December 21, 2009
A Christmas Tale
It must be because I started housesitting last night and was completely distracted by that.
Let me begin by saying I’m staying in Christmas Village (in the Hollywood Hills)
My friend, Stevie Nicks, has left for Egypt for the Holidays and I’m the responsible friend who was left in charge.
I walk into her abode and am absolutely assaulted by a Christmas party that hasn’t ended. Beyond the tree and presents and wall and ceiling decorations, I see a catering table has been brought out for her holiday figurines and miniature village!
To my right, I see a three tiered desert platter of leftover Christmas cookies and cupcakes from a gala that ended two days ago!
I see boxes from Tiffany and Dom Perignon and big boxes of fancy purses, under her tree in disarray.
I see many Gold records on the wall and I covet them.
There are mirrors on every square inch of this house. I feel self conscious.
So, I set the alarm and head to shower, as I am exhausted.
While soaping up, I realize I didn’t bring any shampoo.
I look to the window sill to see 7 different types of desert flavored body washes greeting me. Pumpkin Pie, Frosting Delight, Sugar and Spice, Twisted Peppermint.
They literally smell like pureed Christmas. So, in the middle of dumping a candy factory on my head, I realize it’s getting hot in there!
Opening the window, I realize I’ve made a BIG mistake.
The cursed alarm goes off and it’s LOUD!!
Running out of the shower with soap in my eyes, I grab the nearest towel which is a Santa emblazoned dish towel!!
Running to the alarm box, desperately trying to remember the code, I begin pressing numbers, which are all incorrect!
After I’ve shut everything off (now, I’m subject to potential rape sans alarm system) and I’m resting comfortably, watching the history of the Secret Service on tv when there’s a knock at the door.
A large woman with pink hair, dressed in bright colors and smelling of patchouli and perhaps a day late bathing, walks in.
I recognize her as she lives in my apartment building. She’s a friend of Stevie’s who will also be house-sitting.
“Mind some company?”
One of those frustrating questions that you can rarely say “no” to.
So, for the next three hours, we watch a documentary on boot camp.
I deal with her laughing excessively at her own jokes, staring at me to ensure I do the same.
I handle her hand being placed on my leg or arm with each comment.
I endure her incense odor.
My body language says “please go home now”
But she, being psychic, does not pick up on this.
The next morning, I leave the house, not sure I set the alarm properly.
As I get to the bottom of the hill, I see an alarm company van race past me up the very same hill.
****.
http://bryansander.com/blog/?p=1589