I Don't Know What You Know Me From: Confessions of a Co-Star

by Judy Greer

  Another major adjustment I had to make was learning to deal with the highs and lows surrounding sports. Well, actually, the adjustment started with just attending sports. Besides hockey games with my dad when I was little, I hadn’t really attended any sport competitions that didn’t involve a guy also taking me to dinner before and drinks after. This was way different. The first time I went to one of Lucas’s Little League games was a really intense experience. Dean and I had only been dating for a few months. I had already met the kids, and it wasn’t Dean’s weekend with them, so we were going to go away to Santa Barbara. But we just had to make one stop on the way to watch Lucas’s game. It was a championship game (which meant nothing to me at the time) against the rival team (again, meant nothing to me then). To add more fun (read: pressure) to the afternoon, I was meeting Dean’s mom (also named Judy) and ex-wife for the first time. Dean had told me that no one really took the games that seriously, it didn’t matter who won or lost, it was all about the kids having fun, getting out in the sunshine, and getting some exercise. Liar. Lucas’s team lost, all the kids were crying, and the coach of the opposing team donned a court jester hat and was prancing around the baseball diamond cheering and screaming. Lucas was clutching his dad around the waist, trying to hide his tears. I waited with the ex-wife, Dean’s mom, and Emilee a ways away. Dean finally talked Lucas into feeling a little less suicidal and then came jogging over to me, all smiles until we got in the car and he said, “Ready to go get drunk and have sex in Santa Barbara?!” I was in shock. Is this how it is all the time? Is this how all the coaches are? Is it going to be this dramatic and intense forever? Was this Dean’s version of “not taking the games seriously”? I didn’t know how to process it. I didn’t know how I was going to handle Little League. I was going to need a lot more wine and a prescription for Xanax.

  I had a similar experience with Emilee but much later, after I was already official. She had a soccer tournament in gorgeous Lancaster, California, on the same day Lucas had a baseball game near home, so I offered to drive and attend Emilee’s game so Dean could stay with Lucas, divide and conquer, a term I have become very familiar with. Lancaster is about a two-hour drive into the desert. It’s a wonderful place if you need to hide out or buy some meth. About forty-five minutes into our drive out there, my tire exploded on the freeway. I swore (oops), pulled over, called AAA, and told Emilee to text her friend and teammate Gabby. Knowing that Gabby is always late to everything, I was confident that they hadn’t passed us yet and would be a few minutes behind us. They were. Gabby’s dad pulled over, grabbed Em, and left Gabby’s mom to wait with me for the AAA man to ensure that I didn’t get raped or bitten by a snake and so the girls could get to their game on time. Everything worked out fine, the AAA guy put my spare on, from Lucas’s baseball game Dean called a tire store in Lancaster and made an appointment for me to buy a new tire after the game, and Em was going to hitch a ride home with a teammate so she didn’t have to spend one more second than necessary in Lancaster. Well, the game turned into a disaster. We were neck and neck but at the last minute lost, and Emilee, who was playing defense, thought the winning goal scored was her fault. She cried and didn’t want to ride home with any of the other players because she felt she had let them down. It was the first time I had ever seen her feel anything but two emotions—unreadable and vaguely content. And now she was crying next to me in the lobby of America’s Tire. I didn’t know what to do or how to make her feel better, so I kept quiet, took her to Subway, and let her pick the music for the ride home. I have since seen her cry one other time, at another soccer game defeat, in a different methy desert town. There is something about the combination of me/​Emilee/​soccer/​desert that is bad luck. Luckily, that time it wasn’t her fault they lost, and she had headphones for the drive home, so we could both avoid an uncomfortable silence or worse, me trying lamely to comfort her while pushing my Prius to accelerate beyond sixty miles an hour.

  I really think I could write an entire book about my experiences as a stepmother. I tried to make a TV show about it. Dean Johnsen gave me the thumbs-up when we got engaged to sell the idea to ABC, because it was a pretty wild story. L.A. actress meets the man of her dreams who lives fifty miles outside the city with his two kids, his ex-wife is a sheriff, lives with the sergeant, and Dean’s mom, with the same name as me, lives a few blocks away. I remember when I would pitch my story, people would laugh and think I was lying, but I wasn’t. I’m not. It’s real. I became a parent to two preteens, and their mom carries a gun and fights crime for a living. Oh, and I mentioned she’s hot, right? Yeah.

  I don’t know what my advice would be for people entering into a mixed family. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing most of the time, but it’s fine! Dean told me no one does, and I choose to believe him. Yes, there are challenges, but it’s so specific to the people. My kids are amazing. They are smart, funny, kind, and attractive. My husband’s ex-wife is all of those things too, and we get along so well, she’s just scarier because of the crime fighting, and his mom doesn’t drop by nearly as much as I wish she would, but it’s working out. I didn’t know how to relate to his kids when I started my journey as their new parent. We didn’t listen to the same music, we didn’t watch the same TV shows, we hadn’t seen the same movies, we didn’t like the same restaurants, but one thing we did have in common is that we all loved Dean Johnsen, and I think that’s as good a place to start as any.

  Merry KISSmas! Love, Dean, Emilee, Lucas, and Judy

  Jobs I Could Have Instead of Being an Actor

  I BELIEVE THAT EVERYONE IN THE WORLD HAS ONE Oscar-worthy performance in them, and I’m not just saying that because I want to win an Oscar someday. If you’re perfectly cast as yourself, the material is great, and you have great co-stars and a great director, it could happen. What’s hard about acting, besides getting that job with the great script, actors, and director, is the technical stuff. It’s hard to look at a piece of tape instead of the actor you’re talking to in a scene so your eyes are closer to the camera lens, to be soaking wet in a scene for ten hours, to be freezing cold but acting like you’re burning hot, to wear shoes giving you terrible blisters, sometimes just talking and walking can be a challenge when there’s a giant camera pointed at your face and countless silent strangers staring at you. It can be terrifying, like you got shot with a tranquilizer gun after doing seven espresso shots. It’s weird. But saying words and meaning them is kind of easy, I think.

  I have a hard time believing people when they say they could never do what I do. Personally, I think that it’s way harder to do almost everything else out there. Yes, you have to be OK with talking in front of strangers, and being scrutinized, and the rejection, but there are occupational hazards in every job, in fact way more dangerous ones, and once you get used to it, and remind yourself that you don’t have to wear a bulletproof vest to work every day (unless the role you’re playing calls for one), it’s not so hard. The real question becomes, can you ever get used to it? I am rejected five times as much as I’m hired, probably more, but I think it (mostly) gets easier. Except when I have PMS, then it’s way worse.

  Sometimes I do wish I could just have the same job every day; it seems comforting to me—to work with the same people all the time, know your salary every year, know when you can take a vacation and plan it. I think I could get used to that. A little stability would be so different, and I find myself daydreaming about it, especially now that I’m married and have stepkids. I want to plan a vacation with them and actually be able to go on it. I can tell you one of the easiest ways to book an acting job, though: plan a trip that is very costly and nonrefundable; that’s a surefire way to get a great gig, works every time!

  There are some jobs out there that I know I could never do at this point in my life. I could never scoop ice cream. It’s so frozen and hard, and I always marvel when people get a perfect scoop on my cone. My ice cream scoops come out the size of a large almond. I could never work in a drive-thru
at a fast-food restaurant. I think they are real heroes. How do they keep all those orders and numbers in their heads? I mean, they are taking one order, and getting out change for another, and handing a bag of food out the window, it seems impossible to me. Schoolteacher? Thank you and God bless you all, but I don’t think I have what it takes to keep my cool while little kids are literally peeing their pants in front of me, not to mention keeping all the food allergies straight these days. Any kind of ass-kicking job is out, for obvious reasons, but also I am not really good in potentially life-threatening situations. I freeze in peril, and that is not what you want from your cop/​firefighter/​paramedic. So here is a short list of jobs that I could see myself being good at and maybe even thriving in.

  MANICURIST—I have to admit this one is appealing. My mother was convinced that I should go to cosmetology school when I first moved to L.A. She thought it would be a good way to earn money while I tried to get acting work. After meeting several manicurists, I realized that was absurd, that I couldn’t just manicure in my spare time. One girl worked at a fancy salon, and she hustled! She had to really develop her business and establish a client base, and it seemed exhausting, almost as exhausting as trying to get acting work. I did consider it for about three minutes a long time ago but then thought better of it, because I thought I should work that hard to make it as an actor. But still, I kind of have to agree with my mom a little, after seeing the movie Children of a Lesser God when I was younger, being a manicurist seemed like an awesome job, and I’m not ruling it out for the future. Pro: I get to sit down all day. Con: I’m terrible at drawing, and everyone wants nail art these days.

  ACTING TEACHER—Self-explanatory. Although, if I’m being honest, I don’t think I’m a big enough person to deal well with my students having more success than me. (Yet. I would get there.) And because of that, I would, no doubt, need to take all the credit for their success.

  PERFUME SALESGIRL—Nothing against the gals (and guys) who do this, but I think I would excel at this job. I could stand there in a chic outfit and ask people to smell my perfume. And I could ask if they wanted a sample or tempt them with a gift set for that special someone. (Oh my stars! I just realized I wrote “my” perfume instead of just “perfume.” Was that a Freudian slip? I do really want my own perfume, and if I had to be the one to spray it, in person, all over strangers, so be it! At least I would really believe in the product!)

  TARGET TEAM MEMBER—I could most definitely have a job at my local Target. I know where everything is in that store. I know how to fold; I know how to arrange the hangers by size/​color. I think I could do it all, except maybe heavy lifting at first—I’d have to work into that. Added benefit: I look good in red.

  PERSONAL ASSISTANT—OK, I’m not just saying this because I have played so many characters that are personal assistants, but I really think I would be awesome at that job. I am really good at organizing, I have a decent memory, a decent sense of style (helps for packing and red-carpet prep, except for my own for some reason), I’m good at gift purchasing, I love animals, and I’m very trustworthy and could be discreet if I had to. My main hurdles would be answering phone calls, e-mails, and text messages. I am really bad at that in my own life, but perhaps I would be better for my boss, due to the fact that not being an actor would free up some time in my day.

  ADVICE COLUMNIST—This is my most secret passion. I would love to have my own advice column, à la Ann Landers or Dear Abby. I have no real education to back up my advice except for hours and hours spent on the sofa in therapy and having had loads of dysfunctional friends (OK, mostly myself), and I don’t think there is a self-help book I have not at least read the table of contents of. No, I have no formal education in advice giving, but I’m smart enough to know when I don’t know something, and that’s pretty good, right?

  MAIL CARRIER IN LOS ANGELES—Yeah, it has to be L.A. I mean, the weather is just amazing, and the mail carriers here seem to have it figured out. I have had several, and all of them are so cool! One girl wore a tight mini-mail-skirt, a fitted button-down, giant gold hoop earrings, and Dr. Martens boots. I wanted to be her friend, she didn’t. Another guy had a more laid-back version of his uniform with baggy pants, baggy shirt kind of half tucked in (very French!), and white earbuds. He was always rocking out to music and didn’t pay attention to anyone but seemed really happy all the time. And my current mail lady is sporting a mail skort, a tailored but untucked short-sleeved mail shirt, a very chic asymmetrical red bob haircut, and yesterday I could have sworn a full row of fake lashes. She didn’t smile when I said hi to her, but I hope to win her over around the holidays. I know why none of them say hi to me, my dogs bark a lot, yes, but the real reason is that seven years ago I bought myself a new mailbox but have yet to hang it up on the wall. So the mail carriers always have to bend down to the ground to deliver my mail. If/​when I’m a mail carrier, I will be irritated by that too. Maybe we’ll bond over it! I really need to hang that thing up, for her. Oh, and it’s good exercise, and blue really brings out the color in my eyes.

  One Is Not the Loneliest Number

  I AM AN ONLY CHILD. MY PARENTS HAD ME, AND then, two years later, my mom got her tubes tied. That was a conscious decision. She told me that a year ago when I asked her why she and my dad didn’t have more kids. I know I have asked her this before and I don’t remember her answers, but this time she was honest with me, which is why it stood out. It wasn’t like she tried again and couldn’t; they didn’t want any more kids. My parents were done. They loved me and seemed to like being parents to me, but they didn’t want their life to change any more than it already had, so they decided to quit while they were ahead.

  As I’m sure any other only child has experienced, people are always asking me what it was like to be an only child. But I don’t know how to answer that question. What is it like to be a girl? Or a boy? What is it like to breathe? I don’t know anything different. I just know what my life was like, but I don’t know what it was like compared with anything else. I’ve met loads of people who have siblings—in fact most of the people I know have brothers and sisters—and I don’t ask them all the time what it was like, because I know they’d say, “I don’t know. What was it like to be an only child?” and we’re exactly where we started. People also tell me I don’t seem like an only child. I think it’s meant as a compliment, but what does that mean? I haven’t met loads of asshole only children. If you fill a room with all the assholes you know, I’d bet that most of them have siblings. How many people am I being compared with? Maybe we’ve gotten a bad reputation, but I don’t really understand why. If I act obnoxious, is it because I’m an only child? Maybe I’m just obnoxious. If a siblinged person acts obnoxious, maybe it’s because he/​she has siblings. Perhaps that obnoxious middle child would have turned out to be the Dalai Frickin’ Lama if he/​she was an only. Ever think of that?