Monday, July 29, 2013
funny co-worker quote of my Monday thus far
"Ok. I. Well, gosh, I really hate to say it but I think I'm gonna have to go to Five Guys. Again, I know. I don't know whats wrong with me. I've got to have some of their fries. I've just got to. I think about them all the time. I dream about them. Alright, I'm just going. You want anything?"
Freddie (aka "Handsome Fred" aka "Gilligan")
Sunday, July 28, 2013
unexpected exhumations
I started this posting a month or so ago. I think. I logged in today to post something and just noticed it hadn't been finished. Since part of my latest self-help torture has been finishing things you start, I felt inclined to address it. I decided it was continue-worthy.
_____
It was October of 2007 when I purchased a house in Newnan, GA. This is what it looked like last time I was there.
In 2007 it had been renovated, but not so much that it wasn't still a 'fixer upper' (still is) ....unfortunately at that time, even though I was in a good position to buy a house, I was essentially single, working long hours on the other side of Atlanta and had a dumb boyfriend who gave me please-don't-break-up-with-me puppy that needed all of my free time and more that I always felt guilty for not being able to supply.
That house I still have--for some unknown reason that I'm sure will be revealed to me at some point in this life...or the next....or the next....who knows (it's that much of an enigma to me).
Anyway, it was probably the summer of 2008 that I had begun digging up a little plot in the front yard to serve as an 'accent' herb garden (my terminology there). One afternoon as I was hand-tilling the dark brown Georgia clay my little claw shovel caught something. I pulled it up and knocked off clods of mud to reveal an old horseshoe. It has graced each doorway I've lived in since.
5 years and several moves later I was [again] tired of our living quarters. My husband moved here from WV in 2011 and we lived together ["in sin"...I love saying that] in a renovated ship-builders house, then moved again in 2012 to an apartment [2 bathrooms!]. So in February when I announced my decision, he just stared at me, blank-faced -- I think I heard a little noise come from the back of his throat...sounded like a cross between a whimper and a stifled growl.
I'd said, "What? Look, the beauty of renting is that after a year, if you don't like it, you can move...."
p.s. If I really decide to convince you of something, chances are you're going to want it as much as I do by the end of my spiel. I'm just saying.
Well, we searched high and low, even contacting agencies. But it was Craigslist where I discovered the jewel of a condo that even my husband couldn't deny was perfect for us. It wasn't just coincidence that landed us this place--it was 100% bonafide MINT 2 B. In all sincerity I'm totally comfortable saying he and I are both creatures of our environment. We jokingly called our old apartment "the cave"-- but it was no joke the place was psychologically suffocating both of us. I didn't want to be there a day longer. Just like I didn't want to be in the previous house with only one bathroom and a lot of rodent and moisture problems.
There must have been a hundred responses to the lease listing. It was a wee bit smaller than what we'd been in (errr.....about 500sq feet smaller), but the shockingly low price they were advertising made me feel sure we had some advantage over the other applicants. I had a hunch that, save for a random bachelor, we were probably in the older category of interested folks, which meant a few things. 1. we are generally more financially stable than young'uns. 2. had more time to build good, solid credit, have low[er] debt and a sparkling rental history (with all the stress that being a "landlady" brings me, I'll be damned if I'm not a fabulous tenant). And let's not forget, we're a sweet young married couple--and for whatever insane reason, that makes most older adult people feel better about you when you're up for judgement....
(and yes of course I hid my heathen tattoo, lest they think I was secretly a Harley-riding lesbian, dominatrix, or budweiser drinking redneck)
My latest response to ppl acknowledging my tattoo (apparently still a social obligation), "eh...it actually wasn't alcohol, it was being a 20 year old art student who was into classic rock." I never thought I'd write it off, but I have. I've even gone the way of fading creams and one lazer removal treatment before giving in and deciding that if I ever really want it gone I'll just save enough money to have it lanced by a plastic surgeon.
it's not really a bad tattoo. I don't hate it. I just don't need it anymore.
...but for the record I prefer bicycles; women are their own worst enemy, why the hell would I date one?[except for Naomi Watts...I'd totally date her--and people, c'mon, don't read too far into that statement, I love women and detest what we do to each other for what? who? men. that's it. yeesh ]; moving on...I think the need to equate pleasure (esp the nice, warm intimate kind) with pain is a sign of maladaptive or unaddressed and possibly dangerous emotional issues--see "Fifty Shades"; I enjoy micro-brewed IPA; I appreciate the good and fun side of southern hospitality, not the ignorance
"oh where are my manners! now, what can I get you to drink? water? lemonade? vodka tonic?"
that was fun
but I've digressed
It also helped that Rob and I knew about a dozen people that the owners either were best friends with, had worked with (pleasantly thank goodness), or lived on the same street as. Glory of a tiny island community. It was too good and it was true.
But for weeks we heard nothing and were trying very hard to accept that the condo had probably been leased to someone else--but nothing we saw was better. We were pining, even reduced to low measures like secretly hoping whoever the imaginary person they'd chosen would have some terrible, disturbing, un-ignorable disqualifying revelation. I'm not kidding, it was bad--we were like a couple of heart-sick teenagers.
Then one day my cell rang, and it was the owner asking if we were still interested--the renovations were almost done and they'd narrowed the list of possible tenants to...well, us. We were quietly ecstatic. We went out for another look that evening and we signed the lease a few weeks later when the condo was finished.
In the meantime I ALMOST sold my house in Newnan. The woman's financing fell through 4 days before we were to close. Damn. Blast. So I put it up for rental again and I became very picky about tenants and very open about my position on the house. I don't make any money on the place, I just want to pay the bills and have someone live there who isn't going to trash it. A couple moved in who were expecting their first baby (actually born a few days ago....they texted me pics. how sweet). They're a nice couple about our age. I doubt they'll buy it but if they don't at the end of their lease it'll be about time for Rob to start grad school and it's between Armstrong in Savannah and Georgia State in Atlanta. If the latter we'll just move back in and start working on it. It'd be ideal really, closer to my parents if we decided to have children of our own. But we'll see what happens. It'll work out. Always does.
We've been in the island condo since the end of April and already it makes me sad to think of ever having to leave (I know we will some day). A few weeks ago I decided to dig up a little space beside the front porch steps to plant herbs. At first I thought it was another root and I even hacked at it once, but it came up easily. No telling how long it's been there. I brought it inside and scrubbed it clean. It was a tiny plastic figurine of St. Joseph. Here he is.
_____
It was October of 2007 when I purchased a house in Newnan, GA. This is what it looked like last time I was there.
That house I still have--for some unknown reason that I'm sure will be revealed to me at some point in this life...or the next....or the next....who knows (it's that much of an enigma to me).
Anyway, it was probably the summer of 2008 that I had begun digging up a little plot in the front yard to serve as an 'accent' herb garden (my terminology there). One afternoon as I was hand-tilling the dark brown Georgia clay my little claw shovel caught something. I pulled it up and knocked off clods of mud to reveal an old horseshoe. It has graced each doorway I've lived in since.
I'd said, "What? Look, the beauty of renting is that after a year, if you don't like it, you can move...."
p.s. If I really decide to convince you of something, chances are you're going to want it as much as I do by the end of my spiel. I'm just saying.
Well, we searched high and low, even contacting agencies. But it was Craigslist where I discovered the jewel of a condo that even my husband couldn't deny was perfect for us. It wasn't just coincidence that landed us this place--it was 100% bonafide MINT 2 B. In all sincerity I'm totally comfortable saying he and I are both creatures of our environment. We jokingly called our old apartment "the cave"-- but it was no joke the place was psychologically suffocating both of us. I didn't want to be there a day longer. Just like I didn't want to be in the previous house with only one bathroom and a lot of rodent and moisture problems.
There must have been a hundred responses to the lease listing. It was a wee bit smaller than what we'd been in (errr.....about 500sq feet smaller), but the shockingly low price they were advertising made me feel sure we had some advantage over the other applicants. I had a hunch that, save for a random bachelor, we were probably in the older category of interested folks, which meant a few things. 1. we are generally more financially stable than young'uns. 2. had more time to build good, solid credit, have low[er] debt and a sparkling rental history (with all the stress that being a "landlady" brings me, I'll be damned if I'm not a fabulous tenant). And let's not forget, we're a sweet young married couple--and for whatever insane reason, that makes most older adult people feel better about you when you're up for judgement....
(and yes of course I hid my heathen tattoo, lest they think I was secretly a Harley-riding lesbian, dominatrix, or budweiser drinking redneck)
My latest response to ppl acknowledging my tattoo (apparently still a social obligation), "eh...it actually wasn't alcohol, it was being a 20 year old art student who was into classic rock." I never thought I'd write it off, but I have. I've even gone the way of fading creams and one lazer removal treatment before giving in and deciding that if I ever really want it gone I'll just save enough money to have it lanced by a plastic surgeon.
it's not really a bad tattoo. I don't hate it. I just don't need it anymore.
...but for the record I prefer bicycles; women are their own worst enemy, why the hell would I date one?[except for Naomi Watts...I'd totally date her--and people, c'mon, don't read too far into that statement, I love women and detest what we do to each other for what? who? men. that's it. yeesh ]; moving on...I think the need to equate pleasure (esp the nice, warm intimate kind) with pain is a sign of maladaptive or unaddressed and possibly dangerous emotional issues--see "Fifty Shades"; I enjoy micro-brewed IPA; I appreciate the good and fun side of southern hospitality, not the ignorance
"oh where are my manners! now, what can I get you to drink? water? lemonade? vodka tonic?"
that was fun
but I've digressed
It also helped that Rob and I knew about a dozen people that the owners either were best friends with, had worked with (pleasantly thank goodness), or lived on the same street as. Glory of a tiny island community. It was too good and it was true.
But for weeks we heard nothing and were trying very hard to accept that the condo had probably been leased to someone else--but nothing we saw was better. We were pining, even reduced to low measures like secretly hoping whoever the imaginary person they'd chosen would have some terrible, disturbing, un-ignorable disqualifying revelation. I'm not kidding, it was bad--we were like a couple of heart-sick teenagers.
Then one day my cell rang, and it was the owner asking if we were still interested--the renovations were almost done and they'd narrowed the list of possible tenants to...well, us. We were quietly ecstatic. We went out for another look that evening and we signed the lease a few weeks later when the condo was finished.
In the meantime I ALMOST sold my house in Newnan. The woman's financing fell through 4 days before we were to close. Damn. Blast. So I put it up for rental again and I became very picky about tenants and very open about my position on the house. I don't make any money on the place, I just want to pay the bills and have someone live there who isn't going to trash it. A couple moved in who were expecting their first baby (actually born a few days ago....they texted me pics. how sweet). They're a nice couple about our age. I doubt they'll buy it but if they don't at the end of their lease it'll be about time for Rob to start grad school and it's between Armstrong in Savannah and Georgia State in Atlanta. If the latter we'll just move back in and start working on it. It'd be ideal really, closer to my parents if we decided to have children of our own. But we'll see what happens. It'll work out. Always does.
We've been in the island condo since the end of April and already it makes me sad to think of ever having to leave (I know we will some day). A few weeks ago I decided to dig up a little space beside the front porch steps to plant herbs. At first I thought it was another root and I even hacked at it once, but it came up easily. No telling how long it's been there. I brought it inside and scrubbed it clean. It was a tiny plastic figurine of St. Joseph. Here he is.
 |
St. Joseph, the husband of Mary
and earthly Father of Jesus Christ, is honored as the patron saint of married
couples, families, carpenters and workingmen. March 19, his feast day, is
especially celebrated by people of Italian and Polish descent.
Over the years, the tradition
arose of St. Joseph having a special power in real estate transactions. European
nuns buried a medal with his likeness on property they hoped to aquire for
convents. Gradually the medals were replaced with statues and the focus changed
from buying to selling.
The statue is buried upside down in the front yard with the feet pointing to heaven. It may face towards the home (or towards the street if you want your neighbor's home to sell!) The location of the statue can vary: by the "For Sale" sign, in a flower pot (popular for condo owners), etc.. As long as you can find it once the home has sold.
After the home has sold, the statue should be removed from the ground and given a place of honor in your new home.
Description found here: http://www.catholicsupply.com/christmas/stjoe.html
(You can also buy your very own St Joseph Home Selling Kit at the above link!!!! exciting :)
The statue is buried upside down in the front yard with the feet pointing to heaven. It may face towards the home (or towards the street if you want your neighbor's home to sell!) The location of the statue can vary: by the "For Sale" sign, in a flower pot (popular for condo owners), etc.. As long as you can find it once the home has sold.
After the home has sold, the statue should be removed from the ground and given a place of honor in your new home.
Description found here: http://www.catholicsupply.com/christmas/stjoe.html
(You can also buy your very own St Joseph Home Selling Kit at the above link!!!! exciting :)
I know what I'll be doing next time I'm in Newnan...
Tuesday, July 02, 2013
let's go over this again...
the bird and I want to know exactly who gave you permission to be gone all weekend...
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