75 Simple Steps to Mentally Sabotage an Otherwise Perfectly Happy Hiatus

ACT ONE: 

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!!!

ACT TWO:

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...

ACT THREE:

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!!!

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.

(EEK!)

>>><<< 

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

 

My Semiosis Body Language Neurosis

“Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.” ~Jonathan Swift

Grateful to receive our Cast and Crew photo from my previous (and hands down, most difficult) television show thus far in my career, I found myself surprisingly unwilling to strip open the envelope from my snail mail postal carrier.

Sure I wanted to see all of the smiling happy faces of my Crew; but as I’d put my heart and soul into attempting to exceed expectations to the best of my abilities for two and a half seasons, I’d missed the last week of work – our season finale.  And while I knew I was in the photograph (ooh, I plopped my ass down cross-legged in the FRONT ROW for the first time EVER to OWN my contribution to our success!), I simply couldn’t face the closure of the Stockholm Syndrome that had held me captive for so long! 

Sure, we might still get a pick-up for additional episodes after our cable network tests out a few pilots; or we may be done forever as even The Suits were growing vocally tiresome of our painfully tedious process towards the end...

Either way, the snail mail envelope remained unopened, as did the “fifth revised shooting script” in my computer inbox (yeah right - as if that was the end of the infernal re-writes!!!); not to mention the recorded season finale in my TiVo.

OOF. 

Triple visuals – but I simply wasn’t ready to look!

>>><<< 

Toddling out to my mail box, unlocking the 2”x2” cage and finding a singular paycheck from my glorious day on a highly rated Network show last week (monetarily puny as it was, since I worked maybe a whopping six hours), I must say, I strode like a full-blown feather-expanding peacock with all of my $82.34 check (after taxes and what-not savings) in my claw, as I re-entered my bat cave.

And as if The Universe recognized that I was properly embracing my small fortune with all due gratitude, I suddenly felt the need to cleanse the lenses of my glasses for a full appreciation of the gifts bestowed upon me – and that meant both the photo as well as the season finale of my sit-com.  (I’d include the script in my inbox, but let’s face it – five minutes into the live Audience show, it had already been re-written.)

Tearing open the 8x10 glossy of roughly a hundred grinning faces, I smiled in return (as human beings are wont to do upon seeing friends and comrades), before my first round of Semiosis Body Language Neurosis kicked in.

(OK, seriously, I’m not trying to sound like Susie Smarty-Pants here, as I only learned the term “Semiosis” from Wikipedia last night; defined as “any action or influence for communicating meaning by establishing relationships between signs which are to be interpreted by an audience”.  I’m not a brainiac, but as my friend RJ often says, we thirst for knowledge.)

But I digress!

And at first blush, there we were:  all of the foot soldiers lined up in rows like ducks at a shooting gallery, smiling stupidly for the camera as every crew member does every single season on every sit-com – one shiny, happy ersatz moment trapped in time to memorialize just how jolly a television family we all appeared to be.  

Yet as Photographer Diane Arbus once said, “A photograph is a secret about a secret.  The more it tells you, the less you know.”  And with that, I was off on my High Horse named “Buttercup” to sniff out the truth!  (OK, OK, maybe not a High Horse, as “Buttercup” tends to stay low to the ground, so let’s call him a sturdy working pony.)

Naturally, the first thing to catch my eye was my stand-in “husband” sprawled on the floor next to me – a well-meaning attempt at camaraderie on his part to point to the picture of our missing co-worker Tara on my Kindle, yet an unfortunate choice of global positioning, as my Gorgeous Actress sitting on the couch behind him immediately shouted “what the hell is this?” as she demanded he scooch down to ensure that she was visible from the top of her coiffed head down to her pedicured toes.

Next to arouse the snout of “Buttercup” was the quizzical smile of one of our hard working PAs.  And thinking back to the last conversation I’d had with him, he was at the time, officiously tending to the menial task of setting out scripts and pads of paper, along with a specified grouping of exactly one pencil, one black pen and one yellow highlighter per person at a Table Reading.  And watching him line up all items in a neat and orderly fashion; I happened to catch his eye.

“Four years of college!” he raised his eyebrows with a small sigh.

As “Buttercup” continued to root around for more truths, I realized that this could very well be an endless journey.  Most every face or posture told a story.  The slumped shoulders of our one of our skeleton crew members who always appears on set with the genuine unbridled enthusiasm and joy of a carefree unicorn farting rainbows (thanks for the reference, Lynnette!); the ever-so-focused Wardrobe Dominatrix who was beaming behind enormous dark sunglasses (I’ll have what she’s having!); the (I don’t know what she does, but she smells a little bit like whiskey) lady who feels the need to share every single detail of her holiday stories with me after hiatus; not to mention the most under-used comedic Latino Actor (is that a voodoo doll in his hands?); nor the Trinity of EPs who were physically connected in a creepy totalitarian triangle.

Oy vey, what was wrong with me?  Why was I so fixated?  Was I suffering from Stockholm Syndrome?  Was my occasional OCD manifesting itself in this new Semiotic Body Language Neurosis for real? 

Or could it be – dare I name it – Sit-Com Post-Partum Production Depression?!?!

“Toi, toi, toi” I spat on my fingers ala my Gorgeous Actress in a Yiddish “ritual” to fend off such evil thoughts as she had done in one of our previous episodes.

(Anybody see a pattern here?  Hint – I’m not Jewish.)

Frankly, I needed to get out of my own head.  And what better way than to sit back, relax and watch the season finale that I knew absolutely nothing about!  Oh, to have a cocktail, a hearty chuckle and the warm fuzzy feeling of watching our show as Penny Q. Public, unbiased audience viewer!

“Why is she crossing to that water pitcher downstage left?  We never established that particular item so far downstage...” I armchair quarterback/directed the scene in my pea-brain.  “And what’s up with the cut there?  My Gorgeous Actress is clearly delivering that joke to the “A” camera” I poo-poohed derisively.  “And what the hell is THIS meshugas, that she’s eating Ezekiel bread in the living room?  The plate is hidden by the flower arrangement, but all of a sudden, she’s got a buttered slice in her hand?” 

Growing a wee bit saddle-sore from my sturdy working pony (alright, alright, my High Horse!), I was just about to pat his flanks and send him off to graze, when he snorted one last time. 

“What’s up, Buttercup?” I wondered, rewinding my TiVo to watch the last scene for whatever I might have missed.

And there it was...  I’d seen her do it a hundred times - usually at the end of an extensive interview when she was asked to pose for stills - but somehow I’d completely glossed over the obvious on television.

Perhaps I was distracted by our Cast and Crew photo and the eerie semblance at which we’d both elected to tilt our heads to the right (she was behind me, mind you!); or the fact that I wasn’t present for the final episode (hey, I got a nice fat check from her for all of my hard work last season, but “bubkes” this time around?); yet more than likely, my Semiosis Body Language Neurosis was spot on.

With two masterfully practiced specific facial exercises wherein my Gorgeous Actress relaxes her forehead muscles and then poses elegantly at a well-rehearsed angle, I recognized her signature smile that could only mean one thing – she was DONE.

(Well... at least for now!)

Looking forward,

~Opto-Mystic P