“Fie, fie, fie, I can’t possibly steadily keep the radio on...” Cecilia
hiccupped half-heartedly as we tooled down the Boulevard, momentarily muting
the Red Hot Chili Peppers as I tone-deaf sang alone in silence. “I were better to be eaten to death with a
rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion” my Toyota postured
ala Falstaff. (Cecilia has appeared on-camera in three whole Sit-Coms and now
apparently feels most adequately prepared to tackle Shakespeare.)
(Cecilia was mad that day in 2008, as whilst Props took the time to dress her in "Colorado" wardrobe (aka her phony license plate), they didn't bother to wax her hood prior to being subjected to such harsh outdoor lighting...)
“Here’s to my love! O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus, with a kiss, I die” Cecilia idled steadily
like an off-off-off-Broadway performer who’s obviously still breathing after a
first-time performance of Romeo and Juliet’s death scene.
(Yeah, yeah, yeah, “Parking” is such
sweet sorrow.)
Yet miraculously prepared for an
encore performance after a day of resting in the parking structure overlooking
the Studio, I motored Cecilia home in hopes of finding an open spot on the
street so as to not have to deal with my upstairs neighbor Cecile
“Ophelia”. (Yes, I’ve randomly re-dubbed her as her name is far too similar to my
car; yes, I still think she’s a hooker, and yes, I think she should get thee to
a nunnery.)
But easing our way into the
left-turn lane off the Boulevard (no
dashboard lights or warning signs flashing!), Cecilia suddenly remembered
her preferred station in life; and as I guided her into a parallel spot as a
commoner once again in an open slot legally designated BEHIND the painted curb
of the space for a fire hydrant on the street, Cecilia effectively threw an
automotive hissy-fit as she once again blared her blood red icon of a dead
battery.
“Cry woe, destruction, ruin and
decay; the worst is death, and death will have his day” Cecilia sighed
dramatically ala “Richard II” as she continued to idle normally.
(Oh, FFS... What a ham...)
“You need to buy her new belts” our
local Mr. AAA “Roger” arrived on scene in his road-side assistance truck as he
ran diagnostics on my beloved Cecilia’s engine.
“Her battery is fine for now, but she needs a new alternator belt. Let me call and get you a tow truck” he offered
most helpfully.
Leave it to my Drama Princess automobile
to feel the need to shop for accessories.
(What’s next; earrings and a
tiara?!)
And rather than hooking Cecilia’s
front bumper to an angled draggy hoist bulb hitch-thingy whilst I dropped off
my work bag inside my Sanctuary, I walked back down to the street to meet a
rather crusty AAA hauler named “Danny”, who had already loaded Cecilia high upon
a mighty flat-bed ala a Homecoming Queen waving to her constituents.
(Oh bother, there will be no living with her now...)
>>><<<
“Can you show me where the base will
go?” the extraordinarily acutely focused no-nonsense delivery man zeroed in on
the specific section of my bedroom in the bat-cave. “We’ll be taking your previous frame and the
mattress with no charge to you” he affirmed all creepy sweatily per the
contract as he lugged out the haven upon which I’ve slept for decades. “If you wanna clean up and vacuum, do that
now before I install the furniture” he informed me curtly.(Wow.)
“Don’t mind him” the younger
delivery guy with the stud-pierced facial cheeks nodded pleasantly. “We had a rough day, and he actually cried at
noon when we had to deliver a bed on a third floor apartment without a working
elevator.”
(Oh, goodness!)Now, suffice it to say, I was mostly OK with the removal of the old sleeping arrangements from my Sanctuary as I embraced a brand new beginning in my world...
Sure there existed some hints of heartache
over the dusty mementos stashed underneath my bed of over twenty years (posters from college rolled into a tube,
tax papers from 1991 to 1994 (?), art supplies from whence I once-upon-a-time
fancied myself a modern-day Michelangelo, etc.); but quite frankly, I found
myself easily discarding such trivial items.
Until...
Grabbing the
vacuum to suck up the last of the double-decade dust bunnies, I suffered a wickedly
painful temporary mental melt-down at the sight of miscellaneous paw-sized
kitty toys, batted most authoritatively under the bed (all the way to the back
wall!) by my deceased Heroic Feline Sidekick “Pretty”, who simply would never suffer
anything stupidly puffy if she didn’t deign the item properly “crinkly”.
(Yes, that would be two ears and a tail visible from the baggie. I never fully understood the obsession, but I always scissored "escape-routes" prior to presenting her with a gift!)
>>><<<
Having deferred delivery of my
Monster Bed until a hiatus so as to adjust to the Sales Lady’s recommendation
that I would require adequate time to break in the mattress (for the Love of God, I seriously flopped
up, down, left, right, diagonal and reversal trying to make the damned thing
comfortable for two weeks), my world was still wildly conflicted with the
consternation of incompatibility...
Number One: Despite
the disclaimer regarding “NEW MATTRESS SCENT” (and I quote: “Our mattresses
are manufactured per order and packaged in a sealed plastic bag immediately
after production. When the sealed
plastic is first opened, you will notice a scent that comes from the new
materials, foams and/or fiberfill in the new mattress. The scent is not harmful and should dissipate
within a few days”), my new Monster Bed continued to smell of “Igor-ian”
chemicals from a Mad Scientist’s Laboratory.
Number Two: (Please disregard the irony of the paragraph title, as I assure
you, this was unintentional.) My desired adaption to the Monster Bed had been thwarted not
only by the brutal assault of the onslaught of a flu bug which knocked me down
for five days (enjoy the irony here, that
my crappy Landlord managed to have my toilet fixed just in time!), but also
by the fact that whilst my belly was less than cooperative with any sustenance
aside from saltine crackers, all of the fancy doo-dads on the new
remote-controlled mattress and frame simply made me queasy.
Number
Three: Having
conquered the flu, and gently easing myself into the recovery of chewing solid
food, I clicked on the “Zero Gravity” button as my bed ironically nearly
swallowed me whole.
And “accidentally” doing SIX sit-ups
to eventually dislodge myself (OW!), I frowned at the discordance in my
Sanctuary; my feet dangling helplessly as I stared down at the floor which
appeared to be, or not to be, so far away?
(Well, that is the question.)>>><<<
Having started a new cable show
where The Universe has thusly batted me around into an awkward position of
standing-in for an eleven year old girl (I’m
not YET completely against the back wall like a puffy kitty toy!), I’ve
found myself rather uncomfortably being reduced to sitting on apple boxes for
camera-blocking, and a camping chair off-stage in the darkness during most of
the rest of the day.
I’m certainly not complaining mind
you, as I’m ridiculously blessed to be working with a lovely group of people,
and let’s face it: “Would you prefer me to
be seated? Happy to oblige!” (I even
ordered a light-weight stool from Amazon to assist me with the issues of
height!) And whilst I’m lucky to be
used for a random twenty minutes here and there during a thirteen/fourteen hour
day, I’m still adjusting to my world of the unknown.
>>><<<
“I sleep on rocks and straw. But you’re going to name the bed, aren’t you?”
my newest co-worker Gilda wondered; a novice reader to my published blog posts,
but already somewhat in step with my literary over-use of personification.
“Pfft!” I thought to myself. (Well,
maybe...)
>>><<<
Returning home with two weeks under my
belt of feeling somewhat humbly knocked down a peg, I embraced a nudge from both
Cecilia and Shakespeare, and yes, perhaps even my Heroic Feline Sidekick
“Pretty”.
“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”
~W.S.
And eyeballing my Monster Bed, I
piled into the Creature; kicked him into “Zero Gravity”, and lolled like a drooling
infant in the cradle.
“Is that all you’ve got?” I pressed
the curvy button on the remote control as the mattress began a gentle massage, rather comfortably
purring ala “Pretty”.
“Well, seeing as how you’re NOT my
Heroic Feline Sidekick", I shook my head sadly, "we’re going to have to
amp you up to the maximum level” I decided authoritatively on Pretty's behalf, as she would never deign to nap amidst the likes of something so stupidly puffy. And pressing the button thrice to bring the Creature to life, the electricity coursed throughout the mattress as if Frankenstein had suddenly bolted awake...
(Oh dear Lord, it’s ALIVE!)
And as my entire bat-cave rumbled,
roared and jiggled like a Lear Jet in a tiny hangar preparing for take-off, all
I could do was lay stupidly in a “V-position”, and repeatedly mumble the
vibrating sentence, “Verrry-gllladdd-I’mmm-here...”; a rather odd ‘blurtation’
which (if you read the sentence out loud)
has thus left me no choice but to dub The Creature “Vladimir.”
>>><<<
To be painfully honest, “change” is
a difficult procedure for this One Red Cent most ironically named Penny at
birth. But as an Actor, I must accept
the re-writes from The Universe as they befall!
And yes, perhaps I need to make a few adjustments...
But please do allow me the indulgence of one
last Shakespearean quote?
“My crown is in
my heart, not on my head; Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones,
Nor to be seen: my crown is called content:
A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.” ~King Henry VI
And thus I shall bid you adieu, as I
return to work this week with my nifty stool for camera blocking which should
arrive tomorrow. And while perhaps it’s not exactly a
proper throne, I ALSO purchased a foldable Captains Chair (with TWO cup holders!)
at Target for when I have to sit off-stage in the dark with my book light!
But as to the (only available color at the time) ‘Malibu Barbie-ish’ Neon Pink throne???
I think Cecilia has the right idea.
Yeah, I’m definitely gonna need earrings
and a tiara...
Wishing you a wickedly wonderful week,
~Vlad's hostage, Penny
1 comment:
"Parking is such sweet sorrow"
Love that line...
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