Tradition at the Mission

     Last night, we made our annual pilgrimage to The Mission Inn to enjoy the Festival of Lights. 

     Now let me begin by telling you that our family outings fall in likeness somewhere between The Grizwalds and Parenthood (that movie with Steve Martin, you know the one).  There is a 100% chance of something crazy happening, but like a roller coaster, you just have to learn to enjoy the ride.

    As fate would have it, this particular outing began just as one would expect.  "Short Stack" freaked out because I opened the car door for her instead of "The Boss."  I'm often short on patience when it comes to such trivial matters, but "the Boss" quickly reeled us back in.  She's the queen of diplomacy amongst everything else in our house.

 

     With our first crisis averted, we unknowingly moved on to the next.  "Tall Stack" had been so excited about ice skating at the outside ice rink that The Mission has set up just across the street.  She talked about it all day and couldn't wait to hit the ice.  Turns out, the session was sold out and no one else would be permitted to skate for another two hours.  As ten year old girls do, "Tall Stack" proceeds to let her disappointment avalanche to a state of devastation.  Once again, the quick thinking "Boss" persuades her to go to the little shop which claims to have the best cup of hot chocolate in the world. Hey, they're right.  Holy Crap that's a tasty cup of hot chocolate.

     With everyone finally as Holly Jolly as Burl Ives after a cup or two of the adult variety egg nog, we hopped on a horse driven wagon for a ride around the Inn with some good friends of ours who we hadn't seen for quite a spell.  All in all, it was a perfect evening. 

     These are the moments which remind me of just how thankful I am.  They remind me that now is the best time of my life.  They remind me of what "The Boss" has been telling me all along.  "Just enjoy the ride." 

     Are you enjoying the ride?

MERRY CHRISTMAS!   

      

      
    


     

King Of This Blog

          So I started that Dave Ramsey Project some time ago.  I wrote about it until I was tired of writing about it, which didn't take long.  Not that I don't believe in what Dave Ramsey has to say, it's just that that isn't what my blog is all about.  I lost interest in my own writing which only meant that my few readers must have jumped ship as well.  Am I right or am I right? 

     Then it occurred to me that this is MY blog.  I am the king here.  The only rules are my rules.  And if I want to switch it up and go back to writing about nothing like I always have, then dammit that's what I'm gonna do.  I'm going to write about nothing, you guys are going to like it, and life as we all once knew it can continue as it did pre-DRP.

     That was liberating.  As you were.

     PS:  My return was inspired by a post I read over at Back to the Kid's Table.  Mary's got a way with words to say the least.  She made me want to write again. 

     I'll be back when I have nothing to talk about.  Happy Holidays!

    

    

    

Dave Ramsey Project. Volume 4: We've Made It A Game

     In this, the second week of our trip to financial freedom, I have taken a closer look at our spending habits and I'll share them with you here because I don't think what we do is too much different than what you do with your money.  This is going to blow you away.

     We tend to buy things in our every day lives without thinking of the cost.  A Starbucks here, a pack of cigarettes there for example.  These are the things I have been focusing on for the past few days.  I buy a Monster Energy Drink on my way to the train station every morning.  It's only $2.70 and it helps me get going.  $2.70 is nothing right?  On that same morning, "The Boss" stops at that same gas station and drops $1.50 on her cup of coffee.  I'll buy a hot dog and a soda at work because it's quick, cheap and easy, only $1.63.  Again $1.63 is no big deal right?  I have more than $1.63 under my couch cushions.  Those three meaningless items tally up a grand total of $1800 per year.  Crazy huh?  Now I know that $1800 a year isn't going to make or break anyone.  But that's just two drinks and a hot dog.  That doesn't count the cheap $7 bottle of wine that we drink 6 days a week.  That only amounts to a little over $2000 a year.  Our little family of four eats out at a fast food joint at least once a week.  On the average we spend about $25.  Not bad for a family of four to eat for $25 huh?   That's only $1200 per year.  Now we're getting somewhere.  That's $5000 baby, and I'm just getting started.  Every two weeks, I buy a case of beer for around $25.  Now let's not get crazy, I'm not giving up my sweet nectar, but that's $600 a year.  In my last post, I told you that we had the cable company knock us down to local channels.  That saves us $1200 a year too.  I have two train stations equal distance to my house.  One of them is one stop closer to work but is in a less desirable part of town.  By getting on at that station, I save $2 a day.  Not a big deal until you do the math.  $384 per year in my pocket.  Add it all up and we spend roughly $7200 per year on worthless crap.  Add credit cards to the mix which I wont get into here, and what you have is a recipe for disaster.  This is how we've been living our lives for years.  Scary huh?

     As a household we make approximately $30,000 more per year than the average family, (I Googled it).  We do live in Southern California where the cost of living is higher than in many parts of the country but how long can I use that as my excuse?  No more!  We have made the decision to manage our money instead of continuing to let it manage us.  We've made it a sort of game to see how much money we can not spend instead of how much we can spend.  There will be time for playing with our loot down the road.  But for now we are focused on fixing our mistakes.

     In Dave Ramsey's book, he writes about a man who was known in his community as "The Secret Santa."  Every year, this guy would walk through the streets of his town handing out $100 bills to random people and wishing them Happy Holidays.  It is my Christmas wish to one day be able to do the same thing.  This guy didn't reveal his identity until he was diagnosed with cancer.  He then held a press conference and stated that his only wish was that once he was gone, that those who he had helped would one day pay it forward.  The people were grateful for the gifts that he had given them.  But what a gift it must have been for him to be able to help those less fortunate.  That to me is what it's all about.  How about you?  

Dave Ramsey Project. Volume 3: Death Of A Couch Potato

     It's been a week since we started our Total Money Makeover, and I have had several friends and readers approach me about it.  Let me make one thing clear about what we are doing.  We are not desperate, there is no financial crisis, the kids are fed, the bills are paid, and everything is just fine.  We as a family have simply decided that we no longer want to live with debt.  We are taught from day one that credit is good, debt is necessary and that's just the way it is.  Like everyone else, we bought into it.  We lived like everyone else.  We did everything we had to do to keep up with the Joneses.  Turns out the Joneses are in debt too.  We're taking an alternative approach and changing our old spending habits.  We have never been fiscally responsible and so now is the time, nothing more, nothing less.  So don't worry about us, dear friends.  Everything is going to be ok.  We're living like no one else now, so that later we can live like no one else. 

     Three days ago, I did what I consider to be the hardest part of our Total Money Makeover.  I called our cable company and told them to knock us down to just the local channels.  No HBO, no CNN, no NFL Network, not even Nick At Nite (we sleep with Nick At Nite on all night.)  The physical reaction my body had to this decision was real..  I thought for a moment I might vomit.  I paced around the house for what seemed like forever trying to figure out why the heck I would deliberately do this to myself and my loved ones.  Then I realized that the physical feeling that I had experienced was the couch potato within me dying a slow and painful death.  I don't like regular network programming  and local news for the most part is not news.  I don't care that Jane Smith passed away in her Pacoima residence this afternoon.  Surprise!  Jane Smith was 108 years old.  Of course she died in her Pacoima residence this afternoon.

      Why get rid of cable?  For a number of reasons.  For one, it saves us almost $100 a month.  That money for the time being is going toward building our emergency fund.  We are saving up six months worth of expenses so that when a rainy day comes, and it will come, we wont have to use credit cards because we will have the cash on hand.  2. we spend a lot more time hanging out together instead of burying our brains in some worthless TV show.  3. we have Netflix($9 a month) so it's not like we're totally in the Dark Ages.

     This program is not for the squeemish.  I was squeemish at first.  Sacrifices, and I mean big sacrifices are necessary to make it work.  We have a long way to go but  after a week, our world hasn't crumbled, we are on the same page, and we're excited to finally be in control of our finances.  We have a plan and we're going to see it through.  For years, "The Boss" has been in control of the money.  She has told me what we have or what we don't have and I just went along.  Now, we are in this together which is how it should have been all along.  I am more involved than ever before which takes some of the burden away from her.  Sorry I'm so late to the party.  Thanks, Babe.

        

The Dave Ramsey Project. Volume 2: The Dirty Old Shoes

     My first true test on our quest to kill our debt came three days ago when I ventured out to find a new pair of shoes.  My dirty old shoes were still comfy, but as age does to the body, it also does to the sole. It was time to move on.

     As far back as I can remember, I have always been a bit of a shoe snob.  I'll wear a $5 Tee shirt but you can rest assured that  I'd paid a pretty penny for some good quality shoes.  So as you can imagine, having just read 3/4 of The Total Money Makeover by Dave Ramsey, this trip to buy some new shoes was going to be unlike any I had ever taken before.  I went out with a $30 budget, 1/3 to 1/2 of what I would normally expect to pay for a pair of shoes.  I knew this was going to take a lot of self control and a lot of telling myself no.  At the bottom of every page of Dave's book is a quote that I am struggling to learn how to live by.  "If you will live like no one else, later you can live like no one else." I kept repeating that to myself as I walked by the shoes that I really wanted to buy.   If I make sacrifices now, later it will be well worth it.  MAN THIS IS TOUGH!

     5 stores, 1 emotional breakdown, and 4 disgruntled texts to "The Boss,"  later, I found a pair of shoes that I actually kind of like. $30!  I didn't think it was possible, and you know what?  It actually felt pretty good.

     This program to get us out of debt and living on cash and not credit is going to take us about two years to get through.  This was just one small hurdle that I had to jump on my own.  Volume 3 is going to reveal a much tougher sacrifice that we have decided to make.  One that will take a toll on the whole family for a short while.

     In my last post, I called Dave Ramsey a Hellraiser.  This is not to say that I think he is demonic in any way or that he is a bad man.  I called him a Hellraiser because after reading two chapters of  his book, my life was turned completely upside down.   I don't like having my life turned completely upside down.  I don't like to admit that I have made horrible decisions with my loot.  I hate to admit that I bought a house that I had no business buying in the first place.  Whatever.  I can't change that now.  What I can do is make much wiser decisions from this point forward.  And so that is what we are going to do.  $30 shoes and all.    

Dave Ramsey Is A Hellraiser

     Where to start?  In the neighborhood of two years ago, my wife, "The Boss" decided to give our mortgage company a call just to see if there could possibly be any way to lower our monthly payment.  The response she got went a little something like this.  "Well, Mrs. The Boss, we can't even talk to you about this until you have failed to make your house payment for two months."  Immediately, we hoisted our red flag.  But our mortgage company who we now refer to affectionately as, "The Devil" assured us that we were perfect candidates for a loan modification, and that there is nothing to worry about, as long we stay in constant communication with them and to be truthful along the way.

     After 8 months of jumping through flaming hoops and sending pay stub after pay stub to "Verify" our income, "Devil Mortgage" came to the conclusion that we made far too much money to qualify for a loan modification and that we needed to come up with the 8 months worth of unpaid funds in order to remain current on our loan or face foreclosure.

     In the 8th month of this process, I received a bonus from my employer, one of two that we receive every year.  As it turns out, the following paycheck included all of the sick pay that I had not used and was paid for in one lump sum from the previous year.  " Mr. "The Boss's husband," our records show that you alone without "The Boss's" income make about $8000 a month, and we think that you are more than able to pay your monthly obligation to this loan."  Whereupon I responded, "Are you on drugs? Have you not seen my pay stubs from the past 7 months?  If I made that sort of loot, do you think we would be having this conversation?"  Hither nor yon, because a year later I am in a rental home down the street from where I once was drowning in debt.  Our home was stolen from us simply because we asked for a little assistance.

     A few days ago, my inlaws gave us a book titled, The Total Money Makeover, by Dave Ramsey.  For those who don't know of him, Dave Ramsey is a Christian man who is well versed in the arena of finance.  He is a man who has experienced first hand the ups and downs of wealth and poverty.

     "The Boss," asked me to read this book with her and to make the neccessary sacrifices in order for us to get out of this financial downward spiral that seemingly has no bottom.  Last night I dove in with her.  She is a speed reader, so when I got home from work, I realized that I had 108 pages to read just to catch up.  It took me from 8:00 to 12:00, but finally we were on the same page.  After page 8 or maybe 12, in an uncharacteristic fashion, this Christian financier had his Hellraiserian hooks in me.  This is going to be very difficult.  This is going to pitch me far outside of my comfy little box, and it's gonna fuckin' hurt.

     Obviously I am changing the normal tone of my blog.  I may lose some readers because of it and I'm gonna have to be OK with that.  I have decided to further expose my personal world to the real world.  I am going to chronical our journey through this financial crisis until we reach freedom on the other side.  If I don't go out to eat with you, if I don't go to the ball game with you, if I don't have HBO, if I don't wear the latest fashions, if I have a shitty attitude, if I serve you beans and rice for dinner when you come to my home, blame Dave Ramsey.  But when I am completely debt free, taking the vacations I want to take, eating at the restaurants I want to eat at, wearing the clothes and shoes that are currently on the other side of the storefront glass, I hope that you will still be my friend.  I hope that you will have supported me from the get go.

     I am going to be very Julie and Julia about this process.  It's gonna be a running through Times Square without any pants on kind of experience for me.  But at the end of it all I am hoping that the story I have shared will be one of success that ends with a deep exhale and a smile.  Wish us luck . 

Riding The Rails

     With the halls undecked, and the hangover of a pretty challenging year worn off almost completely, I have decided to come out of my cave and write again.  I've missed you guys.  It sure is nice to be back.

     Just before the holidays, I transferred from one department to another at work.  Same rank, different responsibilities, and different hours.  "White man's hours," as the guys from my old night shift refer to them as.  8AM to 4:30PM is the new deal, and I am loving it.

     I drive a truck, a big GMC pickup truck that guzzles gas like a chubby kid on a birthday cake.  So when the opportunity to work these new hours presented itself, "The Boss" came up with the idea that I take the train to work and back instead of driving "The Beast," as my truck has come to be known.  In a word.  Brilliant!  No sitting in some of the worst traffic that Southern California has to offer. No road raging. Reading a book or listening to Pandora Radio through the headphones on my Droid with my eyes closed while someone else is worrying about getting me to my destination?  Sign me up!

     One of my favorite things to do is be the silent observer.  I love to listen to people talk, and one thing that I've noticed over the years of mastering my voyeuristic craft, is that while we are all different, we're all pretty much the same.  From manager to maintenance man, we are all the best at our jobs, and there is no way the place would ever survive without us.  We all fix everyone else's  screw ups, and we all know the best way to do the job.  It's just a matter of time before the rest of the world agrees with us and jumps on board.  Hey, it's not eavesdropping  when someone speaks loud enough for the entire group in the third car to hear them.  For one hour a day, on this train we are in each other's lives and your business becomes my business until I exit at Irvine Station.

     "Ladies and Gentlemen," the conductor's voice calls from the PA system.  "Please keep your personal belongings with you at all times and notify the conductor if you notice anything...........Askew."  He says this every morning and this morning was no different.  Only, this morning there was something "askew."  As I'm stepping off the train at Irvine Station this morning, an African American woman came running out on to the platform from the third car right behind me.  I call her African American, but how do I know she isn't from Jamaica or Haiti or New Zealand originally?  Here nor there.  "Someone forgot they lunch!" she yelled as she waved the red and white cooler in the air above her head.  Above my head too for that matter.  Now, the likelihood that the contents of that cooler were anything other than a turkey on whole wheat, a banana and a cup of Activia was slim to none.  But I couldn't help but think, "Honey, that cooler is the "Askew" that Scott, the conductor has been talking about every morning."  So instead of sticking around to watch that banana explode, I got the hell out of Dodge.  Then I got to thinking (as I always do in any situation)  about food. How, if that were my turkey on whole wheat that the nice lady was swinging around the platform, it would have a nice dijon or brown mustard liberally spread on both slices.  And the Activia would not be an Activia but an orange, because I'm not much of a yogurt eater.  Now you're riding my mind.  It's a bumpy ride sometimes, I know.  A little strange, I'm aware. But it's real and I'm sharing it with you.

     The best part about this whole thing, is that at 6:08PM and not a minute later, I am home with my girls.  Every night we have dinner together.  We share our daily happenings, we laugh, sometimes we're grumpy, but we're together.  I get to kiss them goodnight, at least on the nights that "Short Stack" allows me to.  She's 2 years old tonight and quite the character.  Kisses goodnight or not, I get to be a part of their lives more now than ever before.  So, for as long as I can, I'll continue to ride those rails.  They always seem to bring me home, where I belong and just in time.      

             

Scuba Diving Catalina Island

     Back in October, before the hustle and bustle of the holidays, I, along with 3 of my good friends jumped on a boat and sailed 25 miles west off the California Coast to a little island called Santa Catalina. This was the place where we would complete our last two required dives under the supervision of our instructor before becoming certified open water divers.  Words alone cannot describe what that experience was like.  Luckily, one of the guys (who has been diving for many years) brought a camera along to document our adventure.  The visibility here was so much better than our first dive at Shaw's Cove, Laguna Beach.  Take a look and you'll see why this place is a diver's paradise.

The Garibaldi. Our very territorial State fish

A pic of me with our gracious hosts.

The sunlight shining throught the kelp looked really cool.

Just hangin' out 45' below the surface.

Everything is A-OK

Weightless. If only for a moment.

Going through some survival drills.

Greetings From The Pacific

Extreme Close-up

     As a new diver, these winter months seem endless.  The waters off of our coast are far too cold to dive comfortably this time of year leaving us only one option... Wait.  We have to wait for warmer weather and warmer waters. Until then, we talk about diving, we share pictures and stories with friends...........And we wait...............And wait... 

Shark Bait.... Ooo.. Ha Ha...

     The fact that I saw, Tall Stack the moment she was born, and the fact that she is a much prettier version of me is enough to prove that I am her father.  But, what really sealed the deal was, last Saturday, she won a goldfish at the school carnival and named him, "Frank"  All of the other neighborhood kids named their fish traditional names like, Rainbow, or Bubbles.  Nope, my kid named hers, Frank.  I love it.  I find a lot of humor in giving animals, people names.  So Frank was just perfect.

     We all remember being nine.  The anticipation and excitement of tossing that ping pong ball into the yellow cup of water and winning that cute little goldfish.  You can't wait to get him home and into that bowl.  You can't wait to feed him and watch him grow.  Such high hopes we had, didn't we?

     Reliving this experience as the parent, knowing what the end result will be is a pretty uncomfortable place to be.  As if some sick and painful right of passage that we cannot avoid looms on the horizon.  We pray to God that that ping pong ball will bounce off the rim of that cup and end up on the ground.  We hope that the face painting booth next door will divert the kid's attention.  Of course this prayer on this day is answered.  It just isn't the answer that we were hoping for.  The look on her face when she won, Frank was priceless.  She was so excited and couldn't wait to get him home.  The Boss and I gave each other that look.  We agreed without words to let this blissful moment commence without warning that within days, 3 at the most, we will be conducting a tearful ceremony over the toilet in the downstairs bathroom.

     3 days came and went.  Frank continued to do laps in his bowl as the rest of the neighborhood fish were dropping like flies.  He has the heart of a lion, I thought.  He is going to defeat the odds.  4 days and still going strong.  "You are a warrior, Frank."  I actually said this to him through the glass although I'm sure he didn't hear me over the swoosh of the water streaking past his head as he circled the bowl with lightning speed.

     Day 5 was met with much different results.  The laps around the bowl had ceased.  The interest in life was gone.  The offers of food, ignored.  I was there when, Frank gasped his last breath of Target brand distilled water.  The boss and I agreed that we must get rid of him before, Tall Stack got home from school.

     "Who once came from the sea, must return to the sea."  These were the words I spoke as I pressed the brushed steel handle of the downstairs toilet.  And just like that, Frank was gone.

     It's these moments of parenthood that make us appreciate our parents a little more.  They make us love our kids a little more.  And they make us wonder what lessons can be learned about life and death.  Does surviving a mildly broken heart really make us stronger?  I hope for, Tall Stack's sake that it does.   

    

   

The Uterine Walls Are Closing In

     Dammit, I crack myself up...

     OK, let me preface tonight's post by saying that nothing in this life gives me more joy than being the father of my two girls, "The Stacks," one short and one tall, as they've come to be known.  Not to mention, "The Boss," who after ten years of marriage still makes me feel like the luckiest guy in town.

BE THAT AS IT MAY.......

     Living in this estrogen abundant environment does not come without its dangers and challenges.  Oh, I stand at the top of my stairs in the morning like a mature Simba, watching over my kingdom... The golden locks of my mane blowing in the artificial wind created by the air conditioner vent just over my left shoulder.  Truth be told, my locks are more of a strawberry blond but let's face it, that doesn't have quite the same dramatic effect.  The pride below hardly gives me half a glimpse as a reminder that I am but a figurehead and that they, and only they truly rule the roost.  Sometimes, when I turn my  back to them , I hear their failed attempts at a silent giggle.  I hardly make a fuss though, not because I'm weak but because I have learned to choose my battles wisely.

     From time to time, when it feels as if the uterine walls are closing in around me. When I can't take the sound of a crying "Short Stack" for one more second. Or when I can't sit and watch Riding in Cars With Boys for the 100th time.  "The Boss" will send me out to do what the women in this family call, Weenie welding."  It's not as painful as it sounds, don't worry.  Directly translated it means, "Go hang out with the boys."  Sometimes that means a round of golf, or a night of fishing out on the pier.  More recently, it means going outside with the neighbors.  The neighbor to the left, we'll call him "Techy" he's a gadget guy.  The neighbor to the right, we'll call, "Reverend".  He's not really a reverend, but he can quote scripture like Billy Graham is his daddy.  We have some of the greatest times just hanging out in front of the house in our little cul de sac. We talk about guy crap.  We bitch about girl crap.  We reassure each other that everything is going to be just fine.  We drink a beer or two. Then we break our huddle and go back to our families with refueled jets. 

The moral of the story is..... Bosses, let your men weenie weld for a bit.  It's good for him.  It's good for you.  And it's good for the overall wellness of the family.  Don't you agree? 

           

Letters From Insomnia

     What do you do when you have taken inventory of your sheep over and over and over again and you still can't seem to fall asleep?  For seven, count them seven nights, I have had this issue.  Not only have I been struggling to sleep, I have also had a hard time trying to find something to write about.  So after the third night of tossing and turning with nothing really weighing on my mind, I began to take note of my worthless thoughts and started jotting them down on the moist in one corner, bar napkin in my brain.  The following are some of the highlights that I thought might be worth sharing.  These are all true thoughts.  Some of them are so off the wall that you simply could not make them up.  And in no particular order, here we go.

     "Oh my, it feels good to be in bed.  It's 3AM, why am I still awake?  I wish there was a Kleenex within arms length, I'd get rid of this nose goblin that bounces to and fro with every breath I take.  If I picked it and flicked it at the TV, I bet I could make the nanny named Fran (yeah we're Nick at Nite people) look like she has a beauty mark on her cheek.  But then when it goes to commercial, I'll still have a booger on my TV.  Better not do that."  At that point, I actually laughed out loud.  "I hope "The Boss" doesn't wake up.  Ooh, "The Boss."   If I grab her boob, do you think she'll wake up?  Probably!  Her alarm is gonna go off in an hour.  Grabbing her boob at this hour isn't romantic, it's fuckin' rude.  Hey, there's cold pizza in the fridge.  Yeah but that's way down stairs.  If I had the energy to go way down stairs, then I could walk ten steps to the bathroom to get the Kleenex that would get rid of the nose goblin that I have already considered lobbing at Fran Drescher.  More work than it's worth"...........................WOP WOP WOP WOP WOP WOP WOP, "You're a jerk, Alarm.  Only three hours of sleep, give or take."  Time to get "Tall Stack" off to school and then entertain "Short Stack" until 10:30 when "The Boss" gets home. 

     Do you ever have trouble sleeping?  Are your thoughts during those wasted hours as weird as mine?  Please, tell me I'm not alone.  Tell me I'm not absolutely insane.  It's 2:51 AM as I close out this morning's post.  I have to be up in 3 1/2 hours.  Time to head up to bed.  Duck and cover Ms. Fine.            
    

I'm A Survivor

     "The Boss" and I recently got new phones.  Smart phones which make life a lot easier.  These phones could be compared to, (and I know I am dating myself when I say this) when the microwave oven and the VCR were first introduced.  Once you have these things, you wonder how you ever lived without them.  So a couple of weeks ago, I was checking my calendar on this new smart phone. A phone so smart that it has synced to "The Boss'" calendar as well.  This is a cool feature that makes sure that we are always on the same page.  That's when the panic was embedded deep within the fibers of my soul.  There it was. September 18:  Mother/Daughter sleep over.  This could only mean one thing.  I was going to have to endure a night alone with "Short Stack," my 19 month old daughter with the body of a pixy and the strong will of a Grizzly Bear. The fear was that kind you feel when you are changing the radio station in your car, only to look up and notice that the car in front of you has stopped. That split second of terror you feel is how I have felt for 2 weeks.

     With Short Stack down for her nap, The Boss and Tall Stack escaped for their girls night out without incident.  I got about an hour of down time before I heard the roar coming from behind the closed door at the top of the stairs. "MAAAAMA!"  It was go time, I had no choice but to go in there.  Maybe if I avoid eye contact, it wont be aggressive toward me.  My approach was slow and calculated.  I opened the door only to find a smiling face peering back at me.  We went down stairs, I made dinner, we played, I gave her a bath, we played some more and I put her to bed.  Not one tear, not one tantrum from either one of us.  It was a really pleasant night.  Much like the Great white Shark and the Grizzly Bear, I think that the toddler is just a misunderstood creature.  They are not by nature aggressive nor do they have malice in their hearts.  Through further research, I am hoping to prove this theory.  But until then I shall bask in the glory of being a survivor.

Just Dive In!

     I am a man with lofty aspirations.  I make big plans to do big things, and when I make such plans, I intend to see them through.  Coincidentally, I am also the mayor of Procrastinationville.  As you may have read from my previous posts, I was going to climb the mountain behind my house, I was going to write a book, (a book the people were sure to read), and I was going to win a camera in a weight loss contest against, "The Boss."  While these plans simmer on the back burner like a watched pot, I occasionally add  a pinch of good reason and a dash of excuses to spice up this cauldron of underachievement.   

     Recently, the Grand Daddy of all plans came about.  I, along with a couple of my good friends decided we were going to be scuba divers. We hired an instructor, we read the books, we passed our written exams, and we spent all day on Labor Day in the pool learning how to use our equipment.  Then on Wednesday, we actually dove in the Pacific Ocean.  Let me tell you what diving 35 feet under the surface of the Pacific Ocean does to a person.  Initially, it scares the living shit out of you since we're being completely honest here. Once you're done peeing in your wetsuit and the fear subsides, the beauty and tranquility, the power and vastness really put into perspective how small we are in the overall scheme of things.  I came out of the water with such a sense of accomplishment and a renewed appreciation for what this life has given me.  Not to mention, I actually followed through on something for a change.  

     I still plan to climb that mountain behind my house.  And once I find my pen (creative vibe to write), I will get back to work on writing something worth reading. Of course I will need to stop procrastinating too.  Starting next week! 

     This post isn't my best work but it sure is fun to be writing again.  I missed you guys. 

         

A New Seed Is Planted

As you know from my previous post, we have moved into an apartment across town from our home which we have had to relinquish to the bank.  What originally seemed like a financial no brainer has turned into a case of complete isolation from our friends, our community and everything else that is important to us.  We have not begun to unpack any of our boxes.  I don't even know where most of my clothes are, nor do I have any intention of trying to locate them.  

A couple of weeks ago, "The Boss" went to our house to pick up a few things that we need to add to the clutter of our tiny abode.  She was gone for less than an hour when the following text conversation began.  THE BOSS:  "The house between Wendy and Gina is for rent."  (Wendy and Gina and their families live just around the corner from our house.)  ME: "Oh yeah?  I wish we would have known that before we moved to this little apartment."  THE BOSS:  "I want that house!"  ME: "Me too but we signed a lease here and it will cost a lot to break that lease.  Not to mention the security deposit and first months rent on the new place."  THE BOSS:  "I want that house."  ME: "This is not a conversation to have via text messaging.  We will talk about it when you get home."

Needless to say, it was a short conversation that took place when she got home.  When we moved into this little apartment across town, we took "Tall Stack" (our oldest daughter who just turned nine this month) out of her home, out of her school district and away from her friends.  So, two cashiers checks, one broken lease and one freshly signed contract later, we are on the move again.  Like a band of gypsies, we are packing up our gear and heading out of here after just over a month.  

You might be wondering if this makes any sense financially.  I asked myself this same question about 1000 times.  Here's the thing though.  Keeping "Tall Stack" in her school, living in between two amazing families who are dear friends of ours and not seeing "The Boss" cry every night because she feels so guilty about moving over here in the first place.  These reasons are not something that you can slap a price tag on.   

So we aren't going home, but we are getting as close to home as we can possibly get and we are looking forward to the BBQs with friends and neighbors.  We are looking forward to having space to put all of our stuff again.  But most of all we are looking forward to seeing "Tall Stack" return to her school that she loves so much. 

It doesn't always seem to make sense at the time, but things really do happen for I reason.  It's taken me 36 years to finally believe that.  Do you believe it too?

  

 

My Tree Has Been Chopped Down

     So in the past several months, things haven't gone according to the plan that "The Boss" and I had laid out for our family.  Due to several medical bills and other unexpected expenses of being alive, we found it more and more difficult to keep up with our monthly house payment.  7 months of jumping through the flaming hoops of our mortgage company to get our loan modified, they denied us because we make too much money.  As it turns out, we make too much money to do a short sale too.  So we decided to walk away from our house and move into an apartment  so that we can have a fresh start and actually be able to enjoy our lives instead of working our asses off only to be in the red at the end of every month.  The sense of failure and overwhelming damage to the ego of a man who is supposed to be the protector and provider for his family is not easy to put into words.

     Yesterday was my first day back to work after taking a few days off to get us moved into the new apartment.  As you can imagine, I spent a good portion of the day feeling sorry for myself as I hosted a rager of a pity party in my own mind while on the outside I had to manage people and maintain a professional and positive attitude.  Late in the day, I ran into an employee who used to work for me but who now works in a different department.  We will call him Ruben, because Ruben is his name.  I haven't seen Ruben for a while so it was nice to see him.  We shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, and that's when it happened.  He said to me in his very deep Guatemalan accent, "Ju fine what choo loose."  "What?" "Ju Fine what choo loose."  "What do you mean?"  "Joor getteen big agang."

     This time last year, I lost about 25 pounds and was looking pretty good.  I have gained almost all of that weight back and I was already feeling like a big fat loser.  I could have done without a comment like that.  He is absolutely right though.  I did indeed fine what I loose.

     As tough as things may seem and as homesick and cut down as I might  feel,  my beautiful wife and daughters are happy and healthy.  That really is all that matters to me.  As long as we are together, no matter where we are, we're home.  That alone is what will get me through this with my sanity.  That and dragging my fat ass through the P90X program again. 

         

         

How Do You Know?

     On April 8th, my wife and I celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary.  10 years!  10 years!!  I've never committed to anything for 10 years in my life, which brings me to the point of today's post. 

     How do you know when you have found "The One?"  Now, I'm no expert on marriage and I don't have a degree in family psychology, but the following is a list of observations and life experiences that I have compiled over the past decade that could just answer that age old question. 

     When I first started seriously dating "The Boss" we had a conversation that went a something like this.  (Me) If we are going to be together, you need to be OK with the fact that I am sometimes and probably more often that you'd like, going to fart. (The Boss) OK good, me too, I'm glad we cleared that up from the start. 

     (Me)  I know that you will still find other men attractive as will I still find other women attractive, but you can trust that when I am with you, I am only with you.  (The Boss)  OK good, I'm glad there wont be any jealousy to ruin what we have here and trust is the main ingredient to our being together.  Hey, look at that girl over there, I bet you think she's hot.  (Me)  This relationship is going to work out just fine.

     As the years rolled on and our marriage fell into its routine of being parents first, lovers a very close neck and neck second, and everything else a distant third.  We began to develop our own language, some of it not much less primitive than tribal clicks and vibratos but one that we and only we understand.  In a social setting we can have a conversation from across the room without ever saying a word.  A flicker of the eye, a quick and unnoticed by anyone else hand gesture and we are immediately on the same page.

     Just recently we had a conversation that I will share with you here at the risk of losing some of my followers with sensitive stomachs.

     I got home the other day to find her just hangin' on the couch and biting her finger nails.  Without noticing that I was watching her, she lobbed a piece of fingernail behind her head between the couch and the wall. 

     (The Boss)  I just tossed my fingernail behind the couch.  (Me)  Oh My God!  I do the same thing.  (The Boss)  Sometimes I flick my boogers back there too.  (Me)  Oh shit!  Me too!  (The Boss)  There aint nothin' back there but boogers and fingernails.  (Me) Good thing I just bought that 5 horsepower 12 gallon shop vac at Home Depot because I don't think the Oreck could handle a job like that.  We must have laughed for 10 minutes before we agreed that something must be done about this.  (Me)  I'll take care of it. 

     Wanting her to be the first person I talk to in the morning and the last person I talk to before I lay my head to rest.  Knowing that no matter how bad a day I might have had at work she can make me smile when I get home.  Knowing that whether or not I get the things around the house that need to be done done, she will still love me.  Knowing that we both love our daughters more than anything in the world.  Knowing that when we get burned out on real life, Fred will always have margaritas for us down in San Diego to help us ecape.  And knowing that no one else can ever make me feel as good as I do right now, is how I know that I have found the one.  I love you babe.  Happy Anniversary.  I only hope that you will let me stick around for another 10 years.    

    

All Rise

  

     Yesterday I was once again called upon to perform my civic duty.  Normally I would consider it a drag to have to miss work to sit around all day at the court house.  But this year was different.  You see, I have not had a vacation since around the first week in June which was when I took my paternity leave after "Short Stack" was born.  And let's face it, those sleepless nights for the first few months were anything but a relaxing vacation.  So this year, I looked at it as a sort of short break from reality.  In fact, I was almost hoping to be selected for any sort of trial that could last for an extended period of time.  So I, along with several hundred other civicly responsible people lined up to be herded into the Hall of Justice one by one through the metal detectors.  No threat from me, all I had was a cell phone, keys and this beat up old copy of Empire Falls.  (397 of the 480 some odd pages were already a thing of the past but I figured today might be the day that I would finally put the entire book behind me.)  But I nonetheless appreciated the thorough precautions.

     Once settled in, if that's what you would call sitting uncomfortably close to hundreds of complete strangers on a chair that after a few minutes makes your back scream at you, I could finally do what I was really there to do.  Yes we are all there to fulfill our responsibility to society, but what I'm there for is to watch the people.  There's always the realtor on the phone who thinks that the louder she talks to whoever is on the other end of the phone, the more important she appears to be to the 399 of us who are sitting around her.  Next to her is that young guy whose pants hang off of his ass and you can see half of his underwear.  Go ahead and look at him it's ok because his mind is lost somewhere in that overly loud ipod that he is listening to.  Next to him would be me.  I'm the guy fighting against my own body, twisting and repositioning hoping against all hope that I will eventually find a more comfortable position but failing miserably after hours of sitting in this torture device of a chair.

     Once released for a short break, and people are finally out of each other's personal spaces, they seem to take on a whole new personality.  The smokers fire up as soon as they are out the front door.  The social and business butterflies go straight for their cell phones.  The little old man with his red had, green shirt and leather sandals, which are at least 2 sizes to big, scampers from trash can to trash can collecting any recyclables that the rest of us might have left for him.  The most entertaining to me was the pregnant druggie whose uterus was about to give way while she yelled at her loved one on the other end of the phone about how that "God Damn Judge" screwed her again.  "He got me on fuckin' probation violation again, that motherf***er."  Yep, it's the judges fault sweetheart.  The fact that you are knocked up and obviously strung out on meth is totally not your fault and I don't understand why his honor doesn't see it your way.

     Then it happened.  I was selected with a group of 45 other people to go to Department 1 that was going to meet up after lunch at 1:30.  So out we all herd again like cattle to feed.  The only thing missing was the branding iron, thank God.  Having discovered the same restaurant last year, I quickly ran across the street and down a way to this little Mexican joint.  Because it's always a good idea to fill your stomach with spicy foods when you are going to be sitting all day in a place that requires your undivided attention.  What a fool I am.  It was a damn good Burrito though.  And why wouldn't you wash it down with a bladder buster sized Coke?  It makes sense doesn't it?

     After the lunch break we all filed back in......Again.......This time we sat there and waited.......and waited........and then waited some more.......We waited for what seemed like days.  I tried to get lost in Empire Falls as planned, but the chair that was having its way with my back and the hint of an oncoming migraine simply had their hooks in me.  Finally they called, "All who were selected for Department 1 please come to the front desk.  Your trial has been cancelled and you are all free to go."  Really?!!  I sat here all day thinking we were going to see some action.  I sat here in pain all damn day in the hopes that it would result in my being selected for this trial only for you to say that I am free to go?  Where is the justice in that? 

Acing The Test Of Time

     What's today?  Friday?  Yeah, so it was on Wednesday when the boss and I went to Costco to gather up all of the gear we are going to need for "Shorts Stack's" first birthday party tomorrow.  Sodas, snacks, sandwich platters ordered, cake ordered, candy for all of the kids who will attend and whatever else we loaded in the basket.  None of this matters, nor does any of it have to do with the point of the story other than to give purpose to our visit in the first place.

     With all items purchased and dent deeply pressed into the bank account, we followed the herd toward the exit.  In front of us, the boss notices this old couple holding hands.  "Oh my God, how cute are they?" she asked in a pointing without actually physically pointing tone.  I am a football watching, beer drinking, places that itch scratching, nose picking and flicking kind of guy, as I have mentioned before. So I don't find very many things in life to be "cute."  But Holy shit, Batman, she's right.  This was pretty damn cute.  Which got me to thinking.  What are they smiling at each other so intensely about? Perhaps one of them said something funny.  Perhaps they are just so in love with each other that they just can't help but smile.  Maybe they were excited about going home for a quick afternoon rendezvous (it could happen.) Whatever the reason, and whatever you want to call it, seeing them together made me feel comfortable or all warm and fuzzy if you will. 

     In a world where people get divorced as quickly as they drop off their dry cleaning. It was nice to see that some people do stick together and love each other even after a lifetime of underwear on the floor, empty toilet paper rolls left for someone else to replenish, and toothpaste tubes squeezed from the middle and not from the end. 

     In April, the boss and I will celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary.  A mere drop in the bucket compared to some, and a major feat for others.  Watching this old couple completely enjoy being with each other, I couldn't help but smile myself.  I hope that in another 40 years, we will have aced the test of time and that the boss will still let me hold her hand.             

    

Going Postal

      The Boss had to work on Saturday afternoon which left me alone with the girls with just one errand to run.  All I had to do was run to the post office to get some stamps and mail off a letter.  "I got this," or so I thought.

     With the girls safely loaded in the truck, we were on our way to send a letter.  As usual, I shuffled from one radio station to the next as I always do to prove to "Tall Stack," (one of millions of nicknames we have for our first born) that I know every single song on the radio and that I can sing them in an American Idol finalist sort of fashion.  She is never as impressed with my obvious talents as I am.  She never actually says that I am a horrible singer but I can tell by the look of disgust that she tries to hide from me as to not hurt my feelings.

     Finally, and much to "Tall Stack's" relief, we made it to the post office.  I got out of the truck and got "Short Stack," (the one year old and an obviously much shorter stack than "Tall Stack," hence the name) out of the back seat.  I close the door and we walk about five feet before I realize that the damn keys have just been locked in behind me.  

     With the next band of the storm looming on the horizon, I knew I had to act fast or we were going to be in some serious trouble.  Having just recently renewed our Auto Club accounts, I knew the help was just a phone call away.  

     With the letter mailed off and help on the way, all we had to do was wait.........and wait........"The storm is getting closer Dad.".........and wait........"How could you do that Dad?"............riiiing......riiing.......The phone rings and the tow truck company claims to be here but there doesn't seem to be any sign of me, my kids, or my truck in the parking lot.  "That's because I am not at the post office on Grand Ave.  I am at the post office on California Ave."...........and wait.............and wait............."we're going to get rained on Dad."  

      Finally the tow truck arrives and the guy gets my door opened for me.  Everyone was once again safely loaded into their seats and we were on our way, dry I might add.  

     What makes this story so funny to me is not that we lost an hour of our lives in the parking lot of a post office. But that I have become the guy who I would usually laugh at for being such an absent minded fool.  "That kind of thing doesn't happen to me," I would say as I point and laugh at the douchebag stuck in the parking lot with no keys and a crying baby in his arms.  I'm afraid I've lost a step my friends.  I am not as cool as I was in the younger days.  The time has come for me to pass the torch to the younger generation of punks who will point and laugh at me while I make foolish geezer mistakes.

     While "Short Stack" was none too pleased about the whole situation, on the way home and in between me singing a little David Bowie, followed by a little Gwen Stefani, "Tall Stack" and I had a good laugh about the whole thing.   

       

    

Girl Scouts: Do-gooders Or Saboteurs?

     Yeah so it's that time of year again.  It's time for New Years Resolutions of becoming a healthier you to come to an end.  It's time for Chips Ahoy and Oreo sales to drop dramatically.  That's right, it's Girl Scout Cookie season again.

     To most people this is a great time of year.  You run into the booth in front of the grocery store and pick up a box or two of those world famous Thin Mints and you feel good about your decision.  You feel good because not only are those Thin Mints delicious, but the $4 a box is going to a very good organization which teaches values and morals to the young girls of America. 

     As the father of one of these young girls, I have seen the positive effects that the Girl Scouts of America can  have on the lives of these girls.  They do things for the community, they go on outings to teach the girls life skills, and everything they do helps to build the self confidence and self esteem.

     Here's where The Girl Scouts of America and I have a problem.  The estrogen and sugar fueled marketing campaign that is the Girl Scout Cookie Season leaves a trail of failed diets, abandoned workout regiments and overwhelming feelings of guilt in its wake. 

     About a week ago, I started the P90X challenge as some of you may know.  You can call it bad timing if you'd like, but I call it sabotage.  A day or two after I started the program, The Boss and daughter come home with a car full of Girl Scout Cookies.  You heard me right, A CAR FULL!  With my arms hanging from my body like wet noodles and the extreme soreness that engulfed my entire body from the previous night's workout, I helped them unload the boxes of evil deliciousness into the garage.  Box after box of Thin Mints, Thanks-A-Lots, Peanut Butter Sandwichs, Shortbread, Peanut Butter Patties and Caramel Delights were simply too much for my will power and self control to handle.  Not to mention the big blue eyes, now in puppy dog mode accompanied by the pouty lower lip, "Wont you buy some cookies from me Daddy?"  I mean, who are the ad wizards who came up with this perfect scheme?  I had no choice, I bought the cookies.  I bought 3 boxes and I got my fix.  That night, I did an extra set of Feifer scissors to make up for my earlier lack of self control.  My P90X friends, you know what I'm talking about.  Thanks a lot Girl Scouts of AMERICA!!!