Since I’m woefully absent in this strip, I’m forcing D’Lanie to write her own blurb… and on short notice at that. Here goes:
On a peaceful morning in Burbank, I clear enough space on the floor of my bungalow for a morning yoga session followed by meditation. The windows are open. I hear the birds waking. I feel the breeze on my face. Perfect. Breathing. Silence.
Silence. I dive into it. Breathing.
As if the world has been given a subliminal cue that I am poised to utter a peaceful and contented, “Ommmmmm…”, all hell breaks loose.
Fire engine sirens, helicopters hovering, landscapers’ leaf blowers. Neighbor’s Caddilac idles beneath my kitchen window, the bass of his Armenian pop blasting from his speakers vibrates the burners on my stove. My phone rings. Then my cell phone rings. Neighbor’s dog barking. My dog barks back. Landlady watering flowers with the hose full blast. Construction across the street. “Beeeep… beeep…. beeeeep”… a back hoe is stuck in reverse. The stucco blower. The sand blaster. My husband’s diesel Mercedes idling beneath the window while plumes of exhaust envelop me. I am patient. I merely hold my breath (since I quit smoking it’s amazing how long I’m able to do this) and dive deeper into my silence. Zen princess.
The phone call… was it my client? The landlady… did she murder my new petunias with a blast from the hose? The construction… why couldn’t it have been a Whole Foods? WHO needs another pharmacy? I wonder if they will sell that fading cream my dermatologist mentioned will help my “sun” spots. Great… I just bought a convertible. Meditation… over. Led Zeppelin does a great job of drowning out the rest of the world, especially when the rest of the world is turned up to eleven. At 23, Josh probably doesn’t even know who Led Zeppelin even is. I feel so old.