Tis the Season...

... To feel like crap. I'm having a hard time getting into the holiday spirit this year. Work has been incredibly stressful. My visit home for Thanksgiving was beyond depressing. I'm hoping that Christmas might be better. I'll be spending that weekend in Georgia instead of braving another trip home to Alabama. Just don't have the strength to try that again.

An Unwitting Peeping Tom

Let me preface this story by saying that I did NOT want to spy... it just happened, and now I'm scarred for life!

Last night, after a wonderfully quiet evening of watching Halloween (because the holiday is fast approaching), I took the dog outside for "last call". His potty spot is an island behind the parking lot at the rear of the townhouse row. (Please forgive the crude graphic reference.) Anyway, the dog's doing his business, and I'm loitering in the parking lot. As this neighborhood has one way in and out, and as I've meet the neighbors in five of the six townhouses, I feel very comfortable, even though it's kind of dark. So, I'm waiting for the dog to finish, glancing around, when my eyes are attracted to a bright light coming from George & Judy's second floor. Kind of like a moth is drawn to a light bulb or the bug zappers. I notice that the blinds aren't closed, which is why it's so bright. Then George walks across the room.... BUTT NAKED!!!!!!!!!! And PAUSED right in front of the window!!!!!!!!! FULL FRONTAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now, let me say that I am not offended by naked men walking around their own home. I realize that particular bedroom does not face the street, and usually there aren't many people loitering in the parking lot at 10pm on a Monday night. However, if you intend to walk around naked, at least close the damn blinds!! Especially if you're my over-60 neighbor!! I "eeked" (not a full-fledged scream but a small, horrified noise), begged the dog to hurry up and ran back into the house. I doubt George was aware of my unintended intrusion, considering he waved and said hello when I pulled in after work today. I averted my eyes, waved shortly, and almost ran into my trash and recycling receptacles. I will never be able to look at that man again without seeing the after-image of his genitalia burned into my mind's eye.

Another trip around the sun

Next week will be my 35th birthday. I've been having a pretty hard time this year. For my birthday last year, I received pending unemployment. Since then, I broke up with my boyfriend, was terminated from my job, spent a month unemployed, found a new job, relocated to another state, attempted a reconciliation with my boyfriend, broke up again, visited Louisiana, Texas, and Alaska (two good trips, one disaster), and have tried to keep my chin up.

Staying positive has been kind of difficult. It's really hard to meet people, make friends. I'm not religious, so meeting people at church is not going to happen. Now that I'm finally settled into a house, I'm trying out gyms. Not really thinking I'll meet a whole lot of people that way, since I prefer to concentrate on my workout than scoping out potential friends. I like to keep my personal and professional life separate, so it's not like I'll make a lot of friends there.

Dating is also something that has crossed my mind. I miss being in a relationship, but I hate dating. I hate the awkwardness, the games, the "trial periods." I signed up for Match.com (again). I met my last boyfriend on-line, so I thought I'd try it again. I'm also looking into Meet-Up groups in the area; maybe I'll find something that interests me there.

In the meantime, I'm trying to look forward to my birthday.

Settled... Finally

I'm finally settled into my new house. I've still got to hang pictures on the walls and finish breaking down the boxes for recycling, but that's it. It's so nice to be in my own home again. I was never comfortable renting. It's not your house, even though it's filled with your stuff. This place is all mine (mortgage included, which I don't mind since it's a hell of a lot less than what I was paying in rent).

I've got several long-range maintenance issues that I'm facing - A/C, roof, and water heater replacement- but I've got a few years to save for those. New furniture is another big-ticket item on the horizon. I'm sure I'll paint the rooms to add some flair to the place. The flower beds in the front and the back need some work. But right now, I'm happy to just look around and know it's mine.

Moving Sucks: Take Two

Eight months after I moved to Georgia, I'm packing to move again. This time, it's because I'm moving into my own house. When I first relocated to Georgia, I rented a 3 bedroom, 3.5 bathroom townhouse owned by a friend's brother. It's a beautiful place, with an open floor plan, hardwood floors, huge tub in the master bath, and tons of stairs. Very soon, though, I realized that it was too much for me.

After months of searching, I found a 3 bedroom, 2.5 bathroom townhouse. The first floor doesn't have hardwood floors; instead it has the coolest tile I've ever seen. The master doesn't have a separate garden tub, but it does have THREE closets. Even though I'm losing about 600 square feet and a garage, I'm gaining my own little back patio complete with a swing.

So for the past two weeks, I've been taking an hour here and there to pack. With one week left, I'm almost done. The guest room and living room are done. The kitchen and master bedroom are as packed as they can get. The movers will be here between 8 and 9am on Saturday. I can't wait! I'll be a homeowner again!

House Hunting: Take Two

The contract that I put in back in June has been terminated since the Homeowner's Association couldn't get the delinquency in line so the lender would approve the mortgage. Luckily, I found another condo. Also renovated, but not as high-end as the first one. Plain white appliances instead of stainless steel, a tub/shower combo instead of a garden tub and separate shower, a patio instead of a sun room. So I put in an offer. Unfortunately someone else beat me to the punch.

At this point, I've looked at more than two dozen condos and townhouses. How hard is it to find an affordable townhouse in North Fulton county with hardwood or laminate floors, new (or new-ish) appliances, and a garden tub? I think the drawback is my price limit. I'm currently looking in a price range about $50k less than what the lender said I qualified. I would like to have an affordable mortgage, one that won't make me think "what the hell was I thinking?" when I have to write that check. I hope the third time will be a charm. A more likely outcome will be that I have a nervous breakdown. Seriously.

Update: Effective 08/06/10, the seller of the cute little townhouse I would like to purchase does not want to budge on the purchase price. Granted, my first offer was ridiculously low, but the seller bought the house as a foreclosure, fixed it up some, and put it back on the market two months later. It's been on the market for two months. Come on- negotiate!

08/10/10: Just as I told the seller never mind, I'll look at this one in the same neighborhood for $3k less, she knocked down her price to match. Of course, the other house wasn't as nice, but who cares?! The contract is signed, the inspection is scheduled, and if this one doesn't close, break out the straight-jacket!

08/13/10: The inspection uncovered several issues. The a/c units, water heater, and roof all need work, a water line needs to be repaired, among other minor repairs needed. The seller is getting estimates. I now officially hate all aspects of buying and selling a home. The only thing I like about homeownership is the tax benefit, which I desperately need.

08/17/10: Woo hoo!! The seller agreed to fix 10 of the 13 issues uncovered by the inspection. I don't care about a window not being fixed so it stays open or an exhaust fan in the half bath not being replaced. The major issues are being handled! I might be a homeowner by the end of next week!

Identity Crises

My "kids" are great; however, I think there is some confusion as to which species they are.

I've always wondered about my dog. He likes to sit on the arms and backs of couches, and if there is a pile of pillows, he'll sit on top of them. He prefers to sit in laps, or at least snuggled against a leg. At bedtime, though, he acts like a dog and burrows under the covers.

When Reba came to live with us, she maintained the traditional cat postures- lounging on stairs, sprawling out on the desk, walking across the back of the couch. She has recently decided that the dog bed is too comfortable for the dog. It's the middle of summer in the South, but she'll curl up in the bed and nap. And when Beau had the audacity to sniff at her while she was in there, he learned that she throws a pretty mean left hook.

I wonder if their pet insurance would cover therapy?

Quirks and Phobias

I've got several fears and idiosyncrasies. I'm acrophobic and claustrophobic; acrophobia is a fear of heights, while claustrophobia is the fear of confined spaces. I'm neat almost to the point of compulsion. Everything has its place, and I don't like it when things are out of order.

I've never liked open doors. When I go to bed, closet doors and bathroom doors have to be closed. Even the guest room and bathroom door on the first floor have to be closed. Years later, in talking with my mother about some of my quirks, I learned that I believed in closet monsters. That need to keep the monsters in check had evolved, and although I know there are no such thing as monsters, I still need to have the doors closed.

When I was about 8 or 9, my mother, brother and I spent the summer with my grandfather in Wisconsin. He lived in an old house with an orchard, a vegetable garden, and several old sheds. Off one of those sheds was a potato cellar. My brother locked me in there one afternoon. I spent several hours curled up on the steps, terrified of the damp darkness and the general creepiness of the cellar. My confinement was payback for the previous week when I had dared him to pet a cow over the fence to the neighbor's dairy farm (I "forgot" to remember the fence was electrified). I had never liked close spaces before that day; afterwards, I liked them even less. That summer also began years of sibling warfare.

When I was in high school, I went to a haunted house. I love being scared, so the noise and skeletons and people jumping out of nowhere didn't bother me. Then we went up the stairs to the second floor. There was a balcony that my friends dared me to step onto. Not wanting to show weakness, I did. It was a trick balcony that tilted slightly with the weight. So instead of showing weakness, I showed full blown panic, screamed like a little girl, and practically ran out of there. I stayed away from even the smallest step stool for the longest time.

Throughout the years, I've learned to control my fears. I learned that the heights don't scare me me too much as long as I don't look down. Enclosed spaces aren't as terrifying as long as I have a space around me. When I visited the St Louis Arch, my claustrophobia came out full force as I was crammed into a tiny elevator with four other people to get to the top. The view was not worth the trip. Did you know that the top of the Arch is basically a narrow hallway with small rectangular windows? On the other hand, my trip to the top of the Empire State Building was well worth the elevator ride. Although I was higher up, I was outside with more room to move. There were tall metal railings that kept visitors from leaning over and falling, allowing only a straight view across the city. It took my breath away, but not from fear.

Taking the elevator at work makes me hold my breath, especially when I hear the cables make some funny creaking noise. The building has ceiling to floor windows, so I tend to stay close to the doorways and interior walls. I'm one of the few who doesn't want an office with a view. Ladders take lots of deep breaths because there's really nothing to hold onto. Balconies aren't bad, depending on how sturdy the railings are. The need for order isn't likely to go away anytime soon. I have to have something to control.

Melancholy Lately....

My choice in music tends to reflect my moods... lately my spirits have been a little low, and so I've been wallowing. This one song has been on repeat....

Unknown by Chely Wright

Fire and Rain is my favorite song
I say a prayer at 11:11
I could watch old movies all night long
I'm not sure about hell but I know there's a heaven
Sometimes at feel so alone it scares me
I talk in my sleep but there's no one to hear me

[Chorus:]

Unknown
I don't want to be unknown
The little things that make me who I am
I need to share
I need to know that someone cares
That I drink coffee black
That I sing when I drive
That I sleep with the TV on
More then anything
I don't want to be unknown

I love September when leaves turn gold
I get nervous in crowed places
Someday I want to see San Francisco
I'm bad with names, but remember faces
I need more then a kiss, more then a lover
I'm a world that's waiting to be discovered

[Repeat Chorus:]

That I write down my dreams
That I love when it rains
I burn candles when I'm alone
More then anything
I don't want to be unknown
More then anything
No one wants to be unknown

House Hunting

So selling a house sucks... but now I'm in the market to buy again. But I will never be the jerk-buyer that I recently had to deal with when I sold my house in AL.

Update: As of 06/27/10, I found a great little condo.... it was bought as a foreclosure in February 2010, completely renovated, and put on the market in May 2010. The initial listing price was $125k.... but when I saw almost 30 days later, the seller dropped the price to $119k. A very short sequence of haggling resulted in a selling price of $117k.

However, as Murphy's Law is a fixture in my life.... snags have developed... more to come...

Update: As of 07/21/10, the homeowners' association still hasn't resolved the delinquency issue so my loan can be approved. Apparently because of the fallout from the recent mortgage disaster, lenders now require that condos with a homeowners association cannot have more than 15% of the members behind in their dues. The HOA for the condo I want has a 19% ratio.... so basically because 4 people won't keep up their dues means that the 4 people who want to buy into that neighborhood can't.

Life Alone in the Big City

I moved from a small city in AL to the big city of Atlanta three months ago. Moving has never been a problem for me. I grew up an Army brat; we moved every 18 months. I moved away from home after high school to go to college. This time, though, I moved away from my home, from my friends. I moved away from the security and comfort of those I love. And ever since then, I've dealt with the loneliness that accompanied that decision. It was easier to do things alone when I lived in MGM. I could choose to be social or solitary. Now I have no choice. Pretty much everything I do is alone. It's easier to be alone when you have the option not to be.

Real Estate Hell

In September 2004, I bought a house. I was almost 29 years old and getting out of a horrific relationship. I needed something good to happen. That house was the best thing I ever did for myself. This Friday, I sold it. That was the worst experience I ever went through. Although my house was only on the market for about 60 days, I spent each and every one of those days fluctuating between stress and homicide. In a few months, I anticipate getting back into the real estate game… this time on the buying side. Buying is so much more pleasant than selling. I never want to sell a house again.

Pet Peeves

I have many pet peeves. After a conversation I just had, I feel the need to vent some of them.

1. People who say "I just got your email dated ABC" even though I have a return receipt from that email, along with the ones I sent on EFG, HIJ, and LMNOP.
2. People who say "I'll send you that information via email right now" and never do.
3. People who are so impatient to turn that they honk and flip me off, despite the fact that I can't turn because of oncoming traffic.
4. People who don't use their turn signals, or who use their turn signal at the last second, or who leave their turn signal on for two miles.
   
5. People who have their car stereos turned up so high that my car is vibrating a quarter mile away. Aren't your ears bleeding?
   
6. People who leave just enough coffee in the bottom of the pot to say "I left some for you", even though all they left was half a cup of watery grounds.
7. People who sit at my desk and use my stuff, but don't put it back where it belongs. I work in a cubicle, but it's still my space.
8. People who have more than the maximum number of items, yet insist on using the express lane. Also, people who insist that an employee assist them in the self-checkout lane.
   
9. Women who wear so much perfume that the cloud remains long after they leave the room.
   
10. People who take up two parking spaces. I don't care if you drive a car worth more than my house or a truck bigger than my house; please park between the lines.
11. People who sit in their cars and wait for that parking space by the front door, holding up everyone else, rather than parking in the first available space and walking
    
12. People who contemplate the menus at fast food restaurants. It's not fine dining; you're ordering by number- pick one and stop holding up the line.

Feel free to add to my list. I know there's a whole lot more annoyances out there!

Let it snow!

Snow in the South is a rare occurrence. On the day of its arrival, the anticipation was as thick as the flurries. By 1pm EST, the first flakes began to fall outside my office. Calls, texts, and emails flew as the snow fell. By 3pm, the ground was covered. The local TV and radio stations were advising viewers and listeners to head home as soon as possible to avoid the soon-to-be icy roads. My office closed an hour early, and apparently so did everyone else. My usual 30-minute commute took an hour as panicked commuters jockeyed for position on the road.

Rock salt quickly sold out of local hardware stores, and pool salt became the next hot commodity. Grocery stores sold out of milk and bread. As if an 8-hour “snowstorm” will result in the need to be holed up for days. The temperatures dropped below freezing overnight, wrecking havoc on our unprepared streets. Accidents abounded – about 300 state-wide, according to the state patrol officials. By 3pm the next day, the roads were clear, and the majority of the snow had melted.

Pictures sprang up fast and furious on Facebook, as my fellow Southerners reveled in the cold, white stuff. Of course, I had to join in. I even dragged my poor little dog outside. He was not a happy camper.

Moving Sucks

Moving is a pain in the ass. You have to sort through all your stuff, decide what to take, what to sell/donate, and what to take with you. Then you’re surrounded with boxes containing your life.

I don’t like to collect anything, except books, which I’ve kept in check with frequent visits to the local library. I’ve managed to keep my shoe and purse fetish under control. I have a pretty significant DVD collection, ranging from Disney to horror. I also have a random assortment of wineglasses, beer mugs, and pint glasses, revealing my love of alcohol.

I think it says a lot about my upbringing. I was an Army brat; we moved every 18 months until I was 13 years old. When the Army moves you, you’re given a weight limit, and every effort is made to stay under the limit to avoid paying. Those lessons tend to stay with you, long after you’re out of the Army.

So I find myself with fewer boxes of stuff relative to the number of years that I've lived here. But at least when I have this stuff hauled to Georgia, it won't cost too terribly much.

Unlucky in Love

This weekend I broke up with my boyfriend. We’d been seeing each other for just over a year. I had hoped that this relationship might have been IT. You know, my happy ever after. Things didn’t work out though. I have a history of things not working out.

My high school boyfriend dumped me, on his mother’s advice. We had dated for two years. According to his mother, I was not a suitable match. He had just graduated from high school; his mother wanted him to get married and have babies. I wanted to go to college. At seventeen, I wasn’t ready to commit a lifetime to anyone.

My college boyfriend dumped me on New Year’s Eve 1999. We had dated about five years. We’d had a somewhat tumultuous relationship, as many college relationships are. He cheated on me; I cheated on him. We separated a few times throughout the years. He was my first real love. I decided I was ready to settle down and get married. He said he wouldn’t because I wouldn’t convert to his religion. Not that he was particularly religious; he went at Easter and Christmas, and whenever we went to church with his family. I said I would agree to raise children with his religion, but that compromise didn’t work. He married someone else in December 2000.

In 2001, I was introduced to one of my boss’ clients. He seemed like a nice guy, 10 years older though. We didn’t have much in common, but we had fun together. As the relationship progressed, he became more controlling, more demanding. We started going to the gym together because I needed to get in better shape for him. We hung out with his friends because mine were too immature for him. He wanted me to grow my hair long, because he liked long hair. At the time, my hair was super short; I’d had long hair in high school, and it was a pain. I started to resent his increasingly insistent demands, and so we broke up.

A year later, I started seeing an old college friend. I’d always known that he liked me, but we’d never dated. I thought I might have found my happy ending. We didn’t have a hot and heavy, fireworks exploding relationship, but it was nice and comfortable. I moved in with him after a year together. We had our differences. I was orderly to the point of obsession; he was a slob. I paid my bills as soon as they arrived; he’d let them pile up and tended to pay them late. I had an aloof Persian mix; he had a hyper Border Collie mix. A month after I moved in, he lost his job. For six months, I supported us. I worked two jobs to keep the roof over our heads and food on the table. He stayed home and drank. He was depressed about being unemployed (even though he was holding out for “just the right job”); I was annoyed with being the responsible one. Eventually, our anger escalated into violence. It was easy to hide the bruises from my friends and co-workers (they knew though). One night, a fight resulted in a broken coffee table and a broken ankle (mine unfortunately). That was it. A year after I moved in, I bought a house and moved out.

After that fiasco, I was alone for over three years. I had my house, my friends; I adopted a dog. Life was working out nicely. But I was starting to get kind of lonely. One of my co-workers convinced me to sign up for an online dating site. The third guy I went out with was my Prince Charming. I didn’t think he would be the one for me- he was divorced with a young child. But I fell in love with him, and his son. Our relationship rolled along smoothly, until one night, after a few glasses of wine, I proposed….. and he said nothing. That bombshell lingered for about a month. I decided to face the situation, so I invited him over a nice romantic dinner and asked the question again…. And again, he said nothing. At that point, I realized my happy ending wasn’t going to happen, but I was afraid of losing him and the pseudo-family I sought to create. In the end, I faced my fear, and I got the answer I had expected. He didn’t want to marry; he was content with the status quo. I wasn’t though, and it took me another three months to gather my courage. Of course, the end of our relationship was further hastened by my pending unemployment. I was so stressed about what I was going to do about my career that I deliberately tried to provoke some kind of emotion from him. He had always been so rational (it was something that I admired, and something that annoyed me to no end). And he remained rational, to my bitter, tear-choked end.

So here I am, almost 20 years after my first date, still single. The older I get, the more it bothers me. The older I get, the more I want a husband, a baby, a happy life. The older I get, the more I realize it’s not likely to happen.

Laying Blame

For almost four months, I've had issues with my internet. I could only be online for about 30 minutes at a time before I lost the connection. I did all manner of rebooting, unplugging, restarting, to no avail. Unfortunately, I also didn't have time to take a day off to spend on the phone with AT&T tech support. The upside of unemployment is now I do have time.

So yesterday I called tech support. The first time I was told there was an alternate profile (huh?) attached to my line, and that was deleted so I shouldn't have any more problems. Thirty minutes later, and no connection, I called again. The second phone rep was very patient with my sarcasm, and assured me that they would fix the issue. I was told that a technician would be dispatched to my residence between 8am and 12pm. I asked that he please show up closer to 12pm than 8am, because no one wants to see me first thing in the morning. I am not a morning person. It's downright scary.

Anyway, at 9:30am (a fairly reasonable hour), the technician arrived at my doorstep. He tested the jack, changed out the modem, tested the outside line, then climbed into my attic to follow the money (i.e. the wiring). And lo and behold.... he found the culprit!!!

Back in August, my A/C had gone out (living in AL, this is horrifying). Evidently, in their determination to install my swanky new unit, the HVAC techs got my phone wiring caught in the cover of the inside unit. Meaning for all the months that I've been cursing AT&T for my lack of reliable internet, I should have been cursing United Heating & Air.

All that aside, I now have a constant signal and can surf to my heart's content. And right now surfing means job hunting.....

My Greatest Joy...

Two years ago, I started contemplating adopting a dog. I already owned a cat, Isis, but I wanted a companion instead of a roommate. Isis was a 10-year-old Persian mix, the queen of my household. I had brought her home when she was about 2 years old. When she was younger, she would occasionally play and seek out affection. As she aged, she became more aloof. I tried to entice her, but she rebuffed all of my efforts. My job was to provide her with food (Friskies moist, limited to select flavors) and clean litter (Tidy Cat scoopable and nothing else). Heaven forbid if I strayed from her preferences. Then one Saturday afternoon, I drove past my college campus and noticed signs for an Adopt-a-Thon. I pulled in.

As I wandered the grounds, I saw a number of beautiful animals. There was a shepherd rescue, with dogs that reminded me of the working dogs I was around when my dad was an MP. There was a dachshund rescue, and my mother had one of them at home. Therewere representatives from the humane shelters all over the tri-county area. So many dogs…. I had no intention of bringing one home…. Until I almost tripped over one. He was a skittish 3-year-old Chihuahua mix recently turned over to an organization dedicated to small dogs. I learned that he had belonged to an elderly woman who’d recently died. Her children didn’t want him so he ended up at the rescue. His name was Charlie, and there was something about the way he looked at me that I couldn’t resist.

I brought Charlie home. He didn’t look like a Charlie, though, so I consulted one of my very good friends. She jokingly suggested Sir Charles Beauregard. It kind of stuck with me, and Charlie became Beau. Isis wasn’t thrilled with the new addition. She seemed to regard him as a nuisance, a happy-go-lucky intruder to her quiet home. Isis was a diva, and she did not look kindly upon interlopers. She was elderly; he was young. She tolerated him. I was lucky to get a couple of cute pictures of the two of them together.

Less than a year later, Isis’ health deteriorated. She stopped eating and lost half her body weight. I took her to the vet, who informed me that there was nothing wrong with her other than a slightly elevated white blood cell count. I went home with antibiotics and instructions to add whole milk to her diet. Less than a week after that visit, Isis refused both milk and water, and the antibiotics weren’t staying down. Another trip to the vet led to the painful decision that there was really nothing I could do for her; I asked the vet to euthanize her. Beau comforted me when I got home. He curled up in my lap and seemed to mourn his feline sister with me.

Beau has become the greatest joy in my life. Every time I see him, I have to smile. He’s always so happy, so enthusiastic. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, he wants to be there with me. He’s gained several pounds in the years he’s been with me. I tease that he’s not fat; he’s well-loved. If allowed, he would probably consume his weight in rawhides and Greenies. He hides remnants of his chewies in various nooks and crannies around the house. Not behind or underneath anything, but next to things or in corners, as if no one will see then, even though they’re in plain sight. He loves to burrow under the covers in bed. He’ll crawl to the foot, and then try to dig up the sheets to create a nest. When that doesn’t work, he’ll make a couple circles and settle down. He does the same thing to the couch, which has resulted in several damaged cushions. He doesn’t like to get his paws wet, which means that potty breaks in the rain are interesting. I have to go outside with him, and he doesn’t like umbrellas; if he gets wet, I get wet. If he encounters something dead and/or smelly during our walks, he will roll in it. When I bathe him, he gives me the most pathetic look, as if I’m torturing him. After he’s been dried off, he’ll run mad circles throughout the house.

Dogs are not just man’s best friend; they’re also a woman’s.