Moving day is over. We are finally in our new home! Most of the boxes are unpacked, things are functioning at about 90%, the cat and dog have finally figured out that we're not leaving, and I'm back at work. All in all, I couldn't be happier.
However. The process of moving turned me into a raving lunatic bitch and I am sure I owe a few apologies.
To our mortgage guy: You kept telling me everything was going to happen on schedule, and I kept waiting for all hell to break loose. It didn't. I know I drove you crazy calling you to 'check on things' every other day.
To the lady at JC Penneys: I know it wasn't your fault that every single window panel I liked was out of stock. But you were there so who else was I going to get snippy with?
To the customer service guy at the Blinds place: I am sure that you don't get paid enough for me to yell at you because I thought there was no hardware with the blinds. After I hung up on you, I found the hardware. I felt like I should call back and apologize but I was pretty sure you'd see my number on caller ID and not pick up.
To first cable guy: I'm sorry you were at my house for something like 9 hours, but in hindsight, you didn't seem to know what the f*(k you were doing. I know I should apologize over that screaming match about where to put the cable jack in the master bedroom, but I was right and you were wrong, so I don't feel bad about that. Besides, you screwed stuff up which led to me having to spend another day with Cable Guy #2.
To Cable Guy #2: You scratched my new wall with your damn tool belt. Never mind, I don't think I owe you an apology for bitching at you about that.
To the cat: You are 15 and have never been out of our old house except for your once a year vet visit. I know this move literally rocked your world. I'm sorry. But did you really have to piss all over my car?!?
To the dog: It breaks my heart that you try to follow me to the car every time I leave. I know you think I'm going to take you back home! Really, you'll come to love the tiny back yard we have now! I promise!
To my friends: I'm sorry for being missing in action for the past 2 months. This house buying opportunity happened much quicker than expected, so it was all-consuming. And to my friends who I did see, I'm sorry for talking so much about my house hunt. I am sure you are sick of hearing about my travails.
To my family: I know, I was stressed and crazy. I'm sorry. I love you.
There, I think I covered everyone. It has been 18 years since our last move, and I don't plan on doing this again unless and until I can afford to hire someone to take care of everything for me. Which is to say, I won't be moving again!
Oh. I love my new house!
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Gave Up Posting for Lent
This is my first post in more than a month. Last year, I gave up the elevator for Lent, and I almost, not by choice, gave up my home computer for Lent this year. (Actually, for this year, I've given up my sanity. So far, I'm doing well at it) Anyway, about a day after my last post, my PC died, for no apparent reason. It just sat there like a big ol' paperweight doing nothing. My immediate panic was about tax records on Microsoft money, and my checking account balances. Then, of course, I couldn't indulge my recent addiction to Facebook. We finally remember that, our son had purchased the extended warranty when he bought us this computer a year or so ago, so I was relieved to think that I'd be back in business after a quick, and free repair. Free, yes. Quick, not so much.
We returned the computer to Best Buy's "Geek Squad" for repairs. Turns out, the Geek Squad doesn't really fix anything. They ship everything to their "repair center", which, I now presume, is in another solar system on the planet Romulus. They tell us it will take 3 weeks or so. "Three weeks!" we exclaim. They give us this look that says, "and you think we don't hear this 9,273 times a day?" So we were excited when they called TWO weeks later and said our computer was back. (See, I think they tell you three weeks so that you think they're wonderful when it's "only" 2 weeks).
We became less excited very quickly. Thank goodness we thought to ask them to test it out in store, because when they did, what happened was.....nothing. Still dead. As dead as they day we dropped it off. So, the friendly-ish "geek" promised to send it back and have it "expedited".
Two more weeks passed. No computer. I called and was told that the "repair que" showed that parts had been ordered. I informed the clerk that two weeks seemed like an awful long time for a returned repair that had supposedly been "expedited". He ever so helpfully offered to have the matter "escalated". Not sure what THAT means, but I was pretty sure it meant I still had no computer, no access to Microsoft Money OR my addictive solitaire games.
A few more days went by, and since our computer had already been "expedited" and "escalated", I wasn't sure what to expect next. Excommunicated? Ex calibrated? Exonerated? Anyway, happily, the "que" showed that it had been shipped.
One month later, the computer is back, all data intact. The checkbook is balanced. Taxes aren't paid, but my excuse is gone. And I can get back to the really important business of working on my Pathwords score on Facebook.
We returned the computer to Best Buy's "Geek Squad" for repairs. Turns out, the Geek Squad doesn't really fix anything. They ship everything to their "repair center", which, I now presume, is in another solar system on the planet Romulus. They tell us it will take 3 weeks or so. "Three weeks!" we exclaim. They give us this look that says, "and you think we don't hear this 9,273 times a day?" So we were excited when they called TWO weeks later and said our computer was back. (See, I think they tell you three weeks so that you think they're wonderful when it's "only" 2 weeks).
We became less excited very quickly. Thank goodness we thought to ask them to test it out in store, because when they did, what happened was.....nothing. Still dead. As dead as they day we dropped it off. So, the friendly-ish "geek" promised to send it back and have it "expedited".
Two more weeks passed. No computer. I called and was told that the "repair que" showed that parts had been ordered. I informed the clerk that two weeks seemed like an awful long time for a returned repair that had supposedly been "expedited". He ever so helpfully offered to have the matter "escalated". Not sure what THAT means, but I was pretty sure it meant I still had no computer, no access to Microsoft Money OR my addictive solitaire games.
A few more days went by, and since our computer had already been "expedited" and "escalated", I wasn't sure what to expect next. Excommunicated? Ex calibrated? Exonerated? Anyway, happily, the "que" showed that it had been shipped.
One month later, the computer is back, all data intact. The checkbook is balanced. Taxes aren't paid, but my excuse is gone. And I can get back to the really important business of working on my Pathwords score on Facebook.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
An Embarassment of Blessings -
This is a year of many changes for me, and they are flying at me fast and furious. Without exception, these are wonderful changes, but I keep thinking of that old cliche' about "too much of a good thing". I don't want to complain -- I'm enjoying this rare groove of good things coming my way. I feel blessed and am incredibly excited, but I do feel a need to SLOW DOWN!!
So far this year, I am:
So far this year, I am:
- becoming a grandmother
- marrying off my one and only child
- having a 25th wedding anniversary
- selling my home of 20 years to the son and fiancee'
- buying a new home (yeah, in this crazy real estate market!)
- turning the big 5 - 0.
The grandmother thing, well, that caught me off guard. It was a surprise, my son is only 22, and although he does well financially for his age, it will be a bit of a struggle for them. But I love his fiancee, and I know they will be happy together. They will be amazing parents. I'm thrilled at the prospect of being a grandmother -- I just need to think of a cool grandmother name! And I can't wait to meet my grandson, Carson, this June. I am certain he will be the most outstanding, brilliant, adorable grandchild EVER.
Which brings me to the wedding. I'm having a little trouble finding my place, as the mother of the groom. I'm a "barge in a take charge" kind of gal, and this just isn't my show to take charge of. However, I'm so genuinely excited about it and I'm having a hard time not blurting out my ideas. Sigh. It's the first time I've really thought about what it means to not have a daughter. But it's going to be a wonderful day, and other than frantically trying to lose weight for the photographically memorialized event, I'm very very happy and can't wait for the big day!
Speaking of weddings, I really can't believe my husband has stuck with me for 25 years this April. I am not the easiest person to live with. (Shocked, aren't you?) He has had his moments. Good ones mostly, but a few real stinkers. When people ask me the secret to a long marriage, the only thing I have to offer is this: Stay together even when you really, really don't want to. Not to say that I think people should stay together no matter what, but I do know that, in my case, these are the best of years and I'm so glad we're still together.
The house thing may sound crazy in this economic nightmare of a time we are living in. I realize this. Here's the thing: we live in the first house we ever bought. It's small, and affordable. We're giving them a good deal, but since there's no realtor to pay, and since our house might have never sold at full market value, I don't really think we're losing much. We're giving up a little equity, but I look at it as the same as helping with a down payment. And they will own a home with a mortgage payment less than their current rent, with a little bit of automatic equity to boot.
And finally, after years of yearning for a new home, but the time never being right for one reason or another, we find that we are both fairly secure in our jobs (and very thankful for that), and able to take advantage of an awesome buyers' market out there. We've found the perfect house, and sellers who have pretty much offered to provide free housekeeping services if we buy! We should be putting in a contract soon.
Now I know there are people out there among my tens of readers that wonder why I put "turning 50" on a list of good things. Well, I don't know why. I guess I've decided to embrace it rather than rant about it. It's coming either way, might as well embrace it. I've always planned to be a really irreverent old lady (I know, not much of a leap for me, is it?) so I'm just getting closer to being able to do that!
I just want to really enjoy all of these wonderful events and not let the stress of so much change get in the way. Fifty years on this earth have taught me a couple things, and one is -- "This too shall pass". I like to think of that about bad times, but lets face it, it applies to the good times, too. So if you hear me stressing about my abundance of joyful events, just smack me. This is about as good as it gets.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Inlaw Overload
I don't really mind my in-laws. For one thing, they don't live nearby so I don't see them very often, and for another thing, there's not that many of 'em left anymore. And for yet another thing, I actually like them. I did have the mother in law from hell (truly, she was not a nice person, and she immediately and steadfastly hated me), but she's no longer with us. I actually had TWO mother-in-laws -- one step, one blood -- but the remaining MIL only sends Christmas cards and occasional e-mails. My husband's remaining family is his 3 brothers, all of whom I genuinely like, and I genuinely like their wives and families.
I'm getting ready to have a whole new batch of in-laws as my son is getting married this fall. I like them too --quite a lot, actually. I love my future daughter-in-law to pieces. We had the future family-in-law over for dinner last night, and it was a nice evening. Good food, (my husband cooked) great company, and of course, I always enjoy spending time with my son and his fiancee. They're expecting a baby soon, so the 2 first time "grandmas to be" have lots to talk about.
I like to entertain but let's face it, I'm no Martha Stewart -- I am not the world's most gracious hostess. It's like I wasn't born with the entertaining gene. See, I pretty much really mean it when I tell my guests to make themselves at home. In my house, that means: Get your own damn drink. If you're cold, turn up the heat. I have no idea if the hall bath is about to run out of TP but feel free to rummage around for another roll. That sort of thing. So when you come to my house for dinner, please don't think I'm being rude -- I just think of you as family!
Also, as you may know about me, I prefer to spend my weekends wearing sloppy clothes, eating badly and watching all the stuff I recorded on the DVR the previous week. So much as I enjoy company, well, I have to at least put on a bra when people come over.
But now it's Sunday, and I have the day to recover, right? Oh no. Suddenly I have to figure out what to feed 2 of my husband's brothers and their families in less than an hour! All have come to town due to their Uncle Jim's recent stroke. (Prayers appreciated. Jim is 85 and prognosis isn't good) Like I said, I love them all, and am glad to see them, but two in-law encounters are a little much for one weekend!
Thank goodness for the 3 day weekend. I'll be spending Monday on the couch. Don't call me. And don't even think of dropping by to visit because I don't want to have to put the bra back on.
I'm getting ready to have a whole new batch of in-laws as my son is getting married this fall. I like them too --quite a lot, actually. I love my future daughter-in-law to pieces. We had the future family-in-law over for dinner last night, and it was a nice evening. Good food, (my husband cooked) great company, and of course, I always enjoy spending time with my son and his fiancee. They're expecting a baby soon, so the 2 first time "grandmas to be" have lots to talk about.
I like to entertain but let's face it, I'm no Martha Stewart -- I am not the world's most gracious hostess. It's like I wasn't born with the entertaining gene. See, I pretty much really mean it when I tell my guests to make themselves at home. In my house, that means: Get your own damn drink. If you're cold, turn up the heat. I have no idea if the hall bath is about to run out of TP but feel free to rummage around for another roll. That sort of thing. So when you come to my house for dinner, please don't think I'm being rude -- I just think of you as family!
Also, as you may know about me, I prefer to spend my weekends wearing sloppy clothes, eating badly and watching all the stuff I recorded on the DVR the previous week. So much as I enjoy company, well, I have to at least put on a bra when people come over.
But now it's Sunday, and I have the day to recover, right? Oh no. Suddenly I have to figure out what to feed 2 of my husband's brothers and their families in less than an hour! All have come to town due to their Uncle Jim's recent stroke. (Prayers appreciated. Jim is 85 and prognosis isn't good) Like I said, I love them all, and am glad to see them, but two in-law encounters are a little much for one weekend!
Thank goodness for the 3 day weekend. I'll be spending Monday on the couch. Don't call me. And don't even think of dropping by to visit because I don't want to have to put the bra back on.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Where Does My Time Go??
When I started this blog, my plan was to post my random, profound thoughts a few times a week. Well, it's been over a week since my last entry, and it's not due to lack of profundity, but lack of time. I have no idea where my time goes!
I get up most days between 6 and 7:30, depending on how many times I hit "snooze". If I get up before 7:30, I have a standing appointment with my couch, a warm blankie, a cup of coffee, and "Morning Joe". (I hate Joe Scarborough. I watch the show because it gets me fired up for the day). A funny thing about me and mornings .... I always, always, always THINK I am going to get up at 6 and exercise. Something happens to me while I sleep -- I loose all resolve, all will-power. I seldom -- if ever -- get up at first alarm, and I almost always wake up with a paralyzing lack of motivation to do anything more physically strenuous than lift the coffee cup.
But no matter when the morning starts, at 7:30 here's what happens without fail: I say "Oh Shit! It's 7:30" and get in the shower. From there, I spend 50 minutes scrambling around to get dressed, and I rush out the door, frazzled and late, at 8:20 to be at work at 8:30. And then my job begins it's function of totally interfering with my real life.
But what of the evening hours? I'm home by 5:30. My nest is empty, except for my dog and cat. I have few outside commitments. Sometimes I try to walk the dog after work. (My dog has developed an aversion to walking. I love that dog) My husband, often as not, cooks dinner, and he willingly and ably does his share of the housework. (did I say that I love that man??) So my responsibilities after work are few. Most nights, I sit and feed my bizarre addiction to reality TV.
Weekends seem to evaporate. Most of the time, my only accomplishment is a trip to the grocery store. Other than occasional church attendance, paying bills, farting around on Facebook and watching all the stuff I recorded on the DVR while I was watching something else, little else of substance fills the weekend, yet those 2 free days seem to just disappear. What the hell do I do with my time?
It is especially perplexing because I recall when my life was so much busier and yet I accomplished so much more. When my son was young, he had baseball, and soccer, and karate, and myriad after school activities. I worked full time, and worked out 3 days a week after work. My commute was much longer and so was my workday. My husband worked unpredictable hours so had less time to help with meals or housework. I even remember taking a class at the local community college. What the heck happened??
Sadly, I know the answer, I just don't like it. I got old, fat, lazy, and I watch too damn much television. And I can't seem to stop! (getting old, fat, lazy OR watching too much TV) I am not sure when it got so out of control, but I blame the DVR. Technology is suppose to give us more control of our time, but I think it controls US instead.
So I'm gonna try to do better. Watch less TV. Blog more. Walk that crazy dog. Get out and do stuff on the weekends. Just as soon as I watch everything on the recorded list ....
I get up most days between 6 and 7:30, depending on how many times I hit "snooze". If I get up before 7:30, I have a standing appointment with my couch, a warm blankie, a cup of coffee, and "Morning Joe". (I hate Joe Scarborough. I watch the show because it gets me fired up for the day). A funny thing about me and mornings .... I always, always, always THINK I am going to get up at 6 and exercise. Something happens to me while I sleep -- I loose all resolve, all will-power. I seldom -- if ever -- get up at first alarm, and I almost always wake up with a paralyzing lack of motivation to do anything more physically strenuous than lift the coffee cup.
But no matter when the morning starts, at 7:30 here's what happens without fail: I say "Oh Shit! It's 7:30" and get in the shower. From there, I spend 50 minutes scrambling around to get dressed, and I rush out the door, frazzled and late, at 8:20 to be at work at 8:30. And then my job begins it's function of totally interfering with my real life.
But what of the evening hours? I'm home by 5:30. My nest is empty, except for my dog and cat. I have few outside commitments. Sometimes I try to walk the dog after work. (My dog has developed an aversion to walking. I love that dog) My husband, often as not, cooks dinner, and he willingly and ably does his share of the housework. (did I say that I love that man??) So my responsibilities after work are few. Most nights, I sit and feed my bizarre addiction to reality TV.
Weekends seem to evaporate. Most of the time, my only accomplishment is a trip to the grocery store. Other than occasional church attendance, paying bills, farting around on Facebook and watching all the stuff I recorded on the DVR while I was watching something else, little else of substance fills the weekend, yet those 2 free days seem to just disappear. What the hell do I do with my time?
It is especially perplexing because I recall when my life was so much busier and yet I accomplished so much more. When my son was young, he had baseball, and soccer, and karate, and myriad after school activities. I worked full time, and worked out 3 days a week after work. My commute was much longer and so was my workday. My husband worked unpredictable hours so had less time to help with meals or housework. I even remember taking a class at the local community college. What the heck happened??
Sadly, I know the answer, I just don't like it. I got old, fat, lazy, and I watch too damn much television. And I can't seem to stop! (getting old, fat, lazy OR watching too much TV) I am not sure when it got so out of control, but I blame the DVR. Technology is suppose to give us more control of our time, but I think it controls US instead.
So I'm gonna try to do better. Watch less TV. Blog more. Walk that crazy dog. Get out and do stuff on the weekends. Just as soon as I watch everything on the recorded list ....
Monday, January 5, 2009
Oh Happy Day
It started out as a craptacular Monday. I had to get a purportedly dead car to the shop (based on the "expert" analysis of the guy at Auto-Parts-R-Us, I had a dead alternator), only to find out that there was nothing wrong with the car at all. So, all that juggling and arranging rides to work, etc. was for nothing and I am out $71 for the privilege of confirming that.
But then, I got news.
Back story to news: Last year -- 13 months ago, to be exact -- I was in a fairly minor car accident. Well, minor to me. To the kid on the motorcycle, who ran into me, maybe not so minor. He flew over the handlebar, taking a good solid smack in the crotch, landing on the hood of my car. Now, I don't deny that this accident was my "fault", but I would swear to my dying day that I don't know what I would have done differently. I saw nothing coming, pulled into traffic, and suddenly Mr. Motorcycle Dude appeared out of nowhere. It was scary but thankfully he proclaimed he was fine, except for the fact that, and I quote, his nuts were killing him.
Four months later, I got served. The little shit was suing me. Apparently his nuts were still killing him. I don't mean to make fun, but, really??
But today I find out that the case has been settled! His sperm count was fine, and apparently in discovery, it was "discovered" that the cause of his pain was lacerations to said "nuts" -- caused by his zipper, because -- wait for it --
he wasn't wearing any underwear.
I don't know why that news makes me feel better. Oh, but it does! And the "being sued for all I'm worth" phase of my life is thankfully over.
But then, I got news.
Back story to news: Last year -- 13 months ago, to be exact -- I was in a fairly minor car accident. Well, minor to me. To the kid on the motorcycle, who ran into me, maybe not so minor. He flew over the handlebar, taking a good solid smack in the crotch, landing on the hood of my car. Now, I don't deny that this accident was my "fault", but I would swear to my dying day that I don't know what I would have done differently. I saw nothing coming, pulled into traffic, and suddenly Mr. Motorcycle Dude appeared out of nowhere. It was scary but thankfully he proclaimed he was fine, except for the fact that, and I quote, his nuts were killing him.
Four months later, I got served. The little shit was suing me. Apparently his nuts were still killing him. I don't mean to make fun, but, really??
But today I find out that the case has been settled! His sperm count was fine, and apparently in discovery, it was "discovered" that the cause of his pain was lacerations to said "nuts" -- caused by his zipper, because -- wait for it --
he wasn't wearing any underwear.
I don't know why that news makes me feel better. Oh, but it does! And the "being sued for all I'm worth" phase of my life is thankfully over.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Are We There Yet??
I like a new year. I really don't much like New Year's. For one thing, there's that whole "resolution" thing, but I've said all I have to say about that. For another thing, there's that artificial pressure to have "plans". Not just, "a nice dinner and movie at home" plans, but big, fancy, expensive, capital-letter"Plans". And of course, you're expected to stay lively until the stroke of midnight, which is approximately 1.2 hours past my bedtime, and 3.6 hours or more past my dear hubby's "bed" time. (I use "Bed" loosely here. He normally falls asleep in his recliner) So as the magic hour approaches, we're grumpy and tired. And what am I supposed to wear? Don't even get me started. After all, I've been eating my way through the holidays and I have picked up a festive 15 pounds or so. Deck the halls, deck my butt, etc. And NOTHING FITS!! At least, nothing that looks remotely celebratory.
But the thing that makes me crazy is the fireworks. For those of you who aren't lucky enough to live in SC (and I mostly am not being sarcastic) it is perfectly legally for anyone who can reach the counter to purchase actual, gun-powder-infused FIREWORKS in SC. Now I've lived here most of my life, and I love my fellow South Carolinians, and I mean no harm when I say this, but ... (lean in close while I whisper) ....we ain't the sharpest knives in the drawer. So it kind of gives me pause that just any of my neighbors can go buy explosive devices for their amusement. And the good stuff isn't cheap, so mostly, my neighbors just buy stuff that is REALLY LOUD.
I could even get past that, except that for some reason, my explosive neighbors like to drag out the celebration. So here I sit, 2 days after the big night, listening to random, loud explosions. This scares the crap out of my dog. Literally. I've cleaned up 2 piles since New Year's Eve.
So Happy New Year. Yay, 2009. Can we stop celebrating yet?
But the thing that makes me crazy is the fireworks. For those of you who aren't lucky enough to live in SC (and I mostly am not being sarcastic) it is perfectly legally for anyone who can reach the counter to purchase actual, gun-powder-infused FIREWORKS in SC. Now I've lived here most of my life, and I love my fellow South Carolinians, and I mean no harm when I say this, but ... (lean in close while I whisper) ....we ain't the sharpest knives in the drawer. So it kind of gives me pause that just any of my neighbors can go buy explosive devices for their amusement. And the good stuff isn't cheap, so mostly, my neighbors just buy stuff that is REALLY LOUD.
I could even get past that, except that for some reason, my explosive neighbors like to drag out the celebration. So here I sit, 2 days after the big night, listening to random, loud explosions. This scares the crap out of my dog. Literally. I've cleaned up 2 piles since New Year's Eve.
So Happy New Year. Yay, 2009. Can we stop celebrating yet?
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