Room 361: "Is it hot in here...or is it just me?"

I lived a cliché last Friday afternoon.  

I was at a lovely Beverly Hills mansion for a work-related lunch.  I mention the "Beverly Hills" and "mansion" part not to impress but rather to set the unlikely scene for the events that unfolded...or revealed themselves, as it were.  

We were sitting at tables on the lush patio, chatting about how this will never be our life when the gabbing was interrupted by a male voice saying, "Excuse me, everyone."  Now I will try to describe my thought process as I looked up at the speaker.  That man is someone I don't know.  That man is wearing a fireman's hat.  That man is saying something about a birthday.  Oh no.  No way.  That man is a--  As that last phrase was forming in my head, a gay co-worker obviously thought the same thing I did.  But he had a slightly different take which was, "Take your shirt off."  And that man did.   In fact, he did the ole rip-the-t-shirt-open bit.  And breakaway pants!  And since this was a semi-fancy affair, that man wore tight, white briefs.  No thongs, thankfully.  But clingy, nonetheless.  So clingy that I didn't really see the need for the red suspenders that were attached to them.  Yes, that man had the talent to rip his blue t-shirt down the middle and taaa-daaa his jeans without taking his suspenders off.   Because they were attached to the briefs.  That man used those suspenders as a prop to gyrate suggestively over my poor co-worker who was concurrently blushing and threatening revenge.  And thankfully for all our sakes, the briefs stayed on.  (Side note:  before you ask, he himself was not "brief".  If you get my meaning.  His other job, come to find out, is modeling underwear for a questionable catalog.  And I don't know for sure if it's questionable.  I merely say that because I don't recall seeing "briefs" of that non-brevity in the JC Penny catalog.)  

I would now like to state that all of my observations happened within a few seconds because I recall spending most of the time looking at my plate of chips and salsa.   Oh, I did also look at the other horrified expressions of my tablemates.   Well, not all were horrified.  Some were just plain shell-shocked.  And some had cameras.  I just couldn't believe that it was really happening.  And I was slightly disappointed at the lack of imagination.  A fireman?  Really?  We work for a non-profit.  Couldn't that man at least dress up as a trustee of a foundation?  "Hello, I would like to make a donation..."  Boom chicka bow bow!

Amenities of Room 361: View of Well-Manicured Gardens. Fine Silverware and Crystal Glasses. 100-Foot Fire Hose.

Room 442: 11:30pm On A Saturday Night

There's not much on TV.  When you don't have cable.  Here's the rundown:

Rerun of Saturday Night Live with Drew Barrymore.  I've seen it already so I'll move on. 

TMZ with video of Kid n Play talking about Mel Gibson.  Megan Fox kissing a dolphin.  And a really annoying voice over guy.  So annoying that I have new respect for Tom Bergeron's voice overs on America's Funniest Home Videos.  

Oprah rerun with Kirstie Alley.  I'm always a wee bit disappointed when Oprah isn't doing a self-helpy episode.  But thank goodness it's not a depressing one.  I once turned over and she was interviewing a guy whose mother used to whore him out to strange men.  And he was like ten.  So Oprah likes to renew our spirit but first she wants you to loathe humanity.  

Ad for ThermoSpas.  It's a rectangular hot tub that has super current jets on one end so that you can "swim in place" for exercise.  Looks like there's even a treadmill? in it so that you can walk in water.  And of course, two captain chairs moulded into the fiberglas with massage jets.  Fits twelve adults!  

The Wanda Sykes Show.  On right now is Tim Bagley.  He is a Groundlings alumni who used to be on Will & Grace and was once on my flight from New York to LA.  

CSI New York.  There's a corpse hanging from the ceiling with a game of Hangman painted on the wall.  Gary Sinise says, "Give me some time and I'll fill in the blanks." Cue The Who! 

And cue me turning off the TV and going to bed. 

Amenities of Room 442: Complimentary O Magazine.  Whirlpool tub. Broken remote control.

Room 572: Sorry, We're Full

Twice this week a piece of random trivia dislodged itself from my brain and came out of my mouth (or typing fingertips in one case).  A few days ago, a friend revealed in a Facebook status that she was watching the film Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter Is Dead.  And I commented, "I'm right on top of that, Rose!" which is a quote from the movie.  (I believe I also added some remark about hopefully freeing that quotation from my mind forever.)  Now at this point you may be saying to yourself, "I've never heard of that movie" or "Oh yeah, it sounds familiar" or "Why on earth do you know a quote from that film?"  All legitimate thoughts.  Honestly, I have a perfectly sound reason why I remember "I'm right on top of that, Rose!"  A former co-worker wrote it on a post-it and put it in my datebook.  So I saw it almost every day for the better part of a year.  That explains the Christina Applegate circa 1991 groove on my cranium.

But the second bit of random trivia, I have no explanation...


The next obscure trivia incident happened a mere three hours ago.  My brother and I went to see The A-Team movie.  (My one line review: It was dopey and ridiculous and I enjoyed it.)  As we were leaving, we discussed the tv show.  He said he watched the first season and hey, wasn't there a female character on the show?  I responded with, "I don't think I watched many episodes and I think she was a reporter of some kind."  Hold on!  That's not the moment I'm talking about but that comes close, right?  If I didn't watch the show much and I was little at the time, how do I know that the female was a reporter?  (Oh my God.  So today's incident is not just one thing but a series of things.  Like an A-Team dam busted in my head...)  Anway, here's the real crazy thing: I then said to my brother, "Wasn't there a different guy that played Face at first?"  "What?  No!  It was always Dirk Benedict."  "Dude, I think you're wrong.  I don't why but I really think someone else played him in the pilot."  Cut to about a half hour later at my brother's apartment. Internet fired up.  He types in "Face. A-Team. Pilot."  First result is the Wikipedia page for "Templeton 'Faceman' Peck".  (Yes!  This '80s tv character has a Wikipedia page.  Existing for times such as these, I suppose.) Here's a part of the first two sentences of that entry: "...played by Dirk Benedict. Tim Dunigan played this role in the pilot episode..."  WHY DID I KNOW THAT?!?  And more importantly, what didn't make it into my head because space was occupied by that? (And I won't even go into when we looked up Melinda Culea who played the female reporter.  I could describe what episodes of Family Ties she was on. Sigh.)  


So basically what it comes down to is this: if I forget where I live, it's because that information couldn't stick due to space being occupied by knowing the events on Battle of the Network Stars.  


Amenities of Room 572: There are no vacancies at this time.

Image courtesy of Wikipedia

Room 225: One Day Staycation

I went to the Getty Villa in Malibu to play tourist on my day off.  There's an interactive area for kids.  Or for adults who envy kids' interactive museum areas.  Here you can decorate your own "Ancient Greek" vase. This was my contribution.  

Amenities of Room 225: Local Resident Discount. No age limit on Kids' Meals.  Indiana Jones Decor. 

Room 372: My Blood Type is O...MG.

I gave blood a few weeks ago at the gentle insistence of a friend.  If I recall correctly, the insistence words were "Come on!"  And she then proceeded to tell me that you get snacks when you donate blood.  Damn, she knew right where to strike.  Free food!  So I made my appointment.

I ate lunch early and drank lots of water just as I was instructed to do.  So much water, in fact, that I had to hit the bathroom before hitting the mobile.  Yes, it was a Bloodmobile parked outside the LA County Department of Health.  Why isn't there a place to donate blood inside the Department of Health building?  I asked myself the same question. I have no answer.  The registration was in the lobby.  You read all the stuff, get the info, sign the forms and then they direct you to the converted school bus where they take your blood.  (Side note: Amongst the info was an offer for two free LA Galaxy tickets.  Hell yeah!  OK.  Not quite free since there's a service charge per ticket.  And Beckham is not playing because he's injured.  But Beckham can suck it, I'll still go for $7.50.)

I answered a bunch of questions before I got anywhere near a needle.  They just wanted to know if my blood might be suspect like if I ate meat in England during the Mad Cow brouhaha or if I was fan of sharing heroine needles.  You know, the usual icebreakers.   Then they did a little prick your finger test.  Checking to see if I had enough iron, I believe.  And I passed!  Yay?

I laid down and they gave me the squeezy ball thing.  Once the needle is in and the bag is attached, you squeeze the squeezy ball every five seconds.  I guess it helped speed things along because the lady told me, "You were born to bleed."  In this instance, I take it as a compliment.

Over and done.  No wooziness.  I had a cool red bandage that I wore with pride.  And snacks.  What I didn't come away with was the knowledge of my blood type.   Yes, I made it through a few decades without knowing what blood type I have.  But I would have to wait until I get a letter a few weeks later...

Well, kids, that letter came tonight.  And in that letter is my very own Blood Donor Card.  It has my name and under it says, "O Positive."  Armed with this knowledge, I immediately did some online research only to find that  O Positive is pretty common.   Wikipedia, once again, making sure I don't feel special.  But in Wikipedia's defense, it did introduce me to the Japanese Blood Type Personality Chart!  Type O's are agreeable, social and optimistic.  But they can also be rude and vain.   Which explains why I showed everyone my red bandage and I took three snacks.

Amenities of Room 372: Mini Bar.  Designer First Aid kit.  Coupon for a Steak Dinner at the local pub.

Picture courtesy of Japanvistor.com  It's a Blood Type Condom Machine.  Yep. 

Room 524: Earth Hour

About ten years ago, I did a six week tour of various cafetoriums, gymnasiums and hallways of Midwest elementary schools called "The Earth Protectors".   Besides forcing me to wear a silver hardhat and cape, "The Earth Protectors" was a show designed to teach kids about recycling.  "Reduce. Reuse. Recycle. Rethink." was the message.  (Although, I'm sure the underlying message was "Kids, don't be an actor unless you want to tour in a mini-van with faulty brakes and sleep in cheap, hygenically-challenged hotels and wear matching polo shirts."  But I digress.)   Reduce the amount of potential trash you make, reuse whatever you can, and recycle materials like cans and paper.  I can't remember what the "Rethink" was.  Probably something like, "Rethink how you live your wasteful life." Not that your life is a waste but all the waste you produce in your life.  We were Earth Protectors not Scared Straight.

I am a huge proponent of this mantra.  Yes, yes, I know that it takes a lot of energy to recycle things but that's why the Reduce and Reuse are first.  So say what you will about Climate Change, the condition formerly known as Global Warming, all you want.   I'm not talking about that.  I'm talking about Conservation, of which I am a big advocate.  I partly blame my ex-stepfather for this.  He charged me a quarter every time I left a light or the TV on when I wasn't in the room.  It used to really piss me off.  So you would think as an adult I would rebel and open all the windows and crank the AC, all the while biting into a styrofoam cup.  But no, weirdly enough, that quarter thing helped make me a believer.  And that's why I participated in the Earth Hour.  (I think I just heard "damn, dirty hippie" faintly in the distance.)

Earth Hour was tonight at 8:30pm local time and people were encouraged to turn off all electricity for one hour.  (I ended up in candlelight for two hours.  So if your schedule was not conducive to lights-out, I did an extra for you.) The Eiffel Tower went dark.  So did the Sydney Harbor Bridge and Opera House. And the Acropolis.  Which didn't originally have electric lights so not much of a sacrifice there.

I lit the candles at 8:15pm and enjoyed the quiet.  OK.  Not quite quiet.  There was some traffic noise. The baby next door crying on one side and the sullen 20-year-old knocking things over on the other.  And my dog sneezing from the scented candles.  But overall quiet.  Enough for me to reflect on all the electricity I use, how to embrace simplicity in my life and whether or not it would be cheating to open the refrigerator door for a drink (I refrained, thank you very much).

So you can think whatever you like about Climate Change.  I honestly didn't do Earth Hour for the Earth.  I did it for me, if I can be so selfish.  Because Conservation is selfish.  You are essentially hoarding your energy.  And you are ultimately saving money.  I'm not a damn, dirty hippie.  I'm a self-centered miser.  And I'm getting back all those quarters...

Amenities of Room 524: Bible made of Unbleached 100% Post Consumer Paper.  Timer-controlled lamps. Possibly clean sheets.

 

Room 1225: Farmville

I'm now begging my "neighbors" to send me paned windows so that I can finish my "maison".  That's what happens when you're on  the crack that is known as Farmville.  

I held out as long as I could but a friend of mine (I won't tell you their name but their initials are Krista) pleaded with me to be her neighbor so that she could get to the next level.  I was assured that I wouldn't have to do anything except sign up and accept her as my neighbor.  The Facebook application equivalent of "the first one's free".  Because you can't just do nothing.  I mean you can, but then your six plowed plots get nasty and withered and weedy.  And I was happy with that.  So what happened between seedy vacant lot and public implorations for virtual house building supplies?  I really don't know.  I think the tipping point was when I customized my farmer-self.  I didn't want pigtails.  And I wanted sassy red lips.  Bam.  Committed.  I started planting seeds.  And then people gave me cute cartoon cows and horses.  A pink diamond appeared over their heads.  I had to milk the cows.  Damn it. 

I've even started fertilizing my neighbors' lands and feeding their chickens.  Why?  Hello, experience points.  And if the chickens are really happy then they lay a mystery egg.  I'm now scouring my friends' pages looking to see if they found a mystery egg so I can hatch it.  (Side note: "hatching" consists of clicking a button that says "Hatch egg".  Just wanted to clear that up.)  But I'm now so entrenched in Farmville that I get pissed off when I hatch an egg and get another damn chicken.  Yes, yes, logic states that chickens come from hatched eggs.  But I've gotten collectibles from mystery eggs.  Oh yeah, I'm also desperately looking for collectibles so that I can complete a collection and get a special gift.  I actually did complete a collection once and my gift was fuel.  What do I hate more than hatching chickens? Getting more fuel.  I've seen farms with elephants.  I want an elephant.  Not gasoline.  I can get that in real life.   I don't, however, have many opportunities for elephants in Burbank.  

Excuse me, my raspberries are ready to harvest and my foal needs brushing. 

Amenities of Room 1225: Paned windows.  Adjacent to petting zoo.  All-You-Can-Eat Omelette Bar.