Aaaah… VACATION! The three
loveliest syllables! A chance to rest,
to relax, to regroup! A wondrous time
when the soul is allowed the silence and solitude to not stress about work,
contemplate work or even have to think ANYTHING about work! Oh, the bacchanalian debauchery of declaring
Happy Hour at one’s own whimsy! Oh, the
splendor of just vegging out in front of the television for hour after hour
after hour! Oh, the unbridled JOY of
sleeping in late!!!
And… then there’s MY vacation.
>>><<<
CHAPTER ONE: THE TECHNICAL ANALYST
It started with a ring.
It was a gentle ring.
It was a humble ring, alerting me to
the fact that Unavailable was calling
my cell phone.
Now I must admit that while my soul
was REALLY looking forward to the aforementioned debauchery/vegging/joy etc.;
such is not always in the cards when you work free-lance in Tinsel Town. And despite my personal need to take some
time off, I couldn’t deny a potential job offer should the Universe present an
opportunity.
“Hello?”
“BEEP… BEEP… BEEP…”
“Hi, hello, is anyone there? This isn’t a FAX machine” I expressed calmly
and coolly to any person who might be attempting to send organ donor
information to a hospital tending to a dying patient. “Please check your area code!” I added,
hoping that someone might receive their heart transplant on time.
I’d saved a life! And all at 5:13am! On my vacation!
*Ring*
“BEEP… BEEP… BEEP…”
“Hi!” I replied fervently. “This REALLY is NOT a FAX machine, so PLEASE
check the number you’re dialing!” I explained emphatically, praying that
someone’s life wasn’t hanging in the balance because the Village Idiot in the
office couldn’t figure out that their “FAX recipient” was a private cell phone
number.
*Ring*
“BEEP… BEEP… BEEP…”
“Are you effing kidding me???” I
answered three minutes later before hanging up on the relentless machine.
*Ring*
“BEEP… BEEP… BEEP…”
And turning off my phone, I
eventually went back to sleep, hoping that no one was at risk, because SERIOUSLY,
that just isn’t right…
Plus, I’m on
vacation!
>>><<<
CHAPTER TWO: HER FORK WAS IN HER RIGHT HAND
Vegging out in front of the TV
seemed like the best way to escape thinking about work. I could clear my mind, allow myself to be
enrapt in the stories and generally shut down all of my cognitive processes!
Unfortunately, as I do work in television, I suddenly found
myself wildly distracted by virtually unnoticeable discrepancies in continuity.
“He’s blocking her key light and
casting a horrible shadow over her face” I sighed during a cable re-run of I
don’t even know what show. “And
seriously, her purse was on her other wrist when she entered” I reported to my
kitty who merely stared at me with one creepy open eye while she napped. “Oh come on!” I blathered irritably as yet
another actress’ ponytail moved from left to right to left again.
I was almost prepared to accept the
visual distractions, until I found myself actually pulling out a piece of paper
to figure out just how I would correctly stand-in for one episodic who had three
actors meander down a winding hallway, all the while flipping different sides
of the corridor for no apparent reason. “When
did she move over there?” I wondered,
replaying my TiVo three more times, and thanking God out loud that I don’t work
single camera dramas.
But what the heck
was I doing? I’m on vacation!
>>><<<
CHAPTER THREE: WHAT’S WITH THE PUDDLE BUTT?
I knew ever so long ago that I couldn’t
possibly withstand the where-withal to be a Stay-At-Home Mom. I applaud ALL of you for the sacrifices that
you make every single day, and I send the warmest sentiments for your
unbelievable abilities to handle your beloved DEMONIC BEASTS IN CHILD-LIKE BODIES,
um, I mean Most Precious Gifts!
And if I ever had an ounce of confusion as to my inate maternal
feelings, suffice it to say that my four-foot-spindly-legged furry friend
Pretty proved me correct.
Despite our sixteen year
relationship of co-existing together -- wherein on a daily basis when I’m at
work, Pretty has successfully been able to eat kibble from her bowl and hydrate
herself with water –- I know, because I clean her litter box twice a day
-- surprisingly, Pretty has learned what “Hiatus”
happens to mean to HER.
I’m her two-legged slave!!!
Dear God!
While I don’t recall signing a
contract of any kind (nor my kitty growing
an opposable thumb and co-signing said contract), I’m apparently at the
mercy of my feline sidekick Home-Spun Hell Hound…
Again, not sure just where it’s
written, but it would seem that if I am not awake by a reasonable kitty
standard, I shall be punished with one small turd displayed artistically outside
of her litter box.
Furthermore, all human food eaten by
me, shall be mercilessly whiffed, sniffed and offered to said cat, for fear of
being poked in my face with her paw; upon which, if said food should be
unappealing to Her Highness (God forbid I
eat an apple), Princess Pretty reserves the right to properly use her
litter box, with the tacit understanding that if I don’t put down my food immediately
and properly escort her into said litter box on demand, she shall elect to pee
over the edge onto the paper towels and linoleum, thus forcing me to pull out
wads of Bounty Basic along with sheets of Lysol disinfecting wipes.
But wait, there’s more!
As to the provisions of saucers of
milk, every twenty-seven minutes would be most acceptable to Her Highness;
however on this note I have firmly put my foot down. She can bully me all she wants, but she can’t
FORCE me into the kitchen! I’ve cleaned
up just enough puddle-butt deposits to know when she’s had enough!!!
…Plus, she’s decided that (A.) if she doesn’t make a full circle
around my ankles, and (B.) if I don’t put the saucer down on the North side of
the kitchen, and (C.) if I don’t stand there and watch her drink, she gets a
mulligan…
>>><<<
Aaaah… VACATION…
What a teeny tiny
bubble of a nightmare!!!
>>><<<
Wishing you all a more delightful
oasis should you get a hiatus,
~One Ragged Cent (and Her Highness!)
P.S.
Ooh! Only 26 messages on my cell
phone from a beeping FAX machine today!!!
