MattOnFire

Me: No, Barista. The point of olympic curling is to…

TLW: You gotta sweep really, really fast like this [demonstrates feverish sweeping]

Barista: It sounds kinda dumb.

As we try to explain the complexities of curling to a confused Barista, FELLOW walks over and puts his arms around us. Mind you, we’ve all been drinking.

Fellow: GUYS! It’s like the Richmond blogger elite over here!

Us, collectively: Aww, thanks. No, YOU’RE the blogger elite!

Fellow: But seriously, MattOnFire is the blog of our times!

Me: Aw, go on!

Fellow: Really, I read your blog and I absolutely feel SOOOO happy that I have a job.

TLW: [Spit take]

Barista: [Doubled over, laughing]

Me: Huh?

Fellow: No, seriously. I love it. I mean, you’re blog makes me glad that I’m working and you’re not. Really. It sucks to not have a job and I’m glad I’m not you.

Barista: You’re making it worse!

Me: But I kinda do have a…

Fellow: No, really! It’s really shitty being you. Your blog makes me feel bad for you, but in a way that makes me happy I’m not you.

Me: But I AM sort of working…

TLW: This is too much!

Fellow: No, no. I get it. You do work, but your life is like a box of poop and your blog is the BLOG OF OUR TIMES!

Me: Yeah, but no. I have a pretty good life. I …

Fellow: Yeah, yeah. You bought a house. How is that possible? What an asshole, right? Here’s this unemployed guy who is so frustrated with money and life and the job situation – then he goes out and buys a house! I mean!

Barista: Oh. My.

Fellow: I’m obviously doing something wrong because I have a job and I work really hard. Yet I don’t have a house. You see my point, though? You have THE BLOG OF OUR TIMES because 2009 was a shitty year for the economy and stuff, and here’s your blog about losing your job and all the frustrations that come along with it. The next thing you know, you’re buying a house! And you don’t even have a job!

Me: Well, I do sort of have a job. I write for…

Fellow: Yeah, yeah. I know.

Me: It’s not like I stare at the walls all day long and…

Fellow: OF OUR TIMES. THE BLOG.

TLW: Are you trying to pay him a compliment?

Fellow: Yes! Of course! I love MattOnFire! He makes me feel shitty, and that’s what good writing should do. It’s like, “Congrats on the house… asshole.” You’re happy for him, but you’re glad you’re not him. See?

Me: …Thanks?

Fellow: Seriously. I love the blog. Glad I’m not you.

FELLOW saunters off to the bar for his next Bud Light. I overhear him tell the bartender that he’s really glad that bartenders serve drinks because he is thirsty, but he’s happy he’s not a bartender because it must suck serving alcohol to people.

Barista: Really, though. Congrats on the house, jerk.

TLW: Yeah. I’m really happy for you. I don’t have a house, but I’m glad you do. Must suck being “unemployed”, huh?

Me: Anyway, the rocks are made of granite and the sweeping causes friction on the ice…

Editor’s note: FELLOW is a respected Richmond blogger and friend, who was truly trying to pay me a compliment… just in a drunkenly awkward way.

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.

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.

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.