Good News Always Comes in Bunches

Like today, for instance, when I got home and nobody was home.

And then there was a message on the answering machine that a realtor was bringing a client by at 3pm.

He left no business card, but clearly someone was in the house. And that someone was inspecting the light fixture in the kitchen, as the diffuser was not properly in place.

So I called my realtor. "Yes, there's a guy probably going to make an offer. But he's an 'investor' who buys mostly fixer-uppers and then flips them, and your house is very well maintained. Expect him to come in with a real low-ball price $75k-$150k less than you are asking. But maybe we can use it to get a god price from someone else."

Then The Fambly got home. The Mrs. informs me that the DVD player isn't working because "HannieC did something to it."

I take it apart. I find there are 6 DVDs in it. It only holds 5. I ask HannieC how she got the drawer to close with a sixth DVD, and she said she just pushed on it until it closed.

I put it back together, and it just keeps opening the drawer, spinning the carousel, then closing the drawer. Over and over and over. I take it apart again. I find mysterious little fragments of broken plastic inside. They look like teeth broken off a gear, but I cannot find from whence they came.

The DVD player is now in the garbage can. It lasted about 3 years, which is the longest of any DVD player I've had so far. May it rest in peace. Saves the trouble of the movers breaking it, I suppose.

I hooked up one of the portable DVD players to the TV. It comes with a little slimline remote control and everything. No S-Video output, though. Or progressive scan. My TV never could handle progressive scan. If I ever sell this house, I'll invest in a nice plasma TV and a surround sound system. That way, I'll enjoy my time off after they close the site and fire everyone.

FreddieC is outside barking right now. I was going to get him so that he didn't disturb the neighbors, but then I was overcome with a "screw 'em" attitude, and I just kept sitting here. The door is only a couple feet away. I could open it and call him in without even getting off my bar stool. Screw 'em.

Last night was, I believe, the last Fat Camp. I don't think I'll get to go next week, cuz the house will be at least 50% and probably closer to 100% on a moving van. Dr. A-berg showed up, which is unusual. I find it likely that I will never see him again, which is sad. Maybe he will bring the wife and kids to visit some time. Colorado is a great vacation destination. I plan to never set foot in San Jose again, but I know that is unrealistic. Work, at the very least, will send me here probably two or three times a year.

Yesterday was also my last guitar lesson with The Guitarist. I think it was around 9 years of lessons, since I know I started shortly after moving to the rental house next the bowling alley. I moved there in May 1997 and lived there for only 1 year. My career in guitar had a lot of ups and downs over those years. Probably more downs than ups, but The Guitarist hung in there with me. I had a great time, and he was a very patient teacher. If you're ever in the area and want to learn to play guitar, The Guitarist is your guy.

I'll have to find a guitar teacher in FC. The thing about me is that I have a hard time concentrating on something of my own volition. I need for there to be some kind of deadline in order to do anything. The pressure of having a guitar lesson is the only thing that ever motivates me to practice. Left to my own devices, I'd probably just play the first few measures of "Over the Hills and Far Away", the only measures I ever learned - and just about the only thing I ever learned before taking my first guitar lesson, and then go surfing on eBay to see if there's a good deal on a Martin 12-string, cuz it sounds so much better on a 12-string.

Over the last couple days, I've become a complete basket-case. I have become completely consumed with worry. I sit at my desk and worry. I eat lunch and worry. I come home and worry through dinner. Then I am up late at night worrying. They say moving is the most stressful thing that a person does. Honestly, I can't imagine it's anywhere near as bad as a divorce (and, knock on wood, I won't ever find out), but it sure is stressful.

Today, The Mrs. said to me, "In your entire life, you've never had a time where you had nowhere to live, have you? That's why you're worried. See, I have, and that's why I'm not worried. These things always work out."

I started to explain how it was one of my goals in life not to have a time where I had nowhere to live, and how I really didn't want for my kids to experience having nowhere to live at this early stage in their life, and how as a man I am genetically programmed to want to make sure my family had somewhere to live, but she would have none of it. Apparently, living on someone's couch for a couple weeks in college is a life-changing event that I just will never understand.

At work, people just come by nonstop to say goodbye and to talk about my "mansion" in FC. Everyone is secretly, or overtly, jealous. Except for the few people in denial. Most are also quite concerned with who will clean the mansion. It seems to be a universal talking point. Lemme give you a little tip here: if you come to talk to me about the move, don't bother wondering out loud how we'll clean the house. I'll give you the list of my canned answers:

1. My wife will clean it. That's what I pay her for. It's not like she has a job.
   
2. Clean? We have two kids and a dog. What would be the point of cleaning?
3. I plan to lock the kids in the basement. The only flaw in that plan is that the bar is in the basement. Hmmm...
4. I'm pretty sure they still have Mexicans in FC. I saw some when I went to McDonalds.

StinkyJ called me today on his way to the airport. He called to let me know that he just realized he would be out of town for the next week and will never see me again. Then he wanted to know what the best way was for him to get his wife, twin infants, and nanny to SFO. I'm always so touched when I talk to StinkyJ. He really makes one feel special. Too bad I'll never see him again. I predict one of the following three things will happen:

1. People will soon realize that I have been carrying his ass for the last couple years while he took credit for my work.
2. People will soon realize that he has been carrying my ass for the last couple years while I took credit for his work.
3. Both.

My money is on #3.

Today was my mother's birthday. Happy Birthday, Ma! I gave her a call, but then I managed to make the whole conversation about me.

Tomorrow, I'll be giving away my favorite grill to AndyP. I will then likely never see him again. The new place has a built-in gas grill, and though I am ostensibly a charcoal purist, once the grill is built-in one feels compelled to use it.

I am slowly but surely drinking through my liquor stash in order to make room in the truck for stuff like sleeping bags and dishes that we will now need given that The Company totally bollixed up my corporate housing and I will need to live in the new house without any posessions except what I drive on the truck and The Mrs. flies on the plane until the moving van gets there.

But I'm not bitter.

No. Not bitter at all.

Bitter would require a level of concentration of which I am currently incapable.

Pepsi One tastes better than Diet Pepsi. I did not know that until tonight.

I should probably post this. I feel like I'm rambling. I don't feel like running the spell checker.