Saturday, July 11, 2015

"Cent-a-Mental" Thoughts about Trying to Make Sense

Scrounging around the bat-cave and unearthing a few years old two “Santa 39 cent stamps”, I slapped both of them on my Unemployment form and sent the irony to EDD. 
But watching a commercial (I think it’s for a toilet bowl cleaner), apparently everything is now technologically available with a click.

Ergo, Spock-logically, I clicked on USPS to purchase stamps!
Yes, the lilies are lovely, and I’d like to purchase two sheets.

“Your credit card has been processed, and your stamps will arrive within five to seven days.”

Wait, what?
“Additionally, your credit card will be charged for postage of us mailing them to you.”

What the heck kind of scam is THAT?  I can mail a letter and have it arrive in three days anywhere in the United States, but the USPS takes its own sweet time?  Well, gee, sorry, but that’s just stupid...  And tacking on postage for mailing me stamps?
Can someone please help me make sense of this?

Next scenario:

“We need you to move your car for tree trimming between 2pm and 3pm” one of my Landlords alerted me. 
“No problem!” I kindly replied thankfully in a text to one of my Landlords the night before.  “I think my car is being eaten by the overgrown bougainvillea since I haven’t been working!” I emphasized with all due gratuity.

“Remember, you have to move your car” another Landlord reminded me at 11:30am the day of.
“Yeah.  Got it.  But it’s not even noon...”

(Geez, enough, already!)
And maneuvering Cecilia (my Toyota) into one of their parking spots (the Landlords have now absconded with three out of five places - although I’m not convinced that the dorky miniature circus car deserves a whole spot), I left Cecilia in one of their empty places for two and a half hours and then politely moved her back into her designated spot.

“Good job moving your car!” one of my Landlords applauded me as we happened upon each other.
(What am I, five?  Do I get a gold star on my report card?)

Meanwhile, with his deceased Dad’s dog (“Keifer”) on a leash in our recently strictly designated “NO PETS ALLOWED” building, I patted the poor little white fur ball that seemed desperate for attention, a chin scratch and a double ear rub.  
(Sooo, I can’t adopt a kitty from a rescue shelter, but you can trot out the pup?)

How does this make sense?

Additionally I’m having issues with Vladimir (my monster bed).  Whilst it’s spectacular that I can elevate my head to assist my allergies and hit the vibrate button to help unclog my sinuses, somehow I keep ending up scuttled down to the lower half of the end of the mattress, and spend hours trying to claw up Mt. Everest to get back to a pillow.
And doesn’t a pillow have but one function?  “Memory foam”’?  How about a pillow that “remembers” it should simply be fluffy?

Concordantly, with respect to the new apartment regulations, I’ve complacently turned down the volume of my comforting television at midnight so as not to disturb anyone.

Yet my upstairs neighbor trots around happily at all hours.  Is he moving furniture?  Is he working on his Arthur Murray tango lessons?  Who moves around that much at three in the morning?  I’m not antagonistic, yet what is he DOING up there?
Again, I can’t make sense, but I’ll not be the billy goat gruff knocking on that door...

(It’s no wonder that I’m an insomniac.  And yes, some nights, I just lie there quietly and wait for Mr. Happy Feet to crash through the ceiling joist and smash me like a Wile E. Coyote “Acme” anvil...)

Lastly, as I’m trying to take care of my health, I’m devoted to the consumption of my daily vitamins.
But can someone please explain to me why “One A Day” multi-vitamins say the proper dosage is to take TWO pills?  You’re called One A Day”!

Perhaps I’ll never make sense of the world...

Recently, the Landlords left a note on my stoop:  “Water will be shut off from 11am to 1pm.  Sorry for the inconvenience” on a day when I was experiencing some rather unpleasant tummy trouble. 
Excellent!  (Seriously, has no one yet developed a “sarcasm” font?)

Forever befuddled,



Robert Easterla said...

I cannot be-leeeeve I'm the first comment! Quel honor. And it's really gonna be more like a tome. I am howling over the fact that your landlords have a dog AND they are sprawling over 66.6 % of the parking spaces. Mark of the beast, indeed. My landlords are evil too-- they've evicted me 3 times, just because I didn't pay my rent! Can you imagine? Turns out, they want money in exchange for my living here! I swoop in at the eleventh hour with some ill-gotten cash and it keeps 'em quiet until next time. I think I have a Sears mattress and a Target pillow. What's this crap about vibrating and memory foam?! Rich. Girl. Problem. Ya lost me at foam and I do not feel sorry for you. It's like when you used to whine about your A/C being so chilly on August evenings you had to find two blankets to sleep, while the rest of L.A. had to buy swamp coolers and suck on gin-soaked rags at night so we could pass out when it dipped below 110. Remember, while most of WeHo was dying of heat stroke, your little Vista/Gardner was a frosty retreat. So maybe the neighbor upstairs and landlord freaks aren't so bad (that was me trying to end on a positive note)! xo

Penny said...

I love you so, Rob! Your "tome" made me snort-laugh out loud about the old Vista/Gardner days! And seriously, "gin-soaked rags"? Are you living in a speak-easy? :D

At least now, I have valid justification for an air conditioner. Hello, menopause! I sweat out of the top of my head. How is that even possible???

And yes, for all the world to read, you taught me everything I know about show business. (Are you happy now?!)

Love you, my dearest, xoxoxo :)