LB: Hey, RB, the alarm is going, we’ve gotta get up.

RB: spiff fff, mynne leeffing

LB: What? I can’t hear you with your face in the pillow.

RB: Piss off! I’m sleeping!

LB: Well, we did agree that we would get up early before the kids and meditate for 1/2 hour, then do Pilates. That way, we’re starting the day right.

RB: I am going to stuff this duvet down your throat you harpy. Now press snooze before you regret it.

LB: Well, I can see that reminding you of the things that you agreed to last night isn’t going to work, so I’ll appeal to your darker java nature; I made coffee.

RB: Really? That was very thoughtful of you LB.

LB: I know. I’m a giver.

RB: Okay, let’s get up. Can I meditate while drinking the coffee?

LB: Well, really you should (reads from Meditation for Dummies book) sit in a straight-backed chair and leave your hands open-palmed up on your legs so that your energy flows without impediment.

RB:

LB: RB? RB are you sleeping? C’mon!! We’re going to meditate.

RB: huh, snork, wha? Ya, meditate, whatever. Where’s the coffee?

LB: Here.

RB: Ahhhh. Okay, just get me to the comfy chair with my blanky and we are so totally going to meditate the ass off anyone else who meditates. I bet we get air today LB.

LB: (through pursed lips) RB, it takes approximately 3 months of consistent meditation before we will even be able to clear our mind of chatter and enter the great white nothingness for more than 2 minutes at a time.

RB: Huh…Aren’t YOU the one responsible for most of the brain chatter?

LB: (Taken aback) Well, yes, studies suggest…

RB: (interrupting) So, yes. Now, let me see, and, correct me if I’m wrong, oh learned one. Really, the point of meditation is to get YOU to shut up.

LB: Well, I wouldn’t exactly characterize it like that.

RB: LB, shut up.

LB: (puckers)

RB: Look. There we’re done. Transcendence, nirvana, ecstasy, altered consciousness. How easy was that?

LB: Maybe we should skip the meditation and move right on to Pilates.

RB: But it’s way harder to drink coffee while I’m doing the hundreds.

LB: Yes, well, we all make sacrifices for the body. We need to strengthen our core.

RB: You know how twinky that sounds, right? “I’m going to strengthen my core.” Sheesh. Maybe we should move to Yaletown next and get ourselves a personal Reiki master while we’re at it.

Executive Function: Hey team. I hate to break up this little coffee klatch, but we’ve got less than an hour to get this show on the road, so you’ve gotta get on it. 

RB (rolling eyes) & LB: Right sir, we’re on it.

RB: (To LB) Did you see him coming? He totally looms. There you are, minding your own business and suddenly he comes out of no where and catches you, in a moment of weakness, loafing.

LB: Well, that would be easy to do for you, you’re ALWAYS loafing! It just pisses me off that while I’m trying to get you on task, I get busted and now I’m going to get called into his office for a frank discussion about MY commitment to the team.

RB: Shut up.

LB: (Steamed silence, the only noise being the grinding of teeth, while eyes silently bug out of their socket.)

RB: See? Transcendence once again. This is so easy. Can we wear the feather eyelashes today? I’m sure I saw a memo that it’s Feather Friday. Ooh, maybe a boa too. LB? Where are you going?

(Later that day.)

RB: LB Are you hungry? I’m hungry.

LB: You are ALWAYS hungry! You’ve already polished off a bag of Doritos and a chocolate bar and while I understand that treats are important, those treats were SUPPOSED to last you all week and they lasted (checks watch) 1/2 hour. 1/2 hour RB!

RB: I couldn’t help myself. They were there and they looked so good. And I had the munchies.

LB: You know if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d been, you know, smoking a little…(looks around for loomers)…weed.

RB: LB, I’m shocked. My high is performing.

LB: You know that’s actually kind of interesting. Maybe the after-effects are the same: sleepiness, the munchies, general grumpiness, wandering around in a fog.

RB: Really weak Lesson-of-the-day exposition LB. And BTW, there’s no need to get insulting.

LB: Well, I’m just calling it like I see it RB. I mean what have we managed to accomplish today?

RB: What’s SHE doing?

LB: Who?

RB: Her! Look, right up there. She’s writing everything down.

LB: Ohmigod, it’s the Observer. Another loomer. Uhmm. Excuse me. Ma’am.

Observer: (a little taken aback at being observed) Oh, sorry, what?

LB: Are you writing down our conversations?

Ob: That’s kind of my job.

RB: LB! I bet she’s going to put this on her blog thingy.

Ob: I actually prefer the word bjournal, blog is such an ugly word don’t you think?

RB: Hey, that’s cute. I wish I’d thought of that.

Ob: Actually, I think you did, I just wrote it down.

RB: Oh, that’s right I’d forgotten. I’m a little tired lately. Hungry too.

Ob: I know. But you’ve just had a huge output of energy, so you just need to cut yourself a break and fallow for a while.

RB: Eeyuw! That sound so dirty.

Ob: Well, creation has always been a bit of a messy business.

LB: Excuse me! Missing the point! I made no agreement to make my private conversations public. May I see your privacy policy?  

Ob: Well, it’s a bit of an unwritten understanding actually. You do what you brains do and I observe it. If I want to write it down so I can observe it better, than that’s my prerogative.

LB: Oh really. But for public consumption!?

Ob: It might get a squatillion hits. It might make you famous.

LB: Will Tom Hanks read it?

Ob: You’re hoping this will be your very own Big Fat Greek Wedding?

LB: A brain can dream can’t it?

Ob: Well, that’s really more of a right brain function, but I take your point. Yes, a brain can dream. Don’t you think it’s more of a Woody Allen flick though? Very “Everything You Always Wanted to Know about Sex* But Were Afraid to Ask.”

LB: Or…ooh…Charlie Kaufman! You know, Being John Malkovich. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Those had brains in it.

Ob: I think we’re not quite that dark.

RB: Don’t write us off that quickly. I have range. I could totally do Eternal Sunshine.

Ob: What about Zach Helm?

RB: That would be frickin’ awesome! (Calls out) ZACH HELM! ZACH HELM! ZACH HELM! Will that help him find us, oh Great Google?

Google: Look I’m actually totally random. I think I’m going to direct people here that are searching for sample privacy policies. It’s cheap humour, but it’s how I make my days go faster.

RB: Man, Artificial Intelligence sucks

Ob: I’ve observed the same thing. Do you know that someone got directed to my bjournal that was using the search string “Do aliens like paper towels?”

Google: (snickers cruelly) I know. God, that was funny. Let me tell you that you were no help at all.

RB: I need a nap. LB, where’s the hammock? Ooh, and a sunny island with palm trees. Did you put those somewhere?

LB: They’re in the previous entry RB, go look for yourself. I’m going to get back to work.

RB: Ya, you do that. (Yawn) Hey, don’t forget to put my name on that report.

LB: The sum total of your contribution was to choose the font!

RB: Uh huh. And would that report have any merit if I hadn’t chosen a font that had a contemporary feel with an overtone of gravitas? Content isn’t everything you know.

LB: God knows that’s true. Look, if you’re going, go already, I’ve got work to do and you are just getting underbrain.

RB: (Yawns loudly) ‘Kay. (Wanders off in feather eyelashes, boa and galoshes)

LB: Sweet dreams. Lucky brain. (Mutters something about being chained to a desk with no appreciation for bringing in a paycheque while SOMEONE gets to gallivant around the universe without a care in the world.) 

Observer closes bjournal and goes in search of more coffee.

Camera pans over RB snoring loudly in her hammock and follows the sunset.

Fade to black.

~ The End ~