Getting out of the rut

So far, 2013 hasn't gone exactly as planned. That's both good and bad. I had been in a huge rut. And I was using my budget and efforts to get out of debt as an excuse to stay well entrenched in that deep groove.

There's been an evolution in job duties, which has given me new things to do at work. But there was no change in pay -- up or down -- so that hasn't affected by budget, for better or worse.

But the biggest change was deciding to move into a new apartment. The change of scenery has done wonders for my mood. I hated the place I was living. I felt stuck there, but had been planning to stay until I got out of debt. I won't bore you with the details, but the living situation became untenable and I really needed to move. So I found a place I love, but it costs a bit more money for rent and I am paying a little more in other household expenses each month. And it cost me a little bit to get moved.

Then my computer died. While I have not been a very dedicated blogger, I spend a great deal of time on computers, at work and at home, so I needed to replace the old laptop. In doing so, I was weak and put the expense on a credit card. I am not proud of that, but I didn't want to wipe out my emergency fund. So, I did a bad thing and charged it.

The good news on the financial front is that I am down to three debts now and should have the next one paid off in three or four months.

But the bad news with resetting my budget is that it may take me into next summer, or even longer, to be completely debt free. I have chosen to pay more to have a bit better living situation and I have committed to helping a family member financially too, which will cut into the budget and extend the debt payoff date. I am not happy about that stretching out the timeline, because this process feels like it has already taken far too long. But I can live with it. I can now afford to make some financial choices when necessary. I don't have to stay holed up in my apartment studying my budget spreadsheets for entertainment. I have decided that having my finances in order, while an admirable goal, will be a bit hollow if I have no life. And I had stopped living there for a long time.

So, I have loosened up my budget a bit to spend a little more on things besides debt. I have actually had a date, and have another one planned. I didn't realize how much I was using my finances as an excuse not to connect with people. I was in an emotional rut too, perhaps even deeper than the financial one.

I made a lot of bad financial choices in my life. I don't always make all the right one now either. But I am making much better ones. Breaking some bad habits. Speaking of that, I am trying to quit chewing again too. I'm still getting my nicotine through gum, but I haven't dipped snuff in nearly 4 weeks now.

These feel like choices that can help me live longer, happier and financially healthier.  That may be a rut out of which I may never want to climb.

Gifts from the family

The family has returned from their holiday festivities and my pet-sitting duties have ended. I've turned over the leashes and am now left alone in my apartment. I think I'm going to miss the cuddly company.

Perhaps I read too much into it, but it was almost as if the critters knew our time was short today. The cats kept close to me today, taking turns napping on my lap or next to me on the couch. Or maybe they were just cold and taking advantage of my body heat. I choose to think they were sensing something unseen, like the way animals are reported to sense earthquakes before they are felt by people.

That's the wonderful thing about pets. Humans imbue them with emotions and characteristics that we hope they are displaying. I'm going to miss my furry friends until out next visit, no matter how long or short it may be.

It was also good to see my daughter today too, and hear about some of the things happening in her life. The details of boys, school, family and the events of Thanksgiving I missed out on.

I also got a bit of "payment" for my pet sitting. My daughter's mom and her partner gave me an extra TV they had that they don't really use anymore, so now I have access again to television, just in time for NFL football on Sunday! So, I may not have warm furry bodies to cuddle up with, but at least I have a new electronic companion for company.

The gift of time with my family's pets, my family and the generosity of the family leaves me feeling very warm on a chilly night. The calendar may have said Thursday was Thanksgiving. But for me, today I have even more reasons to be thankful.

I didn't mean to clean

Perhaps I managed to sleep through it for a while, but immediately upon waking this morning I noticed a high-pitched, mechanical "chirp" outside my bedroom door. The intermittent sound was the annoying call of a dead battery in the smoke detector.

OK, I admit I didn't do the whole safety thing that fire departments advise when you set your clocks for the time change, where you also change your smoke detector battery. Not this fall. Not earlier this spring. Not ever in this apartment. That battery has been in there since virtually my first day in this apartment more than two years ago. But I'll come back to that.

So, in my groggy first-awakening state, I made the most rational decision I could deduce at the time. I crawled back in bed and pulled the covers up over my ears. That definitely didn't solve the problem. The blanket did not block the sound. If anything it seemed as if the chirping was happening inside my scull. I thought briefly that if I had a thin stick, maybe I could go in through my ear and make that sound stop. Something prevented me from trying that, but it sure wasn't any form of rational, cognitive thought process.

So I got back up.

Maybe I should stop the sound at the source, rather than inside my head.

I decided to scavenge a battery out of my answering machine. I knew that battery was fresh because I just put it in there a few weeks ago after canceling voice mail service on my phone and dragging my old answering machine out of mothballs.

So, using a kitchen chair, I fumble around with the smoke detector and unfasten it from the ceiling mount. So far so good. But I can't get a very good look at it because the electrical wires running to it are still connected and keep me from pulling it down to eye level. I twist the thing around, scanning it from side to side, front to back, apparently looking for some big arrow or something or bold directions on how to open the thing. In my groggy state -- attributed to just waking up, cold medication hangover and the lingering effects of the bug that's been kicking my butt -- I see nothing. There is no way to open the damn thing. None.

So I put it back, climb down and wonder what to do next. So, I decide to call the apartment manager's office and see if they can send a maintenance person to either fix it or show me how to fix it. But of course when I call the office wasn't yet open, so I left a message on their answering machine/voice mail.

Then I look around the living room and kitchen and see evidence of my poor housekeeping skills strewn all about the room, spilling off the coffee table, overflowing the garbage can and collecting in the sink.

If company is coming, I need to tidy up, I thought, and set about doing just that. Obviously, I was still not fully awake, because when thoughts of house cleaning occur to my conscious mind, I sit down on the coach, put my feet up and wait until those thoughts pass. It usually only takes a few moments. Particularly if the TV is on and the remote is handy. But the TV is still broken, so my procrastination device of choice was not available.

So after an hour or so of tidying, I was content that the place no longer looked like a rat's next. Just a bachelor's apartment which hadn't been cleaned in a few weeks. The perfect look I was going for.

All that physical exertion, besides bringing on a coughing fit, also severed to wake my up and get my brain functioning. I remembered that when I first started moving stuff into the apartment the smoke detector was chirping. I told the office about it, since I figured it was their problem and something not working in my new apartment. But a day or two later, when I was moving in and planning to spend the night in the place for the first time, the detector was still chirping. I didn't remember how I figured out how to open the thing, but I knew I replaced the battery in there, because I remember the office staff telling me they still needed to send someone to check it out even though I told them they took to long and didn't need to send someone anymore.

So I knew it could be done. I knew I could do it, because I had done it before. So, being more fully awake, I took another crack and the annoying safety device in the hall. And this time, I could clearly see the battery cover door. But the door was blocked by the plastic housing the electric wires from the ceiling went into. Well, obviously, that housing must detach I thought. Where was that logic and reasoning skill an hour earlier, when I really needed it, before I was forced to clean! So, I squeezed the plastic housing on each side, and sure enough, the sized retracted and pulled free from the device. Then I was able to easily access the battery.

In a few minuted I had swapped out the battery and put the device back up on the ceiling.

This adventure proved a few of my long-held theories.

1. I am not a morning person.
2. My brain doesn't function correctly when I'm sick. In technical terms, it's know as feeling ooogie and blah, or having a brain cloud.
3. Housework really can be avoided if you are willing to work hard enough at it.

Well, I'm hoping the worse of the brain clouds, nasal congestion, coughing fits and other assorted ickiness, which need not be divulged here, are soon to be behind me (especially the undivulged ickiness).

Here's to hoping you are suffering no brain clouds or other ickiness for the holidays. Happy Thanksgiving all.

Wrapped in a comforter and still uncomfortable

Spending the weekend home alone and sick, without even a television for company makes me realize how much I rely on the television as a surrogate for socialization.

I didn't get to hang out with my regular Sunday friends like Terry, Howie and Jimmy and Bob, Cris, Al and John, not to mention Faith. And the day has not been complete since I didn't get to cap it by spending quality time with my Brothers & Sisters.

Today, my closest companions have been a glass of orange juice, a box of cold medicine and the comforter on my bed.

Cold comfort, that.

Is there life without television?

As my friend Gene pointed out in his comment on my previous post, being down with a cold is a great time for feeling sorry for yourself. I am doing my best to elevate that to a high art today -- in between naps.

I didn't have the most restful sleep last night, as my coughing and stuffy nose woke me up several times through the night, but I did manage to spend about 12 straight hours in bed. When I did finally get out of bed, I still wasn't feeling hungry even though I had skipped dinner last night. So I settled in on the couch for a long day curled up under a blanket and watching college football. But when I hit the button on the remote to fire up the boob tube, I was only greeted by a mocking silence. The TV is dead.

It's the second TV to die on me in the last year. The little second-hand TV I had in the bedroom died some month back. Now the one in the living room gave up the ghost too. As if being sick was not enough reason to feel sorry for myself, the prospect of enduring days of illness at home with no television left me completely depressed. With a congested head, I can't think clearly, but I'm not sure what to do about this latest development. Buying a new TV is decidedly not in the budget right now. So rather than spending money I don't have on a new television I may just cancel my cable service and try living without any TV at all for a while. I could certainly do with one less bill a month. But I am afraid that with no TV at home I will end up spending more money outside the house.

So I'm not sure what to do. I am hoping that once this fog that's enveloped my head lifts, a course will become clearer. But in the meantime, I spent the day today listening to about 8 hours of radio including the pre- and post-game shows from my beloved Oregon State Beavers football game. I would have much rather watched the game, but as it was, it gave me the opportunity to stay up on the game and sleep off and on throughout the afternoon. Fortunately, the Beavers won in spectacular fashion, or the day would have been pretty much a complete loss.

If anyone has an extra television they are willing to sell cheap, let me know. Otherwise, I may be getting quite well acquainted with staring out the window for the next several months.

The haunting

I stopped off on my way to work for a cup of coffee and an Egg McMuffin and Ron's place and was perplexed for a bit by the young woman who handed me my Caffeine McCholesterol.

I instantly recognized the item hanging around her neck as a stethoscope. My brain was not so quick to figure out why the woman in drivethru might also potentially ask me to turn my head and cough. I just figured that maybe she was working two jobs and forgot to leave the medical instrument in the car after working graveyard at the hospital before working the breakfast shift at McDonalds.

It wasn't until I was driving away that I realized that today was Halloween and the woman in the drivethru window was wearing a costume.

Later in the day I ended up staying late at work, which was fine with me because it might mean I could miss the trick-or-treat rush. As I told someone today, I don't shop for myself, I sure as hell ain't buying stuff to give away to other people's kids. Unfortunately, when I got home, a small squad of costumed candy bandits was knocking at the door in the apartment before mine. I made sure to take my sweet time getting out of the car until the little letches walked well away from the entrance to my abode before I made my break for it.

I didn't even bother to turn on the light when I got inside, but headed for the back room furthest away from the front door. And that's where I found myself for the rest of the evening, hiding out in a back room of my apartment, cowering in a corner. My annual Halloween haunting vexed me yet again. Now it's the midnight hour and the incessant knocking has finally stopped.

Suddenly I have a craving for a Snickers bar.

Ignorance on display

Got a razor blade I can borrow?

I would never advocate vandalizing someone's personal property, but I just saw a sticker in the window of a car that makes be think it might be OK, just this once. All I'd need is a razor blaze to scrape off the sticker, but frankly I would much rather use a brick to take out the whole back window.

The sticker says: "Silly fag. Dicks are for chicks."

I know too many people who disagree with that statement and I take major exception to it. I have gay men and lesbian women in my circle of family and friends and I'm offended on their behalf.

I'm not proud of the fact that I've let far too many off-color comments uttered within earshot go unchallenged. However, I also don't believe that calling someone on their ignorance in public will lead to an epiphany that will lead them to discard their racial/cultural bigotry, gender bias or homophobia in a flash. It will take something bigger and more profound to challenge their misguided and long-held beliefs.

Maybe something like a brick through a window.

OK, that probably won't work either, but just the thought of it makes me feel better.

What kind of asshole dude would put such a sticker on his car window? Come to think of it, would a straight guy put a sticker about dicks on his car? Maybe it's a woman who is professing her affinity for that part of the male anatomy. That seems to make more sense.

I wonder if she's hot? And available?

Well, the sticker still bothers me. I won't ride in her car as long as that sticker is still on the window.

I guess we'll have to take my car.

They didn't even say goodbye

I was getting ready to get into my car, but something stopped me, froze me where I stood. I was standing there staring at the front of my neighbors' apartment. Something was out of place, but I couldn't quite figure out what it was.

I scanned the area for a bit and noticed that there were some discolored areas on the patio and suddenly it clicked. All the plants and patio furniture were missing. Then I noticed that the blinds inside the apartment were open. Nothing was visible inside except a couple of small plastic bags filled with trash.

The neighbors had moved.

At first I was relieved. One of the neighbors who loved in that apartment was quite nosy. She reminded me very much of the character of Gladys Kravitz on the TV show "Bewitched." She was always peering out her windows, day and night, or standing on her patio, watching the personal business of seemingly everyone in our complex.

But then, I realized that I had absolutely no clue when the neighbors had moved out. Somehow two old women who lived in this complex for I don't know how many years, were able to disappear in the night, or while I was working, or while I was hiding away behind my closed blinds. And I realized, they were also the only neighbors in this place I actually knew by name and had any sort of interaction with at all, as creepy and uncomfortable as it may have been.

Yea, I'm sort of glad my Gladys and her mother are gone. But I also will sort of miss them too.

Chump change

I stopped in the apartment complex office after work and got word that indeed my upstairs neighbors have completely moved out. They have turned in their keys. So, I'm going to enjoy the peace and quiet while it last.

The reason I stopped in the manager's office was not to get the latest gossip on the upstairs neighbors though. I found an envelope on my front door when I got home from work last night. it told me that I owed the complex 40 cents. Yes, 40 cents.

So I decided to go in and pay off my debt. However, the complex doesn't deal in cash. Well, I sure as hell am not writing a check for 40 cents.

Fortunately the woman working in the office said I could add my delinquent amount on to next month's rent.

I'm guessing that they spent more than 40 cents on the stationary to inform me that I owed less than four bits.

I realize I admitted in a recent post that my financial management skills are suspect, but printing out an invoice for 40 cents? Well, at least they didn't mail it to me. That would have been just too funny.

OK, so it's Wednesday night, and we're on the downhill slide for the week. I'm tempted to go out and raise a little hell. Or at least get some dinner.

I may or may not let you know which way the decision went, depending on how much hell I find.

Neighbors
Apartment living

Don't go away mad...

The upstairs neighbors are moving. At the risk of sounding rude, all I can say is thank God.

If you missed the earlier drama, the upstairs have been the source of noise disturbed several sleepless nights, cigarette butts, beer cans and other trash littered from the second floor, including one house guest.

The upstairs apartment had more traffic running in and out of their door than a crack house on Saturday night. Most of the visitors were people in their late teens and early 20s, and a few EMTs and police officers. Again, not unlike a crack house on a Saturday night.

And when there weren’t people running in and out of the house, they were literally running in the apartment. I swear it seemed like the punks upstairs were playing hockey on the floor few feet above my head.

Nosey Neighbor No. 1 says the boys upstairs started hauling their stuff out a few days ago. As I was leaving for work this morning, the monster boy who drives the 4X4 was loading a mattress and box springs into the monster truck. NN1 said from all appearances, the last of the furniture was carried out this afternoon, and the boys haven’t been back.

I listen upon high for a sign and all I hear is silence.

There is blessed peace in the Willamette Valley at last.

Amen.

Neighbors
Apartment living

The check was in the mail

My deposit refund from my last apartment arrived in the mail today. Believe it or not, I sort of forgot about it. It was mailed at the end of June, bounced around to the address I was staying at briefly in Portland, was sent back to Palm Springs as undeliverable. Then they mailed it to my new address, arriving today.

I'm such a financial dolt.

The good news is that I got all of my money back except for some money for getting the carpet cleaned. I was the first tenant to live in that apartment, so I figured I would get dinged for every little thing. But, I guess I did OK on the cleaning, which is pretty fricking stunning given my absolute ineptitude with all things domestic.

Vacuum. I own one. I lived in my apartment for a year. I vacuumed the carpet twice. Both times in the last few days I lived there.

Good thing I don't use this blogs as a way to meet women, because I'm sure female readers are probably cringing right now.

I don't like to think of myself as a slob. I prefer to look at it as I have a high tolerance for clutter. And when the clutter starts getting to me and I am caught up in the urge to clean, I've found that if a lie down on the couch and take a nap, the urge usually passes.

I guess I treat my finances in a similar manner. I hate paying any bills late. Makes me nuts. But if someone loans me money, I'm pretty much, eh, whatever, get it to me when you can. Who knows how often I've loaned people a few bucks that I never got back just because I never reminded the person about the loan.

I also rarely turn in mileage or expense reports to my employers. Major trips or expenses, I get those paid for. The rest. Eh.

So the check I got in the mail today is like found money. I'm tempted to go pick up that computer desk I'm coveting.

Money
Rent deposit

Mostly quiet on the neighbor front

It was a relatively quiet night around here. I didn't hear much noise from upstairs, but enough that I turned on the TV in order to finally fall asleep.

The morning paper did release the name of the girl hurt in the fall Monday night, but I won't. I have no need to invade her privacy just because her name is public record.

Neighbors
Apartment living

Slow news day in Salem

Lest anyone think I was blowing the incident with the neighbors out of proportion, the local paper posted a short item about the major party foul on their Web site today.

According to the published report, the injured woman was 18 and suffered "neck or spinal cord injuries...". Her medical condition was not known or reported.

Four guys, all under the age of 18 were arrested (read cited and released) for providing alcohol to minors.

Oh, and before I forget, I also got an e-mail today from a reporter from the local paper who wanted to talk to bloggers here in the Salem area for a story she is working on about, what else, local bloggers.

I declined.

But I just realized something. The story on the newspaper's Web site was posted after the reporter accessed my blog and sent me the e-mail.

I wonder if there is a correlation. It seemed odd to me that a paper this size would pick up such an item off of police calls. But after working in Southern California, I realize my news judgment doesn't quit fit with what makes the evening news or the morning papers here in Oregon. Hell, the local paper lists convictions for people who plead guilty for driving under the influence.

I haven't quite figured out if I'm living in a big city or a small town. But with the neighbors making the news a reporter contacting me, today it's feeling like a very small town indeed.

Update 8/10/2005: I heard again from the reporter doing the story on blogs. For the record, there was no correlation in her visiting Digital Fishwrap and the story making about the injured girl making the newspaper's Web site Tuesday and subsequently appearing in Wednesday's edition. Two separate reporters working on two different things. Another lesson that just because there is a correlation between two things does not mean there is necessarily a cause and effect relationship.

Neighbors
Apartment living
Publicity
News
Blogging

Saga with upstairs neighbors continues

The ambulance has just pulled away with a young woman strapped to a backboard. She fell out of a second story apartment and landed on the ground just outside my bedroom window -- the victim of a party gone bad.

Earlier in the evening I debated whether to call security or someone because of all the commotion upstairs. As I had convinced myself that yes, indeed, I should call, the commotion seemed to die down. So, I decided to go to bed and attempt to sleep, but I turned on the TV because I knew I would still need something to cover up the noise.

Is I was getting comfortable in bed, trying to relax, I hear a thud outside my bedroom window, which is open a bit for fresh air, since the complex I live in doesn't have air conditioning. The thud is followed by several more thuds and voices.

"It she alright?"

"No she's hurt"

"But is she alright?"

"No, she's not alright! Call 9-1-1."

"Somebody call 9-1-1. But call for an ambulance, not the cops."

"9-1-1 is 9-1-1, it's emergency dispatch, it's all the same thing."

"Don't call the cops."

"We have to call an ambulance, she's hurt."

A chorus of voices, bickering and bantering while someone calls 9-1-1 and a young woman lies on the ground. One person tells a dispatcher what happened. And within a few seconds a siren can be heard in the distance drawing closer.

A couple of guys bicker about whether they should stay around or not. One says he can't stay. I can't quite make out his reason, but it sounded like he may have been on probation or something.

So, the ambulance arrives and I venture outside for a look at the scene, which up til now I had only been able to hear pouring through the windows or pounding through the ceiling.

And ambulance and fire truck arrive and soon two police cruisers arrive as well. The EMTs tent to the wounded girl, who was conscious enough to answer some question to aid in her care.

I walk back around to the front of the apartments, and soon a convention of neighbors gathers to shared their complaints about the occupants and the Party Pad. It seems like people on both sides of the parking lot have complained about the characters parading in and out of that apartment right over my head. So far it seems I have had the highest tolerance for the level of noise. But in typical fashion I maintain my patience and don't complain until I lose all patience. Then I'm done. And I'm so done with this yahoos.

This is the second time in recent weeks cops and an ambulance have been dispatched. I'm tired of finding and picking up their cigarette butts and beer cans around my patio. I'm tired of the juvenile hijinx and noise. And I'm tired of losing sleep over those punks.

Neighbors
Apartment living

Mighty neighborly of 'em

I'm about tired of apartment living. My upstairs neighbors are driving me nuts. There are a couple of young guys who live up there, one of whom I've met who works the night shift at Wal-Mart, if that gives you any kind of inclination of the type of place I'm living. Not that I have anything against being young, and I don't have anything against people who work at Wal-Mart for that matter, but it is so different than the place where I am in my life right not.

A couple of weekends ago there was a rowdy party upstairs; the kind that involved people pissing and throwing shit off the balcony and the cops getting called. One partygoer, a girl, got a ride out in an ambulance and at least one guy got a ride out in a cop car according to my nosy nextdoor neighbor. Underage people were there apparently, if the tenants themselves are even of age. If so, it's only barely. And apparently all this started happening about the time I crashed for the night after returning home from a trip to Eastern Oregon and a stopover in Portland.

Tonight when I came home from work, for some reason I came in through the patio door, rather than the main entrance. And there was a bunch of crap scattered on and around my patio like a beer can, cigarette butts and a wasted cigarette lighter, all courtesy of my upstairs neighbors obviously. I haven't cleaned the trash up yet, because I'm debating whether to just throw it up over their balcony railing or to put it in a bag and leave it outside their front door, or completely puss out and toss it all in the trash.

But I had forgotten about my neighbors until about 11 p.m. when there was a whole bunch of commotion upstairs. It sounded like people were running wind sprints in combat boots. Back and forth, back and forth, just a few feet over my head.

Then the drama moved outside. Now, it's summer and it was fairly warm today and I live in an apartment with no air conditioning, so the windows are cracked open. And even over the TV, I could here the distinctive wail of a woman crying. There's a whole white trash late teen melodrama playing out just outside my livingroom window.

As best as I can make out the young woman, who doesn't live here, is upset at her boyfriend, or some guy, and then there are references to another guy, and two guys here talking to the distraught girl. She's pissed at her boyfriend. She may think he's messing around with her roommate or another woman or women, and there are some financial disputes involving money for car insurance and a ring the boyfriend may or may not have thrown out in the grass. And on top of it all, the guys here thought she was pregnant. She says she's not, but wishes she was, and doesn't want to lose the boyfriend.

I don't get it. How can you be in a relationship hopelessly doomed to failure, or emotional abuse, if not physical assault, and still want to father that guy's baby? You know, I've had women tell me I'm too nice of a guy before and I'm beginning to believe it. Maybe I should have hauled off and smacked a woman or two to get there attention. And yes ladies I'm being completely sarcastic, but someone needs to explain to me why women are attracted to dumbfuck asshole losers who couldn't give two farts about them. Do these callous bastards all have big dicks? Is it the danger that's a thrill?

I've never understood those dramatic relationships where people fight all the time, particularly in public venues and draw others, intentionally or unintentionally, into their little two-bit soap operas. I've only been in one melodramatic relationship (OK make that two, but one was a bit of a long distance affair and turning off the ringer on the phone eventually allowed me to get some sleep). But the one face-to-face dramatic pairing was with my ex. Obviously that didn't work out. And yes I was in love with her, but I hated the fights. Came damn closed to breaking it off every time we had one. And maybe that's what she was trying to get me to do, since she eventually broke it off. I've done that little trick before, make your lover think you are an asshole so she'll break it off. You may be an asshole, but at least you aren't the bad guy, if that makes any sense, which of course it doesn't.

But at this point in my life I just want to live in a quiet place of my own without young girls around whose only ambition in life is to get knocked up in an attempt to land a man and young boys around whose only ambition is to figure out when the next party is so they can get fucked up and try to fuck anything with a hole or two between their legs.

Yea, we need a little drama in life, but if I want to be a spectator to drama that what I've got cable TV for.

I think it's about time to start looking for a house. I wonder if the bankers and creditor's will agree.

There's always a fucking catch, isn't there?

Neighbors
Apartment living

Too much information

How long must we pay for old mistakes? Well, apparently 9 years isn't long enough to overcome an arrest for driving under the influence. Hell, even if I got stopped for the same offense now it would be considered a first offense. But, for the purposes of a criminal background check, that curse is still around my neck.

Yesterday I filled out an application for an apartment rental, and one of the questions on there was whether you've ever been arrested on any type of misdemeanors or felony charge. So, being an honest guy, I said yes, because of the DUI arrest detailed in two earlier posts, here and here.

They woman at the apartment complex said I could expect a call yesterday for the final approval. The call didn't come yesterday, but I did get a call this morning. However, the approval is still being held up by the criminal background check. I wonder if they would have been this thorough if I had been less honest.

I also wonder if I even needed to mention the DUI at all. What's the obligation for something like that? Maybe I need to talk to an attorney.

So, instead of picking up keys for a new place today I will be waiting for some indeterminate period of time for the approval. Maybe I should keep looking. It's a decent place, but it's not a perfect place. Or maybe I'll take the rest of the day to hang around Portland and do something not moving related.

Moving

An aspiring, but uninspired, loser

Some months back, when newly single and a new resident of a new apartment I felt compelled to buy some new things for the new place.

OK, I had to buy some things for the new place because I didn't have some things I needed, like a shower curtain.

I've never been accused of being a neat freak, but there is just something wrong about lathering up in a shower with nothing to keep the water from spraying all over the bathroom. If nothing else, it would be a safety hazard. With my luck I'd slip and fall on the wet floor, and my nude bloated body would be found weeks later, sprawled out all over the floor, my head split open on the edge of the tub, and maggots doing their damnedest to aid in decomposition.

So, I went to the one store that has seemingly anything a person could need and that I actually don't mind shopping in -- Target. If truth be told, I made several trips to Target because I was also broke and couldn't afford necessary supplies and decorative amenities in one trip. On one of those trips, I picked up a bathroom scale. I'm not quite sure what compelled me to buy one. I haven't ever owned a bathroom scale. But in the newly single logic that played on my mind, I figured it would be a good way to inspire myself to lose a few pounds to get myself back in slender chick-magnet shape.

OK, for the record, I've never been a chick magnet. And I've never been slender. I have either been scrawny, or had a pot belly and scrawny arms. And I haven't seen scrawny (except for my arms) since about 1989.

So, I bought the scale, and I was not at all pleased with the numbers I saw on the little digital dial. I wasn't too fond of the digital dial either. It has an annoying habit of measuring precisely, down to the half pound. Come on, can't the damn thing just round the number down? I was used to the old scale we had when I was growing up. You know the one with the little dial on the back that you could turn to "calibrate" it. And it just had lines on the dial. There were only numbers in 10 pound increments. A bigger line every five pounds. And the dial was never precise. You got a rough estimate of your weight. "I weigh about 160 pounds." Close enough. That'll work.

Well, this frickin' scale doesn't do about. It does number-number-number-point-number. And that first set of numbers were a little too close to 200 pounds for my comfort. Well, the tight slacks weren't doing much for my comfort either, but they still buttoned damn it! I don't need abused for a digital readout too!

So, anyway, every few days, I'd weigh myself. And every few days I'd sulk. The numbers would bounce around a few pounds this way or that, but didn't really moved too much over time. I lost a few pounds, but that was about it.

But the last few mornings, the number have dropped again. One day the number had dropped to a number I had never seen on the scale before. I figured my eyes were deceiving me. So I stepped off and stepped back on. And the scale dropped 4 more pounds. Now, I know I hadn't been awake very long, but I wasn't seeing things. At least I didn't think so. And I was pretty sure I didn't lose 4 pounds in 4 seconds. At that rate I'd literally waste away to nothing in about an hour and a half.

So, I don't trust the scale any more than I trusted the old analog one that is still sitting beside the door in my parents' bathroom. But the odd thing is, the numbers are still creeping down. I won't be joining Kirstie Alley on a Jenny Craig commercial anytime soon, but I feel good about it.

I feel particularly good about it because I'm not doing a damn thing to make it happen. Exercise? Yea right. Most people wouldn't call my exertion method exercise. Well, it does get my heart rate up, but I doubt it qualifies as a true cardio workout, and I'd be kicked out of a gym workin' up a sweat that way. "Can someone bring me a towel please? Whew, rubbing one out is hard work. Sorry about the mess. Don't worry, I'll wipe off the bench."

The one lifestyle change that I have made is that I'm drinking less. It's not out of some tea-totaling aspirations. I'm just too broke to buy beer. So I drink water. And I'm too cheap (broke) to buy bottled water too. The bottle may say Aquafina, but the contents are pure Coachella Valley Water District baby, vintage 2005. And I don't buy groceries, so there is nothing to snack on in the house. If there's anything else in the fridge it means I took the alternate route home, stopped at the minimart, and I'm subsisting on chips, salsa and cheep cervesa, por favor. Lately I've resisted the urge, again because I don't need the ATM machine laughing at me when I try to withdraw cash. So I can't just sit on my fat ass and nibble while watching TV.

Hungry G-man? Have some water. Want a beer? Drink some water.

I'm sort of a modern-day hunger/gatherer. When I'm hungry I have to go hunt for a Carl's Jr. and gather in a Western cheeseburger. And I don't make it large (not because I don't want the big fries, but again, I'm cheap, and a large drink won't fit in the cupholder of my truck).

So, the couch potato water diet won't get me too far. But in the mean time I'm finding out that poverty does have its privileges.

By the time I'm homeless I ought to be looking pretty hot! The chicks in the shelter better look out.

Diet

Finally Friday

It's Friday, and that should be a good thing. But it feels more like a Monday. It's raining again. And all things considered, I'd rather crawl back into bed and just wait for the day to be over.

Because it's raining, the roof has started leaking again. But I did report the leak to the apartment manager. She said the roofer won't be able to come out until next week. But it's in their hands now.

No, it hasn't been a good week. Fortunately there's only one more work day of it left, but unfortunately even that feels like a bit much.

Weather

Liquid guilt

It's raining.

Again.

In Palm Springs.

This is definitely the wettest winter I've spent here, and this is the sixth one in the Coachella Valley for me. Although it does remind me of another wet El Niño year I spent up in the high desert.

But I'm tired of the rain this year, in spite of how green the hills and mountains are and the explosion of wildflowers that is beginning here.

The rain makes me feel guilty.

My roof leaks when it rains. Right near one of the fire sprinkler outlets in the hall outside my bedroom. I need to tell the landlord about the leak, but (and here is where the guilt comes in) my apartment is, um, well, it's a mess. And I would be embarrassed for the manager or maintenance guy or whomever to see that. So I need to clean before I call the manager.

I'm a terrible housekeeper. I have a high tolerance for clutter and a lack of skills, and interest, in household chores. Every time I start to clean I get distracted. I stop part way through. My attention wanes. I find something else to occupy my time and my mind. I procrastinate.

It might explain why I'm still single. Can't invite hot chicks over to the swinging bachelor pad with piles of newspapers scattered about. Stacks of mail cluttering the counters.

Yuck.

OK, maybe I'll tidy up a bit before bed. But I feel a cold coming on. Maybe it's best to rest now and clean in the morning. Yea, that's the ticket. And I'll have more energy too.

Unless I'm sicker tomorrow.

Weather
Palm Springs
Housework

How long are things supposed to last?

I'm a little perturbed. I moved into a new apartment at the end of June. And I mean brand-spanking new. I'm the first tenant in this apartment. I've never been the first tenant anywhere before. But the newness thing is loosing some of it's appeal, in part because things are starting to happen.

Nothing major, just little annoying things. Things that I wouldn't expect in a new apartment.

I took a little vacation in December. I returned home on a late flight, getting home sometime after 11 p.m. after enduring a delay in San Francisco due to weather. I got in the front door, and was getting settled when I hear it.

Chirp!

Every few minutes. This annoying, electronic, high-pitched chirp. It took me a few moments to figure out that it was the smoke detector in my bedroom. Dead battery. Now I don't know when that battery was actually installed in that smoke detector, but it couldn't have been must more than about 6 months earlier, since they were still putting some finishing touches on the apartment when I was looking to move in. Shouldn't a smoke detector battery last longer than 6 months?

So I dismantle the damn thing and take out the battery, thinking I could replace it in the morning. Besides, it's one of those smoke detectors where the batter is only the backup, and it's wired into the electricity. Well, that didn't work, because removing the battery didn't stop the chirping.

Crap.

Can't sleep with that annoying chirp every few minutes. I briefly contemplate closing the bedroom door and sleeping on the couch. But the apartment isn't that big and I can still hear the chirp in the living room.

Crap! Crap!

So, having been home a grand total of 10 minutes, I'm heading back out the door to buy a battery for the smoke detector. Welcome home buddy!

Not exactly a crisis. Just annoying. I hate annoying. I get more than my daily dose of annoying simply by working for a living.

Now today a light bulb burns out in the dining room light fixture. It poofed out in the spectacular last gasp flash of light way that lightbulbs have of dying. Like someone ramped up the juice in the outlet, and the fragile filament couldn't handle the extra power. If you are going to go out, go out with a bang.

Crap.

Fortunately, the fixture is one of those multi-bulb fixtures, so I won't have to sit in the dark until I can get a new bulb. Unfortunately, the fixture has those clear bare-bulb lights in it. I'm betting that the odds of finding a bulb that's an exact match are slim to none. How white trash is that to have a light fixture without matching bulbs in it? And shouldn't a light bulb last more than 7 months? The first apartment I lived in in Palm Springs had decorative bulbs in the bathroom and the dining area. I lived there for 4 years. I never had to change any of those bulbs.

Again. Annoying.

I wouldn't think twice about such things if I had moved into an older complex. Who knows how long batteries or bulbs have been in the fixtures when you move into an apartment. But a brand new place?

Crap. Crap. Crap!