MattOnFire

Okay. It’s over. Wifey and I are officially homeowners. It feels kinda good with the escrow and the insurance and the fixing the tile and the energy efficient appliances. I think I’m gonna get a pair of white Reeboks and some dad jeans soon. Time to make a kid or two. I’ll need help with the lawn. I also should get a wheelbarrow. Homeowners have those, right?

We’ll probably move in next weekend, weather permitting. We already had to postpone the big move due to SNOMG2 and SNOMG3. Valentines weekend looks like a good one, for now – unless Baby Jesus wants to punish us with another 8-12 inches of panic powder. For now, I’m carting over boxes in my little Saturn Ion. So far, I’ve taken roughly 38 trips, leaving our rental house empty of small useful items like the pizza-cutter, DVD remote and the wife’s Lady Bic. But the coffee table  and my collection of Oktoberfest beer steins are still here. And Wifey won’t let me unhook the surround sound until after next week’s LOST.

So this coming week will consist of packing my little car with candles and cookbooks and DVDs and high school yearbooks and transporting them to the new house, peppered with sporadic trips to Home Depot or Lowes for light bulbs or paint or electrical doo-dads or wheelbarrows. On Saturday, we move the big stuff no matter what – rain, snow, sleet or plague of locusts.

Jan. 14th:

Hey, Matt. We are looking good for closing on Tuesday. We just need one more thing. Can you give us a copy of your bank statement from December?

Sure. No prob. Sending it now.

Great. See you Tuesday!

Jan. 15th:

Hey, Matt. Got your statement. Thanks. We’re looking good for closing on Tuesday. Just need a copy of the gift letter from you mother-in-law.

Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll send that over to you right away.

Good. We’re all set, then. See you Tuesday.

Jan. 19th (Closing day):

Hey, Matt. I’m sorry, but the underwriter has to have a letter of explanation from your bank that you deposited money on your account on 12/11.

Huh? What? Can’t you see it on my statement?

Yeah, but we need to source where the money came from.

It was just some money I deposited for Christmas gifts.

Yeah, well they need you to explain that. But we’re all good, we just need that piece of information and we can get this thing done today.

Fine. Let me see what I can do and I’ll send it to you.

Great. We’ll see you this afternoon.

Later…

Hey, Matt. We’re gonna have to push back the closing a couple of days. We need a letter from your doctor that says you are, indeed, a human. Apparently the underwriter can’t sign off on a loan for people who aren’t human. You know, like a dog or something. We can’t give loans to animals. Or plants. Just a simple technicality, but we’ll get this thing done by Thursday at the latest.

What?

Jan. 20th:

Hey, Matt. We’re looking good for today. Or maybe tomorrow. But apparently your sister, mother and aunt were all born with a sixth finger on one of their hands. Is this true?

Yeah… why?

Well, the underwriter can’t approve this loan if the recipient is a mutant or related to mutants. She’s really concerned about a mutant takeover. I think she watches  X-Men movies way too much, but it’s just a simple technicality. Can you write a letter of explanation that states the extra digits were removed at birth and that you were not born with that weird deformity?

What? Are you serious? Fine. Whatever.

Cool. We just need this and we’re all good to go for tomorrow.

Jan. 21st:

Hey, Matt. We’re looking all good for today. We just need one more thing.

One more thing? Really? This is getting ridiculous.

Yeah, I know. It’s a pain, but just one more thing and we’re all set. Can you ask everyone your wife has ever met to write a letter verifying that they have met her? And if possible, can you get them to give specific dates and times of the meeting? And maybe just a short paraphrasing of the conversation?

C’mon, man! Seriously?

Yeah, I know. Unfortunately, this is the way it is. You know, with the housing crisis and all. The underwriter just wants to make sure we’re covering all our bases. You can understand that, right?

Whatever. I’ll see what I can do.

Great. We’ll get this thing done tomorrow at the latest. I swear.

Jan. 22nd:

Hey, Matt! We’re are looking good! Let’s get this done today!

Finally! Yes, let’s get it done.

Just one more thing, though. Can you have your blood drawn by a medical professional, then have a DNA sample analyzed?

Really?

Yeah, I know… I’m sorry. The underwriter isn’t convinced that you’re not a mutant. She really, really has a fear of mutants. You know, with their powers and all. Yeaaaaahhhhhh. I’m sorry.

Fine, I guess I can do that…

Wait, there’s more. The doctor who takes your blood has to be a government employee who still believes in Santa Claus.

Huh?

Yeah, I know. I know. I know. This is nuts, right? But really, it’s just a simple technicality and then we’ll be all good. We’ll get this thing done Monday at the latest.

Jan. 25th:

Hey, Matt. Thanks for being so patient. We’re going to get this thing done this afternoon. I promise. One more thing, though. I swear this is it, and I’m sorry. Can you verify that you believe in Santa Claus? Or maybe just write a letter that states that your open to the possibility of there being a Santa Claus? Just a simple technicality, really. We’re all good for this afternoon if we get this letter to the underwriter by noon.

Fine. Whatever it takes. I just want this to be over with.

Great. Thank you.

Later…

Hey, Matt. Got your letter. Thanks. One more thing, though. And I’m sorry, but it appears your wife has met your sister before.

Yeah, duh.

Well, we have medical evidence suggesting that your sister is a mutant.

*sigh*

Can you have your mutant sister write a letter explaining that she never touched your wife and got mutant germs on her? This is really just a simple technicality. But we’re going to have to push back the closing ’til tomorrow. Yeaaahhhh. I’m sorry.

But I’m pretty sure that would be a lie. I can’t ask my sister to lie!

I know, and I’m soorrrrrrryyyyy. Just a simple technicality. This really won’t affect anything, legally. Just have your sister draw up a document explaining that she never infected your wife with gross mutant cooties.

Jan. 26th:

Hey, Matt. We are really, really gonna get this thing done today. 4:30PM at the attorney’s office. Be there!

Yes! Thank you. We’ll be there.

But first, I need to ask you for one more thing.

You’re kidding me, right?

Sorry, I wish I was. But no. Can you show me some type -any type – of proof that you believe in Santa Claus? I mean, do you have any Christmas decorations in a box somewhere that depict some representations of Jolly Ol’ Saint Nick?

Yes, I suppose I have plenty of Santa decorations.

Great. Excellent. We’re all good. Fax those over to me and we’ll get this thing done tomorrow.

Fine.

Matt?

Yeah.

I’m sorry, but I need to ask one more time. Do you have any special powers? Like, can you bend steel with your bare hands or can you teleport yourself or anything like that?

*Silence*

Matt? … Matt? … Can you see through walls, maybe?

Today, Jan. 27th:

???

Starting my little company is working to my advantage so far. I’m getting work done on MY time at MY pace. I wear pajama pants while doing it. Trouble is, I can’t count on a paycheck every two weeks.

I haven’t talked about my job search for some time now, mostly because I’ve been spending most of my energy trying to CREATE work instead of tying to FIND work. And as much as I truly enjoy working at my own pace, I do miss the social interaction of a workplace.

I was reflecting on my 8 years at the TV station the other day. I don’t miss directing. Honestly, I probably couldn’t even remember what buttons did what and how to make a double box over the shoulder roll cue stinger VO zoom super pan GODDAMMIT CAMERA 2! I SAID TILT UP!

Okay, maybe I would remember. But the point is that I don’t miss the work. I miss the time in between work. I miss hangin’ in the newsroom and talkin’ smack with the producers and editors. I miss talking about obscure hockey statistics and factoids (did you know Rod Langway was born in Taiwan?) with the photogs and secretly taking a generous portion of the anchor’s coffee creamer when he wasn’t looking. I miss doing pull-ups and ab-wheels with the meteorologist. I miss having Mr. Sub across the street. Ham & Cheese. Toasted. All the way.

I don’t miss 3am alarm clocks. I don’t miss WORKING. I miss BEING at work. But only at the TV station. Being at the other job was sometimes tortuous. But still – the socializing. That’s what I miss.

Oh, and the paycheck. I miss that.

Working from home has it’s benefits, and my wish is that I can keep this up for a very, very long time and make it profitable. But on my down time, I’d like to come to your place of employment and hang out with you. We can shoot spitballs at the smelly girl in accounting and hide behind your cubicle wall when she turns to look. We can put tuna in the microwave for a few minutes so it stinks up the entire office, then burn some popcorn. We can borrow each other’s staplers and forget to give them back. We can bitch about the boss and say distasteful things about the fat lady who always eats 4 packs of Cheeseburger Macaroni Lean Cuisine for lunch.

Sometimes, while working in my home office, I take a break and try to sneak up on the dog or cat while they are sleeping.

Hey! What’cha doin? Wanna hang out?

No. Sleeping. Go away.

Wanna play fetch or something?

No. Shouldn’t you be working?

Did you know Herb Cain led the NHL in scoring during the 1943-44 season?

Impressive. Now go write an article or something.

Those who have been keeping up with this lil’ bloggy-blog know that Wifey and I are buying a house. We close in T-minus 2 weeks, so I’ll be spending the next 14 days packing up our mountains of candles and unopened pilates workout DVDs with a ferocity that can only be described as “throwing a lot of crap away when Wifey isn’t looking”.

It’s amazing when you start going through years of belongings and find little mementos (and some old, stale Mentos – The Freshmaker™) that open the floodgates of brain storage, immediately sending you into full-scale reminiscence mode. Some examples:

A Picture of Chauncey

Chauncey was my dog for a few years. He was a Bichon Frise. I named him after the public safety officer at my college who tried to have me thrown out of school after I told an RA that I wanted to drink juice out of a glass bottle in my dorm room. It was a big misunderstanding that still, to this day, makes no discernible sense. Anywhoos, Chauncey (the public safety guy) and I became sort-of friends. Turned out he played in a bluegrass band and invited me and check out him and the rest of Taylor Made (Chauncey’s last name was Taylor – see what he did there with the play on words?). Chauncey was a nice guy… kind of older-brotherish, if your older brother was kind of slow and played bluegrass music. I haven’t seen him since college. So a year or so after I graduated I got a fancydog and named him Chauncey. I don’t have Chauncey the FancyDog anymore. And that’s all I’m gonna say about that.

A Keychain from the Bahamas

I’ve never been to the Bahamas. But my old co-worker, Marsha, has. She brought me back a keychain. Marsha was fun to work with, and is a great director. She’s still holding down NBC12’s morning show and runnin’ things like a champ. She’s funny. One of the best parts of working at the station was listening to Marsha tell stories about all her mens.

A Salt N’ Pepa CD

I don’t know where this came from. It certainly wasn’t mine. I swear. I think it’s Wifey’s. The first and only time I saw the Wife sing Karaoke was when she performed a rousing, drunken, rendition of Shoop. This was probably within the first couple of months of us dating. She knows all the words, most of them correctly.

A Post-It Note

A few years back, the then-girlfriend – now-wife and I had an idea. We wanted to start a business. A bookstore. A children’s bookstore. We did research. We posted a little note on the inside of our computer desk that reads the name of our would-be venture. Once Upon A Moonbeam. The note was to remind us of our goal. She drew little stars on it and wrote the name all frilly. I’m looking at it now and wondering why we never went through with it. Maybe someday.

1st Generation iPod

10GB. Mac-only. Firewire. Original box, packing materials, documentation. I was so effing cool when I bought this. I was even one of those turds who clipped it (because it used to come with a belt clip) to my waist and walked around town listening to whatever was cooler than cool 8 or 9 years ago. Because of the iPod, I had an uncontrollable urge to find new music. And thus started my life as a Pirate. Limewire was running on my G4 24/7 downloading music that I wanted to hear. Most of it got deleted, eventually, because there was no such thing as good music in 2001. Or 2002. It’s a documented fact. But because of my love affair with a brilliantly-designed music gadget, I rediscovered my taste in music and have been looking for new bands and new sounds ever since. So, anyone wanna buy a 1st gen iPod? I buffed out all the scratches. Like new! Original box!

I really could go on and on with the little doo-dads and knick-knacks and Buffalo Bills jerseys and whatnot… but I won’t. I really need to get this crap into boxes (or the trash can). It’s tough to pack quickly, though, when a lifetime of memories flows through each item.

I feel like I’m on Hoarders up in here.

Me: Hi. I’d like to buy this classic hot rod calendar for my father in-law.
Clerk: Okay. That’ll be $8. Credit or debit?
Me: Debit. [SWWWIIIIPPPEE]
Clerk: Your card was declined.
Me: Huh? Nuh-uh. [SWWWIPPPEEE again]
Clerk: Declined.
Me: Shut the front door.
Clerk: Fo’ realz.
Me: Crap.

—10 minutes later—

Ring ring. Ring ring
Bank lady: What up. This is the bank. What’s your beef?
Me: My card was declined. What’s up with that?
Bank lady: You’re overdrawn $8,148.00.
Me: No way! Why?
Bank lady: Because you made a big overdraw.
Me: No I didn’t.
Bank lady: Yes you did.
Me: No I didn’t.
Bank lady: Yes you did.
Me: Ummm… No I didn’t.
Bank lady: Really?
Me: Really. I didn’t. I swear.
Bank lady: Hmph. Says here you did.
Me: C’mon! I didn’t!
Bank lady: Alright. Let me see what’s goin’ on here.

—10 minutes of being on hold—

Bank lady: Who’s this?
Me: It’s me. The guy with the $8,000 overdraft?
Bank lady: Oh, you’re still here?
Me: Yup. Still here.
Bank lady: Our bad. We effed up. You’re account is all golden now.
Me: So I can resume my holiday shopping?
Bank lady: I don’t care what you do.
Me: Cool. Peace out. Hope you have a nice Christmas.
Bank lady: Honey, I live in India. Everyday is Christmas.
Me: What does that even mean?
Bank lady: [hangs up]

—30 minutes later—

Me: I’d like to buy this sweet hot rod calendar.
Clerk: Debit or credit?
Me: Debit. [SWWWIIIPPPPEEE]
Clerk: Here you go. Have a nice Christmas.
Me: Honey, I live in America. Everyday is Christmas.

Here we are on the whole house situation:

Offer in, offer accepted. Inspection done, problems noticed. Asked to fix, waiting for reply. I think it will go in our favor. We offered to fix some stuff on our own and offered to pay half of the larger expenses. How can they say no? We should hear back soon. I’m looking forward to moving in next month and starting my new suburban life. Maybe I’ll start jogging. Or buy an SUV. Or learn about lawn care. Or wave to the neighbors instead of flipping them off.

Here we are on the whole Christmas situation:

I have no idea what to get you people. Be prepared for a gift card to either Home Depot or Best Buy or Starbucks or the movie theater. We have no money, what with the house and all, so you’ll be lucky to receive enough to get a half a Grande Peppermint Spice Latte. And I apologize if you happen to receive the same gift that you got me last year. I’m a chronic regifter. Hey! These are tough economic times! And I have no need for a fancy decaf tea sampler.

As for the wife, I still haven’t bought her gift. We agreed to keep it on the cheap and just get each other one present. I hope she likes Skittles. I know I do. A whole 48oz bag of ‘em.

Here we are on the whole cat & dog situation:

The stupid cat likes to gnaw on my hand while I watch TV. I mean, he really goes to town. I usually pull my sleeve over my hand and let him chew away, but he has learned how to thwart my defenses. I now have to wear gloves at all times, otherwise Mr. Noodles will jump out from under a blanket and latch on to my dainty widdle hands with his cat teeth. On the plus side, it makes my hands look like I do a lot of manual labor. Or it makes me look like a emo cutter. Either way, my wife thinks it’s sexy. Can humans catch feline AIDS?

The dog smells like dirty ears and gym shorts. I gave him a bath about a month ago when we had some nice weather. No, I don’t bathe him inside the house because that would be like trying to tame a moose. A moose in a bathtub. A hairy moose in a bathtub. A hairy moose that smells like moose poop in a bathtub. A hairy moose that smells like moose poop who also happens to have seizures when he gets too excited. Anyway – I think I’m gonna have to pay to have this little moose professionally detailed. Maybe they can put some of that shiny polish on his underside. We’re getting ready for the long drive up to NY, and I don’t want to have to smell his stankass in a confined space for 9 hours.

I guess that’s about it. There isn’t too much to update because I’ve been careful not to go out and put myself into situations where I have to spend money. I hope everyone enjoys their holiday and watch out for flying reindeer. Oh, man! I should’ve used the reindeer analogy instead of the moose. Crap!

So we’ve been house hunting for the better part of a month now, and it’s starting to get frustrating. We found a great home in the exact location that we wanted, but at the tip-tip-top of our price range. We put in an offer for considerably less (really, we put in the offer at what the house should actually be worth, according to comparable homes in the area and all that real-estate jargon) and the sellers counter-offered with a price higher than their original asking price. WHAT? We went back and forth with negotiations for a week before we finally decided to back away and let this house go.

Now we’ve re-focused our search to include areas that are a bit farther from the city, where we can get more house for our money. Bang for our buck. Garage. Square footage. Fenced in yard. Easy access to pizza and Mexican restaurants. Living next door to people with “Palin 2012″ bumper stickers. Yikes.

Many of the houses we’ve seen in our price range are in our price range for a reason. They need a substantial amount of updating or have a little bit of damage. We’re fine with performing some updates, but renovations and foundation repair are definitely not in our budget. And I certainly am not the most handy of men. I’m a writer who sometimes crafts articles about kitchen renovations and vinyl siding, but put a hammer in my hand and I’ll use it to tenderize a steak.

In all, I think we’ve seen at least 30 houses. Maybe more. The good part about seeing so many is that you can eliminate most of them right off the bat, usually as soon as you walk in – or before you walk in. Steep driveway? Forget it. I’m outta here. Cemetery in the backyard? Keep driving. The noxious blast of cat pee ammonia hits you when you open the front door? Close that door and run away.

The bad thing about seeing so many houses, though, is that the decent ones all start to look the same. It’s hard to think back and remember which house had what deck or did the living room have crown moulding or what type of countertops were installed with hardwood floors or was that laminate and I think the bathroom had new fixtures and there was a really big closet and why doesn’t this kitchen have a range hood and did you see the backyard? It was pretty nice. I think. I can’t remember.

I’m confident we’ll find our new palace soon and will be able to take advantage of the recently-extended $8,000 tax credit. However, I’m afraid we’re comparing every home we see to the one that we really liked and put the offer on. Are we being too picky? Our agent says no – we’re being smart. I don’t want to buy a house just for the sake of buying one, but I am very aware that there are a lot of crappers in our low price range. So, it’s not a matter of SETTLING for a house, it’s more of a matter of getting the most for our money, and there’s a good chance that our money can only afford a house that needs some degree of work.

I’ve been reading fellow Richmonders YoungHouseLove. I’m watching way too much HGTV (have you seen Holmes on Homes? That show is pretty frackin’ cool. He’s one crafty Canadian). And I’m working extra hard, almost doubling the amount of freelance writing I do in order to earn the extra scratch we’ll need for homestuffs.

We’re going out again today to look at more houses. There are a couple homes on our short list that I really like, but Wifey has to like them, too. It’s tough to find one that we both equally love. One that we’re going into today is one that I’ve already seen on my own. I think the Wife is really going to like it. But it’s priced at the absolute top of our range, which makes both of us nervous. Stupid money.

I’m thankful for my family. Most of them live far away. Miss them, but they’re not all up in my face everyday, so that’s a good thing, I guess. I can’t get suckered into mowing my parent’s lawn if I’m 550 miles away!

I’m thankful for my pets. They’re turds, but they give me an outlet for anger and make for good victims of my pranks. Okay, they make for good company, too. They give me someone to talk to when there’s a commercial on TV.

I’m thankful for coffee. Without it, I wouldn’t get a lick of work done or be able to change from my PJs into my comfy jeans.

I’m thankful for losing my job. Seriously. It sucked at the time, but I’m much better off now. I’m immensely happier now… following my passion blah blah blah and doing well financially blah blah blah.

I’m thankful for my friends. They like football and beer and internetting and watching my dog when I go out of town for the weekend. They help me fix stuff that I have no clue how to fix, like a broken toilet. They let me borrow a leaf blower, screwdriver, cup of sugar, paintbrush, ladder and other household necessities that I’m too cheap to buy.

I’m thankful for the people I work for and the people who are helping me get my business off the ground. I truly enjoy the work that I do with your companies/organizations and hope to have a long professional relationship with you. Having said that, can I get an advance on next month’s pay? You know… holidays?

I’m thankful for my internet friends. The Twitter people. They tell funny jokes. They promote charitable organizations. They offer links to informative articles and videos. They spam me with viruses and bad porno.

I’m thankful for my iPhone. I don’t know how I got out of bed without it. Still waiting for the Make Me A Sammich app, though.

I’m thankful for our real estate agent. She’s gonna find us a kick-ass house that we won’t be able to pay for, but we’ll love it for the month or so that we live there.

I’m thankful for these blogs: Café Darkness, Filthy Richmond, Fluid Pusher, Not Always About Monkeys, Tobacco Avenue, and the one who inspired it all, The Checkout Girl. I check them every day (sometimes 7 times a day). They are all great writers who have distinct (and sometimes nasty) humorous styles. Reading them makes me want to be a better blogger and better human being. Just kidding. I’m already a pretty rad human being.

I’m thankful that I discovered that coating the inside of a taco shell with queso dip before filling it with meat and stuff is the most delicious thing ever. EVER. I’m thankful for tacos. And cheeseburgers. And pizza. And pizza rolls. And anything else I have to lie about eating.

Last but not least – and seriously – I’m thankful for Wifey. She’s my best friend. She’s the hardest working woman in the history of the world. She’s great with kids. She’s good with money. She almost gets as excited as I do about Taco Night. She listens to me complain. She listens to me ramble. She puts up with my nonsense. She lets me watch hockey and hang my jerseys up in the basement. She laughs at my jokes. Whenever I sing a song, she tries to join in – even if she doesn’t know the words and is horribly off key. I’m thankful for everything she does and I truly appreciate her in every way possible.

So happy Thanksgiving, everyone! And now, if you excuse me, I have to let out the waist and sew in some more elastic in my special eatin’ pants.

2009 has been a tough year for me.

I began the year still very much a newlywed with big my full intention to continue working at my draining, but well-paying, job at a large media corporation. At the beginning of the year, my schedule was shifted to a late-afternoon to late-night shift. I quietly rebelled against the change, partly because I had taken job under the pretense that I would be working a normal person 9-6 shift, after leaving my 9-year position at a local television station where I worked the early morning shift. The prospect of living a normal life with a normal sleeping pattern enticed me, and I grabbed at the chance to de-zombify my life and make a little more money in the process. When my evening shift began in January, the company was going though a rough time financially – you know, the damn economy and all that. People were laid off, schedules were shifted, furloughs implemented. Scary times for all employees, knowing that their jobs could be eliminated at any point with little or no warning. I sucked it up and took the schedule change, thankful to at least have my job for the time being. THE TIME BEING.

I worked in a pod. It’s a nice way of saying “a cubicle but with shorter walls that are arranged in octagons so 4 people could occupy one space”. Drab. Stifling. Cold. Basement. It was hard to work as a creative designer in this type of environment, and I think my work (and probably my attitude) began to suffer as a result of it coupled with the fact that I am more of a morning person, doing my best work in the earlier part of the day.

Long story short, I was told I would be moving to the overnight shift. OVER. NIGHT. This was a force-out, because my boss and I really weren’t the best of friends. I didn’t suck up or chit-chat with him in his office for hours about his weekend plans like some folks in the office. I just came in, sat down and got to work. He wasn’t a fan of me or my work, and I was beginning not to care. I was unhappy. In April, it was all over after being blindsided when returning from my dinner break. Peace out, Media Corporation!

Shit. Now what do I do?

It was tough. Emotionally and financially. Ask my wife. She knows. If you’ve been reading this blog since the beginning, you’ve seen first hand the range of emotions that I poured into these ramblings. It was good therapy, I guess. And I think it allowed me to organize my thoughts. In a way, I encouraged myself to pursue my passion.

April was not the best time to be looking for a J-O-B in U-S-A. I sent resumes all over the country, with only a few bites here and there. I made a great connection with a company here in Richmond, and while they couldn’t offer me a full-time position, they did offer me an opportunity to do some freelance article writing. Right up my alley! I wanted out of the news biz and never wanted to open Photoshop again. Writing is more my speed, and I’ll take the freelance paycheck, thank you.

That freelance gig, along with my blog audience and showing my face at local networking events eventually landed me more freelance writing opportunities. By the end of the summer, I was doing okay financially. And – the best news of all – my wife got a teaching job. We were staying in Richmond! We no longer had to worry about one of us breaking a leg and not having health insurance or making rent or being able to eat real food. Phew.

Here we are, mid/late November. Last week, I filed the paperwork to become a business. I am a business owner. I own my own business. That’s right. Me. That goofy fat guy who likes to watch hockey. Basically, I’m taking everything I’ve ever learned, professionally, and pouring into whatever I can do to help other businesses with their websites, online presence and public persona. I’m legit! And I’m super excited about it, too. I think I’m gonna rock it! No – I KNOW I’m gonna rock it! Check me out: FlashBurst Media

Enough of this renting stuff, too. I’ve had the better part of this year to think about and prioritize the important things in my life. It’s time to grow up and get into our own home. We’ve been looking at houses for a few weeks now. With the help of our agent, we’ve found some really good ones in our price range. We’ve gotten our pre-approval for a mortgage loan. We’re exited. We’re nervous. We can do this. I think we’ll be making an offer on a house this week. Yikes!

I’m happy now. I’m doing what I love and we’re moving towards a goal. I can honestly say that before the big personal events of 2009, I was just living day to day. Working to get by. Just another rat in the race. Now I’m working towards a home, a family and all the other things that come with a growed-up life. We’ll have dinner parties in a real dining room. We’ll make a casserole and wear sensible shoes. We’ll talk about our kids’ ear infections and fix the toilet when it clogs. We’ll mow the lawn and learn about escrow.

Things are good and getting better. Can’t wait for 2010.

I’m no meteorologist, but I’m pretty sure this hurricane Ida was supposed to come ashore somewhere in the Gulf Coast. You know, Alabama or something. So why has it been raining non-stop in Central Virginia for the past 2-3 days?

I’ll tell you why, and please don’t confuse this story with Bill Cosby’s brilliant Noah & God Conversation, or the turd of a movie Evan Almighty.

I was watching the weather report on CNN the other day. Sitting on my favorite chair. Wearing my favorite pajama pants and a shmedium hoodie. I was drinking tea, as I recall.

“So Ida will come ashore late tonight or early tomorrow. Dauphin Island will take the brunt of this slow moving storm. Flooding and high winds are to be expected. Now back to you, Rick Sanchez, you smug little jerk. And yes, we’re all fully aware that you speak Spanish.“

The dog walked into the room and opened the front closet door, which was odd because he doesn’t have opposable thumbs, therefore making it extremely difficult to open a door. But he did. I saw him.

“Hey, have you seen my waincoat?” he asked. (He can’t pronounce his Rs or Ls.)

“What? No. Why do you need a raincoat, Dog?” I replied.

“Uh… because this system is going to staww out ovuh Wichmond and we’re gonna be effed.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Wemember Gaston a few yeaws back? Wemember how I was swimming in your apawtment?”

“Yeah. That was crazy.”

“Wook, I didn’t wanna tell you this, but I spoke to God wast night.”

“You did what now?”

“He said we wuh gonna get wain for a wong time and I need to make shuw we stay safe.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“He asked me to buiwd an awk”

“A what now?”

“Awk.”

“What’s an ‘awk’?”

“Awk! Awk! A-Oww-Kay. Awk!”

“Oh, an ARK. Gotcha.”

“Anyway, I need to get stawted on this awk. It’s supposed to be pwetty big, too. Do we have a saw somewhewe?”

“No.”

“You don’t have a saw?”

“No. You’re not building an ark.”

“Yes I am. God said so.”

“I don’t have a saw.”

“Do you have some wumbuh?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Wumbuh! Wum-Buhh.”

“Lumber? No. What do I look like, Home Depot?”

“Fine. I’ll have to find these matewials somewhewe ewse.”

“God talked to you?”

“YES!”

“What does he sound like?”

“Wike a wewwy deep voice and kinda wike a bwack guy.”

“God is a black guy?”

“I dunno. Kinda, I guess.”

“Interesting.”

“By the way, do you know what a cubit is?”

“No. I think it’s one of those biblical measurement terms. Roughly equal to some king’s forearm or something.”

“Gweat. He gave me all these dimensions in cubits. This is gonna be hawd.”

“Yeah, well you better get to work. It’s supposed to start raining tomorrow.”

“Wight! I’m on it! Oh. Wait. Any idea whewe I can find a coupwe of giwaffes?”

“The zoo?”

“Yeah, I need two of ‘em. And I need paiws of other animaws, too. Wions. Beaws. Deew. Gowiwwas. You know, animaws.”

“Can’t help you there, buddy.”

“I awso need to make suwe the awk is stocked with wots and wots of cat food, fow some weason.”

“…”

“…”

“Really, dog? Cat food? Think about that for a moment.”

“… I’m such an idiot.”

Just then the cat burst out in laughter and jumped out from behind the couch holding a megaphone.

“Yo, dawg! I need you to build an ark because I’ma make it rain like a mofo up in here!” he said into the megaphone. Then he rolled around on the ground laughing hysterically. “Cat food! Priceless,” he shrieked. “What a dummy!”

I couldn’t help but laugh, too. The dog is really gullible.

“You guys aw juhks!” the dog sobbed and sunk away to hide in the bathroom.

“What’s a cubit?” the cat repeated, still rolling in laughter.