The Twenty Year Check In

I'm wondering what it's going to be like Friday to be faced with twenty years of decisions all in one night. I'm wondering how that's going to look and feel. And if it will, indeed, freak me out as I'm suspecting it will. Lot's can go wrong in twenty years...and lots can go right. Here's hoping my rights outweigh my wrongs.

The one thing I know for sure is that my high school years weren't the best years of my life. It seems like I'm always looking around and thinking, "Oh, so these must be the best days of my life." And then, a few months later, it's, "Oh, THESE must be the best days," and then a few months later I do it again. Funny, I feel like I'll be saying the same thing in just another few months. I'm lucky in that the best days of my life keep happening. ...seems like that's probably the most I could've hoped for, huh?

To the future--

-b

Getting Around

It seems like wherever there is a TV camera, there is Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton.

-b

...and Fifty.

Me: I'd like to mail this package.
Post Office Lady (with snotty attitude): I can't read that. It's too light.
Me: Oh. Well, if I could borrow your marker, I'll trace over it so it will be darker.
Post Office Lady (with more attitude, pointing with her ruby red 7 inch fingernail to the State abbreviation): What's this? Is that W? What's that state?
Me: WV. It's the State of West Virginia. It's the State beside Virginia.

I couldn't help but wonder, is there any job in which knowing all fifty states would be more important? These are the people who deliver MAIL! Seems like knowing all fifty should be a requirement.

Just sayin'--

-b

The Perils of Summer

The birds ate the tomatoes from the garden overnight. They weren't ready to pick, but we had been very much looking forward to the first bites. Instead, the blasted birds waited till it was dark and big fat ate them.

Birds are jerks.

-b

How Much I Make--Not

Today I met someone who works part time and earns $27,000 per month. Yes, I said twenty-seven thousand dollars per month.

He is not a songwriter.

-b

The Guest Bathroom

It went something like this: It was dark red, then I troweled paint on in black and white (which also created gray, of course) and I hated it for a bathroom. So then I primed in white, thinking I'd do a light color. Then I changed my mind and decided on charred olive. So, I started painting over the stark white primer with olive. Four times. I still need to do another pass or two (this is why you should use a primer close to your paint color, boys and girls--I'm your cautionary tale.) I would've never done that in a client's house, but since it was my own, I thought I'd try to save some money. I did. Then I lost weeks of time in the process. (I'm cool. I'm wise. It's true.)

So, now, probably a month later, I look at the poorly painted walls, the switchplates on the sink and the ladder in the bathtub and think, "Maybe I should do this in sandstone instead?"

Someone stop me.

-b

Soapbox Alert

The dog park is a park for dogs.
Not unsupervised kids. And definitely not toddlers.
I saw a kid get bit last year. He was unsupervised and he'd shown up to play--er, harrass--the dogs. One dog just turned on a dime and bit him. Hard.

Dogs are dogs, and when they're in a situation where there are lots of dogs, you really can't predict what they'll do. You can assume, but you don't really know.

So, no, I don't think it's appropriate to bring your toddler to the dog park to play with the dogs.

And thank you for asking.



-b