Wednesday, August 26, 2009

In love

Do you believe in love at first sight? I do. Well, NOW I do. I didn't used to, but after falling in love at first sight with a duplex almost one week ago, I am a believer.

Husband and I have had a strong desire to move out of the hell-hole in which we live for quite some time now. This desire was accompanied by a complex plan. We knew that we were D.O.N.E. done with apartment living, but we are not in any way ready to buy a house. For one thing, we have credit that rivals the good 'ol USA on the BAD scale. For another, we aren't 100% sure that Texas will be our final choice of where to live. So, that brought us to the conclusion that we want to rent a house.

'Round these parts, the dollar tends to go further in the (*shudder*) suburbs, so we picked one out that was only minimally pretentious and in a decent proximity to our loved ones, even if it was far from both our jobs. The only problem left is the fact that we share a car. So, buying Husband a car would be the first step in our moving process. See what I mean? Complex.

I was on my way home from an appointment with my therapist last week when I spotted the cutest little duplex EVER on a street not too far from our current hole. We kind of live on the edge of a very nice, slightly trendy (but not obnoxious) neighborhood. This place is actually IN the very nice, slightly trendy (but not obnoxious) neighborhood. In my mind, this meant that there was no way we could afford it. So, I did the natural thing. I called.

Why would I call a place that I knew damn well I wouldn't be able to afford? To assuage my curiosity and prove myself right, of course. Me? Narcissistic? Noooo!

I actually got a call back the next day from the realtor, which was a shock in and of itself. I thought she would be able to hear poorness in my voice, and thus would ignore me. When she told me what the rent was, I just about fainted. Not because it was too expensive, but because it was TOO PERFECT! She mentioned a craigslist ad, which I went to look at as soon as I hung up from making my appointment to go have a look at the place with Husband and Grandma (who will be moving in with us). My love only grew. After seeing it, I am fully and completely, hopelessly in love with this duplex.

It is an old house, built in the 1930's; brick with Spanish tile roofing. It is HUGE, over 1700 square feet. Two bedrooms, each with it's own door to the outside (a big deal for Grandma's privacy). Two adorable vintage tiled bathrooms in funky colors. A study (WOOT! An office for The Kuh!). Washer and dryer connections. Security system. Fireplace. All hardwood floors. Spacious front porch. Lots of windows. Ample storage space. There is even a little nook in the front room that would serve as a perfect place for the cats. The list just goes on and on.

We put in our applications on Friday, and are still waiting to hear back. The owners are on vacation, and there are other applicants besides us. I hate competition. I feel like I am on The Bachelor, or More To Love, or one of those other shitty reality dating shows. Picture me in my interview..."I think I am really and truly in love with Duplex. I know it's crazy, because we have only had that one one-on-one date, but I know he is the one. I will just DIE if Duplex sends me home tonight at elimination."

I'm just praying all the while, and hoping to hear the magic words..."The Kuh," (insert sigh of relief) "Will you accept this key?"
Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Silver Fox

Last night, as I do almost every night, I was watching NCIS on USA. When it was over, I got up and went to the table to try and get some work done. I always leave the TV on in the background, just to have some noise, so I didn't change the channel. Apparently, on Tuesday nights, NCIS is followed by none other than WWE RAW. I still didn't change the channel. Don't judge me. There is no show on TV I would like to watch LESS than RAW, so I knew leaving it on would guarantee my getting something done.

As I combed my e-mail and tweetdeck, something on the screen caught my attention. They introduced the host, who was none other than Freddie Prinze, Jr.

Freddie Prinze Jr. was the Zac Efron of my generation. He only did, like, 4 movies that were widely known; "She's All That", "I Know What You Did Last Summer", and that great, classic sequel, "I STILL Know What You Did Last Summer", and "Scooby Doo". He also made a few other gems that were lesser known, and remain guilty pleasures for me to this day; "Down To You", and "Head Over Heels". Regardless, he made every teenage girl's heart beat a bit faster, mine included. I still get a just a little bit wistful when I hear his name, so I couldn't help but look up. What I saw...was...just...disturbing. He enters the stage at about 1:25...



Wait...what was that I saw? Yes, people. Gray hair.

Don't get me wrong, folks. I have nothing against Freddie or gray hair. I dig gray on a man. But try and think about how this makes ME feel. Imagine how all these little teenyboppers are going to feel one day when they turn on their TV/computer that is just projected into the air and find Zac Efron hosting Intergalactic Space Alien Wrestling with GRAY HAIR. Will they think that Zac is a wrinkly old man? No. Will they feel like wrinkly old women? Yes.

Come on, Freddie. It's always been about the ladies for you, man. Cut us a break. Give us a few more years to feel good about ourselves before you go totally Harrison Ford on us. Pick up a box of Just For Men. Don't do it for yourself, Silver Fox; you don't need it. Do it for me.
Thursday, August 13, 2009

When I Grow Up...

It occurred to me the other day, that there are little kids in the world right now who are dreaming about what they'll be when they grow up. And some of them are surely dreaming about becoming something that didn't exist when I was a kid. Blogger.

As far as I knew, the internet didn't even exist when I was old enough to fathom that I would "grow up", and neither did the "weblog", which would later become the "blog". When I was a kid, the closest thing that we had to what is now known as a blogger, was a writer. And that was what I wanted to be.

For fun, I bought composition books and filled them with stories about my friends and me, and I changed their names from things like Lisa and Erica to Linda and Monica. I never finished them. I always just wrote a page or two and gave up or started a new story that had wormed its way into my brain. Sometimes, I'd notice things that happened around me or on TV, and I'd write just a sentence or two. This went on for years and years, until I grew up just a little and came to believe that it was a silly pipedream to want to be a writer. After all, writing was hard work. I'd have to finish something someday, which was something I couldn't even fathom, and then I'd have to deal with the elusive concept of "getting published". Again, since this was all pre-internet, I had no clue at all what that entailed.

When the internet finally really showed up on the scene, I was in high school. It had recently become commonplace to have an e-mail address, and it wasn't until college that I discovered this "blog" thing. It was still relatively new in 2003 or so, when I was a sophomore in college. I started my first blog right here on Blogger, with absolutely no concept of how to really use it. I thought it was pretty much just a journal that anyone who finds it could read. I wrote and published, under the assumption that no one would actually find it. And no one did. It never occurred to me that I might actually need to have the thing that was drilled into my brain over and over in all my English classes. Purpose.

Just now, right now as I wrote this, I realized something important. I have been blogging since I was a kid, when I wrote those neverending stories in my notebooks. I've been microblogging, too. When Twitter was just a gleam in the eye of it's creators, I tweeted in the margins of my algebra notes. I always thought of inability to finish a damn thing I started as a hindrance, but now, in this new world of social media and self publishing where the blog is king, this may actually be a GOOD thing. What is a blog, really, except a neverending story? And I may have just found my purpose.

I'll tell it.

I meant for this entry, the cornerstone for all I will write here, to be much more funny and clever, but I guess when I get on the subject of hopes and dreams, especially my own, I get a little heavy, to say the least. I promise I am much more entertaining than this. I see some of the funniest nonsense every day that could bring on giggle attacks. I have kind of a wacky, wonderful life full of characters that the world will enjoy getting to know. I owe it to myself to tell you about it. If you enjoy reading it, great. If not, I guess that is your prerogative.

Stephen King defines a writer in very simple terms. In "On Writing", he says that if you write, you are a writer. So, I guess that makes me a writer. So, dear reader, would you like to take a walk with me?
 

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