IMHO

House Sitter

"The Keys" episode of Seinfeld happened to be airing this morning as I was getting ready for work. In it, Jerry takes away Kramer's spare keys to his apartment, which leads to further key swapping among the foursome. My favorite lines in the entire episode are a classic philosophical discourse by Cosmo Kramer:

"Because you see, George, having the keys to Jerry's apartment? That kept me in a fantasy world. Every time I went over to his house, it was like I was on vacation. Better food, better view, better TV. And cleaner? Oh - much cleaner. That became my reality. I ignored the squalor in my own life because I'm looking at life, you see, through Jerry's eyes. I was living in twilight, George. Living in the shadows. Living in the darkness...like you."

Strange coincidence that I was listening to these lines in the clean, organized comfort of my best friend's living room.

As of this writing, Miles is in France with David and the kids, the yayas and driver are on vacation, and Titang (Lala's contraction of "Tita" and "Ninang") Honey is house-sitting. A very practical arrangement, considering that I'm also "office-sitting" for Miles in Ortigas, a convenient five minutes away from Valle 1 (as opposed to the better part of an hour spent traveling from BCQC).

It's actually pretty much of a needed respite since I haven't been staying in the quiet solitude of JJ-Phad BC as much as I'd like to. The transitory nature of house-sitting is almost like an extended hotel stay - a vacation, if you will - everything is at your disposal, but nothing is quite yours. And since Miles is far more organized than I could ever hope to be, yes, Kramer, her place is much cleaner than mine (my bedroom in BCQC anyway; JJPhad-BC is slightly less chaotic).

Funny how I've been in this situation more than a few times over the years - home alone, entrusted with the spare keys of a friend/family member's abode. Abodes which are endless sources of amusement as I get to explore these people's personality in absentia (not that I do any intrusive snooping, mind you!): for instance, Miles, always the efficient Type A master organizer, "files" EVERYTHING properly - papers, books, spices, baby toys, even remote controls and er, frying pans. Her house is the living example of "A place for everything, everything in its own place." Anyone who knows me well will tell you that that description could never apply to me - but there's always hope. Paging Thom Phylicia/Martha Stewart!

Speaking of whom, Stelle and Tim's QC apartment was an American lifestyle dream - a New York couple's classic styles transplanted to the third world, complete with huge, heat-stricken New York dog (a Chow Chow named Funchi). And, much to my horror, the dog's very own turtle...who I discovered was likewise entrusted to yours truly only after three days, when a noticeable stink began to emanate from the vicinity of what I thought was just a rock garden...

Which reminds me, Miles and Lala keep an aquarium of huge goldfish on the lanai - a fact I'd forgotten (I'm mostly indoors whenever I'm over there) until Ate Malou came over one day to fold the laundry and I went outside to catch some sun. Eek! Those fish had been daing from hunger - well not really, but it seemed the cute thing to say.

Anyway, back to Stelle and Tim and Funchi, my big, hunky, heavyweight of a companion for a week. Funchi (the Francisco's "baby" prior to the birth of Mikaela) had a bad case of the mange - so bad (and bloody, ugh) that his vet recommended extreme measures. But measures that would have involved much grief and mourning on the part of "Mommy" and "Daddy" and so the home-visiting (not to mention very cute and hunky) vet decided to go with the next best thing. Which inflicted much grief and mourning on the part of "Tita" Honey instead, as the poor doggie, who'd been sedated just so the vet could proceed with treatment, woke up in the wee hours of the morning and started howling so pathetically upon finding that his body was not yet fully functional. And thus Tita had to carry all slobbery, puking, 120 pounds of him up and down the stairs and onto his favorite bed or to the fire escape to poop or even to his parents' room... Hmm, this is beginning to sound so familiar that it's not funny.

As slobbery but not at all puke-y was Savannah, the dog-in-residence of my good friend Justin's Paris apartment (how come my friend's houses always come with an animal of some kind or another?!). Savannah was the sweetest thing, always snuggling in bed with me, greeting me happily whenever I'd come home, dragging me down three flights of stairs to the cold Paris sidewalk outside in my nightgown at 6 a.m. for her morning pee... Which should have been my roommate David's job, because he, after all, professed to love Savannah as much as we adored her owner, but that early in the morning, he was as useless to me as Funchi's turtle. And sometimes just as stinky. But Justin didn't just leave his apartment and his doggie to my care - he also left his then-boyfriend, Julien, a brooding government worker who'd come into the apartment every so often to surf the chatrooms and look at photos of naked men (well OK, we all looked - considering that Justin liked to prominently display his latest photographic masterpieces all over his living room!).

Man, I could write a book about house-sitting and all the weird "responsibilities" that go with it...and I haven't even mentioned yet the Evil Cat in the Minnesota basement or the scary squirrels on the South Side porch. Shudder. For now, I should be happy that I only have a few underfed goldfish to contend with. So far.

posted by Honey Oliveros @ 2:16 PM