Thursday, April 29, 2004


I would like to thank the following people for facilitating what has to be the fastest Brown Boy experience EVER.
-The manager that threw away the warranty stainless steel pump basket that was (with shipping) around $150.00. And to cover his ass told the owner it had been sitting around for 3 weeks so he tossed it, when in reality it had been sitting around for 3 days tops.
-The other manager that called the owner and explained the above managers "confusion" about the passage of time so the owner wouldn't look at me in a bad light for leaving a warranty item laying around for "3 weeks".He got my back.
-The tech that threw out his back and cast the shadow of a workers comp claim over the king.
Thanks, all of you for taking the focus off me and allowing the owner to focus (hopefully) on the 5 and a half million other things I do well on a consistent basis.
I come from a world where it is essential to have your shit in one sock at all times and that's how I operate. The place I work now could never compare to the wholesale dysfunction of the hospitals and centers I worked in back in the's much much worse...and we're out in the world roaming free...amazing.
Enough about work.
Special K's birthday is just around the corner! We are sending some stuff (cheap stuff) to brighten the occasion but I am pressed for time and getting to the post office just hasn't happened. The post is so efficient I fear the prezzies will be tardy.Oh well, maybe tomorrow.
Ann's hair looks awesome! I loves me a redhead...
I was sittin' at the bar at Maudies last night waiting for Ann and Ashley to finish with the hair thing and meet me for dinner when this guy came in and sat down next to me. (If you've seen the movie "Identity" you will so relate to the following, if not trust me, it was fucking strange)
This guy was the main protagonist from the movie... A huge Man with those crazy looking eyes. As he was sitting down I was getting up to go out front for a smoke and I guess he picked up on my "holy shit! It's the guy from Identity" expression when we looked at each other. He said...and I quote: "Sorry, if I'm freaking you out I can move down to another stool" I said ( in my most fake unfreaked voice) "No-no!You're fine where you are...I'm just going to smoke". I went outside, called Ann and said "Guess what?!The fucking killer from Identity is sitting next to me at the bar!!!Are you on your way"?
After my smoke, I went back inside and reclaimed my spot next to the psycho-killer. And the strangest thing happened... somehow or another we ended up having the most excellent conversation about movies and the war and past wars and our families and just, well stuff. It didn't take me long to get past the vibrating eyes thing so there was eye contact (it still made me dizzy). And I was reminded again of the book by it's cover analogy. The fact that he offered to move away from me kind of bummed me out, because it underlined the fact that he was "different' and he KNEW it.People (self included) can be so fucked up sometimes.
When Ann and Ash arrived, I parted company with him, with a hearty handshake and a nice to meet you, I enjoyed talking with you.And I meant it...he was a nice guy.
So I get up and turn around and there I am...face to face with a guy I worked with back in the day...probably 15 years ago. "Hank!How the hell are you"?!.
Small talk ensued and then it was off to dinner with my 2 favorite women in the world.
Some words about the remodel, which I now call the pogrom.
By the time this bitch is done I will probably be in rehab.
I am developing an upper respiratory infection from the amount of insulation/sheetrock/spun glass dust in the air.My boogers can cut glass. Not to mention the chainsmoking and one-hitter action.
Maybe I really am too old for this shit.
So, while I drink my nectar from the glass lined tanks of old latrobe and ruminate on the days to come I bid you all good night.
It's an interesting world alright...innit?

Wednesday, April 28, 2004

The marvels of modern technology
I'm typing this post while at the beauty salon. I actually have a bit of time on my hand while I wait for the hair color to do it's thing and turn me into a red head again. I really had hoped to get back to more regular posting, but it would have just been a bunch of whining about how inconvenient the remodel has been. And I try to keep any excessive whining to myself. I have discovered, however, that it's the little things, the little tiny things in life that keep me sane and happy. Like having a shower curtain. Or a sink. I don't have a sink yet, but I do have a shower curtain and that made all the difference in the world yesterday when I took my shower. No more acting like a contortionist trying to climb through the tiny opening left for access after all the plastic was stapled to the wall studs. I was going to describe how I pulled off a shower curtain when I have no walls to put the curtain rod on, but I just noticed my laptop battery is getting low. Oh well, like I said, it's the little things that keep me sane and that's also the reason why I'm at the beauty parlor tonight. I figured a little hair color would go a long way towards improving my mood.

Tuesday, April 27, 2004


We shuffle to the game podium with shoulders slumped.

WCS MC:" OK!Here's how the game works! We give you three possibilities and you have to guess (independently) which one is most likely to be REALITY"!" Ready to play"?!!?

ROB: "I guess".
ANN: "Whatever...yeah".

WCS MC: "OK"!!! Question one:
"You're driving home from work during rush hour, which averages 9.5 miles between your respective workplaces and home, it takes":
A: Over an hour
B: A swat team to take you out at 45th and Lamar after you kill several people
C: I don't drive anymore, since the "incident"

ANN: "A"
ROB: "B"

WCS MC : " Ann's correct with her answer "A" - Over an hour. She wins a lifetime supply of Soma"!!!" I'm sorry, Rob, answer "B" is incorrect technically but totally understandable since the shitty council and the chamber of concrete have closed, blocked or otherwise fucked up roads going north to south limiting you to deal with it or drive the already horribly conjested main roads that have been a fucking joke for a decade or more". "You win a beer and a shot"."OK!!!Next question"!!!!
(Applause and music swell)

Question two:
"You're remodel is dragging on, mostly because of the inspections required by the city because you were stupid enough to pull permits in the first place". You respond to this by:
A: Drinking more alchohol
B: Smoking more dope and drinking alchohol
C: Killing the mayor and dancing naked on the capitol steps until the snipers take you out.

ANN: "A"
ROB: "! No wait...B!!Yes fuck it...B...No, C."

WCS MC: "Ann is correct AGAIN!!!! (Applause) She wins a case and a half of Shiner Bock and a pint of Crown. Technically "B" COULD of been a correct response, but Rob's wavering on the naked thing cost him. He gets a pint of night train and a half bag of indiana ditch weed".


I think you get the picture.

Work was better today. I think I might've been elevated back to yellow boy status thanks to a potential workers comp claim...time will tell.
Love ya guy's...mean it!

Monday, April 26, 2004


There is a kind of caste system where I work. It is defined yet nebulous, a kind of scapegoat musical chairs played out in a never ending cycle where everybody takes turns.
First, there is Golden Boy, you can do no wrong. In fact, when you fart, it smells of roses.
Then there is Yellow Boy, you are moderately annoying and inept. When the Designated Brown Boy isn't around, you catch the fallout. When you are yellow you strive to be invisible and hope Brown Boy comes back soon.
When you are Brown Boy, you are the piece of shit that got caught in the shoe of the owner, and you live for the day that someone, ANYONE, takes your place.
It appears that, after a long run as golden/yellow boy, I am the Brown Boy.
I can only hope that a tech who rarely makes a mistake but when he does it's always a doozy, happens upon a doozy... SOON.
Admittedly, I have been slacking on the organization of my area for a while. Clutter, while an accepted and somewhat treasured part of my personal life has invaded farther into my work than I would like. The presence of said clutter has propelled me to the station of Brown Boy. And everyone knows it.
C'mon tech! Gimme a Doozy and quick! I have learned my lesson...I'm a quick study, I know what I need to do and I'm doing it, in spades.
There are rare occasions where Brown Boy descends into Black Boy and your gone...driven out of the world of gainful employment by the folly of your employer, it is his habit to, on rare occasion, to desire a sacrifice. I would like to believe I am a valuable enough employee to avoid the dreaded Black Plague, but as I've mentioned before, the ways of the body politic are shadowy and dangerous, just when you think it's working out- WHAM!- you get another swirly to remind you of your current station.
I am reminded of a time many years ago, when I was out in the field and the owner had admonished me to wash my truck several times over a period of extreme busyness and I failed to do so. One morning I spied an FNG (fucking new guy) headed toward my truck to wash it. The owner had paid him 5.00 to wash my truck since I hadn't complied. I took his 5.00, gave him 5 of my own and confronted the owner, giving him his 5.00 back and said "point taken".
This is the same approach, bringing someone else in to clean up my mess and humiliate me at the same time. To make a point. I agree, a point needs to be made. But why the humiliation factor? I don't get it. I've managed lot's of people and never had to stoop to this kind of nasty bullshit to get them to turn it around. I'm just not that way. It reeks of gaminess and junior high school and unresolved issues.
I don't want to play, but I have to. And my job and the people I work with (including said owner) mean enough to me that I will correct my minor transgression and shine like that crazy diamond pink floyd sang about until the owner is satisfied and drops his gun, or someone else provides a transgression larger than mine for him to focus on.
This brings me to another point... Friends working together. It's a mean trick to pull off. When you have a group of people who can pull it off it's magic. I have been in such situations before and the result was a healthy happy work place, where friends could call each other on the job stuff and it wasn't taken as a personal slight. This particular kind of magic is transient and unpredictable where I work now...where most of the people I work with (including the owner) are friends.
I have learned a lesson here, actually remembered a lesson I learned long ago about the limitations of people...or rather recognizing those limitations and measuring your behavior accordingly.
I blew the dust off of my measuring spoons this weekend.(probably a good thing in the big picture...I had been slipping into happy puppy mode, go ahead and kick me, as long as you scratch me behind the ear later...I'll get over it)Not anymore brothers and sisters, I'm back in professional mode now.
And it saddens me to have to use them again when a pinch here and there used to do me just fine.
I know of a former Brown Boy who is singin' my praises right now, and to him I say:
you're welcome....Jack Ass.

Saturday, April 24, 2004


I'm sitting at Maudies bar on my 4th or 5th rocks no salt and before me appears LT, our other guitarist... the one with the Greg ginn action. A Gison playin' through a Mesa boogie maniac who I haven't seen or played with in almost a year.
He saw my truck in the parking lot and came on in...bravo my friend.
We shared a coupla of margs and then they cut me off ( I had 6 apparently...and when it was pointed out to me I was "check please" because that's about 2 too many to be out in public)
LT came by and viewed the remodel in progress. It was nice to see him.
This all points to a reactivation of the band, especially since we're resurrecting the jam room in the addition...a news item he was all smiley about.
Plus our deck/stage remains, opening new vistas of neighborhood rock-n-roll shows guaranteed to have the cops at our house in the future.
I am suddenly stoked.
I bet our drummer, Badger, calls tomorrow.
Then it's music to break furniture by....all over again.

Friday, April 23, 2004


But, before that happened, work happened. Work was OK. The morning started out a bit tense as I had to shoo the GM off my computer as soon as I walked in. My work station is no longer the "town whore", I am reclaiming it. This is one of many "action steps " I came up with to regain my stride. I think it's working.
Anyway, the GM went home for lunch, and when he returned he presented me with the long promised and awaited Slayer CD of punk covers "Undisputed Attitude".
The crucible for the funny thing.
On my way to the grocery I was listening to it again and was inspired to call the GM to thank him, it was a much needed boost. He said he had gone home with it in mind to find and burn me a copy. Cool.
I had to stop at a local quick stop on the way home to get butane to refill my new ghetto lighter. (it has a really bitchin' 3-D jumpy dice with flames on it that have blinking multicolored lights that light up when you open it. It burns like a mini torch.All this for 6.99!) The grocery apparently doesn't do ghetto lighter fuel anymore.
This quick stop is across the street from a section 8 complex (poor people, gangsters and crackheads) and the denizens of this complex patronize the store.
There were a couple of those denizens in the store and they left ahead of me and were "conferring" by the pay phones when I came out with their backs to me. Until I got in my truck and the CD player started. LOUD. It was Slayer, it was fast and aggressive, and the singer sang as plain as day: "GUILTY!OF BEING WHITE"!!!Over and over...then something about being convicted of a "RACIST CRIME"...then something about being "GUILTY OF BEING RIGHT"!!!!
Suddenly, I had their undivided attention.
The way they looked at me made me acutely aware of how most black people probably see me: "Hey look, it's a Ku Klux Klan- Aryan- Skinhead- Motherfucker".
I just smiled and got the fuck out of there as fast as I could.
And then I had to laugh... I just had to.
Back in the day, when I was manager of the emergency youth shelter, I used to get that shit a lot from the (predominantly) ethnic kids who stayed there. I would respond by saying something witty like "yeah, I'm in the klan, and I'm under deep cover- to learn more about you and your KIND" or "Yeah, but I got demoted for being too open minded and my punishment is to work around YOU PEOPLE until I learn to hate properly again". It was effective. But not as effective as the bitching food I would cook for them (the usual breakfast,for 16 to 22 kids was: 2 kinds of eggs, bacon, sausage,hashbrowns, biscuits & gravy, toast, fruit, grits, pancakes ), serenading them with lounge versions of the hiphop classics of the day like Cypress Hill's "Insane in the membrane"...after that I was just Rob, and they had my back.
I was reminded of that old adage "you can't judge a book by it's cover" recently from our friend in the GWN...Special K. So true. Why do we so often???
File this under: Funny...Peculiar.
See ya monday, unless something happens post-worthy.:)

Thursday, April 22, 2004


I had lunch at Maudies today and one of the staff was telling me about their team meeting. They were discussing making the rocks margaritas in bulk rather than by hand and someone piped up "are we gonna serve Rob the same margs we serve everyone else?". They decided to stick with the hand mixed variety.
Wow...the "rob-a -rita"...I don't know whether to jump up and down or call some AA place.
This must be the merry go round my buddy was talking about.
Damn :)

I, apparently, am currently on the roller coaster right now. According to a friend of mine I shouldn't be too worried...and it's the merry go round that makes you sick apparently.
Imagine you have an office...a very large office full of the things that everyone else in your company needs. You are responsible for the organization of said things, but your office is treated like a common area and people regularly move your shit around as well as the aforementioned things everyone needs.
Your boss would like these things to be organized and looks to you to do it. You try. But since it's perceived as a common area everyone is constantly fucking with your world. If that's not enough you have the walk in customers and the phone calls sabotaging your ability to organize. YOU know where EVERYTHING is and that long as YOU are THERE to help them find it.
But you're not always there. And when you're not, they call you, constantly."where is...?" conversations don't mind. It drives your boss crazy. He envisions an area well organized and easy to navigate. Yeah, right, me too boss.
But when you are constantly interrupted and redirected by the many aimless and disorganized coworkers and customers GOOD LUCK being static.
This is my work world currently.
I would love for it to be static... I would LOVE-L.O.V.E for it to be static.
It came to a head today when my boss told me he was bringing in an outside source to organize the retail area.
My feelings were hurt. At the same time I was relieved. At the same time I realized I was so focused on making the boss happy I neglected to ask for help.
Why didn't I ask for help? It is my experience you have to have a TEAM to ask for and receive help. Don't misunderstand, we are a team where I work, but more in the social sense of the definition. We care a lot about each other as people, as friends. When it comes to working together toward a common goal we suck. Everyone is an island to their own department and interdepartmental harmony is come by by fluke.
My boss asked me today if I thought organization was a "forte" of mine. I was mildly offended. I ran large psych hospitals and treatment centers for years (successfully,which is no mean feat, trust me.) which requires ALOT more fucking organization than keeping up with parts and keeping them in order.
Of course I'm well organized...I know where (almost) everything is.
I am head and shoulders the best retail manager they have ever had, but I am alone, not supported and frequently not taken seriously.
There is no realized team spirit where I work. It is mysteriously absent.
Now, I could pout and be mad about these recent developments if I chose.
But instead, I will embrace this gift of the outside source as a chance to FINALLY get organized and get static. Then I will figure out a way to keep it static, if I can.
I love my job and the people I work with...they are like family to me.
And I think that's part of the problem.

Wednesday, April 21, 2004


We had our first "Free Lunch" of the season today. Usually the "girls" upstairs organize this thing. This thing is 2 hours of basic pool care presented to area maintenance guys for free with lunch thrown in uh, for free. An excellent idea and noteworthy marketing strategy to be sure. We even split it up: one hour in spanish, one in english.
This one was organized by the guys in sales...the girls upstairs saved the day because the guys in sales are indeed and painfully guys.
Thank you girls upstairs for coming to the rescue.
The air was frantic today and I broke the tension by cruising through the breakroom (where the girls upstairs were frantically cutting onion and tomato) going between the warehouse(location of said free lunch) and my counter. On each pass I would do my gayest stage hand : "OK Everybody!5 minutes to show time!Look alive PEOPLE!!! "Complete with hyper exaggerated hand motions and hip swinginess.
Trust me it was funny.
The class went off well, lunch was saved and a good time was had by all. Thanks to the girls upstairs and the GM and me to a lesser degree.
The girls upstairs are way under rated in my opinion...They rock.Thank you girls upstairs for dealing with the guys downstairs with so much grace and humor.
The free lunch was, by the way, our version of the Alamo, a few white guys overwhelmed by Santa Ana's army. I'm amazed any maintenance man in austin can speak english these days.
I really wanted to yell "La Migra" or "INS! Vamoose!Andele"! over the intercom, but that would be racist.
Funny as hell, but racist.
I could ramble on about the remodel but it's old...hey remodel: fuck you.
G'night :)

Tuesday, April 20, 2004

Noise, noise and more noise
I spent my day at home with the electricians and plumbers. They were doing their thing, making lots of noise, and the dogs were doing their thing which was barking at the dudes making lots of noise. I handled a few work-related phone calls thanks to the cell phone which let me wander outside where I could hear provided the bus wasn't driving by at the time. Which reminds me of something that's been bugging me over the last 4 months or so. The city has new busses which are much, much louder than the old ones. I have the fortune (or misfortune) to live on the bus line and the timing of the route is such that the northbound and southbound bus usually pass each other right in front of my house. One new bus is louder than two old busses and two new busses at the same time is well, let's just say that it's very annoying. Rob and I have talked about fencing our front yard for years due to the level of rush hour traffic on our street (it's a short-cut to and from downtown), but as long as it was limited to morning and evening rush hour, it didn't seem worth it. However, these days, "rush hour" seems to start earlier and end later and with the added noise from the new busses, I'm about ready to go ahead and spring for the cost (and permits and surveyors and yada, yada.) But I gotta wonder if a fence is really going to make that much difference in the noise level?

Except I haven't taken any... I opted for tequila pain management.
I happened upon VH1's "I love the 70's" and watched 77-8 and
Were we really that stupid? Guess so.
But the show "divas" came on after and I just saw Cyndi Lauper sing "time after time" with Patti LaBelle.
2 things occurred to me:
Cyndi is one incredibly attractive woman ( I always thought she was cute, but DAMN girl)
Time after time is, lyrically, an awesome song. I always liked it, but I really like the lyrics. I think I may have to learn it and cover it.

Some background first.
I had a rather severe car accident when I was 18. I lost 13 teeth... actually I only lost 7, the other 6 were lodged in my upper jaw.
I spent the next year and a half going to the dentist every 3 weeks to be fitted with permanent bridges. When this inquisition was over I vowed to never go to a dentist again. I lumped them all in the category of the dentist in the marathon man.
I was forced to go and have an impacted wisdom tooth removed in '85...I opted for complete (as in knock my ass out) sedation.
I have not seen one since.
Until today.
I may not look it, but I am basically a pussy when it comes to 2 things. Getting blood drawn and going to the dentist. The vampires at my doctors office find it very funny that I have an aversion to needles...hey damnit! Tattoos are different, it's like someone ice skating on your skin, not like someone taking your essence like in that muppet movie, what was it? Oh yeah, The dark crystal...."My ESSSENNNCCCEEE".
Anyhoo, back to the dentist.
My tooth was killing me today, so I sucked it up and called this guy who is the dentist for several people I work with. He came highly recommended.
The recommendations are right on the money.
This guy is a 30 something dude with long hair and a Hawaiian shirt all laid back with an emo looking assistant with that magenta hair thing goin' on and those Lisa Loeb fuck me glasses. They are also very professional. Perfect.
The sound system was tuned to KUT 90.5, which this morning was playing eclectic covers of eagles songs... very cool.
They did the x-ray, showed me the film and said they could solve my problem in about 5 minutes. Go for it I say.
2 shots in the mouth (I fucking hate those!) and 15 minutes later I'm on my way back to work sans the devil tooth.
To quote my new dentist "It's a hyper extruded wisdom tooth, you don't need it, so I can pull it if you want". No thanks, I'd rather walk around in horrible pain because I'm a pussy....not. Pull it I say and pull it he does.
There is nothing quite like the sound of a tooth being pulled from your's like the muzak version of safety dance only more so.
My mouth is so much roomier now.
I have a question, on a unrelated note.
What movie makes you cry the most?
For me it has to be Forrest Gump...By the time Jenny dies I am a blubbering idiot. Everytime. Ask Ann, she'll tell you.

Monday, April 19, 2004


My post yesterday had many references to "crying like a bitch". This is in no way sexist, not even in the female dog designation sort of way. I embrace the adjective "bitch" in the prison mode (although I have never been in prison...I have watched alot of prison movies and OZ) which is to describe someone weak or with feelings displayed incongruent with the outward appearance. A bitch is a bitch regardless of what your packing in yer monkel region.
Clear? Ok... we can move on.
I don't cry alot (and never in public cause I'm a guy) but there are things that just make the pipes start rolling. I am very soft about my dogs, past and present, and I fearlessly shed tears regarding them.
War movies get me too..."the thin red line" is one of my favorites...painfully slow but the narrative has that Buddhist bent on the world that I can relate to. And once the guns start going off you are so connected to the characters you can't help but shed a tear when they snuff it or come to some epiphany that is so anti war. Watch this rocks.
My dog Buddy was dead and gone in '92, but when I think of him it brings a tear to my eye. Laugh at me if you want...but I believe in a good cry. It's cleansing, it clears you of bullshit that gets in the way of doing your business.
We have recessed lights and a new breaker box...YAY!
Tomorrow is our blog birthday...365 days of (almost) daily posts...I did multiples on the off days to average out. It's not so much about the quantity or the quality, but writing every day has expanded my mind...wait- made me think-wait- opened new vistas- wait- it's been a fucking blast.
I've met some really cool folks from all over.
I like that...thank you all for reading my drivel.
I'm so sentimental (emphasis on mental) I have to log off and have a good cry.
Just kidding...I love you all (as ozzy would say)
good night:)
Jammin' to the oldies at the Laundromat
I went to the Laundromat this morning so I could knock out five loads of laundry. Monday morning is a great time to go because no one is there - what fool besides me does laundry on a Monday morning? Actually, there were three other fools there, but more than enough machines available for us all to get our stuff done in one fell swoop. The speakers overhead play an oldies radio station. Oldie oldies; mostly stuff from the sixties with a bit of fifties thrown in. It wasn't too bad folding shirts to the sounds of "Summer in the City" and "Monday, Monday". There are advantages to the Laundromat in that you can knock out a bunch of laundry at one time and they have those great folding tables. There are disadvantages too and the expense is the least of them. Usually I have to contend with feral children running wild and there's a new breed now that I find particularly annoying - the obnoxious 8 to 14 year olds with cell-phones who spend their entire time chatting with friends in that 8 to 14 year old speak that the age group uses with their friends. I did it too at that age except it was only when I was actually with my friends; no cell phones back then. My parents don't know how good they had it that they didn't have to listen to that shit. Ah, but Monday mornings seem to be the ticket around this. No children, no adolescents, just a couple of guys that drove up in campers and one woman drinking a 40 oz. Folks, if you ever see me drinking a 40 oz Icehouse beer at the Laundromat at 9:00 in the morning, just shoot me. Then again, maybe she was on vacation. I've been known to drink a beer at 9 am on vacation. And maybe she works the night shift so her 9:00 am beer is my 6:00 pm beer. Who knows, but I guess I'm getting old and crotchety since I was so quick to judge her as some hard-core alcoholic. Maybe part of that quick judgment was the dress she was wearing. She took the "sew simple" concept to a new level. Cut out the shape of a sundress and just sew the sides and straps together - don't bother seaming any of the edges. I give her credit; it worked, she had a dress, but I couldn't help but hope she didn't have any other dresses like that in the washing machine and would end up with a load of tangled threads. And so there I was at the Laundromat, making up stories about the people I saw there, coming up with reasons why they were there, spinning background tales to explain their presence in that spot at that moment, knowing full well that none of it was true, but damn it made for a good story to pass the time.

Sunday, April 18, 2004


Yesterday I decided at lunch that after the shopping was done I was gonna watch Kill Bill and in the process get pissed out of my mind. I mean snot slingin' seriously pissed.
I'm happy to say that I was passed out (for the first round) by 6pm.
I don't remember how many rocks no salt I had when I got home, but I managed to kill a half bottle of reposada in the process. Combined with another intoxicant I was quite stupid.
I even logged on to post about the movie, but was (thankfully) unable to type. Had I been able, it would have looked something like this:
I really enjoyed the movie and can't wait to see part 2.
I am if nothing else, a predictable drunk....some of the things I do, in no particular order:
Call friends out of state and slur at them for (what is I'm sure to them) an eternity.
Shave off my goatee and/ or shave my head.
Play maudlin music,sing along and cry like a bitch.
Eat strange combinations of things, i.e; Flour tortillas jammed in the jar of miracle whip.
Play guitar sloppily at ear busting volume with way more distortion than needed.
Watch war movies and cry like a bitch.
I did none of these things yesterday.
I watched Kill Bill. I assembled our new laundry hamper. I bought a couple of cool shirts at the Dickies outlet.
I took lots of pictures of my turtles, trimmed Club's beak with fingernail clippers and between naps watched the band of brothers documentary on the history channel and cried like a bitch.Did tattoo aftercare on my leg as well...not gonna neglect that, no sir.
I love those guys...they remind me of my dad and Ann's dad, and to hear the stories of war...that war that both of my parents were active participants really pulls at my heart.Heros they are.
I was awakened at 11:15 by the worse pain I had ever felt...a toothache. I've never had a toothache before and now I know why...they SUCK.
In my disoriented state I set out for the 7-11 to get some anbesol.In my Jammies. I was halfway there when I realized 2 things:
I was still stoned out of mind.
I had no ID and no money.
So I went home and tried to suck it up. Not happening... this was a pain that would not go away...all of our medicinal stuff is in a box SOMEWHERE and I had to have relief.
I got my ID and some cash, shoved it in the pocket of my flaming dragon jammies and went to the grocery.
I'm sure I was a sight to behold, stumbling around the store dressed like a 5 year old in the most pain I had ever imagined. A kind of pain that separates you from your body. I was floating above myself watching myself in the grocery. And I was laughing...That guy is toast, and he has a toothache...HAHA. Yeah- fuck me- ok? It's not funny.Well ok, yes it is.
I guess it's time to find a dentist.

Friday, April 16, 2004


I will have tattooed the remaining space on my body before this remodel is done. I finished my right leg tonight...done. It hurt like a mofo, but in 2 and a 1/2 hours and it's finished, I never have to revisit the pain that is so uniquely attached to the me.
But what happened after is the real thing for tonight.
I went to Maudie's (packed on a friday) and there was one seat at the bar in between another regular and a woman I had never seen before.
Turns out she was from italy and had never had mexican food before. The staff at Maudies and her boyfriend were taking her on a tastes of texmex extravaganza. I think they sampled everything on the menu.
She was fascinated by my arms, and what began as a the usual question I get asked most of all (did that hurt? or some such variant) turned into a very pleasant conversation about tattoos,texas and a bunch of other stuff. She ended by saying she was returning to her "boring" life in ROME on sunday. Rome? Boring?? please.
She was very nice and we all enjoyed contributing to her experience in texas.
It was a very cool way to wrap the evening up.
I'm off for a hot soak on my new ink...will post a pic tomorrow.
Sweet dreams people:) more thing...

Which Rock Chick Are You?

Not to mention a hottie...well, a former that trailer park for a pack of smokes kinda way.

It's a Miracle!
I actually had a "normal" day at work. No one called in sick, there were no ugly surprises with the scheduling, I found all the customer files we needed for the day, I had enough time to answer and return all the phone calls and take care of the walk in customers. I even had a chance to catch up a bit on the filing. Of course, I still have 1000 things undone, but at least there wasn't anything URGENT left undone that I'm aware of. What the heck, ignorance is bliss. I fully expect everything to go to hell in a handbasket over the weekend, but as long as it's no more of a mess than I can straighten up by next Friday, then I can live with that. Nothing has gone horribly wrong today at work or at home and it's been a while since I've had that kind of a day. Feels pretty good. Hopefully this is the start of a new trend and my life will start to even out enough that I'll have the energy to get back to blogging. Fortunately Rob has done a good job of keeping me caught up on what's going on with sites we regularly visit and also kept this blog active. They say it takes about 90 days to get comfortable in a new job, but I wonder if that includes working at a business that growing by leaps and bounds while you're simultaneously remodeling your house? Maybe not, but I do feel like I might have turned that corner today. I'll be curious to see if I still feel that way next week.

Thursday, April 15, 2004


We don't have to move our beloved deck. It is 8 feet away from the city's right of way.
I am relieved. And the giant roll off dumpster is gone. It will probably be replaced by a smaller one soon. But I choose to view these recent events as progress.
Met with the electrician this after and he has been placing j-boxes for outlets and prepping for the new electrical service. We are going from 60 amps to 200. We will never trip a breaker again!
Today I am back in excitement mode, which is much preferable to anger/bummed mode.
I have also come to grasp "contractor speak"... for example:
"We can have this done in 2 weeks".
What they really mean: "a month and a half".
"We'll have the power off for a day" means
"rent a hotel for the weekend"
"oh yeah, no problem" means
"I have no idea what I'm going to do,but,since you are not (insert trade here) I can blow this smoke effortlessly up your ass"
I'm just glad I know most of these folks and trust them.
I hate being ripped off and I own guns.
I'm glad these people know me as well :)
Enough remodel commiseration! There's more going on here than the destruction of our home.

I was going through some more found pictures last night and came across some pictures of my "nieces"...daughters of my ex girlfriends brother. Three very cute little girls. They are now all probably in their 20's, but to me they are frozen in time. The middle one was my bud...Lindsay was her name, a gangly redheaded freckle faced little angel. For some reason we hit it off. We were penpals for awhile. When me and the aunt broke up, I became the monster and that was the end of that. These pictures made me smile and remember a happy time, and made me wonder how they were doing. They had an awesome mom and dad so I'm sure they are fine young adults. Seeing Lindsay after such a long time made my heart beat a little faster...I miss her and our connection.

There was a redbone pitbull wandering around loose in the hood when I got home today, very near my yard. I came into the house and got out my 12 gauge, loaded it and set it by the door. If it comes into my yard it will become ground meat pitbull. I fucking hate them and have three dead pits to my credit to date.
They are the quintessential "small penis dog"...Down here in texas it seems most pit owners (the one's you see anyway) are short hispanic males angry that they were short changed in the munkel region and compensate with a dog that is .35 degrees south of Satan hissown self.
I have known one cool pit, "tooth" who was owned by one of the homeless folks I worked with years ago. This says 2 things:
1.Pit's are a reflection of the owner and,
2.Homeless people take better care of their dogs than most "regular" people do.(If you consider short angry hispanic guys with little dinks "regular"). Tooth was an awesome dog.

Nothing is more annoying than a itchy stomach...I know I did it to myself but still...oh, I'm just sayin'.
And with that I bid you osteoporosis amigo!

Tuesday, April 13, 2004


I did find a tea candle, and I'm using it to illuminate Ann's keyboard. Which is black with white letters on the keys. The light blew out when I turned it had reached the end of it's lumens I guess.No Matter!
I have a tea candle.
Today the spotter from the city came to figure out where the new electrical pole would be.
He said our deck was in the right of way of the citie's pole, our 14x20 covered with a cantalevered antique barnwood deck roof. Our stage. Our stage with the most awesome acoustics. He wasn't sure, but he said some other muk-luk from the city would have to come by and decide if it needed to be torn down or moved.
You have to be fucking kidding me.
you have right of way specialists on salary?
Torn down is out of the question, moved is a big challenge.
Enter our subcontractor, who say's off the cuff: "we can jack it up and roll it on logs"
He's done it before...with bigger structures.
I am immediately reminded of that Crazy Horse song "Cortez the killer" and that line about building the pyramids.
I don't want anyone to die:).
This is the kind of shit you have to deal with when you pull permits with the city for a remodel.
We don't need this shit. I will never pull a permit again.
On a positive note, we have a functional shower.
The tea candle says lights out, so that means goodnight.
Where are those damned lightbulbs????

Monday, April 12, 2004


We have a kingsize bed. We have 2 king size dogs and one queen sized dog. They like to sleep on the bed.With us. We let them...we like to cuddle. As you can see:

They like to cuddle too.
Notice that there is one fat tattooed mofo missing from this picture.
Cozy does not begin to describe our sleeping pattern. Especially when it's cold.
And jesus blessed us on Easter with a cold snap, considering we are missing a 1/3 of the sheetrock on our ceiling, the cold has a snap.
Snuggle is at a 10+ these days.
At least i've got someone x 3 to blame my farts on :)
Goodnight :)

The plumber was unable to complete the bathroom today cause he had problems setting the tub. Something about an offset drain and lead pouring and set points. I know he's not bullshitting us because Ann was here for it all. Apparently our tub was a pain in the ass.
So, we ran hoses from the washer box into the tub...we can take baths. Ann is a bath girl so that's on the other hand am predominantly a shower guy. I can deal with a bath, but I think I must be sensitive to the leftover film of soap a bath leaves...shame on us for not using zest.
Caring for this new tattoo has been a challenge, microwaving water, tucking a towel into my waistline to catch the excess water, a tree's worth of paper towels with each cleaning...blah blah blah...maybe I should of waited.
No, fuck that, it's worth the hassle. I remember getting my first forearm piece and cleaning it with a kit while camping at lake corpus christi in a campground bathroom
and it turned out fine...I can deal with this.
Unfortunately, I have reached my limit before reaching the end, which really is like the world.....innit?
Thank god for rocks, no salt and kind bud.
And the beat goes on.

Sunday, April 11, 2004


I just read a post over atDawn Olsen's blog regarding Ohio passing a concealed carry permit.
I have some thoughts of my own regarding this matter, and while I'm in general agreement with her post, I can say that the chaos predicted for Texas when our law was passed never (to date) came to pass.
Do I have a carry permit? No. Do I need one? No. If I can pass the check I can buy a gun.
And I can carry it with me if I want, concealed if I want. Or on the seat next to me in my car in plain sight, or on a holster on my hip or slung over my shoulder as long as it's visible. Do I carry a gun? No, except when I go to the gun range. And then they are not loaded until I'm on the line.
If I wanted to carry a concealed gun,loaded and on my person I could get away with it. Until I used it. Generally that's when law enforcement discovers your concealed weapon, when it's not concealed anymore...and it's smoking.
Criminals and "gangsta's" are exempt from this, because after all, they are generally looking for trouble and are under the watch of law enforcement to begin with.
They don't look at me on the street and think I may have a gun hidden somewhere on my person.
And that's my one knows for sure whose packing and whose not, whether there's a law allowing it or not. Having a law like it only makes the assholes think twice before they fuck with some poor citizen.
I would never shoot a person for flipping me off, but if someone was going to shoot me for flipping them off ( and those people are out there) I would like the opportunity to return fire. But,since I don't carry a gun, I guess I would be shot. Which is why I don't (generally) try to piss people off. Because you never know who has the gat.
Gunpowder based behavior modification.
you're probably asking yourself " when would Rob use a gun"? (well,probably not, but I'm
going to tell you anyway).
If you break into my house, and I'm home, you will never walk the same way again.
If I catch you hurting someone I love, I will stop you, in any way I can including shooting your sorry ass.
In defense of my country against these terrorist assholes who are capable of anything.
These circumstances are unlikely, but I would rather be armed than sitting on my hands when the time came.
Gun control? Yeah, I control mine just fine.

After this heals it'll be fade shaded red and black.

But it wasn't nearly as bad as I've psyched myself out to believe all these years.
I haven't been in true blue tattoo (except to buy jewelry) in a coupla years.The artists are all new to me and the vibe has changed for the better I think. A much more positive vibe overall.
The tattooist that did my misery for me was awesome. Just as Jarrod described to me. He was thoughtful and exacting in the placement of the letters and he took his time.And he didn't bend me over price wise. I am impressed...and pleased.
Unfortunately, I'm writing this via our server and I don't know how to download pics I'll get Ann to help me (read:do it for my stupid ass) tomorrow. But trust me, it fucking rocks...if you're into giant old english letter stomach tattoos. Just you wait and see:)
I think my sense of humor was waiting for me at true blue.

Saturday, April 10, 2004


Is gone. I don't know where it went but I suspect it is languishing in the dumpster in our front yard.
Ann and I went out to the south location of her employer which has a bathroom and a washer/dryer.First we stopped at target and got some towels and some other essential stuff we needed. Before that we had brunch at Maudies.This family came in with 2 kids,who immediately began banging on the tables, at which point I said to Ann (loud enough for them to hear me) "this is the day I make a scene so get ready...I'm in no mood for this feral child bullshit, and besides, I've sized up the men in the group and I'm sure I can kick their asses".
To my amazement they controlled their kids and there was no ass kicking to be done (damn it!).'s a quarter to 8pm, we have clean clothes and clean bodies and I can focus my attention on what's really important.
Last week my friend Jarrod got "J ROD" tattooed on his stomach in 4 inch old english letters. This simply won't do...I have to follow suit. I.HAVE.TO.
The question is: what should my stomach say?
I thought "white trash",wait,"white trash" in spanish or "Basura Blanca" but the A in spanish is assigned to the feminine.When you apply the masculine it would say "white trashcan", nope...not going there.
Then I thought "suffer", but I already have that on my back (in hells angels type letters).
Then I thought "ornata" for my turtles and I'm kinda ornate too.
"kill" nope, "trust" nope, "do not exceed 35 PSI" nope, "punk loser" maybe, and then it occurred to me...My buddy Cris said "how about misery"? at dinner the other night*
"misery". Yes! That's it...misery.
I'm off to the tattoo shop.


Friday, April 09, 2004


EEEEKK-EEEEKK goes the alarm...Ann stirs and gets up to hit snooze.This is the third time for this, I'm not sure if it's Ann or the dogs rushing off the bed trying to break my ankle but it hurts,three times it hurts,eliciting a string of profanities in no certain order from my still sleepy mouth.
Ann is up, shuffling around our shell of a house reduced to chaos singing her now routine morning ditty that consists of the words shit, god damn and fuck in a vain attempt to find ANYTHING. Whatever it is, I assure you it's here, but it's hiding from her. She is not amused.
I drag myself out of bed with dogs attached to me (they are very freaked by this renovation) underfoot as I get dressed. I ask Ann what the fuck is she looking for and she responds a fucking towel, the one we were using is in the middle of the floor soaking wet (thanks shawn).Yesterday we were a 2 towel family, I look for the other towel all the while being regaled by Ann's morning recital.Today,apparently, we are a 1 towel family whose 1 towel was placed in a bucket of 2" of cigarette butt laden water that started life as a catch pan and ended up an ashtray in what was once our bathroom, now reduced to a commode and some pipes sticking up out of the slab.
I grab a soft pair of hospital jammy bottoms and grunt "here use this" as I unceremoniously shove them vaguely in the direction of her hands and stumble out the front door, toothbrush in hand and perform the morning essentials via the hose in our front yard.
Fortified by this luxury, I say goodbye and drive to work, leaving Ann alone to scream out like a banshee if she wants to.
She has clearly lost her mind. I am surprised at her reaction to this madness, Ann is usually unshakeable, but, today at least, she is shaken AND stirred.
So I get to work...I spent 9 hours was not entirely pleasant.
On a positive note, our "three sided ventless gas fireplace" arrived today and I was able to slip away to go pick it Georgetown.
Driving on the interstate to georgetown is the equivalent to being shown nude pictures of (insert favorite celebrity here) and, every time you get aroused some guy that looks like GG allin hits you with a sock full of woodscrews, and he's naked, wearing a ballgag with your name embossed on it in chiller font.
Have I mentioned there's a traffic problem here?
I make it back to the shop unscathed, and the afternoon goes by without incident (Thanks to Joel for making Friday "GOOD" from the get go). My coworkers let me go early (4:00) to deal with the reno.
Thanks guys.
Ann and I arrive home at the same time, we enter the hellhouse fully expecting to see a functional bathroom, or at least the new tub installed and ready to service us with long dreamed of hot showers.
Did not happen.
However, our washing machine box is installed and ready to go.
Our washing machine died last week.
It's out front in the roll off dumpster,never to wash again.We on the other hand NEED to wash.
We opt for beer and mindless entertainment, Ann plays the SIMS on the laptop, I stare at Deadwood and can suddenly relate with the scenery in a way I haven't been able to before.
I keep telling us, it'll be over soon and it will be worth it.
I'm trying to believe, really.

Thursday, April 08, 2004


While the crew was removing more sheetrock from our ceiling today, a box fell out of the attic and onto the floor. Out of this box spilled years of old spin magazines. This isn't the manna...mixed in with the spin were 9 spiral notebooks, the staff communication logs from the crisis intervention team I worked on in the late '80's.
I have been reading down memory lane tonight! The serious harrowing stuff was reserved for the official record (I have a summers worth of these somewhere else) these books are day to day communication regarding patient issues, bitching about the cleanliness of the office, cartoons,top ten lists," build a story" stories and other misc. items.
I had dinner with an old soldier from those days last night and we couldn't remember what betadine was called (it's betadine,btw) and I said "I'm trying to remember that song me and Mark Dorsey(God rest his soul) wrote about's called...uhhh...uhhh , and we both said at once "BETADINE"!
So without further introduction, an entry from the CSO comm log for 8-88 to 10-88:

(sung to the tune of "Come ye thankful people come")

Come to thee se-curity room and hear thy tales of gloom and doom
And if the troubled we restrain-we'll wash thy troubles down the drain
We'll rub and scrub the sun do shine
Thanks to our St. Betadine
Come gather 'round the hallowed shrine- to bathe our sins in betadine
It kills those germs that make us ill
Provide our soap St. Rocky will
If we contact open sores - Ol' betadine will even the score
So gather 'round our sink and shrine
And wash your sins in betadine

Mark and I made this up on the spot, singing it aloud while washing our hands and forearms together over the sink in the staff bathroom after a particularly intense and bloody restraint, complete with chants and everything.

Those were heady intense times, but these notebooks are filled with the musings of a team that really cared about what we were doing and each other. And besides, we thought we were pretty damned funny.

The reno continues, but alas my computer has taken a dump (I post this from Ann's laptop) so I can't upload any new pictures tonight.Maybe tomorrow.
I have this grin locked on my face...Cris, if you read this, you know what I mean.:)

Wednesday, April 07, 2004


I was checkin' the herd today, and I found Norton in one of the ponds, completely submerged with his neck extended and his legs all hangin' out. He was either fast asleep or dead. My stomach sank a bit and I gave him the poke you give a friend whose nodding off. His head popped up out of the water and he looked at me. He followed me all around the pen after that.
Cool huh?
Now I'm off to paintbox to create my masterpiece.

Tuesday, April 06, 2004


This glove says it all

Our world is upside down.
This remodel fucking rocks...goodnight.

Monday, April 05, 2004

But I have to get this out of me.
In the course of yesterdays activity my son came by to pick up some furniture. His bitchin' El Camino is a dead horse so he enlisted the help of his lifelong friend and roommate, his girlfriend and his mom, who had the truck that would facilitate the transport of a futon and misc. other stuff to his place.
My son called and told me they were on their way, after an hour or so I bailed to the store to get dinner and stuff so I could meet my goal of parking my ass in front of the TV for the Sopranos and Deadwood at 9 o'clock sharp. As is the way of the world, they arrived 5 minutes after I left.
I was a short time at the grocery and got back home in time to see them. When I pulled up Ann and my ex were talking by the front door.The "kids" were milling about in the house and yard. Kyle helped me bring in the groceries and I set about visiting with him, his girlfriend and his roommate in the mode of ignoring the ex.
I couldn't be that rude and even though a year or more has passed since we have shared a greeting I said hello, it was then I noticed how old she looked...worn down.
She was slurring her words and unsteady on her feet. My first thought was has she had a stroke? I soon ascertained that she was shitfaced drunk. This is weird because my ex wife has been, to my knowledge, born again pious and doing the 12 step tango for years and years and years.
A bit of background: My son had some problems a few years back involving a variety of substances. Me, being the polar opposite of a 12 stepper, was assigned blame for his problems even though our time together was limited and even though I was a rock and roll party guy I tried to be a good father. There was a great deal of energy invested by my ex and her family to make me the bad guy, and for awhile it worked.
Until I got involved in the group therapy (always segregated from the "custodial" family) and it became clear that despite my "alternative" lifestyle I was the least of my son's problems.
So here we are, in my front yard having as conversation about how fucked up my ex was and what to do about it. My son was uncomfortable and I think maybe a little bit embarrassed but forthright with me about the situation at hand and his feelings about it. He took care of his mom and made sure she got home ok.
This whole episode fucked with me on a number of levels.
I was angry that my son was put in the position of having to babysit his mom. But I was glad he was there to hold her up and make sure she was safe. An awesome responsibility he rose up to with apparent ease...he loves his moms. And that's a good thing.
It was occurring to me that things I suspected that were wrong about the family he grew up in were true, and contributed to his overly extended trip over fools hill.
Could it possibly be my ex is an even bigger fuck up than she and hers tried to make me out to be all these years?
Years of internal conflict, wondering who was the beast?
Did it matter?
Because of that box of pictures I found last that box were pictures of me and my ex that reminded me of what we had before it spoiled, reminded me of how much she meant to me, how much I loved her and she loved me.
Enough to bring a child into the world...our child.
A child who, despite everything, has his moms back and mine.
And it occurred to me that he is the real victim here(if there is a definitive victim) and has somehow managed to have:
A friend he can depend on.
A girl he loves and she loves him ( it's obvious).
The heart to love both his mom and his dad no matter how stupid they acted alone and against each other.
I wish there was something I could do to help her...she still has a place in my heart in spite of my best efforts to dispel her from it.
We have not reached the end of the road yet. A road I thought had dead-ended so long ago.

( Please be advised that this is the only time I will ever write about such personal things )
And you can be sure that this disclaimer is flexible.
It really is after all, about family.

Sunday, April 04, 2004

I hope I'm done before I get old...
Long busy weekend. Lot's of shopping. And this is where Ann and I differ. She is thoughtful, methodical and explores all avenues before making a purchase. Me on the other hand, I like to shoot and ask questions later. When we shop together I am not unlike those screaming, impatient children we all want to throttle except instead of screaming I scowl ( I sprained my eyebrows once when we were shopping for a computer).
Anyhow, we did the crawl on saturday and today we purchased our tile (just over a 1000 square feet ) , our tub,sink and toilet and some of our lights and misc. other stuff.
We came home and I spent the afternoon/evening clearing the right hand wall of our livingroom so it can be removed. That's right , another wall coming down. If we're not careful there will be no walls left on the interior of our house.
As exhausting and stressful as it is for us both, we have acknowledged our mutually increased crabbiness and are managing so far to keep in to ourselves, it's also very fucking exciting to imagine what our new place will look like in a short time (that's optimism talking there I tell ya).
Seriously though, we are under budget and ahead of schedule.
Let's hope it stays that way.
Good night and have a pleasant tomorrow.

Friday, April 02, 2004

I went into work early to catch up on paperwork, not as early as I would of liked but I hit the books at 6:30am and despite my morning handicaps actually made some headway.
By the end of the day I was completely caught up on my purchase orders.
It was a threatening to storm day here, and while we got some rain it wasn't much.But it was enough to drive the maintenance men indoors away from their pools and spas where they could focus attention on make ready and leave us alone for the afternoon.
Traditional beers at 3ish and we were out by 5.
We ended up at this bar called barfly's...a funky dark almost a dive if it wasn't so hip for it's own good. Six guys hanging out doing beers and shots of jager and talking the shit that guys do. Ann, in the meantime was at her own happy hour catching up with a friend at an alternate location.
The went on at the house and I came home to the daily transition, more open space, more debris (our grey carpet is now officially old yellow pine colored).
As I was saying...after beers and shots, Sullivan and I headed home. There was a sale at waterloo records and Sully really wanted the new Soulfly, so I stopped and got it for him. I also got System of a downs Toxicity. I love getting new music. Beer stop and it's home.
So, here I am, at home, or rather my skeleton of a home...chaos redefined. New tunes blasting ( Hey, I own this property, piss off) cold beer at the ready.
Life is good.

Thursday, April 01, 2004

From Humble Pie's "Rockin' The Fillmore" never fails to improve my mood. Steve Marriott had the english soul/blues vocal that, well, it just fucking rocked. Multiple guitars blending just so. Peter Frampton was one of those guitarists and just 16 years old. It's hard to believe his early experiences in this band spawned the dredge he produced later on ("Show me the way" anyone?)
I can forgive Pete for that...well, no I can't, but he was part of something special and I'll give him that.But Framptons Camel???Please.
Anyway,Listening to this CD is an experience in and of itself.Looking at the jacket is wholeheartedly another.
Pictures of this show adorn the jacket in proof sheet style. Lot's of little slide sized pictures of...well...hippies. The hair, the jeans, the patches on the jeans, the instruments (lots of gibson les paul and SG guitars and fender basses).
I never got to see them, but I imagine if you turned it up loud enough (in a dim light with a serious buzz on and looked at the jacket while someone threw frisbees randomly around your head) you could recreate the live experience. I have never done this myself, but it stands to reason...or the lack of.
If you ever wondered what the other 70's was like this album is a good primer.And it's available on CD...Super!Saver!Series! even.
I didn't do the recreation mentioned above...really.
I didn't.
Good night:)

The house is gutted to the shock of us all who live here. Ann and I are picking out appliances for the kitchen at 12:45am. Printing up specification pages and taping them to the appropriate spots in the kitchen for the technicians to see. The metallic snap of tape measures fill the air.
I could almost say I was near overwhelmed by it all but maybe I'm just tired.