As a self-appointed non-narcotic Olympic Gold Medalist in the highly competitive world of “Sleeping Like the Dead”, I tossed and turned on my pillow uncomfortably.
My usual six to seven hours were always a given for work purposes; my eight to ten hours were a bonus on weekends; and on an occasionally rainy day in usually sunny Southern California, I could easily REM myself to the moon and back with a drizzly fourteen hour slumber under a comfy blanket curled up next to my kitty!
But once again in my (generally kind) Universe, I couldn’t shake The Yang…
The envelope sitting in my mailbox (with my name misspelled as always), had churned my stomach prior to even opening it; but fearing no challenge too steep and tearing the sucker open from my Landlord (i.e., “The Yang” who loathes me for having a rent-controlled apartment in his building), I read the dreadful following:
“DEAR TENANTS:
“For insurance renewal purposes there will be an inspection of the building and possibly an inspection of each apartment between 10:00 AM and 12:00 NOON on Monday, November 28th. If you are home at that time please be prepared to allow access to your apartment for the inspector who will be accompanied by myself. If you are not going to be home this memo will serve as notice that I may need to gain access to your apartment in your absence between 10:00 AM and 12:00 NOON on Monday, November 28th.”
Less than thrilled at the idea of my seemingly bi-polar Landlord traipsing willy-nilly through my home with some other stranger looking for God knows what, both either tracking street dirt into my home, or dare I say taking off their shoes before stepping onto my carpet, I choked back some spittle at both of the potential visuals.
After all, I’d been feeling a lot of pressure lately:
“HAVE A HAPPY THANKSGIVING!” people had threatened me (in the nicest way of course) to live up to their expectations of how to define a holiday.
“ENJOY YOUR HIATUS WEEK!” co-workers beamed (knowing full well that we only had one more episode to shoot before going on the dole at Christmas time).
“HERE’S A GAZILLION MORE DVD SCREENERS FOR YOU TO WATCH BEFORE THE SECOND WEEK OF DECEMBER!” shipping companies bombarded me with daily phone calls and deliveries, as well as multiple United States Postal Service packets propped against my front door spilling into the living room. (YEESH!)
And as if that wasn’t quite enough, there remained The Yang…
>>><<<
Having enjoyed Thanksgiving on my own terms, I was well into my happy hiatus of unorthodox sleeping hours, when the horror of The Yang and his unknown sidekick “The Inspector” crept into my aforementioned pillow tossing; causing me to bolt upright and blindly scan my apartment for whatever could be held against me in a court of law lest they be in evil cahoots to conspiratorially EVICT me for any possible reason and potentially double The Yang’s income on my bat cave!
First of all, certainly a Building Inspector would have nominal interest in a kitchen’s cleanliness, but even if he/she did, I nearly broke my arm patting myself on the back at the spotlessness! (Well… it kinda helps if you don’t cook.)
Secondly, if there was to be an evaluation of any sort of fire-hazard clutter, then “thank you very much!” to “1-800-Got-Junk?” for assisting me a few months ago in the proper recycling and disposing of clothing, electronics and paperwork!
Yet lastly, I supposed there might be an inspection of the bathroom plumbing.
Granted I live in an older building which has had its share of pipe problems, so it wouldn’t be out of the question that an Inspector might desire to snoop around the waterways…
But living my Zen life and choosing a “path of least resistance”, I admit to having fallen short as to maintaining what might properly be considered as a completely sterile shower environment.
“Ahh; the elusive red pigment”, my expensive West Hollywood hairdresser had commented years ago (when I could afford him) as he tackled my cranium with a bowl of professional-grade whipped-up chemicals. “No hair color fades faster” he had sighed with a hint of joy (were those dollar signs in his eyes?).
“Ahh; the bastard red pigment”, I sighed a decade later, staring at the crimson-non-fading soap scum lurking about my shower from a fiscally-responsible approach to tending to my own roots.
Ahh; but I was armed and prepared!
I had elbow-length latex gloves! I had “Mr. Clean Magic Eraser pads”! I had a bristled toilet bowl scrubber for the hard-to-reach spots in my shower, and above all I had some sort of Oxi-Clean thingamajig!
Oh, there would be no stopping me and my eco-friendly attempt to make my home presentable beyond rebuke! I’d “Swiffered” every wall in my bat-cave; I’d “Mr. Clean erased” every spot on a door, ledge or cabinet; and using almost every chemical cleaner under my sink, I’d inhaled just enough fumes over six hours in two days to knock out a small country!
(“WHEEEEE!!! Wait, why is there still soap scum? WHEEEEE!!!”)
>>><<<
But then… a moment of Zen… (Or, you know, possibly a temporary loss of consciousness from all the heady toxins wafting through my apartment).
In truth, the path of least resistance has not misguided me thus far; and filling my tub with a few inches of hot water and half a gallon of plain old bleach, I awoke ridiculously early the next morning to a sparkling clean bath (thank you very much, Clorox).
And with The Yang hovering outside my open window making jokes with The Inspector, I crawled atop my well-made-up bed awaiting the inevitable knock.
But then… Nothing.
>>><<<
Oh, the glorious victorious loveliness of Olympic power-napping with my kitty until 3pm on an overcast day! The deadline had passed! The day was Yang-Free! My path of least resistance had not failed me, and once again The Universe cradled me in its pressure-free soothing arms!!!
Until…
*Knock, knock, knock* (UPS, FedEx and USPS)
*sigh*
I believe I now have something along the lines of 52 DVD screeners to watch; all embedded with my SAG ID# to prevent loaning, selling or piracy of any kind; all hoping for my consideration to be nominated; and thus far, all greeting me with a very scary FBI logo at the beginning of each film threatening to send me to a FEDERAL PRISON for five years and fine me $250,000.00 should I not keep to myself, return to sender or destroy said DVD. (HOLY CRAP! WAY TO INVOKE MY PREVIOUS PTSD!!!)
>>><<<
But then… A moment of Zen… (Or, you know, maybe a leftover waft of my friend Clorox bleach).
Looking at the Big Picture, my humble obstacles in The Universe were miniscule.
I’d had a lovely Thanksgiving; my Unemployment Form had arrived in a timely manner ensuring me a few dollars for the Holidays; and if my whiniest complaints were that I had to clean the bath and watch movies, well then frankly I should’ve be beaten senseless over the head with a stick.
And as if on cue (I’m learning that The Universe seldom ignores an opportunity for comedic irony), my cell phone alerted me to a text message:
“Hi Pen! Are you available Wed. Thurs. and Fri?”
Working (for only my second time!) at Warner Bros. Studios this week (and maybe next week too!), I texted back the only reply necessary:
“I’m all yours!”
Grateful for the job, happily setting my alarm clock for 5:30AM, and hoping to see DREAMY “The Mentalist” star Simon Baker *sigh!* on the lot again,
~Zen Master P
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