Okay, I love house-sitting. It’s one of the dozen or so jobs I work so that I can pursue my acting career. So, when I complain about things that go on while I house-sit, I do so with the understanding that I’m really hypocritical, since I wouldn’t give up the gigs for anything.
However, at this moment, I have a pug on my shoulders. Yes, a pug. Moses, the coolest, smartest, ugliest, snortiest pug on the planet, is hiding from Ruby, the prettiest, dumbest, most-in-need-of-Ritalin Sheppard/Lab mix puppy on that same planet. These two, supposedly, peacefully co-exist, but while I’m here, I’m not seeing any of that.
Of course, I don’t understand dogs to begin with, so maybe it’s a sweet, friendly thing when one clenches its mighty jaw around the snout of the other. I just know that that’s the sort of behavior that gets me escorted out of trendy LA clubs. Maybe I go to the wrong clubs.
Anyway, while house-sitting, I usually get depressed over the fact that I surrender my free time during the most popular travel days of the year to pick up poop or scoop litter and live in a palace I could never afford. This time, I’m not depressed, despite the fact that I’ve been hearing constant messages on the machine, congratulating said palace-owner on her recent Golden Globe nomination. I’m not jealous. No, not at all! Even though I was sure that my birthday would be listed on Entertainment Tonight by the year 1990, I still believe that it shall be in 2001. That doesn’t make me unreasonable, it means I have goals, dammit.
One of my goals, when I house-sit, is to take bubble baths. I have only a stand-up shower in my crash pad of an apartment, so this is a biggie. Other goals include watching cable TV (since I don’t have cable) and using the kitchen (since I don’t have one of those either). Even though I don’t know how to cook, it’s important to me to do more than microwave a frozen dinner, since I can do that much in my crash pad. Here, I can heat up Spaghetti-Os with Meatballs on the stove (which I did yesterday, for breakfast — yummy).
Last night, after tiring out the puppy and convincing the pug not to carry away my socks, I began filling the bathtub with the usual water and some delicious smelling imported bubble stuff. I lit candles, put on some music, and eased into the tub. I thought the water could stand to be hotter, so I let some of it out, and began to add some more, full-blast on hot. I began to relax and breathe in the aroma of mango or whatever when I realized the water entering the bath was ice cold.
“Hmm,” I wondered aloud, as I changed the temperature to the extreme other direction, figuring I’d somehow become inept at reading “H” and “C” and knowing what those letters mean. Nope, the water was still cold. “Well, this sucks,” I told Moses, who was eying the bubbles, playfully. Figuring that the water heater just needed to replenish itself, I began washing my hair. Yeah, that was smart. I had to rinse this stuff out eventually, and, you guessed it, the water never heated up.
What a disaster! I’m now taking a tepid bath, rinsing my hair with icy water, not giving a shit about the mango stuff and all of this in front of a snorting pug. I’m outraged! Is this what I’m getting paid for?
Oh, wait… no, it’s not. Duh! Back to cable TV.