Chaplin generally gets cranky with me when I go back to work after a long layoff. Usually this manifests itself in a couple weeks of him mistaking my arms, legs, and occasionally hair for dinner. The biting is annoying, but I would have preferred it to the stunt he pulled this time.

I should preface this by saying that I have a massive cold and can’t smell anything, otherwise I think I would have noticed this sooner, but: Chaplin spent the last week pissing in my laundry basket.

I realized something was off when I’d gone to clean out his litterbox and found it suspiciously devoid of clumps, but because I couldn’t smell anything, I couldn’t figure out where he actually was pissing instead.

Well, I figured it out this morning when I reached in the hamper to try and find an acceptably clean collared shirt to wear to brunch with my step-uncle (oh come on, I only have a limited selection of nice clothes that actually fit me at the moment).

Even through my clogged sinuses, the smell on the shirt I fished out was unmistakable. After brunching in a different shirt, it took me three hours, three loads of laundry, and most of a giant jug of Nature’s Miracle to get the smell out of…most stuff.

The casualties were a blanket and sheet that were probably in need of replacement anyway, as well as the hamper itself. $60 at Bed Bath and Beyond and an unbelievable amount of annoyance with Chaplin later, I’m back in business. And the new hamper has a lid to prevent future recurrences of this delightful incident.

It certainly could have been worse, but I’d also much rather be used as a chew toy. It’s less irritating and significantly less expensive than today’s debacle.

It’s real amusing that you’re trying to escape my chest, but making me cough so much I lose my voice is not fuckin’ cool. And making me whip suddenly between restlessly full of energy and narcoleptically exhausted is not helping, either.

I guarantee you that I will start feeling better approximately the same time friday morning that I have a previously scheduled doctor’s appointment.

A few bits of errata, Laz style:

– Because we were on a Wednesday-Sunday shooting schedule, I had taken to calling each day “Fake ____”. Like Wednesday was Fake Monday, Thursday was Fake Tuesday, Friday was Fake Wednesday.

Today, the last day I have to deal with this shift, I found a flaw in my cunning plan: I forgot that it was Fake Wednesday, not real Wednesday, and that therefore the aqua aerobics class would be taking over the pool at 9 instead of 9:30, and got kicked out of the pool halfway through my laps.

– Are you really really bored? Try to identify the candy bar simply by looking at a cross-section. I went 14 for 20.

– I am extremely excited to see Wall-E tomorrow. Almost as excited as I am to actually have a Saturday off.

–Our entertainment this evening was chasing the mouse that lives in the kitchen all over the office. My PA was taking videos of this with his cellphone, one of which has me saying in the background, “Well, the mystery guy who lost his clothes finally called back.”

No, I will not be posting these videos.

–We finally finished shooting!

This has been a fun show, and a very good learning experience. The shifted week thing has been an absolute bear, but at least it was only for three weeks. I pulled a couple sixth-day paychecks, which is helpful in the realm of “Mama needs a new pair of everything.”

I’m back to a normal schedule for the next couple weeks (well, I’ll be in for a couple hours Sunday, but nothing like my schedule previous sundays of 5pm-5am), and then I’m scrambling for a new job. Gotta love the freelance world!

Most of the fleas I’ve been battling, however, are. Huzzah! I hit a bunch of the rest with a big-ass can of Raid this evening, and they do not seem to have recovered…yet.

Unfortunately, because of my high sensitivity to the bites, I’m still absolutely covered in them. Even the smallest ones take well over a week to go away, and the bigger ones will probably last much longer.

The intense itching is driving me completely insane (even taking a crapload of antihistamines), and I’ve been downgraded to Flamingo from Gay Leopard – It’s not just pink spots anymore, I’m totally covered in calamine lotion.

Anyway, hopefully this will prove itself resolved in the next week or so, and y’all will never have to hear about this nastiness again.

It’s been hellaciously hot in L.A. this week, so the fleas that I thought I’d gotten rid of are back with a MASSIVE vengeance. The only real solution is to flea-bomb the house to kill ‘em all.

The problem is, flea-bombing is a stupidly elaborate and time-consuming process, since it has a tendency to cover everything in a sticky, disgusting, chemical-filled film. You therefore have to cover some stuff up in advance, and wash a lot more stuff off afterwards.

I’m also working ridiculously late (or early, depending on your perspective). Our crew call was really late, and my call was 5:30 PM. That means they expect to be shooting until at least 5:30 AM. You know it’s going to be a long night when the thing that will cause filming to stop is the sunrise.

All that in mind, here is my rough schedule for the next 36 hours:

Now-6AM: Work in my office where they’ve turned off the air conditioning. Possibly longer.

6-7AM: Drive back to Santa Monica, try to obtain a flea fogger at Ralph’s (the grocery store).

7-8AM: Prepare apartment for fogging by putting all open food and dishes in either the fridge or the dishwasher and sealing.

8AM-9AM: Drop Chaplin off for flea dip, go to pet store and get flea fogger if Ralph’s didn’t have one.

9:30 AM – Set off flea fogger. Flee to Nate’s house and take a nap for 2-3 hours while flea fogger does its bit.

12 Noon-1PM – Go home, open windows and let apartment air out.

1PM-2PM – Return to Nate’s and napping, let apartment finish airing out.

2PM-3PM – Retrieve cat from groomers, take him home. Start to clean up.

3PM-9PM – Continue cleaning and laundering. Probably pass out from exhaustion. Hopefully will not die from whatever toxic fumes remain in my apartment.

9PM-11PM – Wake up, realize I never made it to the gym and that now I have to go in the morning. Finish cleaning.

11PM-6AM – Sleep.

6AM-9AM – Get up, go to the gym, go to work.

If I don’t post for several days, send help.

Courtesy of the Tenant Services folks in the building where our Production Office is located:

Good Idea: Throwing a picnic for the tenants to kick off the summer and show your appreciation of their business.

Bad Idea: Serving Chili at the picnic, to a building full of people whose office windows do not open.

I’m going to go find myself a big box of matches…

After blotting calamine lotion on my ridiculous number of flea bites, leaving a pattern of dark pink spots on pasty white skin: “God, I look like a gay leopard.”

1. Killing fleas.
2. Washing all my bedding.
3. Working.
4. Itching.
5. Working.
6. Eating.
7. Itching some more.
8. Working some more.
9. Driving.
10. Killing a couple more fleas.
11. Applying calamine lotion.
12. Working.
13. Going to the gym.
14. Itching.
15. Wishing Chaplin were not so susceptible to fleas.
16. Maybe, just maybe, sleeping.

I’m not normally a germophobe, but this morning at the gym, someone did something that icked me out something awful.

When you swim, you’re supposed to rinse off in the communal shower by the pool before and after. This both helps prevent dirt from getting in the pool (before) and helps get rid of some of the chlorine (after).

Some people like to also take the post-swim rinse as an opportunity to shampoo their hair, and perform other parts of the showering ritual, just in a bathing suit. I find this odd, but not gross.

What I found gross was the woman who insisted on brushing her teeth in the communal, open shower. Spitting onto the floor that everyone walks on, as if the mere fact that she was showering while doing it makes it okay.

I can see doing that at home, where you are the only person who has to stand in that, and the one who has to clean it up. But in a shower by a pool? Where people you don’t even know go? Where everyone can see exactly what you’re doing?

Frankly, I don’t think there are shower shoes in existence thick enough to make that okay.

Clearly, none of us have anything on this guy.