Grin and Bear It: How to Be Happy No Matter What Reality Throws Your Way (4 page)

At first I just thought,
She’s an angry, jealous woman who was taking her own frustrations out on me.
Ultimately I spent way too much time analyzing why she didn’t like me instead of being willing to learn what I could have done to improve my performance. I recently came across her critique sheet, and looking at it today, she was absolutely right and spot-on with her insight. I certainly could have worked harder on the scene and developed the character more so the audience cared about her. But I didn’t even care about her! That was the problem! What I did care about was what other people thought of me. I was just seeking validation, which of course I didn’t get. I certainly wasn’t getting the validation I was seeking from comedy, either. So I decided to shift my focus and prove that I could do something else, dramatic acting. I know … I’ll try out for Shakespeare! That will show everyone how talented and versatile I am!

Shakespeare classes!

England’s national poet became my main man. By the time I was in my senior year, I was the only person from UCLA to get not one but two of the lead roles in the all-women’s production of Shakespeare’s,
Macbeth.
I was cast as Malcolm and McDuff. I worked harder on that audition than I had ever worked on anything, and everyone was completely blown away. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. That’s what Shakespeare meant to me. No one expected me to audition for the roles, let alone get them. I must confess I enjoyed giving my critics the classical finger. But once I got the roles, I didn’t work as hard as I did in preparing my audition. As a result, I wasn’t able to deliver my best performance show after show. Looking back, I can now see that it wasn’t about my desire to actually act—it was all about being validated. It wasn’t about the work or the journey. It was about the destination—to be SEEN.

I was told this big chair would make me look perfect for a sitcom. (Photo Credit: Lori Dorn)

Unfortunately, most of my teachers at UCLA still saw me as a lifelong waitress in training. I was dumped in the it’s-never-gonna-happen heap, because my voice was annoying and I was too one-dimensional. Many years later, I read that Carol Burnett’s teachers told her something similar. That may be the only thing we have in common, but if her success was any indication of what was possible, there’s always hope!

After graduating, I did what a lot of struggling actors do—I tried to follow in the footsteps of the already famous. Pre-fame Michelle Pfeiffer worked as a bagger at Vons Supermarket and if she could do it, so could I! I visibly cringed when one of my former teachers from UCLA came into the grocery store I was working at in Beverly Hills and, of course, through my checkout line. When she recognized me she effortlessly avoided me and said under her breath, “Of course
you’re
here,” as she walked away.

It was awful. I spent my break crying my eyes out in the employee bathroom. I later blamed my puffy red eyes on “pesky allergies.” (Lying seemed to be always coming to my rescue.)

It was right around this time that I met my first husband, Chris Elwood. We were both struggling actors and had been set up on a blind date by our managers. They were two handsome, charming guys who wore really nice Armani suits, drank expensive champagne, and smoked fancy Cuban cigars. Oddly, they never talked about work. I had no idea how to talk about my career in a serious way, so why would they? We partied and obsessed about what was in the tabloids. Celebrity was the name of the game! I knew they were going to parent me and my career into the winner’s circle. “Jenni, you are going to be a huge star!” I was having ear-gasms and not noticing that my career was headed into oblivion. And of course they knew the perfect partner for me! My life and career were in great hands. What was I thinking? I wasn’t.

Chris and I celebrating our engagement with a glamour shot at Super Walmart.

Chris was a handsome, gifted actor and comedian who I immediately found extremely attractive. His Jim Carrey impersonation was spot-on! This was the man I could bring home to Mother! We started performing with each other, doing improvisational work, independent films, and even wrote together. Before we knew what hit us, we were “in love.”

Two years into our relationship, I was ready to get married. Although my parents divorced, I grew up believing in the sanctity of marriage and strong partnerships; I think commitment and the sacrament itself are important. Chris had been married once before to another girl named Jenny—with a
y
. He told me the Jenny-with-a-
y
relationship hadn’t ended well. When we met, Chris was still living with his ex-wife, which he failed to tell me until our fourth date. I promptly dumped him and, of course, three minutes later I took him back. Chris sort of asked me to marry him during a flight we were on from LA to New York.

“So, you wanna do this or what?” It wasn’t exactly the romantic proposal I’d always dreamt of, but at the time, it was good enough for me. Besides, I thought I loved Chris and very much wanted to marry him. So of course, I said yes.

We were flat broke. Which meant I had to buy my own engagement ring. Paying for my engagement ring was a red flag I chose to ignore.

RED FLAGS THAT TELL YOU THE PRINCE PROBABLY ISN’T CHARMING

  1.  He can’t stop talking about his ex (wife or girlfriend).

  2.  He doesn’t like his mother.

  3.  He is too attached to his mother.

  4.  He wants you to be his mother.

  5.  He has bad credit.

  6.  He wants to move in right away to your apartment (house, etc.).

  7.  He writes sexy e-mails … but not to you.

  8.  He knows your family is rich and that’s a big plus.

  9.  He knows your family is poor and that’s a big minus.

10.  He avoids maturing because he thinks it will interfere with his creativity.

So, I purchased the ring on my credit card and my mom was going to pay for our big fat Greek wedding.

After Chris and I were engaged, I wrote and produced my first one-woman show titled,
All About Me …
It was eight characters in search of sanity. The nowhere-near-ready-for-primetime players included a former child star in rehab, her stage mom, her dialect coach, and a lounge singer named Wendy Saperstein. One evening, midsong, Wendy encountered a heckler, so she sat on him and rubbed his head. To my surprise, it became one of the best parts of the show.

All About Me
ran for a couple of months, sold out every night, and actually got pretty good reviews. It was selected as a top comedy pick by
LA Weekly.
On closing night, a talent scout from
Saturday Night Live
was supposed to come see me. But lucky me, a banana truck flipped over on the 405 freeway, snarling traffic for hours, so he never made it. The result: STILL NOT SEEN. My dream of being on
SNL
was dashed by a bunch of bananas!

My one-woman show—2000.

After my one-woman show closed, Chris and I were married in Palm Desert where my mom and sister lived. Afterward, we immediately left for our honeymoon in Greece. We were both in our mid-twenties and thought we were as happy as could be. Sometime during that trip Chris told me he cried at his first wedding because he knew it wasn’t right. But he said he didn’t cry at our wedding because this time he was certain he married the right girl.

Shortly after our honeymoon, Chris’s career really started taking off, and to be completely honest I was jealous.
I
wanted to be the successful one. He tried to reassure me and build up my confidence by saying I was the truly unique personality in our family, but somehow that didn’t make me feel any better.
Unique
is the kind of word used in show business when they think your talent is not marketable and you’re just not pretty enough. I was pretty alright, as in pretty much the “funny” friend or the token fat chick. They were the only roles I was auditioning for and I often wasn’t even getting
those
parts. At the time, every headshot I had made me look scared, petrified, and chubby. Which makes sense, because I
was
scared, petrified, and chubby.

Once in a while I did get a minor part. My small role in the movie
The Bachelor
paid for my breast reduction. Most girls in L.A. pay to get them enlarged and I, of course, went in the other direction.

Chris O’Donnell’s reaction when I told him, “This job is paying for my breast reduction.”

When I wasn’t working odd jobs, I spent my time at Hollywood premiers, B-list celebrity-studded parties, and industry events so I could feel as if I belonged—even if I was on the outside looking in. I got so excited when I saw a picture of my shoe in one of the magazines next to a celebrity, I actually ran around showing everyone the magazine, “Hey! That’s my shoe!”

I was okay with being a sidekick for a while—the invisible girl who stands off to the side holding someone else’s coat and handbag as they walked the red carpet, “believing” what everyone was telling me, that I wasn’t pretty enough or talented enough to someday walk it myself. After all, I kept hearing “no, no, no, this is your line
behind
the curtain,
this
one is for talent, only!”

Finally it all just got tired: that layer of excess fat that I wore as a protective coat; that kooky exterior I hid behind; the sadness I felt getting pushed aside for someone who seemed to be better. I wanted to be sexy, stunning, sophisticated, and special—all words that begin with an “S” I never thought I’d hear people say about me. Hey, if you’re going to dream, dream big.

I wanted to start at the top! So Chris and I started to develop scripts that involved characters we had performed at local comedy clubs. These characters had repeatedly survived hearing the audience react with such things as “Get off the stage,” “You suck,” and lots of other stuff my mother would not like to see in print. One of my characters was Gordy, a short man with a receding hairline who had a passion for clog dancing. Chris played Lolly, a vain, self-obsessed, wannabe actress I’m sure he based on me. We wrote a love story that could work as either a feature film or a television series. Gordy was desperate to become a champion clog dancer, and had reconnected with the love of his life, Lolly, at the finals of an international clog dancing competition. Lolly came from a rich family who didn’t want her to be with Gordy because they didn’t think he was good enough for her. After breaking up, to spite her parents, Lolly quickly marries the original
Super Freak
and habitual line-stepper, Rick James. I’m serious.