Stop, Drop, and Roll with it...

It's 3 am. I have been sleeping for about an hour and a half when I fanitly hear a beeping noise. Sitting up in my bed, I listen for it again. Nope. Weird. Something must've been going off in my neighbors room. Wait...wait for it...wait for it...and yup. There it is. There is definitely a high pitched beeping sound randomly coming from somewhere in my hallway. Well, shit. This means I am going to have to get up and figure this out...
Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep...Now there are several things beeping...all at once, intermittently, with a pattern, without...there is a regular symphony of high pitched alarms in my apartment.
Now, let me back this up a bit and explain something. I live in a one bedroom apartment. It is approximately 550 square feet. And my father equipped it with approximately four smoke alarms and five carbon monoxide detectors. From Costco. A value pack of life saving devices intended to be purchased by large families who live in the suburbs with three kids, a dog, and, I dont know...perhaps a two story home that would merit this combo pack of alarm sysytems?
(On a side note, I would like to point out that they sell pregnancy tests in multipacks at Costco. If you need to be bulk supplies of pregnancy tests, then perhaps you should be buying bulk supplies of something else...just a thought.)
But back to my cacaphonous living quarters-there are alarms for the alarms. There is a master alarm. And every single thing that could possibly be beeping at this moment, is.
Calming my self down I manage to grab the step stool and begin waving my arms in front of the main detector in the hallway. I try this because I saw Phillip do it once when he was making pasta in my kitchen and accidentally set off one of my dad's booby traps. Alas, it worked for him, but I seem to be getting nowhere. The next step involves pulling some of these alarms off the wall. There is clearly no fire, and they shouldnt all be going off anyway, so I figure the best thing to do is rid myself, and my neighbors, of the nuisance.
After pulling each alarm off the wall...there is one beeping sound that won't let up. One alarm in my fathers Costco arsenal that must be heard. This gets me thinking...what if something actually is wrong? What if there is an invisible gas permeating through my walls at this very moment and my stubborness will be my ultimate downfall as I lay on the wood floor dying.
With each beep I could hear the story my dad told of the medical examiner he used to know that wound up dead due to carbon monoxide...
"Get it?" he would say, "The irony?"
"He was a medical examiner. He did this for a living."
"Get it?"

Yeah, dad I get it. I know what irony is. The last thing I want is for people to tell the story of the young girl with 9 alarms in her apartment who ignored them all and died anyway of smoke inhalation and carbon monoxide poisoning as she lay sorrounded in flashlights, fire extinguishers, and duct tape. Talk about irony.
So, I read the back of one of the alarms and this is exactly what it says:

"Carbon monoxide is a silent killer. You cannot see it or smell it, but it can kill you.
Please contact the fire department immediately."

So I do. I grab my iphone and dial 911 for the first time in my life. Within 30 seconds three fire trucks and several fire man pull up to my apartment building and I let them in. Wearing matching GAP flannel Christmas pajamas and holding one of my three fire extinguishers (also purchased at Costco) I must've looked like quite the resident maniac. Pyro maniac.
The fireman was able to hold in the laughter when we covered the amount of alarms I had removed but couldn't hold in the giggles when I told him I have never used the stove.
His carbon monoxide detector didnt detect anything, and his only theory was that something set off one alarm which sent them all into a tizzy. We located the rogue alarm, he had a good laugh telling his buddies about my portable fire extinguishers and they were on their way.

Well, here's the good news: I did not die. The firemen were super fast. And I felt good defending my dad when the firefighters laughed at his obsessive compulsive ways. He may not be the best communicator, he may lecture me on how to use a tape measurer or the best ways to get into grad school even though I am not applying, but he will do everything he can to make sure I dont set myself on fire the next time I put ramen in the microwave with no water.
And this week when my dad came to visit and inspect his systems, I did my best to stay patient when he nixed the hanging of a corkboard in the kitchen cause a piece of paper might leap its way into the toaster...but I drew the line when he suggested I purchase a rope ladder. That's all I need is the neighbors seeing crazy fire alarm girl crawling out of her apartment window on a rope ladder from Home Depot when there is a perfectly good fire escape. You have to draw the line somewhere.

When Zen goes missing....

Here I am. Back to blogging. The reason: Adam and Phillip have never read my blog. Although they are often a part of my blog, and two of the people I am closest too in the world they say they were never invited. I am not sure how they missed it, but apparently they wanted a facebook event, a calligraphied invitation, or perhaps a banner flying behind a plane...

While on tour in California I found a great yoga place in a shopping center a short drive from our hotel. I would wake up in the morning, take our giant black hearse car dodge station wagon thingie, and wind my way through the hills to a strip mall to get my namaste on. My third day I exited my hot yoga class, grabbed my bag, and went to slide on my shoes...

but the shoes below my bag were not my shoes. They were old, sweaty, smelly brown flip flops. And they were not mine. Mine were gone. Brand new fifty dollar rainbow flip flops. Had dissappeared into the yogic abyss...

I head to the front desk and let them know of the problem: Apparently someone "accidentally" took my brand new flip flops and left me their old ones in their place. If they could just make a note so whoever "accidentally" took my shoes could please return them, it would be much appreciated. The owner didnt seem overly concerned, and told me I should just take the shoes that were left there and call it a wash. 

A wash? Ummm...chewed up leather dog toys that perhaps paraded as shoes in their previous life were not the same as brand new rainbows. Not the same at all. You would think a Californian would have some respect for all that is the rainbow flip flop. 

She begrudgingly wrote the note and then had the nerve to say "hey, don't sweat the small stuff."

I know yoga is supposed to make you feel centered, at one with the world and the people around you, it is supposed to help you put things in perspective and life a happier life. But I dont think that means you should just walk out, get in your car, and then realize you can't grab lunch because not even the IHOP will serve you without shoes on....and just let it all go with the sound of "ooommm..."

Someone stole my shoes. I am out fifty bucks. And I had to walk, starving, through the hotel lobby barefoot like a weirdo. The thief went to yoga too...so, why don't they have to become one with the universe and their fellow yogi's? What's their idea of Buddha?? Clearly, they have not made it very far with the idea of separating themselves from material goods. 

I spent the whole day feeling guilty and the thief felt nothing. I do not think this is what Mr. Bikram, Tolle, or Coelho had in mind...

The reason I bring all of this up is because at my regular yoga studio in Queens the other day a dog stole one of my socks. And the owner of the dog denied it. And everyone stared at me like I had a stick up my ass for even caring about a stupid sock. Their eyes seemed to say "there are bigger things in the world to worry about...there's a war...an election...Sarah Palin....starving children in Africa...blah...blah...ooommm...shaka laka..."

And this is all true. But it was MY sock. And I thought maybe I could walk around Central Park with just one sock and be ok...but it felt so wrong...so I took the one sock off on the train and threw it away...As I walked sockless through Central Park...I let it all go...cause there are bigger things to worry about. And I no longer sweat the small stuff....I just bring it all inside the studio with me.