sounds familiar

Left the house to head to Chipotle; Sharaun wanted a burrito.

I’d stayed home from work today to help around the house because she’s sick.  I did laundry, vacuumed, the dishes, tidied, fed and played with Keaton.  All so she could rest and, with luck, recuperate for our trip to Disneyland this weekend.  We were both hungry, burritos sounded good, and I took it as a good sign she had an appetite for the first time that day.

Five minutes from the house I had to make a quick stop as the line of cars in front of me stopped at the light kinda snuck up on me.  I was able to stop, but was closer to the car in front of me than I’d like to be.  Without time to even blink, the car behind me slammed into me; hard.  I felt my head jolt back and then forward again as the force of the impact pushed me into the car in front of me.  Two big bangs and it was all over.

After we all pulled off to the shoulder and figured out everyone was OK, I checked the damage.  Oh man.  The brand new car that Obama bought us… all jammed up and busted.  Such a sad sight to see.  It actually still opens and closes, and, apparently, the car drives OK.  But, I’m a bit loath to take it down to LA tomorrow anyway.  Looks like we’ll be packed into Sharaun’s car instead.

And man… my neck hurts.  Hope it’s OK for Space Mountain by Friday.

Goodnight.

Hey guys thanks for commenting.  I love when you comment; I truly do.

Tuesday was another jam-packed day.  If it wasn’t work, it was something outside work.  Sometimes I feel like, being counted among the comparatively (on a global scale) wealthy American middle class means we have just enough freedom-to-move in our lives that we end up smashing too much in.  Between our professional obligations and leisure or recreation, we often smoosh so much into our days that we don’t take enough time to reflect.  Worse, much of what we cram into one go-round of the clock is of little consequence.

Sometimes, when each day feels bookended by sleeping and waking alone, with not a moment’s breath to spare in between, I find myself craving a respite.  It’s then that I fix my sights on some future even and start thinking of it as the “finish line.”  The whole, “Oh, I can’t wait until Christmas; then I’ll finally be able to relax” thing.  I guess it’s a very human thing to do, but sometimes it’s a bit delusional.  There’s no real “finish line,” I just need to make time, prioritize, and take care of what’s most important.  Each day can be as busy as I want it to be.

But, failing actualization around that idea… I am indeed looking forward to Thursday this week.  Why?  Because after work that day, we make the drive down south for weekend at Disneyland. I get in free a’cause of my birthday, and we’re spending two full days at the park – this time with some good friends and their kids for company.  So this week, Thursday is my finish line.  And if I can only keep pace until 5pm on that day… everything’ll be alright.

Everything’ll be alright.  Goodnight.

Good Tuesday to ya, folks.  Hope your week began well; mine was a busy blur of missed connections (wanted to get a haircut, couldn’t; wanted to put up the tree; couldn’t, etc.).  At least I got to the gym.  Now I’m going to write.

Sunday afternoon, a little later than I’d wanted to, I broke out my own ladder and a borrowed extension job from a buddy, and set to hanging the Christmas lights.  I hadn’t done it in a few years since we’re normally out of town, and being all exposed up there in the biting cold and wind reminded me why.  But they’re up now and they look mighty cheery.  The tree, unfortunately, has fallen victim to the busyness of our evenings and remains un-assembled and un-adorned (yes, we do the fake thing).  We’re thinking maybe tonight (which would be tomorrow night, as I write).  Things have just been too hectic for the both of us until then.

Let’s talk about a few other things, but let’s make a pact to keep it short, OK?  I want to finish my book tonight.

Last night the local weatherman promised the unthinkable: snow here in the foothills.  Where we live in particular, we haven’t seen snow in some thirty years.  Sure enough, this morning we woke to a light dusting that stuck around until the noon hour before melting away.  I woke Keaton around 7:30am before going to work to show her the snow through the windows; Sharaun took pictures and posted them to the Facebook (what she does); and it was all the talk around the water cooler at work.  Sometimes I think it would be nice to get a little snow around Christmas… you know like on the days when your refrigerator and pantry are stocked enough to keep you eating like royalty, the cable works and football is on, and you can read a book by the fire and not have to go anywhere.  Those days are fine for snow.  I guess if we lived a few more miles up the road…

Guess the season is here.  Goodnight.

Friday Eve and we’re out of the house, relying on the charity of friends.

Why?  Because the hardwood floors went in today and the house reeks of fumes.  I mean, it’s pretty bad.  You can look on the Facebook if you want to see pictures of it; Sharaun is on top of the Facebook.  Me, I just write words.  So, words: The flooring looks good.

They’re about 80% done I’d guess, with some finishing work to do tomorrow but likely not a full day’s effort.  And, as much as we wanted to hang around and admire it, we’re limited to the bedroom and it’s just too stinky.  So we had Keaton call up Jeff & Kerry and invite the family over.  “Can we come to your house tonight,” she asked, “Ours is too stinky.”  Thankfully they didn’t have the heart to deny a three year old in distress.

Yesterday at work my laptop crashed.  The brand new SSD (solid-state harddrive) crashed and burned; two measly months old.  Yeah I was crippled at work today, but more importantly I had a rough go at blogging last night and tonight.  It’s funny how accustomed I’ve become to having a computer at arm’s reach.  The iPhone is something of a workable substitute, but it’s just a bit to small to be my full-time armchair connectivity.  Anyway, the IT folks say I’m supposed to get it back tomorrow, so I should have it for the weekend.  Good thing… because I have the DTs already.

This weekend has been designated our official Christmas-preparedness weekend.  Up goes the tree, the house lights, and all the other interior and exterior trimmings.  Keaton is more than excited about helping me do all of the above.  She’s promised to help me do everything from climbing the ladder onto the roof to topping the tree with our topper.  I’m actually excited about it too; I like when Keaton helps me do “guy stuff.”  Makes me feel all “dad” and whatnot like I’m showing her how to drive a stick or mow the lawn.

Teamwork; we got it.

Goodnight.

The night before we left Florida, I fell down the stairs.

Not a couple stairs; I full-on tumbled down half of a staircase.  It was at my in-law’s place.  The bro-in-law and I were moving an air mattress from an upstairs bedroom to the living room downstairs; moving it fully inflated.  To get it around the corner at the top of the stairs I had to pull it as it had become wedged.  I’m standing on the stairs, pulling it, and my brother-in-law is at the top pushing.

When the thing finally popped free and came unstuck, all my pulling turned into falling backwards.  I took one small hop as I could to try and get a foot down, think I grabbed onto the handrail for a fleeting moment, but ultimately couldn’t stop gravity from doing her job.  I smacked onto the tile at the base of stairs, luckily taking the brunt of the fall on my left thigh.  After moving my hand and fingers to check for breaks, I just sat there under the air mattress laughing.

Falling down the stairs is scary, y’all.

If you, like us here at sounds familiar, live in the United States, you’re also bombarded daily with the fear-mongering, rubbernecking, witch-hunting, and outright un-professionalism of the “modern” media.  And if you’ve tuned it all all over the past few days, you’ve been treated to the newsworthy nugget that is Tiger Woods’ recent automobile accident.  Now, I don’t care about this any more than I cared about “balloon boy” or any other not-really-news story the media hypes unnecessarily… but this bit is funny to me, follow.

Amidst all the tabloids, including the major twenty-four hour news outlets included, speculating about Mr. Woods’ alleged indiscretions, he himself released a statement today on his webpage that was ultimately a public apology to his family.  In it, he uses the word “transgressions” to describe whatever “personal failings” led to this event and subsequent media frenzy.  It was well written, and nondescript enough to protect his family’s privacy while giving some chum to the media sharks.

Funny thing is, if you looked at Google’s search trends page yesterday, you’d note that, right alongside hot queries like “tiger woods affair pictures” and “tiger woods voicemail,” you’d have seen this comedy gem: “transgression definition.”

Ha.  Americans.  We love sordid affairs; just call them something simpler for us, OK?  Instead of apologizing for “transgressions,” how about saying you’re sorry for being “down with OPP ,” “steppin’ out,” “triflin’,” or maybe “getting a milkshake from another girl’s yard.”  Those are things the MTV generation can understand OK Mr. Oxford?  Kthxbai.

Goodnight.