Friday, March 29, 2013

Paper or Plastic?

“That’s your total sir, and will you be needing a bag?” the friendly cashier wanted to know as the elderly customer ahead of me cocked his head in confusion.  “Due to the latest ordinance, bags are now ten cents apiece if you don’t bring your own” she informed him.  And agreeing to pay the price to conceal his (what ought to be private) purchases of personal hygienic necessities, my heart went out to the old fella.
“Next in line” the cashier waved me over, as I approached the counter with one item.  “Here’s your total, and do you have a reusable bag?” she asked.

“Why yes I do” I beamed.  “It’s bright white with neon orange lettering, and I hang it inside my front door to remind myself to take it with me when I go shopping” I told her.  “And when I left the house today, I promptly tossed it aside to get it out of the way.”

“No worries” she laughed, “none of us are quite used to this just yet.”
And striding out of the mechanical doors next to a ridiculously handsome gentleman who too had neglected to bring his own carry-out tote, we made an unfortunate glimpse of eye-contact at each other’s hand-held purchases. 

“Yeah, I’m not a real redhead” I shrugged unapologetically, my dazzling box of Miss Clairol Nice-n-Easy hair color catching the full beam of the LA sunshine.
“That’s cool, and, um... this Princess wrapping paper and twinkling gold glittery bow is for my, um... sister” he nodded.

(And my parents wonder why I haven’t yet met my future husband???)
But I digress!

With a pit stop at home and my bright white reusable tote with the neon orange lettering tucked securely under my arm, I proceeded to my next task of the day.  I was running low on cleaning supplies – most notably, the world’s greatest invention whatever created, i.e. the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser – and upon entering my local Smart & Final store, observed the sign that they were now charging twenty cents per carry-out bag if you didn’t provide your own.

“Pfft” I snorted, now feeling like a true shopping pro as I made my way towards the back of the establishment.  And stuffing my tote with a box of Mr. Clean eco-friendly sponges whilst perusing a neighboring aisle for a fresh scent of Febreze Air Effects, a sales associate suddenly appeared by my side.  “Can I help you find something?” he eagerly wanted to know as I shoved a can of “spring and renewal” Febreze into my bag.
“No thanks, I’m good!” I smiled, toddling away for orange juice, completely oblivious to the fact that I appeared to be the BOLDEST, MOST STUPID SHOP-LIFTER ON THE PLANET.

And lining up behind a young guy who was apparently throwing a weekend kegger with massive quantities of chips, snacks and miscellaneous alcohol heaping out of his shopping cart, the cashier rang up his total to just over two hundred bucks.  “Would you like to purchase carry-out bags for an additional twenty cents apiece?” she asked professionally.
“Are you high?” he smirked, swiping his card and wheeling his stuff out to his car trunk.

“I guess it takes all kinds!” I smiled to the cashier.
“Yes it does, ma’am!” she replied.  “I see that you’ve brought your own tote for shopping!  Good for you!” she applauded me.  “Now, can you please remove all of your items and place them on the conveyor belt for me to scan in front of the security cameras?”


Making a second pit stop at the bat cave to refrigerate my OJ, shuffling a few items around in an effort to purge perishables approaching their “use by” date, and implementing my Mom’s highly scientific and well-proven extrapolation that “when in doubt, throw it out”, I was feeling relatively confident in my current unemployed capacity as a Domestic Diva.  And with the expulsion of some very sad looking wrinkly blueberries, a pod of three strawberries who appeared to be growing beards and one grease-stained cardboard pizza box housing a four-day-old slice of pie, my orange juice seemed safe enough.

Surveying the bottom shelf and eye-balling a compact Tupperware container, I winced at the possibilities.  I clearly remembered heating up the savory beef stew when I was just getting over the flu, but that was how many months ago???  I’d feel just awful tossing out the container, as the tub and snapping lid were a holiday gift from a friend (years prior to the stew), who had taken the time to bake me a slice of her incredible signature dessert, with the Tupperware serving as an added homemade bonus of a crème liqueur topping.  But as the Son of Deceased Crappy Landlord has yet to fix the garbage disposal in my kitchen, how could I keep the container, yet toss the contents without a Hazmat suit and a sturdy plastic baggie?
But again, I digress!

Tooling off to my third task of the day, I wheeled Cecilia (my beloved Toyota) into the carwash for a much needed bath.  Clearly she didn’t mind my unemployment so much, as she had developed a symbiotic relationship with the neighboring Bougainvillea which was attempting to embrace her and bring her into its twining fold like a lost cub; but seeing her sitting idle beneath the Son of Deceased Crappy Landlord’s air conditioning hose which dripped relentlessly upon her roof in a Water Torture trickle was more than I could bear.

“Let’s get you cleaned up!” I patted her steering column, unloading one hefty brown bag of miscellaneous straw papers, napkins and tissues from her back seat floor before entering the car wash tunnel.
And that’s when I started to feel paranoid...

Granted, I’m always a tad uneasy in the confined space – particularly after Cecilia once randomly jumped the railing and got us stuck in the throes of the pink and blue foamy octopi tentacles (yikes!) – but this time I was mulling over the future of tackling the most mundane chores without the convenience of simple, free disposable receptacles.  Would I need to begin hoarding paper and plastic bags for my emergency earthquake kit?  Sure, I always maintain the obvious supplies; i.e. peanut butter, toilet tissue, Band-Aids and water (need I even mention the extra bottle of voddy?), but in this wonderful new idyllic world of cutting back on unnecessary waste, well, what would we do with our actual “waste”? 
Oh, the great state of California was indeed on a slippery slope for looting, and I wasn’t even thinking about the San Andreas Fault!

But of course my fretting was absolutely ludicrous.  Lord knows this City of Angels has already faced unspeakable challenges including riots, wild fires and mud slides; not to mention the fact that we Angelinos willingly climb into our automobiles every single day knowing full-well that we’re taking our lives into our own hands as we share the roads with Lindsey Lohan.  *shudder*
Still, I had a few more errands to run, and angling Cecilia like a shining Emerald into a cushy golden spot directly in front of the convenience mart, I took a winning Lotto Scratcher out of my purse ($2.00!) and headed inside to collect my booty and a couple packs of ciggies.  (Bright white reusable satchel with neon orange lettering FOLDED UP in hand!)  

Unfortunately, as the customer line happened to be rather long, I found myself standing directly next to the self-serve case of fresh donuts and pastries, the lard-laden waft of which seemed absolutely criminal to ignore.  And with a delectable tray of twelve mini chocolate éclairs (three for ninety-nine cents!) which seemed destined to be tossed by the end of the day, I deemed it my Civic Duty to rescue a trinity of the deep-fried cream-filled pockets of joy!
Uck, but THEN what?  An extra load of laundry to wash chocolate goo out of my only reusable tote?  Where would the madness end?  Ninety-nine cents for a moment of weakness, vs. $2.50 for the machines in the Son of Crappy Deceased Landlord’s laundry room?

Like a subtle wink from The Universe, I caught a glimpse of the nearly hidden contraption – an outright free-for-all spindle of pastry plastic baggies! 

And like a whirling dervish, I spun around the store maniacally, tonging (YES!) three mini éclairs into one sack, two bananas into another as well as an entirely self-contained wettish package of expensive pre-cut refrigerated watermelon chunks into a third.  And milk!  Yes, a quart of 2% milk slid easily into yet another sleeve, as did a chilled bottle of Vitamin Water, an individually wrapped two-pack of frosted cherry Pop Tarts (hey, those sprinkles could break loose at any moment!) and essentially everything else within my reach during my frenetic hoarding frenzy.
“Find everything you need, sweetie?” the cashier wanted to know as I eventually regained my composure and remembered my original plan to purchase smokey treats.  “No problem” he smiled as he reached under the counter.  “Are you gonna need a separate pastry sleeve for those too?” he giggled.

“You know, I only used this many bags, ‘cause I brought my own tote and I didn’t want it to get all dirty” I lousily attempted to justify my behavior like a child caught making mud pies in the sandbox.

“Relax, honey.  We’re still using up our old inventory” he chuckled as he tossed everything into a plastic carry-out.  “Anything else?”
“Ooh, I’ve got a winning “Monopoly” Scratcher!”

“Cash in, or buy more?” he smiled broadly, waving his hand ala Vanna White at the plethora of opportunities to win big money.
“Buy more!  Buy more!” I clapped giddily.

By the end of the day, this Domestic Diva was feeling “relatively” proud of herself. 

I don’t know for sure if it was Son or Wife of my Crappy Deceased Landlord who tended to the neighbor’s aggressive Bougainvillea with branch cutters while we ran errands all afternoon, but Cecilia was able to elegantly glissade into a lovely FOREST-FREE area to rest her clean, shiny green chassis in her usual spot.
As to the bat-cave, I was sufficiently and adequately prepared for any natural disasters (food stuffs tended to, as well as an orderly-Capricorn-neatly-folded-pile of paper and plastic baggies in reserve), all of which seemed to provide a comforting feeling of security despite the disturbing news on my Yahoo home page that Lohan is still free and driving amongst us.  *insert repeat shudder*

Even my hefty two buck investment of “Monopoly” Scratchers had paid off, as I found myself sitting atop a financial bonanza of silvery flecks which unearthed a whopping six dollars! 

The Choo-choo doubles the prize!
 But as an Actor and (most often) a Stand-In, and having played hundreds of various roles (all of which presented their own unique challenges), I must say that owning the head-lining marquee as a Domestic Diva in my own life has opened my eyes to a foreign world which, despite my best efforts, simply doesn’t suit me.

And as if The Universe heard my plea until I’m booked on whatever sit-com is destined next for me, a small package arrived via USPS – a purchase I’d nearly forgotten about, as my nocturnal hours have become rather wonky without the daily structure of an alarm clock... 
But there it was, in all its glory – a “daydream” pink and black satin sleep mask adorned with a crown of Swarovski crystals, accompanied by a blue plastic eye-cooling gel pack insert!

Ooh, it was a sign!  It was a gentle nudge from The Universe reminding me to embrace my current hiatus without question!  Oh clearly, this was a Cosmic hug, wishing me delightful slumbering until the time when my exceptional talents are once again required!!!

And choosing to go to bed early(ish), I slid the chilled blue gel pack out of my freezer and into the mask, turned off the lights, and laid down like Royalty with my Swarovski diadem situated just above my nose as complete darkness descended.
Aaaah, heaven... 

Glorious pampering!
And drifting gently off to sleep without a care in the world, I’m relatively certain that I banked a solid nine minutes of actual REM before bolting upright in my sheets yelling “What’s on my head?!  Get it off me!  Get it off me!”

Still working out the kinks!

~Temporarily Domesticated Diva P
Author’s Addendum:  I believe I was approximately three minutes into the acclaimed TLC show “Hoarding:  Buried Alive” last night, when I actually RECOGNIZED the lady who was being documented.  I hadn’t seen her in decades, as she was a Happy Hour fixture at a local bar on Melrose that I used to haunt back in the 90’s.  I immediately remembered her eccentric taste in fashion, her flair for hats, her tremendously huge and generous heart in offering me financial support if I ever needed it after I quit a horrendous job on Rodeo Drive; and all of her wildly impossible Hollywood stories that I assumed she fabricated as to being an actual heiress, without ONCE dropping a name to “implicate” anyone.  (I may have just fallen off the Indiana turnip truck back then, but C’MON, what kind of an “heiress” drinks alone for half price at Happy Hour???)

Doh!  A REAL one!
Cheers to “Louise” for reaching out for help, and in her honor, good-bye to my creepy Tupperware container of beef stew!  EEK!  When in doubt, THROW IT OUT!!!

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

75 Simple Steps to Mentally Sabotage an Otherwise Perfectly Happy Hiatus


1.    Discovering a bit of free time on idle hands, use the gift of temporary unemployment to sort out receipts and spend a leisurely afternoon collecting W-2s and 1099’s whilst adding up miscellaneous deductions and reporting all documentation on forms from CPA.

2.    Embrace said leisurely time and grown-up attitude of handling adult responsibilities and all bills paid, whilst simultaneously patting self on back.

3.    Pour celebratory cocktail.

4.    Repeat Step 3.

5.    Repeat Step 3.

6.    Repeat Step 3.

7.    Acknowledge that cell phone has not rung offering gainful employment, but insist that new skills must constantly be learned in preparation for end of hiatus.

8.    Prop self up at 45 degree angle on left elbow and proceed to discover new computer game on Kindle.

9.    Play game and successfully complete Level One.

10. Repeat Step 3.

11. Play game and successfully complete Level Two.

12. Repeat Step 3.

13. Lose Third Level, due to difficulty regarding slow hand-eye coordination and onset of irksome rapid-fire hiccups.

14. Replace Step 3 with pure caffeine to regain focus and achieve higher rankings with proper medallions that honor extraordinarily brilliant game play.

15. With senses now functioning at warp speed, discover that delightfully unobtrusive ditty of a tune playing in the background of said game has now become an ear worm in brain running on endless musical loop.  

16. Pause game in order to search iTunes downloads for most excellent bombastic repetition of “Prisoner of Society” by The Living End on computer.  (Personal choice of song selection may vary.)

17. Repeat Step 14.

18. Repeat Step 14.

19. Repeat Step 14.

20. Discover that previous slow hand-eye coordination was significantly easier to master in game play, as opposed to uncontrollable bouncing off ceiling, caffeinated jitters and cold shivers from vasoconstriction of blood vessels in extremities.

21. Pause game again, so as to ponder bewildering cause of searing pain localized in left elbow after a mere ten or twelve hours of ‘proppage’.

22. Disregard all logic in lieu of embracing debilitating panic as to possible “bed sore” and potential threat of gangrene from numb left hand propped continuously against ear.

23. Google “bed sore” images to medically confirm diagnosis and immediate placement of self in convalescent home with feeding tube, catheter and most unpleasant severing of wobbly useless limb.

24. Run screaming in terror from computer at “bed sore” images!

25. Repeat Step 3!!!


1.    Awaken (all limbs intact as before - *whew!*) to chilly cloudy day in Los Angeles and choose to embrace world once again as happy-go-lucky adult on hiatus.

2.    Receive paperwork in snail mail from CPA verifying both State and Federal refunds.

3.    Sign said documents, and proceed to Postal Office to FAX important forms so as to have monies electronically deposited into checking account at swift-like-the- speedy-winds of government bureaucracy. (Or, you know, WHENEVER.)

4.    Having dodged imaginary bullet of unnecessary amputation due to excessive computer game play, adopt ever-so-scientific grown-up attitude of embracing  theoretically preventative medicine as to warding off Alzheimer’s Disease, by reintroducing challenging omnibus of New York Times Saturday crossword puzzles into daily ritual. (Inhale haughty pretentious self-righteous attitude that Sunday puzzles have a theme, and are thereby FAR less difficult.)

5.    Opt for “Criminal Minds” marathon on television as background noise so to incorporate sophisticated “Behavioral Analysis Unit” as inspiration, whilst simultaneously challenging self to solve complicated cruciverbalist collection.

6.    Carefully select choice of gel in pen color and grip, so as to aesthetically enhance both left and right brain experience.

7.    Pour weak cocktail – elegant mixture of one part vodka, three parts Glaceau Vitamin Water - to augment neural synapses firing on all pistons.

8.    Prop self up at 45 degree angle on left elbow.

9.    Yelp like newborn puppy in whelping box, at “gamer’s” elbow pain.

10. Determine that as 45 degree angle of “proppage” is completely out of the question, deliberate over whether or not to use Neosporin for soreness and bruising vs. Gold Bond Ultimate for softening with Shea Butter.

11. Reconsider given parameters, and opt for empirical evening of crime fighting with aforementioned Behavioral Analysis Unit on television.

12. Dress appropriately for bundled up evening of rain, thunderstorms and serial killers by donning official Wonder Woman “snuggie”.   (Personal choice of Super Hero blanket selection may vary.)

13. Scratch clueless chin in appropriate “wonder”, as cable goes out due to inclement weather and LG TV searches haplessly for satellite signal.

14. Logically reboot TiVo.

15. Repeat Step 7 to implement usage of electrolytes and potassium whilst mildly comforting brain.

16. Spock-logically unplug TiVo for thirty seconds and restart DVR yet again, so as to dislodge any viral miscommunications with Cable Company.

17. Observe LG TV continue to search unsuccessfully for satellite signal.

18. Turn off television.

19. Determine that Universe is recommending Existential experience as it relates to the absurd and meaningless constant assault on one’s senses by continuous barrage of ever invasive technology permeating and perverting the most basic need for experiencing human contact.

20. Sit Zen-like in Buddhist tranquility to embrace nuances of Universe whilst reflecting upon uncommonly and increasingly louder storm.

21. In accordance with laws of Nature (and proper respect for many creatures reptilian), leap out of skin at sonic-boom clap of thunder directly over home whilst screaming like a five year old.

22. Replace Step 7 with hearty amalgamation of 50/50 ingredients!

23. Repeat Step 22!!!

24. Apply appropriate layers of both Neosporin and Gold Bond Ultimate lotion to “gamer’s” reptilian elbow whilst vodka-logically contemplating integration and importance of reconciliation between vastly different schools of thought.

25. Drift blissfully (albeit briefly) off to sleep listening to gentle pit-a-pat of raindrops tapping at window, until pea-brain spends the next grueling eight hours swapping computerized colorful tiles to happy ditty annoying ear worm of relentless musical loop which will apparently haunt the mind for an eternity...


1.    Awaken with new gratitude that it is NOT in fact the 1980’s; you have NOT just attended a Loverboy concert, NOR have your parents just given you your first handheld Game Boy with Tetris that you played all night in your head.

2.    Shake off visuals of attending said Loverboy concert wearing ridiculous non-breathable leather pants in venue of 25,000 sweaty teenagers who know absolutely nothing about what it means to be “working for the weekend”.  (Personal choice of flashbacks may vary.)

3.    Reprimand self for hypocrisy and realization that by definition of “hiatus”, one is in fact NOT working for the weekend, nor working at all for that matter.

4.    Pat belly pod comfortingly, that at least for a few shining years it actually FIT into leather pants!

5.    Regain mental focus.

6.    With eyes back on larger picture, confirm online that bank has indeed received tax refunds and are currently being processed.

7.    Further confirm with incoming snail mail, that Unemployment Department has updated their records to three weeks ago (speedy like the wind!), and does in fact owe you YOUR OWN MONEY.

8.    Upon achieving temporary sense of financial stability whilst waiting for gainful employment, determine to reconcile self-induced stupidity often associated with idle time.

9.    Contemplate legal ramifications of writing imaginary document of agreement that should Cable Company choose to allow LG TV to find satellite signal again, one might actually watch commercials as a measure of good faith.

10. Further, add mental rider clause, that should Cable Company manage to sustain it’s one and only stupid job of providing cable, one might possibly consider paying attention to annoying advertisements.

11. Roll eyes incredulously, but turn on television nonetheless.

12. Clap hands in joy to find marathon of favorite shows.

13. Pause TiVo to accrue time during restroom visit, but recall Step 10.

14. Admit that $9.95 is a reasonable price for an “as seen on TV!” item that would actually be beneficial to household.

15. Supply credit card information online and confirm telephone number.

16. Receive “receipt of purchase” (should one happen to have a printer attached to one’s laptop computer), verifying information and monies paid.

17. Pause to reconsider Step 10.

18. Proceed to be bombarded at all hours of the day and night by telemarketers who now possess your phone number in their sweaty, greedy little paws.

19. Forego joyful Happy Hour at 5:30pm, as all joy has been sucked out of world with telephone ringing every twenty-two and a half minutes.

20. Attempt to regain tiniest hint of joy, by politely answering each call with “please stop dialing this number, thank you!”

21. Repeat Step 20, ONE MILLION TIMES.

22. Wistfully grieve over temporary loss of happier days with simple reptilian gamer’s elbow and random selection of cruciverbalist gel pens.

23. Sit Zen-like in spiritual reverence to meditate on breathing, quietude and acceptance of that which is beyond one’s control as phone continues to ring.  (Om...)

24. Answer incoming call which may be recorded for quality-control purposes, and proceed to unleash reptilian cruciverbalist ASS on recorded computer message, with all due manner of split infinitives, dangling participles and graphic insults regarding Village Idiot’s inability to stop fucking calling this number, coupled with hearty dose of gang-slang which may or may not include disparaging comments towards computer message’s Mother.  (Personal selection of vocabulary and self-expression may vary.)

25. Recognize passive/aggressive behavior as childish, yet wallow in sudden influx of endorphins which culminate in possibly best “sleep of the dead” all month!
Slowly regaining my sanity as financial security sets in, telemarketing wanes and jaunty ditty* in pea-brain subsides,

~No longer psycho P
*Hey, look at that!  There’s a “volume” button on the side of the Kindle!!!

Sunday, March 3, 2013

My Voyage Out of Lilliput

Exhaling with ecstatic relief at the publishing of my recent post here, shaking off the ghosts of my “sit-com past” and everything about it which had haunted me on that particular journey, I felt as light as a feather to have written from the heart, addressed my personal personnel issues, and worked through my big old emotional bag-o-crap to finally become unchained.

The experience was actually quite liberating!
And sitting down to formulate my usual mass email to approximately forty friends and family members who would rather know when there’s something new on this blog - as opposed to feeling obligated to pop by willy-nilly (what can I say, this isn’t the Facebook) - I double-checked the usual link to make sure that I had entered it correctly.  (Lord knows, I forgot a forward slash ONE TIME, and all email hell broke loose on my ass!)  

But upon being redirected to my page here at Blogger, I gasped in terror.
Yes the link was correct, but what I’d neglected to comprehend was the fact that having published my post at 12:33am, the calendar date was actually February 22.

And let the mind-fuckery begin...
Whilst I’m loathe to call it an “anniversary” (as the term connotes some sort of jubilant celebration), it was indeed a date that I commemorate. 

Flash back with me if you will:
As if it were only yesterday, I recalled every single sight and smell in the courthouse over half a decade ago.  I’d been charged with a misdemeanor offense, had worked as a (world’s WORST!) receptionist in trade for an Attorney, and had essentially become a prisoner in my own mind... 

I immediately recalled the eerie florescent glow of the room (well, I AM an Actor (where was my key light?), and quite frankly EVERYONE looked like a criminal under such conditions!).
I also recalled the guy who had had a bench warrant out for his arrest, who was hoping to negotiate surrendering himself at a later date, and who was immediately strong-armed, wrangled, cuffed, stripped of his belt buckle and shoe laces as he was hauled out kicking and screaming through a side door.  (EEK!)

Oh, and let us not forget!  As if The Universe itself was growing weary of the on-going “guilty – pay this fine/no contest – pay this fine” lengthy list of misdemeanor citations and needed a bit of cosmic comedic entertainment, I witnessed the world’s largest (Uck, I can’t even type it...) um, ‘hard-shelled insect’, the size of a ripe lime lumbering its way down the courthouse aisle like it OWNED the joint; the sight of which sent me and a few other females screaming as we clambered to crouch acrobatically upon the tops of the backs of our chairs – NOT a physical reaction that I would generally recommend in front of armed Officers who are trained to Taser and subdue at the first sign of trouble – but as we weren’t NEARLY as aggressive as the ambulatory “lime”, we luckily didn’t find ourselves at the wrong end of a swarm of quick-thinking policemen wielding batons!!!  (Again:  EEK!)
Flash forward with me now, if you will:

As sense memory can be a powerfully debilitating experience, I made a deal with myself.  I’d attempt to get some sleep (rough waters ahead as they may be for the night); face whatever the daylight of February 22 had to offer, and if I chose to commemorate the date by staying in bed for the next twenty-four hours with a blanket pulled tightly over my head, well by golly, I had every right to do so!
And thus I gave myself permission to do as necessary, sans judgment of any kind.

Meanwhile (unbeknownst to me until days later), somewhere in the Midwestern states, my friend (and Federal Agent for the Department of Justice), was battling her own sense memory.  Having successfully conquered breast cancer (WOO-HOO!), yet cautiously continuing her on-going quarterly check-ups, she was DEVASTATED to find out that out of the blue, her blood-work had changed dramatically for the worse within the last three months.

And let the mind-fuckery begin...
“Here we go again...” she thought, anticipating treatments, surgeries, etc., etc. etc., ad nauseam.  And making a deal with herself to challenge the test results – she knew inherently that she was absolutely fine – she endured twenty hours of her own personal hell until she was able to confer with her Oncologist.

As it turns out, the highly respected University of What-The Fuck had inadvertently given her someone else’s test results.  Sure, their last names were the same, and their first names both started with an “A”, but their birth dates weren’t even close!  (And yes, kind readers, I can feel your fury building out there!  Feel free to be up in arms over this injustice, but trust me, my Federal Agent friend has this particular situation well in hand!)  And whilst I’m grateful that my friend is absolutely healthy, our hearts go out to that dear lady, who for twenty hours, hopefully enjoyed at least one day to the fullest extent before getting the horrific news of her illness...

Now, generally, I wouldn’t include the above story in one of my posts, as I prefer to explore the absurd, the peculiar and the idiosyncrasies in The Universe that make me snort when I laugh.
Yet, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to the beneficial therapeutic side effects of writing...

And catching up on the phone with my Fed friend a few days afterward, I listened patiently as she related the tales of her previous evening, appearing as a guest speaker at a cancer support group, wherein she was prompted to share her story as well as the impact that that particular organization had had on her recovery and personal well-being.
“That was great” one of the heads of the society apparently told her afterwards.  “But you made a little bit too much eye contact...”

Well, there’s your “absurd”!

As for me, I think I covered the “peculiar”, as whilst I slept very hard and vampire-iffically immobile in my bed until midday of February 22, my pea-brain recalled (in my dreams) the Judge blathering on and on in legalese about my obligations and restrictions; one of which included a strict admonition that should I fail to comply with the orders of the court, I could be subject to deportation. 
“That means that he can send you back to Indiana” my Attorney whispered with a grin.


And as far as idiosyncrasies go, I’m kinda sure I nailed that too...

“Welcome to McDonalds.  May I take your order?” the voice on the squawk box asked cheerily.
“Yes!  I’m celebrating today, so may I please have your Number Six Angus meal, but without the mushrooms on it?” I slobbered, undeniably proud that I had chosen to face the “anniversary” with a hot shower, an attitude of gratitude and a hearty appetite to celebrate how far I’d travelled.

“Of course,” the gentleman replied professionally; “Diet Coke, right?”
“Guilty!” I beamed.

Wishing “Fair Winds and Following Seas” to all of you navigating your own journey through life,

~Gulliver P