The House I Want (Part Four)

Planning for the Future Post #4

Don't just rest...relax.

The bedroom is not the heart of the house, but it's the place you rest when you're sick, lounge when you're lazy, entertain when you're serious and rest your head at night. The one I have now has a brown polo paint job (I never did the moldings in the darker brown like I was supposed to) and I've got a leather bed. Not bad work if you can get it. It's a queen not a king, because I believe you shouldn't be able to retreat across the bed from your partner, that the intimacy bred by the proximity is something to treasure. But I digress.

For my bedroom, I want THAT bedroom. With the dark brown walls, but the slightly darker trim. Some art on the walls. Photos that I took. Dark wooden shades and the walk-in closet the size of a complete other room (but that's a whole other post). I want it both spacious and cozy, which I know is quite a trick, with enough room for a couch and a mini-kitchenette, a small space to heat up something in case I don't want to walk down to the kitchen. Maybe a balcony overlooking the fabulous deck I want? Oh the possibilities.

I guess mostly though I want a space where I can close the door and get a good rest.

The House I Want (Part Three)

Planning for the Future Post #3
First you dream. Then you plan. Then you execute. Then repeat.

The kind of place you can pitch a tent...just because.

I want a big backyard. And God knows I never wanted to the cut grass when my folks used to make me - an all day job involving two hills, long thick grass that couldn't just be cut but required an angle technique, patience and repetition, in a space with a dearth of trees that under a South Carolina sun that brought back genetic memories of less than pleasant times. I'm sorry, I just had a flashback.

But I still want a yard. A big flat one, like billiard table flat. And a deck overlooking it. Where I can cook-out and have friends over. Where I put a garden, have sculptures and other things people might not believe I enjoy. Where I can sit on the back deck, with a cool drink on a summer's night and look up at the universe. And breathe. 

In my wildest imagination it's a city townhouse, I can buy the building behind it, tear it down and make myself a yard. But you know what would be really cool? Have a town-home, buy and tear down the building behind it. Build a bridge over the next street back, buy that townhouse and tear it down too. The backyard would be elevated, so I could have a two cool sub-basements on the back. Now that's how you dream!

I want a yard.

Getting out in the AM

Ramblings Post #270
It is said that you can't keep a true player down. When he falls off in one spot he just pops back again somewhere else, with brand new game and does it all over again. That might be Iceberg Slim or a seventies blaxplotation movie, I'm not sure. Or maybe a urban interpretation of Kipling. But since I consider myself a true player, FROM THE HIMALAYA, it's time for me to pop back somewhere with a new hustle.

I took this with phone. So attribution to me. Sucka!

This is not an ad for Starbucks, or an endorsement, but as a method of "re-acclimating myself with society" after accidentally turning myself into a hermit I've taken up residence at the local coffee establishment. And let me tell you, putting on pants daily is a wild experience! I'm kidding. But this does get me out of the house, up the street and into the company of other people trying to get their hustle on. After many, many years in a strictly office environment, the number of folks who have the freedom to wander in and pay four dollars for a cup of coffee in the middle of the morning is astounding. I shouldn't knock the hustle, but wow!

At 10:30 am the joint is packed, every table being used, every seat full, people standing at the counter, the drive thru humming. Yes, I realize most of you already know this happens, but I'm not a big coffee drinker. I actually use my coffee maker at home to make tea twice week. If I don't have a cuppa in the morning, I only lament wasting the coffee I've already purchased, scared it might grow stale. But my brother swears by Starbucks. I was considering getting a library card (and I still intend to get one) but this is more lively I must admit.

It is an interesting cross section of people. I've seen job interviews, business presentations and proposals, group meetings and seen people studying. One guy in the back has his own porcelain mug. The way one guy bobs his head in his headphones, I think he's mixing music, while others are just sitting and chatting or just checking email, folks reading the paper and maybe even plotting a coup in a unnamed Central American country. Or they could have been discussing a charity event, I'm not sure, it kinda loud in here. Young and old, sweater vest or baseball hat tipped to the side it seems like everyone comes to Starbucks. Maybe the library would have been better.

So, what's the point of this post? None, really. I haven't been posting in a minute, and since I'm now a "regular" I thought this would be nice filler. I do try to switch it up - some days morning, others its the afternoon. Sometimes a different Starbucks... and for the love of Georgia do not get their Sweet Tea. I just remembered that. They know coffee. Think about that for a minute.

They do play some nice jazz though.

Barkeep, no I don't want a double half caffeinated mocha latte frappa-whatever with a shot. Can I get just a coffee? Plain coffee.

The House I Want (Part Two)

Planning for the Future Post #2 

I couldn't find a picture of the room I'm describing, but I like this...

The house I want will have a library. Not just a bookshelf or two, but a library. A whole room dedicated to the idea of reading. I've gone to people's homes...people who have children...and seen nary a book or bookshelf. There are so many things wrong with that. Books allow hear the voices and ideas of those beyond our time, or to learn the thoughts of people on the other side of the world.  To not read,  ugh.

I'd like it to be a good sized room, with natural light if possible, with lots of wood in a burnished dark brown. Floor to ceiling bookshelves. A comfortable leather chair or two, with ottomans. Chairs big enough to curl up in and get lost in an adventure, or fall asleep in with book resting on your chest. A small book table or two. A little art. If there is room, maybe a bookshelf that hides a secret door that leads to a little room where I keep acrylic models of spaceships and 3D maps of places.  

No computer...that's a separate room, no stereo, just books. A place where you could sit down with a good book and get lost in your own mind.

Maybe something new...

Ramblings Post #163
Things can't stay the same. The sun rises and sets, the wind blows, and the Cowboys continue to pin their hopes on the erratic Tony Romo. But most other things change, and as they do we must rise and meet them or be left in the dust of tomorrow.

I am apparently getting new neighbors. I say this because there have workmen, in teams, going over the house across the street from mine. I may not have ever mentioned it, but my house is kinda secluded, with only a single house sort of catty-corner to mine on my end of the block. Which partially accounts for the lovely target my home makes to the local miscreant. When I bought it, the separation was supposed to be a selling point when the area started it's transformation. One man's trash....

That house has been empty since that morning I wandered out to street full of police, people in handcuffs, and screaming babies. As I related here, I decided it was easier to be late that Friday. They were a, um, lively group and I'm sure they found other lodgings that made things...well, whatever. At least there was always somebody there and after I did a favor or two, the matriarch was willing to keep an eye on my place. I didn't even mind the late night traffic.

Okay, I tolerated the late night traffic, considering they were willing to ask people in my yard why they were there. 

And because of the new work being done, I'm certain someone will be renting soon. It's sat vacant, with windows covered for months now. I know the hands are over there, working hard putting down new carpet, fixing windows, painting and all that, because I was awoken at 2am because they were making so much noise I thought they were on my front porch. Standing in my sleep pants peering out my window, ready to dial up the cops on my cell phone holding a makeshift weapon was not fun. But it does mean whoever is renting it is serious, because I can't figure out any other reason they pull the normal contractor shuffle and get work done like ninjas.

Does it mean that life is changing for your friendly neighborhood middle-aged fellow? Who knows, but it's just another cog in the wheel.

Here's hoping they don't have a restless dog.

The Hotness

Ramblings Post #192
This post does not involve the Miami Heat, or the movie Heat, or hot chicks, or Will Smith, or chili peppers, or any of the things the internet associates with the phrase Heat. Sometimes I'll just put in a word, click on the Image link and see what the algorithms pop up. This also isn't about a country band, a Latin band, really any band, a perfume or an old film from the 1940's. It's about, well...read on and see...

Sometime in the last month, or maybe it was before that, they got me while I wasn't looking. Apparently, one of my "neighbors" to use the term loosely, decided that a piece on the exterior part of my AC unit would probably work better on theirs, or perhaps could be sold for a extra nickel or two. Who knows, but in any case, the unit currently is not functional, and pieces that were there last fall aren't there now. Which kinda made a difference during the recent mini-heat wave that struck the state.

How much of a difference? Without the AC unit, but with the fan running, the temperature inside my house topped ninety degrees. I re-invented the concept of hydration drinking between eight to ten quarts of Crystal Light. Friday night I lay down on my bed and either drifted off to sleep or passed out from the heat (not sure which), when I awoke couple of hours later, the spot where my body had been was marked with a clear body outline made of sweat. I took cold showers twice a day, and kept the front door open for the breeze, damn the bugs. It was Amistad hot.

On the upside, my pores have to be clear considering how open they've been.

I joked with Schmoopy that I was going to get some ice and some ice cream, and sit in the tub in the ice eating the ice cream. As her AC had been out last week, she didn't think it was as crazy an idea as I might have imagined. I've always liked it warm, but this is ridiculous. I thought about heading over to Slim's or Spanky's and camping out, but everybody is doing something now, so no go. By the time I remembered the law library, the heat had sapped my will. I finally ended up fake grocery shopping so I could stand in front of the meat section for a while, and wander back and forth in frozen foods.

My uncle does heating and air and I having him check it out, but his voice mail is perpetually full, so I'll have to contact him at home. If I can catch him. I'll still have to pay him, at least I know I won't get robbed. (or at least get robbed by family)

I'm thinking of this as getting back to my roots. My South Carolina roots. My childhood mama said don't play in the house roots. My "so this is a farm" roots.

Man I hope it gets down to sixty one of these nights.

Barkeep. A glass of ice, with a splash of bourbon and a splash of coke.

My Second Worst Birthday Ever

Ramblings Post #108
I guess that there are moments in life that teach us lessons: Your mother knew more than you realized or, sometimes it pays more to listen than to speak, or maybe next time you'll read the instructions. Today's lesson is "Things can be replaced, people are more important". Of course I could have learned this next month, or next year, but no, I had to learn it on my birthday.

So I get the internet back on Tuesday. And I've got an item or two in the hopper for the weekend, got a major change of life scheduled to start next week, life is getting on track for once. Sure there is a rough spot or two, but if it was easy it wouldn't be worth it.

But today is my birthday, so it should all be swell, right? (I can't believe I used the word swell)

Only I'm not really feeling it. Something about the day is off. So when I pick up the phone around noon and see I have a missed call....from my alarm company...my sense of foreboding comes to fruition. Somebody has been in my house.

They took the PS3 and my newer desktop computer, and tried to take the flat screen. Had they gotten the flat screen you would be watching the live feed from CNN of a crazed man running through the streets of Atlanta.

So today has been calling trying to get everything back to balance. I called my Mom - to avoid the you should have called me phone call later, and Spanky - because we tight like that, and my personal Contractor - who does everything else. Not in that order. Worse, I had to be out of the office, which is bad because what I do is a day to day thing, my back up was taking a day off and so the work will either be double tomorrow or triple on Monday. So I got that going for me.

I talked to Sporty who reminded me that things could be replaced and she was just glad it was stuff and not me. My uncle stopped by and promised to send my cousin and hooked me up with guy he knows who is also a contractor that could help me out today.

So I guess it about family. And prioritizing. Because in the end, this is my stuff.

I'm waiting on my contractor...and my uncle's guy, and just kinda seeing what happens.

Barkeep. The Woodford Reserve. If I'm in, let's go.

Five Days. Five long Days

Ramblings Post #107
What happens when the world stops? What happens when all you know is torn from you and all you have left is the ancient tools of a civilization long past its prime? What happens when your...internet connection goes down? Friday night I came home to discover no internet at my house and it took AT&T five days to fix it. Here I will relate the horror the agony, the pain, the boredom, the surprise at how often I check Facebook, the ability to focus that suddenly arose, the paucity of good phone games and how Direct TV and a PS3 made it all bearable.


Friday Night

In my neighborhood, how you break into a home is you a) cut the phone lines, b) turn off the power externally c) break a window and crawl in and d) destroy the little box that contains the actual ringing thing. Standard procedure.

So Friday, I ducked out of a boring company function, get home and lay out on the couch for a hot minute. My auto currently is AC deficient - that becomes important later - so enjoy the cool of the house and nod off a little bit. So around 10pm or so, as I've apparently turned into a complete homebody, I mean home on a Friday night in Atlanta, I decide to check the web for the usual flotsam and foolishness.

I get the no network error and figure something is wrong with the system. Run a check - reset network access, check cables, diagnostic on system, and then I finally check the actual phone line. Which is dead. So then I grab my flashlight, and step outside, to find that my phone line has been cut but that they couldn't get the power box open. By the way, shout out to MasterLock and its fine products. So yeah, that happened. Again.

So then I discover that my ISP is, er, how can I put this delicately....oh, yeah, bullshit.. I call the Repair Line and get the automated service, which after running me through the basics, enters a "trouble ticket" and tells me that they'll have a technician on site...by next Wednesday. Yeah, right. So I call the Customer Service line which tells me that I need to call the Repair line. So I call the Sales line, where I get an ACTUAL PERSON, who tells me to call the Repair line, you know, where there are no actual people.

And since my home alarm runs through my phone and I was supposed to be going home to see my folks out of state, we suddenly have an impasse.

I dial up some Red Dead Redemption in disgust and shoot people at random for a while.

Saturday

I'm up at 8am on a Saturday burning up cell phone minutes. I call everybody I already called and then a few more. I call the folks and apprise them of the situation and they're understanding. For the first time in a while I actually have a few things worth stealing, so I'm ready to hunker down and defend the fort. By staying home.

I finally get someone on the phone from repair around noon, and I calmly explain the situation. I know the game, and I know that screaming at people usually only works if you've worked up to a rage, as they tend to feel bad since you were soooo cooperative when you started. I'm assured that a tech will be assigned shortly and that the local manager will call me with a update.

Hah.

Meanwhile my brother, with whom I had planned traveling home with, has the idea that since I have to stay and he's going , we can switch cars since mine gets much better gas mileage. I knew there was a reason I bought that thing.

So I spend the day waiting for the AT&T guy and playing Red Dead Redemption. Which really is Grand Theft Auto in the Old West, which actually makes it a better game since the writers seemed to have turned their brains back on and got a little more creative with the all important side games. So I'm playing, and playing and playing. When finally, my phone buzzes and I'm all excited because, um, nope, it's just Shade.

Turns out that Shade is in town visiting Scoop. She's the one who lost her husband in February under some truly tragic circumstances, and Shade dipped out on her residency for the weekend to check on her girl. Now that's care and compassion for you. Only now they're fighting like usual and Shade needs somewhere to catch her breath. So I ride over and pick her up and we go hair shopping.

Seriously, I did not realize that their are that many brands of hair.

Afterward we slip over to my place because she just needs some place else to be. After informing me that I should have married a chick in an old picture I have, as she's thumbing through my movie collection she mentions that she's never seen Bill Cosby/Sidney Poitier classic - Let's Do It Again. This is an outrage and a travesty. So we put a bottle of wine on ice and pop the movie in the DVD. We laugh, we marvel, she's suddenly bright again.

I love old movies. I must have seen this 40 times.

After the movie we talk about her and Scoop. I remind her that all she can do is let the girl work through her grief and wait on the other end. I also realize that because Shade is going through residency, only THE must fun time in a doctor's career [note sarcasm] she's not in the best position herself, but things don't always go as planned. It's not always pretty or pleasant, but it's what you have to do. I drop her back off and notice for the first time that the AT&T guy still hasn't shown up.

I also realize that it's been more than twenty four hours since I've checked Facebook.

I look down, but my hand isn't shaking. Yet.

Sunday

Red Dead Redemption is a long game, and now I just want to freaking finish. Actually, compared to GTA, which had over a hundred missions, its actually pretty short now that I think about it. Okay, maybe I'm just tired of it. And every so often I get up and walk into the computer room/library/4th bedroom in my house before I remember the internet is still off.

Long ass short game.

I wash some clothes, run to the grocery store, mope on the couch, stare at my phone willing it to ring and announce that the repair guy will be there in five minutes. I do not work on my book.

Okay, side point. at some point in the previous week because I have the summer off I had decided that I was going to finish one of my many half started not fully formed but really incredible books. Not the little, well, to be honest overly long love letters to Sporty wrapped in book form, but an actual novel. With characters and a story line and plot and dramatic intensity and all that. I'd actually framed out one of them at some point in the last few days and had started re-writing (okay, I'd redone the first page, but that is a start) and had been thinking about it off and on up until Friday. Strange how little things knock you off your feed.

Late afternoon my brother re-appears with my car, which he complains has no AC. I know, I told him this prior to leaving. He compares my car to a rolling sauna, and swears he's lost 10 pounds since he left. We laugh, and talk for a minute or three and he's gone.

So it's me again. Me and that no internet having computer. Alone.

Apparently my home computer is only good for having the internet, because I realize I haven't touched it in two days since it doesn't have internet. So I sit down, arrange a few pics in some folders, open a few programs and mess around a bit. Oddly, I work on my "website" with no ability to actually post the results.

My Facebook away time nears sixty hours and surprised I'm not sweating bullets, curled up in the corner rocking myself. Oh wait, I have the AC on and pint of vanilla ice cream. I'm good.

Monday

In the office, there on my desk is a computer that IS hooked to internet.

I check the sports, the weather, the news, the comics and it's only then that I realize that I mostly use the internet for useless stuff, and that the entire affair is trivial. I also realize that I really really like the trivial stuff.

I call the good people at AT&T again, and get transferred back to Repair, only this time after a brief 22 minutes on hold I get through! Eureka. Wait, I was here on Saturday and that got me a six day wait! Okay, so I calmly explain again to this new rep my situation. She's amazed to find out the robbery method (she honestly said "Wait till I tell them this one") and willing to help. Only problem is that she can only do so much, because logically, she wanted to help so that means she really couldn't help. Of course. So I get my "get well" date bumped up to Tuesday, not Wednesday.

Like, cool.

Yeah, right.

So Monday night is watching TV and playing Red Dead Redemption. I have other games I should be playing, possibly better games but I'll be damned if I'm going to play anything else until I finish this game. Also, the FOX show the Good Guys is improbably good. Improbably.

Thank God I didn't decide to dabble with this game and take classes at the same time.

What I wanted to do by Monday night....if the punch would hit my ISP.

Tuesday...

My brother once said that a hardcore gamer has to play something every chance they get. I may be a hardcore PC head, because I just realized part of my morning routine was to get up and check my email. And futz around on the computer a bit. Which is kinda sad.

I get up and hang out for minute, figuring why drive to work and then back from work if the repair guy is coming. So I wait around and wait around, and whoa, it's after 10am. I get my stuff drive into the office, get started and the my phone buzzes...

....you know who it is.

So I get back in my car, and drive BACK to my house where dude is already done. My communte is like 15 minutes, so there really wasn't a issue, just the wires. He's just waiting for me to check and make sure I'm satisfied. We even have a brief discussion where the tech gives me some fairly surprising options, including another company's product!!!

So I'm back. Not that anybody was watching....

Barkeep, let's just kill that keg. Wouldn't want it to go bad.

What's really going on?

Maybe it's that I'm stressing out over this midterm. Maybe its because my job is finally catching up to me. Maybe its because my diet and exercise program didn't just slow down or stop, but appears to be going in reverse. Maybe its the stress over things beyond my control...

But for the past few days, at right around 8pm I get indigestion. Or heartburn. And since a burp usually cures this feeling and I'm assuming a burp isn't the fix for a heart attack, it's probably not a heart attack. I think.

Somebody take note of that.

And then, as I'm sitting here writing this, about to go into a diatribe about life and other things, a loud crash happens right outside my window and swear a limb must have fallen off a tree and hit the house. Only on that side of the house, I had all the limbs cut down (I got a lotta trees). So what's really going on? So I slip on shoes and there, just brushing the driveway...one of my neighbors TREES has fallen into my yard. This is almost too much.

I think about it and right this second I'm surprised the power is still on, because the line ran right through that spot. And I'm still on the internet, so the other line is still up too. So tomorrow, before I go to work, I got to dispose of a tree. Or at least get started on disposing of one.

My other problems we'll get back to later.

Barkeep...something to make the cold morning, not so cold.

Mickey and Jerry in for a visit

Ramblings Post #65
There are things I just inherently don't do. I do not do hot pants. Anymore. I don't do heights, but only because having to call the fire department to get a grown ass man off a one story roof is ridiculously embarrassing. And as you just found out, I don't really do cheese. But wait, there's more. Read on...

Slim called for the first time in forever. She's been on the down low for a minute, and still has a while to go so I wasn't expecting a word from her. She was in a automobile wreck a while back, totaled her car and broke her foot. She's in therapy and has been out of the game, but last night she called because she has a little visitor she can't get rid of.

She as a mouse.

And as a big strong he-man type, she over course called yours truly to handle the situation. And that would have been cool. Except I'm allergic to rodents. Small and hairy? My eyes will swell up, my body starts aching, I sneeze like I caught the bird flu. It's not good. But then that's how I would know if I've got a problem at my house. I start sneezing and aching for no real reason? Time to call my exterminator, because the furry ones have come to visit. But despite my allergies, after class I rode over to play Tom Cat to her visitor Jerry.

She's put on a few pounds, but then I always thought she was too thin, but it looks good on her. It's not often you meet a plump vegetarian. A pleasingly plump vegetarian.

I did a sweep of the grounds, she had already laid out the sticky traps so I put out the neck snappers (using her $8 brie cheese ) and afterwards we caught up. She's thinking about starting a blog, or a website since she's basically just chillin' all day and I gave her a few addresses and ideas. I admonished her for not having a lawyer (see legal mind popping out already). And before I ended up having to get doped up on benedryl and vodka to make to the morning, I skeddaled.

And when I got home, I marveled at my exterminator's prowess, because I need to clean up. Bad.

Barkeep. A little cleaning music and kickstart beverage.

Ah, the Weekend

Ramblings Post #58
There are some days I wake up, and struggle to remember what day of the week it is. I have to concentrate for a few minutes where I need to be, what I need to do, what do I need to do to get to the whatever. And then there are special days. Days where you rise with a purpose and passion and from there things only get better. That second set of days would for the most part be imaginary.

Let's see, Friday night I went home...and what did I do? Oh yeah, I called and cussed out my bank, because I stopped for gas and damned if my debit card didn't get rejected like three times. I don't have a whole lot of money, but I know I had enough to buy gas! So after paying cash for my fuel, I went home and called the bank. Nothing like bank customer service...which ultimately blamed the gas station after 15 minutes of rabble and "can I place you hold?" I was so heated by the end of the conversation, I just curled up and watched some TV before falling asleep on the couch.

Saturday, was full of excitement. I lie, Saturday was halfway boring. After studying a bit I went and got my eyes looked at. The dock dilated me so he could check the back of my retinas. It was like being on something while being fully cognizant. The effect lasts for about 4 hours, and they claim you can drive - but what they need to suggest is that you drive straight home. I'm hoping the new frames I picked out while squib eyed look okay. I got new glasses, because the one's I've had I got about 4 years ago. That's like 14 in dog years.

Then, because I hadn't realized I was blind, I decided to go look for a TV stand. My TV has been sitting on what I think is a coffee table from the American Original Really Rustic collection that if I remember correctly I got from older brother's used college furniture stash, making the table at least 20 years old. And after an exhaustive search - online - the one perfect stand I wanted, Walmart just stopped selling. Yes, I was willing to head back to that blight of the American Economy, Walmart. I would have begged off, but everybody else who'd even heard of this particular TV stand wanted $100 more than Sam's gang. Only Sam had stopped selling it, so I was stuck. But as I got to the exit, on a humbug I got off and pulled into the Walmart parking lot.

A moment aside here, I haven't been out and about in a while. I haven't been to a mall in ages. I visited a mall and Walmart on Saturday. There are some nice looking women in Atlanta. Real real nice. Even with squib eyes.

So, back to the quest. I entered Walmart, walked past the toiletries, jewelry, men's wear, baby clothes, shoes, home decor, curtains, small appliances, crossed the chasm of Asomoth, mirrors, art and there on the home furniture aisle, halfway down...there was the stand they said they didn't sell anymore! For less than they claimed to have been selling it for when they did have it! Ain't this about a....

So I got my stand.

I met Spanky for lunch, and we got a floor show, as a young brother - unfamiliar with how a restaurant works - asked for his order special, then proceeded to instruct the chef how to cook it. Hey, man put some peppa' on it. I like mine on it while it's cooking. If I had owned the place, halfway through I would have opened the register and gave him his money back, plus $5, and told him to leave. He got on my nerves and he wasn't even talking to me. For his little $7, I don't think he realized what he was paying for was the right to eat and not have to clean up. Spanky regaled me with a story of yet another questionable man...but I think she's already sent him the showers.

Saturday night...I put together my stand. Although the instructions said two people, I'm just that good.

Sunday was more reading, the studying I'd halfway been begging off the whole weekend. But I did it. Then I watched football. For quite possibly the last time this season. And the Cowboys beat the Bucs handily. So I got that going for me.

Sporty hollered at me a little later, but that's a different tale.

Not a bad weekend. Well, not a horrible weekend.

Barkeep...What do you have that's say...good?

A House is not a Home

Ramblings Post #29
Sometimes you want to feel a certain way. You know, a feeling of how things are supposed to be. Like eating off of china instead of paper plates, or not being comfortable leaving the house until you've got your face on, or until you've had that first cup of coffee. Sometimes, and it's not always large or significant to anyone but you...you just need certain things, certain ways.

How is a house supposed to feel?

My house feels like an over sized apartment. Due to financial constraints and an unwillingness to incur unnecessary debt, my house is basically the furniture from my former apartment plus appliances, spread out. I believe since I've moved in my major purchases have consisted of a step ladder and a picture frame. I only have a decent sized TV because Spanky went flat screen and thoughtfully left,er...donated her old TV to the cause. And since I've decide to go to graduate school, a modern decor makeover doesn't seem to be forthcoming anytime soon.

Which is kinda depressing when you consider how old I am.

Thus my house feels more like a place I'm staying as opposed to say, my house...which still mentally invokes my mother's home in the Cackalack, with it's warm and homey touches that come from just living there. It's my house, I pay the mortgage but I don't feel like a live there. I feel like it's temporary. Which is fucked up considering the housing market and the sad reality that I'm gonna be the a while (barring lottery windfall or lighting strike). I need to stop thinking about the other house I shoulda bought.

When I first moved in I purchased the interior design books: Metropolitan Home, Renovation Style, Home and Architectural Digest and the like, hoping to get some idea of what I wanted. And every week passes and my house continues to resemble a college kids apartment. It is singularly frustrating. You know how it is, every time you get a little bit ahead, something pops up...transmission on the car, dental work, something else...and bang you're eating popcorn on that couch one more Tuesday night.

They say you never grow up to your parents, and although my parents have visited, they seem content with it. Which is hella disconcerting. I'm fast approaching middle age, and since a man's home is his castle, I figured they would at least be on me about making some upgrades. But no, they seem fine with it's decor about fifteen years to young for me.

So I'm a little ashamed to have folks over because of where it is and what is in it...which is the whole of the thing. True my friends "understand"...but I'm uncomfortable with how it looks most of the time, its not them. Call it ego. I'm not looking for flashy, but at least up to standard, ya know. I kinda wish I was brought up like apparently everyone else and only cared if my rims was tight.

I so do not want to go into debt behind this. I may have no choice for my own sanity.

Barkeep. Would you be interested in selling those loungers by the window...cheap.

The Office Moguls - Part 3

Ramblings Post #16
Sometimes you can only feel that you've done something wrong because karma treats you so bad. You know that feeling, when suddenly that trip you've planned coincides with a sudden downturn in cash and you get the runs, you know, somebody somewhere really is trying to tell you stay home and suffer. Well, I'm starting to wonder what I did wrong. Not that I have the runs mind you..

Somebody is buying a house. I know because I've been listening to him buy a house since his sister bought out the other half of the land from him. Let's consider how many months ago that was.

I again wonder what his job is, exactly how he manages each week not to get fired. The office mogul who sits a row over from me has been buying a house for ...let's see, how long has it been now, because seems like EVER. Now, If he were willing to pay for it, this might have only taken a few weeks, but this was man who swore he could beat the stock market, and is still trying, so house buying has become an ordeal for the rest of us.

I guesstimate he's spent two or three grand in inspection fees looking at houses. He spends hours and I mean hours looking for homes on the internet, crowing about his new find each week until those damned sellers won't want to take his money.

Okay, he usually underbids the asking price by several thousand dollars (as much as twenty five thousand), and after the inspection usually wants to lower his bid even further based on what he finds, on properties already in foreclosure and in dire need of repair. He rationalizes that he's offering cash, so they should be willing to jump at his offer. I asked him - unwisely as it usually segues into a half hour of his magic master plan - if he considers that the sellers of the properties he's obsessed with occasionally can't go down any further, having hit what they owe minus fees. Nope, he proudly announced, hadn't crossed his mind. Not his problem.

He's been frustrated by the auctions because other bid on HIS house, upset with realtors, doesn't like that he needs an agent when all he wants to do is look at a house, mad that when he finally gets something he likes the realtor seems a little annoyed by his twenty third call that day. He's mad that nobody wants to listen to his proposals for how if they just do this, then he can do that or how the lenders don't believe what he believes for value. He seems to believe that a) CASH is king and b) everybody should be willing to cut him a deal. I hear him ten times a day, "Well, I'm offering cash..."

He really wants the house where the wall is falling down. Or the one where they've stripped out the kitchen counters and painted fairies on the walls. Or for the double wide trailer no one has the title to. Or my new favorite, the one with the active sinkhole in the middle of the living room (his plan for that appears to involve the current owner giving him permission to possibly destroy the house but not hold him responsible, genius!).

Forget the homes where a little paint will make it livable, or some yard work and TLC and the house looks new again. He seems to enjoy the spots where he would have to fill in the eroding foundation. Well, it is his money. To each his own.

The problem is that he conducts all his business on company time. Six calls to the realtor, two calls his agent, five calls to the seller, and this is before he's even made a bid! And sitting a row away, I hear all of it. The people on his row I pray for, as they sit in a ringside seat to idle chatter hell.

Karma, I would like to take this opportunity to apologize for anything I may have said or done...

I'm scared that once he buys something...okay, I'm not scared I know this, he's gonna teach himself to hang dry wall so he can fix it up.

Heaven help him.

Barkeep...something to keep me from laughing.

I Apparently Like Black Shirts

Mental Rehab Post #31
In an effort to complete this mental/emotional rehab, I've decided to start posting what would considered to the undiscerning eye to be some general crap. It is not. What you are seeing here is like when you re-organize anything - the stuff you forgot you had has to be moved as well. Mentally, these are little tidbits of trivia and silliness is that box of stuff in the back of the closet with that "omigod, I thought I'd thrown this out" stuff in it. And apparently...black shirts.


In looking at my laundry, which was still folded on top of the dryer when I went looking for a shirt last (fill in any day of the week here), I came to a realization that I am a very dark person. And by that I mean I must own 15 or 20 black shirts. Long sleeve, short sleeve, pullovers, button up, polos, collar-less, faded, sharp black etc. And a lot of dark blue shirts as well. I have a few tan shirts, and like two red. And one purple that will probably never see the light of day again. And, maybe two green, I think I remember a green polo from like three years ago. But all of them together don't add up to the number of black shirts I own.

Shade may have been correct in her thought that black is my favorite color. Sporty used say I looked good in a black suit.

I like dark fabrics. Slimming. Okay, most of my underwear happens to be black or dark blue as well, but I can explain. I moved from white to colored underwear in college to simplify the laundry process, an important factor when you don't own you own machine. I've had a machine of my own for all but three of the years I've been in Atlanta and for those who don't know - first you buy the house, the second purchase is the the washer and dryer. You can get the lights and water turned on in a day or so, and furniture can come anytime later. Damn a fridge or a stove. I mean you can always eat out, but a laundromat visit can ruin your whole weekend.

And in my current neighborhood, I ain't just trying to milk the chicken with that thought.

And jeans. I need to buy some jeans. My office is like supremely casual, and when I say that I mean we run the gamut from sport coats and khakis to hipster motorcycle boots and metal band tees to football jerseys and knee shorts. So nice jeans and shoes with a shirt means I'm one of the better dressers on staff. Only I need some new jeans...and I suck at clothes shopping. I mean that. You should see some of the stuff I've bought. Other than the black shirts..

That maybe why I own so many black shirts.

If get some Grey shirts, too flashy?

Barkeep, get me a black Russian. Get it...Black... I like black... wuteva, Makers and sprite.

I took Wednesday off...

This is Mental Rehab Post #23
Just when you think you've everything under control, or in my case when you've just got everything semi where you can see it, if you lean real far and squint, life takes your best laid plans and concepts and goes "I wonder what would happen if I did this?" and then stands back to watch the fun. It's as though someone up there doesn't have enough to do already.

I took Wednesday off from work to catch up on the homework I was supposed to have done Sunday when I was out doing good deeds. I have a month of off time that I haven't used yet - and that doesn't roll over - so I figured what is one day in the grand scheme of getting where you want to be. Since I've been there I've given the company back roughly 13 weeks of vacay time, and we won't even go into the bonus money they were nice enough to let me know they were supposed to pay me...right before they changed the program and didn't make it retroactive.

But as actual events unfolded, Wednesday was when I figured out why people take such great pains to make the bathroom of their homes, especially the master bath, more than just a utility room. I now understand the moldings, plants, the artwork, the layout consideration, the occasional view and the whole idea of making it into a space of light where one can find oneself against the back drop of a cold cruel world.

Guess why.

I'd been a little queasy Tuesday night, but I shrugged it off. I'm a guy...you shrug things off. If it persisted I was going to go back to my Grandmother's tried and true flour, warm water and salt recipe to quiet it down. But when I drifted off I thought I was fine.

At 4:30am I found out I wasn't.

At 6:00am I still wasn't.

You can go in varying 15 and 30 minute intervals from here.

I tried to do a little reading for class but couldn't concentrate. I leafed through some magazines and looked at the pretty pictures. I considered painting the bathroom walls a ocean blue. I lay on the bed for while guessing the worst was over...but I was wrong. I drank the Milk of Magnesia. I leafed through the pictures in another magazine. I considered painting the walls of the bathroom a Terra cotta orange. More of the Milk of Mag. I realized I needed some new magazines.

I think I lost between five and ten pounds in 8 hours.

My original plan had been to rise early, make a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns, and get started with the homework. The research assignment was to be done by noon. If I finished early I was even going to see if I could get my haircut. Run by the bank and grocery store, back by one thirty. Read up on the other assignment, brief a case or two. Get to campus around five ready to go, not rushed. Bright eyed and bushy tailed is how they used to say it.

The...er...exodus stopped around 1pm. Let's do the math and see just how far off schedule I was?

Way far.


So I battled through the assignment I knew was due first. The one I had started last week but had let slide because I didn't think the questions were that hard. I am so brilliant! And then I started on the assignment I knew was also due the same night, but second. The one I had actually taken the day off to do but had been preempted, yeah that one. The one a classmate said had taken him an hour to do the first 10 of 30 questions. An hour doing the easy ones before the essay answers....

So I bared my teeth, winked at the crowd and dove in headlong.

And for those who wonder, in the little impromptu competition in class, my answers for the team were correct. I even got a small pack of M&M's a prize, thank you very much.

But I start on next week's homework tonight. Know this.

Barkeep. One of them Pepto Bismol martinis

So I got robbed

Vent post #4
This was less traumatic than I thought it would be, but more of a expected that I guess was inevitable. This is real life. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad. And real life isn't always pretty.

So sometime between yesterday and today, I got my virginity taken. No, not that virginity, I lost that two or three weeks ago. My other virginity. No, not that one either. Dirty minded sons of... My home burglary virginity.

Broken window. Alarm destroyed. Missing stuff.

They just finished getting my internet back up and running and I'm waiting on the window and the alarm guy now. Then maybe I'll eat something. Has it been that long?

For the record, you don't realize the difference until you actually go back to the CRT monitor. It's really rather noticeable.

Barkeep...they didn't take the Whiskey? Yeah!

Things I don't intend to do again

As I've grown older, I realize that there are certain things that I will endeavour to never do again if at all possible. These are things that I've either tried and failed miserably, tried and didn't like, or tried and it all went horribly wrong.

I will never again give a woman jewelry as a gift.
I will never sit anywhere but Club Level or Sky box at the Georgia Dome.
I will never again watch a porn with Julian St. Jox in it.
I will not eat at a McDonald's.

and most recently, I will not paint again if I can avoid it.

With the home I purchased, let's just say the colors ran vivid. The front bedroom was a two tone brown and crimson, the second bedroom a two tone yellow and blue. I'm not sure if the previous owners were color blind or autistic. Anyway it's taken two weeks for me to put on primer. The front room took three coats. The second room will be getting it's third coat tonight. I haven't even gotten to the colors I want yet!

I watch the home shows, HGTV and the rest and it all looks so easy. Everything takes thirty minutes. Nobody gets dirty. Everyone looks refreshed when they're done. It's deceptive. It took me thirty minutes to do one wall and I didn't even do the corners! I started rolling out the paint in just sweat pants to avoid destroying anything else! Were not even going to discuss the exertion.

I was gonna pay a guy a few hundred to do it. Retired painter who would be doing me a favor. I should have listened to him instead of my brother who said "fuck that, we'll do it ourselves and save a few bucks".

Fuck that.

Barkeep, I need some old skool Gin. You got Fliechmann's?

What hath Sam wrought?

I'm currently in the process of moving. The major stuff is at the new house, I'm having the usual "I didn't think this would be a problem" snafus but I'm slowly but surely toddling along to home ownership.

Note: One day this is going to say I got mugged outside my house...then we'll see what happens.

Anyway, for the last few days as I move I find myself in the bit of Americana that seems to draw us in despite our best intentions, our best works and best planning. The last few nights I've found myself at of all places....Walmart.

I'm not a big fan of Walmart. Aisle after aisle of semi-shoddy stuff and slightly disinterested workers (except for the older greeters, who really seem to like what they're doing) just doesn't say great shopping experience to me. But I needed a shower curtain at 10:30 at night, and a few towels...and some allergy medicine...and a fresh shirt for work since mine are either in storage or in the cleaners...and soda...and $1 DVDs....and some underwear...and, well you see where this is going?

But in the last couple of days I've been two Walmarts that are as strange as any I've ever been in.

They close.

At midnight, the Walmart closes. Whoever heard of such a thing? I'm used to being able to pop into a Walmart at 2am for some coasters, a ladder and nice watch for $6.99, ya know? But I've been to two Walmarts that actually post closing hours! I quite frankly was stunned.

Now these are relatively urban Walmarts, one of them practically breathing on downtown Atlanta, so maybe there are rules I don't know about. It just struck me as odd.

I'm suddenly not sure if I'm in the Walmart because my AC isn't working (long story) or I just need stuff. Well, I find out tonight.

Barkeep...I think I'll have a whiskey. With a President's Choice soda pop.

Well, here we go kids...

After much trial and tribulations, lying home brokers and laconic Realtors, last minute surprises and other bumps in the night, last week with the stroke of pen I officially came into debt. I purchased a home on a secluded side street in a developing part of town, and in a few years hope to recoup my investment two fold.

Translation: I bought a foreclosure house in a sketchy neighborhood and after a little work hope to get back double what I paid.

And what a short but strange trip it's been. I'm seriously going to write a letter to my state representative, asking them to pass a law requiring that a) mortgage brokers be licensed and accountable, b) that any home sold in the state of GA marked AS IS come with a list of what the known issues are and c) that little old guys who do handy work should get state funded retirement.

Since I've bought the house it's been one expense after another (okay, everybody told me this part...just not how much), and as we fast approach D-Day some of the amenities I'd hoped to have are going to have to pushed back until tax refund time. Which thanks to the taxes I had to pay at closing should be rather nice. And now I understand why they have all those sales around that time. Sneaky bassids.

Now comes the real problem: Moving.

I hate moving. I think you should be able to call the local lockup and have them send over prisoners to do it for you. A judge should be able to sentence someone to 50 breakage free moves. I hate moving because you have to throw things out, and I'm a pack rat by nature. All kinds of crap I know I haven't looked at in ages. Last night I found a nicely printed copy of one the books I'm working on (I must have four or five in progress), the notes I wrote in like middle school and a map for a comic book that's been rolling around my head for 15 years. And it's throw it out, or take it with me.

Does anyone know the number of Extreme Home Makeover's moving people?

Well, the lights are on, the water is going to be on shortly and the alarm is coming after that. Then it's move in time.

Barkeep. Do you have any Cold Duck?

The utter bastards

I had been consumed with the purchase of my home. Had been as in past tense.

I put off the film I was planning.
I put off the book I'm writing.
I put off the law school applications.
Work suffered as I had to split my attention.
Even this blog suffered - it got depressing to update it.

Two months and $2700 later, still no house. They lied to me, mislead me and and in the end cheated me out of a life changing opportunity. LIFE CHANGING!

I'm turning them into their regulatory agency, gonna get a ruling then sue like a motherfucker.

Barkeep...moonshine. No ice.