking for out of this location". I mean, I've got the ring. I've got the photos. I've got the mortgage. Isn't that enough? Apparently not.

So I start paying $6.95 here and $7.90 there to online records services that tell me they can locate any birth, death, divorce or marriage record on file for anyone and so, I figure, they can identify the Hall of Records our license is buried at. And guess what? After several service fees I have learned that NO ONE has our license! I finally get through to one of the services and this guy and I are on the phone and he starts checking.

"What name were you married under?", he asks.

"Valri Jackson", I tell him.

"I'm not finding anything there. What did you say your husband's name was?"

"Robert Smith"

"No, I don't have anything here for you and Robert Smith"

"Did you check San Francisco?"

"Let me see. Can you hold for a moment.... No, nothing there. Were you ever married to a Barry Schwartz?"

"Yes, yes, that's me. I had thought I had gone back to my maiden name after the divorce but maybe the license is registered under that name!"

"No. But I do show your marriage license to Mr. Schwartz. But I don't show a record of divorce. You said you divorced Mr. Schwartz?"

"YES OF COURSE! I couldn't have gotten a new marriage license without a legal divorce now could I?"

"Well I show no record of another marriage license."

"You mean the record shows that I am still married to Barry?"

Silence.

"It is the only record I show."

Excuse me????????????

So where does this leave me? Well perhaps I'm single. Or perhaps I am married to my ex. Or perhaps I am an unwitting polygamist. Hmmmm.

Okay then - let the medication begin!

I called my ex-husband, Barry, and he is going to look for copies of the divorce papers (because

of course I don't have those either) but he assures me that he filed the papers himself in Burbank. And he is a responsible person, so I am comforted. But I had a million things to do today and I got none of them done. None! BECAUSE I - APPARENTLY - AM NOT MARRIED! At least not to the man who fathered my children. Instead, maybe to the man in this photo - circa 1981. A great guy but - well let's just say there's no going back. I can only imagine what he is thinking of all this right now. (Hi, Barry! Pretty funny, huh? You're laughing at all of this, right? And hey - would you mind throwing me on your insurance until we get this mess settled? I may still qualify under you and I'm due for the annual girl appointments...)

Of course, all of this is a comedy of errors (did I say comedy?) Because of course I am divorced. And Bob and I did pay for and received a marriage license. And we were legally married in the city of San Francisco - by a judge - nearly 20 years ago. With people there. And video. Its just that somehow, there is a snag in record keeping by us and, seemingly, the State of California.

So tomorrow Bob and I will go, in person, to City Hall in Van Nuys, the likely homeland of the paper which began this 20-year for-better-or-for-worse story and for the next four weeks, while we wait for them to dig us out of the archives, I will be living without health insurance and in a state of marriage limbo. And based on what they find, or don't, I may be sending out wedding invitations. And if that is the case, I will register with a variety of bridal registries. I need sheets and I would like crystal. All mine from the last go around are broken.

I figure I may as well get something out of this mess. I'll keep you posted.

Real True Grit

When "True Grit" first came out, I was in the summer of my 6th grade year. Kim Darby played Mattie and I, being a bit of an oddball in my pre-teen years, loved her short, pixie hair. As my mom never went to a salon to have her own hair cut, she naturally put herself in charge of any cutting to be done on ours. My mother told me she could re-create Kim Darby's cut on me. The extremely unfortunate result of that particular episode of my mother running with scissors swore me off of a super short cut for life.

Until now.

Given the recent punches life has thrown me I figured I might as well try a new disguise. If trouble can't recognize me, how can it find me? I gathered up all the courage and grit I could call upon without alcohol and called Lisette for a new cut - truly different - a length I haven't seen since 7th grade. Reinvention all the way.

Note to self: More eye makeup to offset bigger looking nose. Tend to those drooping eyelids sooner than later.

A Stroll Down "Insanity Lane"

For those of you who have been with me for awhile, this will come as no surprise - but I suffer terribly, if not comically, from full scale hypochondria. I thought I would share - since I have nothing but time on my hands of late - the most recent in entertaining episodes, where I sweat bullets and everyone else laughs.

You should know that I usually tell people, light-heartedly - all about my terminal illness du jour - primarily so I can see the quizzical look come over them as if to say "are you crazy??" And for the record, yes. Yes I am. But their looks soothe me. My older sister Linda is on call for the most serious of anxiety attacks. I will call her and ask her "I'm not dying, am I?" And she will say. "No, Valri. You are not dying." And I will accept that for a few hours - as if it were a word from God. But then it comes back and I go through this exercise over and over until I pay large sums of money to a doctor so he will tell me I am an idiot.

So anyway, a few months ago, when I went to a dermatologist to look at a black toenail (is it cancer? no it is an injured toe), I showed him a little something on my shoulder. "Ah", says he, "that's a little pre-cancerous thing. I'll just freeze that off now". And so he did. Gone. The end. BUT - it opened up a whole new area of insanity for me: melanoma. Now in truth, because of my fair skin and light eyes, I am at higher risk - which he also told me (he had no idea the can of worms he opened). Now I am aware of everything. And a couple of weeks ago I found a smallish bump on the top of my scalp. And it is not smooth. And immediately, I have something terrible.

Now it is also important to tell you that I get embarrassed by my hypochondrical episodes, so I often put off the doctor because I know that I am a freak. But I was due to go in to have him look once again at my toe (nail came off) and give me a once over. So I walk in - my head vibrating with anxiety. The nurse takes me back. "How are you today?", she asks. "I'm good!" I respond with a manufactured chirp in my voice. "And why are you here today?", she asks. I fight the urge to say "because I am probably dying" and instead say the more rational "for follow up and I have a little something I want him to look at". Once said, I search her face for a look of concern. Nothing. She hears this 500 times a day. Doctor comes in. I read nothing in his face. Clearly he cannot see anything wrong with me at first glance. Good. I show him my toe. Toe looks great. Shoulder - shoulder looks great and then I say: "You know, I found something I want you to take a look at. It's on my head and I'm sure its nothing but I just want to confirm it with you." I have totally lied. I am fully petrified. My neck has turned red and I am breaking out into a sweat. He looks at it and feels it and I get ready to hear "Hmmmmm. That doesn't look so good. How long have you had this? Why haven't you come in before? I'm going to have to do a little procedure here and we'll send it out for a biopsy. Have you been having any headaches?" "Yes" I imagine myself saying. "Hmmmmm", he replies in my mind. Then he begins talking in a language I don't understand to his nurse, and leaves the room and comes back in with the number to a specialist and tells me that he has made a call and I am to go straight to the specialist for a consult. And then, in my imagination, I wet myself and then I faint.

But that is not how it went. Instead, he looked at it and he felt it and then he said: "That is an age spot. I can remove it if it bothers you."

"Yes. please", I said. And I was happy. Until I realize that he said age spot. And then I am not happy. Because I do not want to hear I have age spots. They have to do with aging. But a spot beats a tumor so I am okay.

Next, I have been getting headaches. Likely attributable to the fact that my neck feels like a rock and that I grind my teeth as often as I breathe. But lately, the headaches are on the right side. And my right eye feels "heavy". I am constantly aware of it. Like something is inside of it. No pain - just heavy awareness. I do have dry eye - so I am pouring drops into my eyes and there is some relief, but still. These headaches. And this heavy, bloated-feeling right eye. To the opthamologist I go. Because you know what it is. Of course! Let's all say it together. Brain tumor! Behind the right eye, pressing on the optical nerve and creating pressure and headache. Likely inoperable.

Now because I am recently unemployed again, my stress level is higher and so Prince Bob accompanies me to the doctor just in case I need him there to pick me up from the floor when I get the results. Texting friends, I am getting prayer support. And I myself am praying. And I hear a small voice telling me "You are out of your stupid mind". But I press on with my anxiety.

The appointment takes forever. All sorts of tests. Every note a technician takes is a "secret" they will reveal only to the doctor so he can tell me the bad news himself. They dilate my pupils. They blow air in my eyes. They numb my eyes. They put drops in my eyes. They ask questions. They test my vision. My prescription. Two technicians and one doctor see me. And finally, the diagnosis: I need a new prescription. I need better drops for my dry eye. And then I am given the number for a specialist. I will need a surgery. To fix my right eyelid which is sagging and drooping significantly enough over my eye to make it feel heavy. A cosmetic surgery that can repair eyelid sagging brought on aging. Otherwise, eyes are completely heathy. I am happy.

For now.

Looking at New Roads

Of course I am still in a bit of a daze for having suddenly been thrown into the national unemployment statistic again. I thought I'd had enough of that, thank you very much. But we did get a gift from God when we learned that the Screen Actors Guild (SAG) will let us enroll into their health care plan right away through Bob. All I have to do is send them my letter of termination. Which means I have to look at it again. I may have Bob do it. Getting laid off may not have the same emotional impact on me this time around but it does hurt.

But the good news is NO COBRA!!!!! Because you know what? My Cobra payments would be $1,465 a month (Obama is no longer paying 65% of the cost). And my unemployment benefits are only about $200 more than that each month. (By the way, the next time someone talks about the unemployed blithely living off the dole - "funning it up", think again about how much "fun" you can have on $900.00 a month. Lord knows it helps but everyone would rather have a job. ) Bob had his emergency gall bladder surgery last year while we were still on Cobra under the Obama Cobra relief plan. If we hadn't had insurance the bill would have been $42,000. My heart aches for those unemployed without health insurance.

But really - what do I do next? Can this actually be happening again? Apparently, yes. But oh my God! The idea of going back to Monster.com and the like is the most unappealing, depressing thing I can think of. I want to go to work - but I do NOT want to go back to that seemingly hopeless exercise.

I have to say that I thought it would last longer. I had my reservations that this job would last forever. YUM Food & Fun (the magazine I worked for) was a very big idea coming from a publishing company that did smaller things. To really fulfill its true potential would have required investment that the company was not willing to spend. On many levels it was a very frustrating experience. I was unaccustomed to working the way they worked. I knew this magazine could fly - it was a huge success in terms of the way audience and advertisers responded to it, it won an award and there was easily room for me to move up. I brought in some big accounts. I lobbied regularly for the publication. It should have worked. It really should have. But the company was either unable or unwilling to grow it - and so they cut it. And it makes no sense at all to me.

But here I am - and I will survive. God came through for us the last time. He will surely do it again. I am going to really try to build my public speaking business. I've done a bit of that recently and I have a number of speeches in the can. I am going to write about my experience in trying to lose weight. I am going to sell Cookie Lee (don't laugh - I really am). I am going to reactivate my SAG membership and see if there is any opportunity for me in this business after a 20 year absence. I am going to try to learn the real estate business and work with Bob. Of course I am going to look for a regular job in my industry as well. And I'd be thrilled to get one. But I kind of think that well is pretty dry. I don't know what the immediate future is going to look like - it may be really tough. But somehow we'll survive. Because God is faithful.

Dumping My Purse - Again

Today, for the second time in two years, I lost my job. For exactly the same reason as the first time. The publishing company I worked for ceased publication of the magazine that employed me.

Although I would like to say something much stronger, I'll just say: "shit". (Sort of rolls off the tongue in times like these.)

So anyway - here's one thing that is supremely different this time around: my sense of personal value is not in the least compromised with this layoff. I am still the same person I was yesterday. The losing of the job is simply a circumstance, an event in my life. What is the same is that I am no longer getting paid. And I guess that constitutes a fairly significant "circumstance".

So what, pray, is next? I dump my purse and find it rather clean for a change. But rather boring too. So I sit here considering where this leaves me.

Well for one, I have much more time on my hands to manufacture another hypochondriacally induced terminal illness. In fact, I'm well on my way to one right now, but I choose not to give it any space here. (I'll just say that this time it involves my brain...)

Of course I am going to be looking again, but I kind of feel like my time in corporate America is over. Not that I want to it be necessarily, just a feeling. I image those feelings are common among the recently fired. No, not fired. Laid off. With no possible chance of re-hire.

So I guess that makes me responsible for generating some income on my own. And I am pursuing some things I wouldn't have ever considered in the past - all legal, of course. But I have also been sitting on an idea for a very long, long time. It involves writing a book (or a blog) that chronicles my personal journey in losing weight. Assuming I have a personal journey in me. Assuming I can start one. I do have an idea for it though. One that is different from anything else you may have seen or read. And even if you're skinny, it should be interesting. But if no one gives a shit about it (this word is getting some use today), at least I'll have lost weight. However, if people do like it, well maybe it will lead to something else. Though probably not a movie because you'd need to find a motivated, fat actress and and a studio and crew willing to commit to a shoot schedule of a year.

Of course there is always "Claymation"

1/11/11 is supposed to be lucky. We'll see.

Back in the EDD Saddle

Two weeks ago in church, I prayed that I would know what God's will for my life is. Today, I was let go from my job of 10 months. Uh, really God?

In a repeat performance from the magazine industry in general, my company folded the magazine I worked for. You may recall, that is what happened to me at Disney back in January of 2009. Seems like January is not such a great month for employment and me. This is the third January in a row that I will be unemployed.

But things are different this time. First of all, I'm not in a total panic. We are actually in better financial shape than when this happened to me two years ago. Secondly, I've been through it before and I know what to expect. Thirdly, I have tremendous faith that we're going to be okay. Fourthly, I imagine I'm going to get an answer to that prayer I sent up.

For now though, I think I'll just have a cup of coffee and wait for it all to sink in.

Hello??? Who's life is this?

1/1/11

Even the date looks like a real "new beginning". But I am not fooled because 1/1/11 is simply the day before 1/2/11. And nothing really is new.

Not that I want to be the party-pooper. I think if you want to set up a list of goals to achieve this year, then you should go right ahead. But I think you should know going in that it is going to be just like last year. On or around the 8th, you'll be done with it. Just like how half of the women I saw at the gym at 6:00 a.m. (yes you read it right) will be absent on the 9th. Permanently. Never mind that they asked their family to get them a gym membership for Christmas. Never mind the enthusiasm they felt once they opened the gift box with the membership card bearing their name in gold. Never mind the hand weights and running shoes and really cute workout clothes that they threw out the gift receipts for because they were definitely NOT going to be returned. Never mind the joy and excitement of true resolve they felt the night before the first workout - gym bag packed and workout clothes laying neatly on the chair ready to jump into. Never mind how they happily they set the alarm for 5:15 a.m. and popped off the light with the knowledge that tomorrow morning, when that alarm went off, their lives were going to be different. Never mind that they have "resolve".

Because I am here to tell you that this is what "resolve" looks like at 5:15 the next morning:

Yes, there it is in living color. And I post it because someone must step forward and tell the painful truth. And I have lived this truth over many, many January firsts.

So go ahead and make your plans. Write your lists and post them on the wall above your desk. Or bathroom mirror. Or refrigerator. I will not join you this year. I know the poison of January 8th when all resolve dissolves leaving me to feel like such failure. I have made no resolutions to "begin anew" on January 1, 2011. I am not going to subject myself to this known catastrophe cycle again.

This year is going to be different! This year my real resolutions begin on January 9th.

And then, I will finally have my success! I can tell. I feel resolve.

Happy 2011.