My Nemesis

Batman had the Joker. Superman had Lex Luthor (I almost typed Lex Luger, the wrestler...I promise I'm not a dork). Spiderman had the Green Goblin. Jerry Seinfeld and Newman. Ross (Friends) had the whole pretending he's not gay thing. Well, friends, I've finally found my nemesis. Don't let the fact that he's a 70-something (or older) fat old man with a cane who can barely talk above a raspy whisper. He's a crafty bastard. You see, since I moved I've been going to auctions with my dad and buying things for the apartment. One man's junk is another man's treasure they say. But, seriously, you can find some cool shit there. Some of it could be antique, but mostly it's just old quirky stuff that no one wants anymore. Eh, either way. I'm kind of like quirky old junk myself. Almost classy, but mostly just odd and maybe a little cool. Ok, I'm a lot cool, but I don't want to brag. Anyway....for the past 2 weeks there have been a couple of things I was hunting for. Last week was a coffee table, which was subsequently damaged on Saturday, and this week was either another table, a bookshelf, and/or a fireplace tool set. Lo and Behold!! There was a fireplace set there. Rock on! All night, things had been selling for a buck, $2.50, $5...etc. There were some very expensive things there, but since I don't care about age or resale value, I buy the cheap stuff. Enter the nemesis. These cheap things are the things he buys too. The kicker is that the old bastard has a used furniture store in town that's so crammed full of this shit that you can barely find your way through it. If there was a fire in there, you'd burn to death before you could even turn around and head for the door. And, he's a millionaire. So, when I'm scraping pennies together to bid $5 for something and this ass runs my bid to $10 or $12, I get a little miffed. You see, I budget my money. He's wearing a shirt from 1970. And not in a cool Kramer way. This is when I know I'm my father's son. I get feisty. I don't want to pay too much for something, but I don't want to let him walk out with it either, so I keep bidding. I've watched him for a few weeks now and I know his limit...and it's right around mine, so I have to be careful...but I push him as far as he'll go because, well, it's damn worth it! I think next week I'm going to make up a super-villain name for him and start calling him that....

I did manage 2 metal chairs for my porch, a fireplace kit, 6 board games that are brand new (ok, maybe I am a dork), and my very own backgammon game in its own vintage briefcase. ha! Take that Junk Man!

to whom it may concern

Dear City-In-Which-I-Live,

Hello, it's nice to get to know you after living near you for so long. I've been here about a month now and so far, so good. I'm getting used to the noise and having people around and walking through my yard and the crazy traffic patterns that seem to grow more and more congested at the exact moment that I'm trying to get somewhere, and really I'm ok with it all.

I do, however, have a couple problems. I get up early, see, but sometimes I like to go buck wild and sleep late...til, oh I don't know, 5. City, I know this doesn't sound like a lot since usually I'm up at 4, but sometimes that extra hour makes all the difference. So, if you could stop dumping dumpsters at 4 a.m., I'd appreciate it. And, tell the people next door to be on the porch and ready when their rides show up at 4:30 so there's not all this horn blowing going on. Thanks.

Also, stoplights. I understand the functionality of stop lights in the whole traffic flow situation. I get that they're timed and regulated and whatnot to make traffic movement efficient. In theory. I'm pretty sure a monkey with a laser pointer could set up a system better than yours. And, again, at 5 a.m., is it necessary to just randomly change a light to red on the main street when there are no other cars around but mine for a mile? Seriously. Why am I sitting at a red light when there aren't even lights on in people's houses? People are asleep, City. They don't need to make a left turn. I, however, need to get the hell to work. Oh, and that old man that I see running/walking every morning. Tell that old bastard that regardless of his reflective vest I'm gonna run him over one morning unless he gets his old wrinkled, big-eared ass up on the sidewalk where he belongs. If he's not going to use that sidewalk, can you move it to my street because I surely could use one there?

Thank you, City, for your consideration in these matters. I appreciate your ongoing effort to keep me safe and happy. At this time, too, I would like to toss a special Thank You to the fine police officers that feel it necessary to ride up and down my street eleventybillion times a night at high speeds. The speed limit is 25. If I was going 27, they'd pull me over. How is it that they can come through there pulling a good 45? It's not like they'd have time to notice if something illegal was going on anyway. They're already making the turn at the end of the street by the time you see them go by. It's like watching a drag race...But, enough moaning about my problems. Have a nice day, City and keep those dumpsters clean!!

Sincerely,

J.

the storm of the century

Did you know that a thunderstorm with driving sideways rain can blow through a window in the back corner of the room 10-12 feet through said room to the opposite corner and thereby soak the floor, rug, the front of the couch, and cause water to stand on your coffee table? You didn't? Yeah, me either. Saturday afternoon. Saturday evening, after returning from an afternoon of melting in 105 degree heat, I learned this lesson. The storm ripped my back door open, causing leaves and sticks and water to be standing on my back porch/laundry room floor, soaked my bedroom carpet, burnt up a fan, and drenched the living room. Upon telling my friends about this freak of nature (I was 10 miles away at the time and saw nary a drop of rain), their first question was "It didn't hurt the tv did it?" To which I replied, "No, you would've seen the mushroom cloud over the city as my head exploded had the tv gotten wet." Stupid summer storms. I still like them, but resent them at the same time as now I'm paranoid and feel like I need to shut all my windows when I leave the house. Dammit. But, it's drying out, well it should be dry by the time I get home today, so all's well that ends well....but man did it throw a wrench in Saturday. I should've been home anyway. The Weather Channel was saying "stay inside" "stay out of the sun" "drink plenty of fluids"...all of which was my plan as I had a case of beer in the fridge and there was a baseball game coming on tv when my friend called wanting to go hit a couple golf balls. I don't play golf. Haven't since I had a phys-ed class in college to teach me how. Yeah, I haven't improved since then, but I haven't gotten 12 years worse either. I suppose that's something. I enjoyed playing a little though...I guess I should maybe learn? I don't know. I don't like all the other pretentious assholes out there. We played on a public par 3 course where there's no dress code or anything like that and we had 2 travel cups filled with a lovely margarita type drink, so that helped the fun factor a lot. But, to play on a real course? Nah...I think I'll stick with my usual recreational activities...making fun of people that take themselves too seriously without having to actually be around those people.

A Pattern, perhaps?

Yesterday's post got me to thinking...well, that and yesterday's beers on the porch and watching the colleges move back in...about other times that involved porches, rain, and beer. Shut up about recurring themes here. A long long time ago in a galaxy far far away, I was in college with my best friends from home and a few new guys who mostly fit right in with us. We were in Morgantown, WV at WVU (Go 'Eers!), the land of afternoon drinking. Speaking of which, WVU is rated as the No. 1 Party School this year again! Way to get back up there guys!! Anyway, I digress. We were sitting on the porch watching it rain and ran out of beer. This being college, money wasn't readily available to us. One guy, however, had parents that were loaded. We didn't ever bum money from him, but if he offered to buy something, we didn't say no. Anyway, we were bemoaning the fact that he had the only fake ID and all the cash and that he should go down the hill and buy us some beer. Milwaukee's Best Light I believe was the fare of choice that day...and by that day, I mean most days. I was so happy when I finally got a job and could buy good beer and I haven't looked back since. I'll eat Ramen noodles to avoid going back to the Beast. He said he would go get it, but that we'd have to earn it. He bet us a 12 pack each (a whopping $10 now that I think about it) if my buddy and I would streak up the road in the rain to the stop sign and back. Eh, screw it, I thought...it's free beer...and we'd already had several at this point...So, we sent Ritchie (named for the county he came from...he never said a town name, just that he was from Ritchie County. Maybe they didn't have towns there.) to scan the street and make sure no one was coming at the time back from class or anything and up the 45 stairs to the street we went. Well, good old reliable Ritchie forgot to mention that the hot neighbor girl was sitting on her porch too. With her dogs. Big dogs. They started barking and made like they were coming to the street after us, at which point my buddy chickened out and went back inside. Not me, man. I wanted that sweet Beast. Besides, I was already almost to the stop sign. I spun around at the stop sign and that's where it all went bad. My worn out shoes couldn't hold up to the flood washing down the hill (everything out there is on a hill) and down I went...SMACK....right on my left hand/side. As long as nothing important hit the pavement, I didn't care at this point. Shaking it off (literally, I suppose) I hauled ass back to the house to find everyone there laughing that gasping, silent laugh and pointing and wheezing and I'm pretty sure trying not to piss their pants. I hastily dress and dispatch the guy to the store, because holy shit, I need a drink. It was about this time that I noticed my hand really hurt. Eh, no matter. It's just a bruise, it'll go away. Besides, here came my 12 pack up the hill. Later that night, my hand got more and more sore and started to look like someone had shoved a baseball under the skin. Damn....I put ice on it, held cold beers against it, anything I could do to try to alleviate the swelling. To no avail. I figured it would go away the next day. Nah. It got worse. And worse. Finally on day 4, I gave up and went to the hospital. You guessed it. I had shattered my knuckle and the bone under it. There was nothing they could do at this point because I'd waited 4 days to come in. He asked how I did it...I said I slipped on the stairs coming down to the house. What was I going to say? It was obvious from the road burn on it that that wasn't the fact, but still. He taped my fingers together and gave me some pills for the swelling and a nice fat bill for $500 that the insurance didn't cover. I told my mom and dad the same story about the stairs, but I don't think they bought it either. That was the most expensive beer ever. Even moreso than the $14 Guinness at the Pig and Whistle up there in NYC. To this day, I still have a little scar and my middle finger on my left hand doesn't work quite right....But, ah, the sweet Beast made it all ok......

I don't have a problem at all.....

So I get home yesterday and open the old fridge to get a frosty beverage and realize that SHIT! THERE ARE ONLY 3 LEFT. Well, see, I have this thing where I hate to run out of beer. It doesn't matter that I only want 1 or 2, I need to have a bunch in there because, well, you never know. I think it's from growing up and having to find people to buy it for you and it being such a hassle that we always made sure we had plenty. Or I'm a drunk. Eh, either way. So, as the afternoon's thunderstorm passes (it's been raining every day right after I get home and it's soooo beautiful), I decide that I'm going to walk to the store at the end of the block and get some more beer. No problem. The sun's coming back out now. You can see where this is going, right? I get to the end of the street and am immediately filled with the dread that can only be known by someone that is as lazy as I am and also as thirsty and also is frustrated with the "moral sections" of this community. Yep, you guessed it. The gas station at the end of my street? Zealots. No beer. As I picked up the remains of my heart from the sidewalk, I now realized why it always takes that old guy down the street so long to get back with his beer.....Yeah, the next place to buy it is at the end of the street I'm now standing on. Niiiice. I can see the roof of where I'm going, so it can't be that far right? Off I go, fighting traffic, because why would the city need sidewalks? Pfft. I get there, and pull a Frogger to get across 6 lanes of traffic because there's a crosswalk but no walk lights. Again, why would you need that? I forgot that when you're in the crosswalk, it's kind of like in Young Guns when they were in the Sprit World. Beauty. I go in, finally, and get my beer and am then standing in line behind a girl that is as big around as a pencil and covered in crack sores on her face....counting change for a soda. Counting. And then putting one back because she didn't have a nickel and the stupid clerk wouldn't just give her one. I never carry cash or I'd have given it to her. Damn, man. Back up the street I go, but uh-oh...what's that? Thunder? Nah...it's just the storm moving on. That drop of water on my arm? Blowing off of a tree, surely. 3-2-1...MONSOON. I swear at this point the rain was blowing sideways. I know the people driving past are laughing...mostly because I could see them slow down and stare at me with their mouths open. Bastards. I think about my 12 pack. The cardboard's getting soaked. And you know what happens to cardboard when it gets wet? It's about as strong then as a piece of toilet paper. Well, not wanting to have to pick up cans of cold beer from the raging torrents of water now running down the sides of the road and over my ankles, I cradle my beer like a baby for the rest of the walk home. Thus garnering even more looks from the people driving by. I make my street again finally and can see my porch....when it quits raining. By now my sandals are so wet I can't keep them on my feet and I have to cross the street in front of the Nascar qualifying round.....Up on the porch and inside to put something dry on ....1/2 hour later and I'm home. Not that I mind walking in the rain, but next time I need beer? I'm totally driving.

Give my stomach to Milwaukee if they run out of beer

"but please don't bury me down in that cold, cold ground"

I went to see John Prine Saturday night and learned a few things.

1. There are some really cool and wild older people out there.
2. Loafers should not be worn with shorts.
3. Just because you remember John Prine and enjoy his music doesn't make you less of a douche when you're talking about work while I'm trying to listen to the show. I didn't pay to hear your fucking mouth, asshole.
4. Old guys are impressed when a young punk like me knows all the words to all the songs.
5. I saw Amish Hipsters. Well, they weren't technically Amish because they were drunk as all hell and covered in tattoos, but they had the Amish clothes thing rockin'. And were incredibly funny.
6. I'm in love with the downtown area of the city the show was in. In. Love.
7. That being said, I will never go into the overly trendy bar that I stopped in for a few preshow beers and a snack ever again. Their appetizer? Bread with olive oil for dipping. I liked it, don't get me wrong. I'm not a caveman. But, something fried would've been a whole hell of a lot better.
8. Going to concerts and drinking beers by yourself is fun. The drive home...not so much. I get very sleepy with no one to talk to.

I left early Friday because I had a couple errands to run and nothing to do here, so I thought to myself "Self, let's get the hell outta here." Self, of course, was out the door before I could clock out. He's not much in the restraint area. No motivation, no willpower, just a huge urge to do fun things. I think that's why we get along so well. Anyway, so I go to Bed, Bath, and Beyond because I want some stuff for the house and I need a good spatula. It's insane how much I love that store. Also insane are the prices there. Then, off to Walmart where I, much to my surprise and Self's glee, the college girls have come back to town. I'm going to sound like a pig here, but I don't care. You see, where I live there is an incredible shortage of anything that's pleasing to the eye. If I was talking about paintings, living here would be like living in a Home Interior catalog. There are a couple nice things, but mostly not so much. But, all that changes at the end of August. And, to the man that invented the short plaid shorts and gray tshirt look....Thank. You.

So, being distracted in Walmart, Self could only manage to pick up a couple cases of beer and the bare essentials. At this point, time was ticking and I had to get home to meet a friend. Fast forward to hungover Saturday morning when I really wished that I would've gotten a couple more things Friday evening so I didn't have to go back out. Saturday's trip cost me a pile of money as I broke down and bought 40" of Liquid Crystal Display (or whatever it stands for) glory. I'll probably regret spending that much money, but hungover Self will not be denied things that make him feel good. And, High Plains Drifter did look damn good on it Saturday afternoon.....

The moral of the story: Don't shop when hungover with someone that has no willpower....

now he needs WD-40

Apparently Billy Ray Cyrus is not the only Man of Wonder coming out of Kentucky. Speaking of Billy Ray, I once got a haircut in the very shop that he used to frequent before becoming a “famous” “musician.” No, they didn’t give me the royal treatment and make my hair look like his either. Luckily.

Anyway, back to our story. This man was arrested for robbery. Note the mask. Made of duct tape. I know it’s a very useful thing to have around, but, um, isn’t it going to hurt when he takes it off? What’s next? Duct tape underwear? They should’ve let him go free because he obviously needs the money. The poor guy can’t even afford a proper mask. No wonder he got caught. It’s nearly impossible to do a job right without the correct tools. And when you’re robbing something, a mask is pretty damn important. Plus, he’s obviously bat-shit crazy. He put duct tape on his face. His Face. Face. Duct tape. Sticky, hard to remove (especially in the heat) duct tape. Speaking for all hillbillies out there, I’m sorry that this guy made the news. And, I’m sorry, Kentucky, that your name once again is associated with this kind of foolishness. I choose to not think of this idiot and Billy Ray but rather remember fondly drinking beer by the light of the flames from the refinery.

because it's one of THOSE days

Since Midwesterner is live blogging today and I'm caught up in that like a crack addict, you get random bullshit. Enjoy.

So I'm walking back through the breakroom from my umpteenth break of the morning when I notice a table filled with snack machine goodies. They take the "out of date" things out when they restock it and just leave them on the table for us. Brilliant! What in a snack machine wouldn't last through a nuclear winter and still be lip-smackingly delicious? Exactly.

I picked up a bag of Honey BBQ chips and made my way smugly back to my desk with my newfound wealth. Opening the bag, I noticed the furious looking bee on the bag chomping on a chip. He looks totally EXTREME (whatever that means). Plus, he's totally ghetto, posing against a brick wall/honey comb with the graffiti type lettering at the bottom of the bag. I mean, are people this stupid that they think that this packaging is attractive and that they MUST. HAVE. THESE. CHIPS??? I mean, come on, I wouldn't have gotten them if it weren't for the fact that they cost FREE. At this point, I was expecting a shitty BBQ chip with a tang of honey (?) or something that was supposedly sweet...I. Was. Wrong. These were some of the best chips I've had. Surprisingly smooth and sweet with a bite of decent BBQ flavour. Go me. I went back and got another bag for later....

But, seriously, check out this bee. What in the hell is his problem?

now I have to clean potato chip crumbs out of my scanner.

**today's blog brought to you by Herr's Honey BBQ Potato Chips

To sleep perchance to dream...

After sweating myself to death all day Friday, dropping more F bombs than Samuel L. Jackson, and listening to a grown man scream/sing along with Cindi Lauper while scrubbing my floors, I'm finally moved in and almost settled. I still need to hang pictures, but that can happen anytime as I find it nearly impossible to make a decision.

Does anyone try to stick one in you more than a mattress salesman? Seriously, they moved up the list to right under car salesman as People That Deserve A Special Seat In Hell. I understand that a good mattress costs at least $1000. I paid for one not 2 years ago. It was like sleeping on a cloud. The mattress I have now is like sleeping on a very lumpy rock. Except possibly harder because you're expecting that sweet mattress softness. So when I see an ad for a similar mattress for $300, I run into the store like a guy with a fistful of dollars into a strip club. AND, they're having a buy one get one free sale. I don't need 2 mattresses, but if it's free, I'll sell it to someone for 1/2 of what I paid. BONUS! I'll pause while your anticipation of reality crushing my dream yet again builds.....Ok, now that we're all on the same page.... The $300 is only for the mattress. The box spring is another $300. If you buy just the mattress (who in the hell would do that anyway?) it's even higher. And, that one doesn't count in the buy one get one free deal. To get that, you have to spend $1000. And, the free mattress? Go ahead, guess at the quality of that one. It's very much like mine except with a new tag on it. I wouldn't hit a dog in the ass with it. I mean, if someone's getting hosed on this mattress, I want to be the one doing the hosing....While I know it's worth the money to have a good mattress and get a good night's sleep, and $600 isn't a bad deal, let's be honest here. I fall asleep in front of the tv most nights on the couch. And, for $600 + a couple more, I can have a 52" television to sleep in front of. And, what's gonna get more use? The tv or the bed? Judging by how things are going, the tv's the best bet here in that scenario. I think I'm going to use my Bed Bath and Beyond coupon to buy one of those feather toppers and put it on my old bed and watch a new television while I save money to buy a mattress later in the year ....

In other news, not much. And I love it. I got home yesterday and unpacked some clothes and promptly repacked them to be taken to Goodwill, watched a little mindless tv, made dinner, and went to sleep (eventually in the bed)....Sheer beauty, friends.

Where IS that damn white belt to go with these shoes?

I HATE talking about the weather. HATE. IT. It's the one thing we all have in common and the one thing that we can't do a damned thing about, and it's the first thing people turn to when they don't have anything at all to say. Trust me, I'm ok with silence. But, as I'm getting older, I find myself turning to it too. I know, right? I caught myself yesterday.

Speaking of which, it's Africa Hot here today. Already. I mean, I know people live in hot places all over the U.S., but this midatlantic region is "temperate." Where's all this global warming in the winter time when my heating bill goes haywire? Gore, you idiot. I wouldn't mind the heat so bad if I were, say, in Florida or Mexico or on an island somewhere laid up on the beach with a frosty beverage in one hand and a tanned bikini-clad girl in the other. But, as it is, I'm sitting at work with what could possibly be the largest collection of ugly women under one roof outside of a Circus Freak Convention. And, that fact coupled with the heat = me losing my mind.

In other non-noteworthy news, the Big Move 2007 is scheduled for tomorrow. I remember things such as friendship and fun and taking days off to help buddies move. I'm going to be doing the bulk of it by myself tomorrow until someone can see fit to come over after work and help with big things. Assholes. I'm SO not buying you beer now. I would've before. That's just a given. A prerequisite, really. Especially when it's hot. Getting older sucks. That or my friends do. Or both....or maybe I just call in to work indiscriminately whereas they feel some sort of loyalty to their jobs....eh, tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to. Either way, I'm gonna be settled in that place tomorrow night, most likely after making a midnight run to the store to buy an air conditioner and then trying to install it in the window without dropping it to the ground below, causing me to have to rebox it and take it back and tell them that it was broken when I opened it and nevermind about the grass in the fins and just give me another one because what kind of racket are you trying to run here?! Um, not that something like that has ever happened....

There's free beer involved if any of you would like to carry boxes tomorrow!!! I know it's tempting.....

edit: I hate to give this piece of shit any mention or thought in anything I do or say or at any given point throughout the day, but this is the best Bonds story you'll read and one that won't appear in "sports" journals.

take your seaside arms and write the next line...

There's a girl that comes over from time to time and laughs. And sings. And quotes random movies and song lyrics. And eats my food. And sometimes drinks my beer. And lays on my floor with big toothy grins and bright blue eyes longing for something, hair spilling over my pillow leaving her scent (marking territory?). There are songs we love and songs she won't listen to with me that may or may not belie something bigger that cannot be. Sometimes she'll hug me when she comes over, then again later, and then when she leaves...sometimes she lingers. Sometimes she falls asleep on the couch and I bring her a blanket. And she laughs. And sings.

hang the DJ, hang the DJ, hang the DJ

I've found my calling in life. Well, if not my calling, at least a part-time vocation. I want to be a DJ. Not one of those people that run down the preprogrammed playlist and read the weather and news and pre-record their shows at 8 am to air that night at midnight. I want to be the late night guy, the evening guy, the guy that's there while some poor stiff is working the midnight shift. I want to be THERE. That way, should someone be bored or lonely, a friendly voice with his/her favourite song is only a phone call and an airwave away. Plus, I'd be great at it because there'd be none of the crap music playing that oozes out of the radio stations here. No buzzkiller music. I mean seriously, don't they know that people are sitting around drinking beer and cooking out in the evenings? How can you follow a good time, good vibe song with something utterly sappy, romantic, and/or suicidally depressing? Buzz. Killers. I would keep the upbeat mood going all the time. Or, perhaps, we could have theme nights...and if you didn't want to tune in on "I hate my life night" then you wouldn't have to. But, it surely wouldn't be sprung on you unawares in the middle of a good joke and a cold beer. I was on my way in this morning listening to "Don't You Forget About Me" and holding my fist in the air because, yeah, that's what you do when you hear that song and planning my day and my evening and my weekend and generally feeling good because it's Friday when all of a sudden Jewel came on. She's ok, but she has a time and a place. 5 am isn't it. I don't need to hear about broken hearts and misery and sappy love and how everything's gonna be ok in some magical place we'll call "the Future" and blah blah blah because shit, man, I'm on the way to work and I want, nay NEED, to feel good today. Turn that shit off. And in the same breath, what's up with John Tesh? I wish he'd crawl back under his Entertainment Tonight washed-up ass rock and quit trying to make me gay and afraid to go outside for fear of germs or offending someone or some other ungodly terror that lurks outside my door. Jesus.

I'd even do the DJ job for free. Well, not for free. They'd have to get me a cold 12 pack of beer....and then, the game would be on. Tune in, turn on, and drop out!

an epiphany or an affirmation?

I realized yesterday after not doing anything all day and going out to eat the most wonderful crab cakes I've had in a long time and drinking a pitcher of beer with my dad's friend, that I'm so not ready to grow up and all that jazz....because after dinner we came home and sat on the porch and another friend stopped by and we drank some more...coffee. I could've done with another bunch of beers myself.... I feel better in responsible shoes, but they're just a little uncomfortable sometimes.

At least I don't live in the basement...

Well, after 2 days of moving (read: sweating and cussing and finally throwing things willy-nilly into the storage unit), I'm done. Moved, cleaned, and Sold. It was approximately 150,685 degrees yesterday as I was packing such important items as the shampoo from my shower, the paper towel rack, the bathroom rugs (which most likely I will throw away when I unpack....next week), a cutting board, etc. You know, all the things that you forget you have until you need to move them somewhere or after you throw them away and then must re-purchase them at a highly inflated rate. It seriously took 1 hour to move all the big things with mucho laughter and a few beers on Monday evening, but Tuesday took a shit all over me. I got an early start and made one fruitful trip, ate lunch, and then was left to my own devices for the rest of the day. Bad idea. I'm not good at working on something alone when not getting paid for it. I'm totally the person that wanders around the house for an hour or two...ok, maybe two...with a box in my hands or a roll of paper towels or both muttering and rubbing my forehead because I just don't know where to start or whether to just burn it down or throw everything away and lock the door or curl up into the fetal position. Thankfully, a well-timed phone call and the realization that after 3 months of not doing anything, I now had 3 hours to finish EVERYTHING. I walked out at 4:55...just as the buyers were pulling in to do their final walkthrough. We closed this morning. I may have danced a jig (a la the Last Boyscout) on my way out of the room.

That all being said, I'm now staying at my dad's til I move again next Friday. But, I have a neat little room with my own personal air conditioner and since I'm off work today, absolutely nothing to do. Sure, I should pitch in and cut the grass or something, but to that I say hell no. I don't get a day off during the week very often...unless you count, um, yesterday...today...and next Friday.

When the a/c units kick on upstairs, the lights flash. Just like in the old prison movies when someone gets fried in the chair. If I see a mouse or a really, really big black guy, I'm getting the hell out of here.

Frank Sinatra's on the radio now...all music, all day...fitting for an antique shop, or shoppe if you prefer...but it's not the same without a glass of wine. Of course, it IS 2:00...hell, I'm having one.