I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date, no time to say hello goodbye, I'm late, I'm late, I'm late

Workadoodle saga part deux:

I would like to apologize in advance for grammar, spelling, and poor use of tenses. I'm tired.

Friday morning at 6am, I leave the house, saying goodbye to Nipper who was flying back to Michigan to see the Michigan/Ohio State game with his dad and nephew. We had a whole week of ups and downs, and scheduling craziness leading up to that morning, so I was happy to be going to work, where for a few hours, all I had to do was my job. No driving, no answering phones, no fighting with Jack about nap time, or tv time, or how many cheddar bunnies is a reasonable amount to put in one's mouth at one time.

I get to the Paramount lot a little before 7am, and get right into hair and makeup. Everyone on this job is so nice, and I know right away it's going to be a good day. You can sort of tell based on the temperament of the 2nd a.d. and the hair and makeup people what kind of day you're going to have. If they are stressed out or bitchy at 7am, chances are so will everyone else be on the job. Chances are, something is wrong from the top down.

Ok, so the day is starting out great. The two actresses I'm working with are nice, and no one seems crazy, and I'm excited to work with the director. Around 10am, we have a little break, and I go to check my phone. Uhm, insert extreme happiness followed by extreme panic. I have 184,278 text messages and phone calls. Turns out Nipper Knapp and Jack and I booked a Hallmark commercial that was going to shoot in NYC on Monday. YAY!!!! Followed by "HOLY SHIT, I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW!!!"

When we started shooting the 2nd, had mentioned that we were on the schedule as being done by noon. Which of course meant that we would probably be there until Midnight. As the minutes ticked by, and the text messages from the stylist, the travel coordinator, our agent, Nipper Knapp, and my mother rolled in, I started wondering if my heart might beat right out of my chest.

"Can you call me when you get a chance?"
"What size is Jack"
"Can you call the travel coordinator?"
"What day are you coming back?"
"Can you call this number when you get a chance?"
"What's Jack's shoe size?"
"When did Jack's work permit expire? Can you get him one today?"
"What is your home address?"
" Can you call _________ when you get a chance?"

I'm standing on a sound stage in my "girls night out" get up, jumping up and down, giggling, and doing, as our adorable director said after one take, "more acting", and it's hot as balls under the lights, and my mind is racing...

"What are the chances of us getting out of here in time for me to go home, get Jack's birth certificate, and get to that office in the valley to get his work permit done today? Why is Nipper leaving today of all days? What time does the nanny have to leave to get to her other job? Why don't we have more money to pay her, so she doesn't have to work with other families? Why am I complaining, this is all good? How am I going to get everything that needs to be done, done in the next 3 hours, all the while smiling, and pretending... er, uhm, excuse me, ACTING like I'm totally professional and not about to run screaming from the building?"

Did I mention my mother is about to board a plane to Nevada to attend a wedding. From there she is flying to LA on Sunday to spend Thanksgiving week with us. That's right, SUNDAY, the day we leave for NY. Hello Stress, yes, I would like to mainline you, so nice of you to offer.