In the words of Lou Brown, "It's starting to come together, Pepper...Starting to come together." (If you don't know who Lou Brown is, watch this.) You see, Lou Brown knew that something big was about to happen with his Indians team. Lou Brown could feel it. Lou Brown was giddy with excitement.
(And don't make fun of me for referencing a ridiculous 1980's baseball movie. Major League pretty much shaped my childhood. To me, it represents a better time. A simpler time. A time before Corbin Bernsen was doing guest spots on The Young and the Restless. A time before Rene Russo's face was made out of play-doh. A time when Wesley Snipes still paid his taxes. A time before Charlie Sheen's were so upsetting. And when I say 'upsetting actions', I don't mean falsely imprisoning hookers and keeping his cocaine in a giant briefcase. No, by 'upsetting actions', I mean being the star of a really crappy television show that every non-funny person will swear up and down is a good show. I don't see the appeal. And that show is ruining his Hot Shots! Part Deux legacy.)
Okay, by now you're probably asking, "What does the movie, Major League, or more specifically, Lou Brown's quote, have to with anything?" Well let me tell you. Up until a couple of months ago, all we had was a pipe dream; an idea that, sure it might happen eventually, but it's too far away from reality to really sink our teeth into. We could only talk about it in hypotheticals, like, "It'll be great when this happens." Or "Some day, we'll be able to do this or have the freedom to do that." But now we have a date. An actual, finalized date that we can plan around. It's not often that you can look ahead to a specific date and say, "That's the day that our lives are going to change." And we're not looking back. March 26th. That's the date my parents are moving to Charleston. March 26th. That's the date we get access to unlimited free babysitters. March 26th. That's the date Rach and I can go on weekend getaways (or even weeknight getaways!). March 26th. That's the date that we'll have someone to cook real food for us. (Anyone who has eaten my dad's food knows what I'm talking about here.) March 26th. That's the date that Rach will finally have someone to go on marathon shopping trips with. (Anyone who has gone shopping with either Rach, or my mom, knows what I'm talking about here.) March 26th. That's the date.
And like I said, up until a couple of months ago, it was just something that my parents eventually wanted to do. But then things just started rolling into motion. Around Christmas time, my mom decided to put her house up for sale. But that's not really anything for us to get our hopes up about. Trying to sell a house in the New Orleans area is like trying to sell birth control pills to the cast of Basketball Wives. It's not easy. I mean, my parents' next door neighbor has had their house up for sale for over two years. But within the first week of being on the market, my parents had two offers. And after a short negotiation and a few appraisal hiccups, they are set to close on the house next week.
But where are they going to live when they get here? Well, a couple of weeks ago they came up to South Carolina to look for a house. But before they even got here, Rach hooked them up with a real estate friend of hers, Chip, to help them research what areas they were interested in. Well, at least I thought Chip was a friend of hers. I'm starting to question their friendship, because no true friend would recommend my parents as clients. Chip sent my mom about 80 different listings. My mom then whittled the list down to 32 and organized it into a spreadsheet of houses to visit. Chip would've been better off being Goldilocks' Realtor, "This house is too small!" "This house is too big!" "There's not enough closets!" " There's not enough landscaping!" "There's too many stairs" "The laundry room is too far away from the bathroom!" Nothing was good enough. But at the same time, they didn't really know what they were looking for, so they couldn't rule anything out, either. I met Chip and my parents for lunch when they were halfway through their first 9 hour house-hunting session. Chip's demeanor was that of a parent whose kid keeps wetting the bed. As frustrated as he was, he knew he had to be patient. His face stayed calm, but deep down, I got the sense that he wanted to scream at my parents, "Just pick a damn house!....And stop pissing in the bed!"
Anyway, on Sunday night, after close to 30 hours of looking at houses, my parents found the perfect house. It was EXACTLY what they had been looking for. They wanted a house that was about 1800 square feet. This house was almost 3000. They wanted a 1-story house. This house was a 2-story. They wanted a place that they could keep their 5th wheel camper. This house didn't have anything like that, in fact, the 5th wheel could barely fit in the driveway. This house was everything that they didn't know they wanted in a house....and it had a pool. So they put in an offer. And it got rejected. So they put in another offer. And it got rejected. So they put in a third offer. And it got rejected. So they put in another offer. And it got accepted. So now they're under contract, and are scheduled to close at the end of next month.
So now the only thing left to complete the move is for my mom to find a job up here. And it's going to happen, too. Soon. I have no doubt in my mind. I can feel it. Because it's starting to come together, Pepper....Starting to come together.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
My Non-King-Sized Non-Problems......
Apparently, Rach thinks I'm a loner. A rebel. And there's things about me that you wouldn't understand. Things you couldn't understand. Things you SHOULDN'T understand. Oh, wait. That was Pee-Wee Herman. Alright, but still. Rach must think I'm a loner. Why else would she be constantly trying to set me up with other dudes? Sometimes it's a guy she met at work. Sometimes it's one of her friends' husband or boyfriend. Sometimes it's a random stranger in Publix. But there's one common denominator: I would LOVE them. No, I'm serious. Every time she starts telling me about some guy, she says, "Oh my god, you would just LOVE him!"
Really? I would love him? What exactly, in our 5 years together, have I done that would make you think that I'd get excited about meeting some guy? Do I walk up and down the street, kicking a can, because nobody will play with me? When someone knocks at the front door, do I scurry up to see who it is, hoping that it's someone who will be my friend? Do you get some sort of DirecTV-type referral bonus for signing people up to be my friend? Is there some sort of friend-quota that I have to meet? I don't understand.
And it's not as if I start jumping up and down giddily clapping when you tell me that you're setting me up on a dude-date. I get just as excited about a potential buddy as I get when you tell me we're getting a new bed-skirt. I mean, it's nice and everything, but is it really necessary? And then Rach always says, "Well, I just think yall would get along. That's all." Of course we would get along! I get along with everybody. I wonder when the last time she thought to herself, 'Oh geez, this guy would HATE Jeff.' Because THAT's actually a person that I'd like to hang out with.
Okay, enough ranting. Here's where this is relevant. Rach convinced me to go to a 'Men's Meeting' at the church. Apparently, the husband of one of her friends was going, and I was just gonna LOVE him. I gotta say, I'm still a little confused how she roped me into going. She must've used some sort of Jedi mind trick on me. She said she already had a meeting at the church at the same time, and they had free child care, and it required little to no effort on my part. Wait, on second thought, maybe she didn't have to use a Jedi mind trick on me. Anytime you use the phrases "free childcare" and "little to no effort on your part", I'll pretty much go along with anything. Doesn't matter what we're doing.
"Hey Jeff, I'm gonna go bomb a village of handicapped baby seal orphans. Wanna come?"
"Ehhh, I don't know."
"There's free childcare, and it won't require any effort on your part."
"Alright, I'm in."
So we're pulling up to the church, and Rach is giving me some last minute pointers on how to act on my man-date, "Don't talk about yourself too much. Oh, and act like you know how to fix cars. And make sure you pretend to enjoy hunting - church guys love to hunt. Pull your sleeves up a little bit, show them some biceps--but not too much! You don't want to seem like some workout slut!" Okay, I'm just kidding. She really didn't say any of that. But she did tie a steak around my neck to make sure they'd play with me. Okay, kidding about that too. But I have to say, it was a little strange when I walked in, looking for some random guy I've never met. I didn't know if Rach told the guy what I looked like, or who I was, or anything like that. So as people would walk up to me, I had the same sad, desperate, "please don't be crazy" smile that a thirty-nine year old single lady with five cats would have waiting for her blind date. I waited and waited, but alas, he did not show up. Sniff, sniff. Or even worse, he showed up, saw who I was, and then left. But if he's going to act like that, then he didn't deserve to be my homey anyway.
So the meeting starts, and they start talking about how men have a tendency to bridle up their feelings and avoid any emotionally damaging memories. They discussed the potential damages that bottling up all of those emotions could cause. Then some of the guys up on stage starting sharing their stories and what negative impacts that their issues had on their lives. There were issues with emotionally distant fathers, alcoholic fathers, absent fathers, abusive mothers, paranoid schizophrenic aunts. Guys dealing with depression, anger, alcoholism, estranged children, etc. It was some really powerful stuff. At this point, I could tell that these topics were really tapping into some emotional burdens weighing down a lot of the people in the audience. It was probably comforting for people share this moment with others who were going through some of the same issues. But for me, as I was sitting there trying to relate, all I could keep thinking about was how little I have to complain about. I mean, think about it, what problems do I really have? And I don't mean this in a cocky, braggadocios sort of way. But in more of an appreciative, thankful manner. It made me realize that whatever problems that I may conjure up in my head are just that; conjured up in my head. These people have legitimate beefs. Real issues that they have to contend with. My biggest problem is that my job can be stressful. Or that my healthy, beautiful kids brought home a B on their report card. Or that my hot wife can be a little....umm...eccentric sometimes. These are not problems. These are hardly even 'less than fortunate' situations. These are blogposts. So all of this is running through my head while I'm sitting in this men's meeting, and then it dawned on me. This lack of a serious situation is what enables me enjoy myself wherever I am. This is why that, somewhere, right now, one of Racheal's friends is talking to her husband, and she's saying, "Oh my god, you are just going to LOVE Jeff!"
Really? I would love him? What exactly, in our 5 years together, have I done that would make you think that I'd get excited about meeting some guy? Do I walk up and down the street, kicking a can, because nobody will play with me? When someone knocks at the front door, do I scurry up to see who it is, hoping that it's someone who will be my friend? Do you get some sort of DirecTV-type referral bonus for signing people up to be my friend? Is there some sort of friend-quota that I have to meet? I don't understand.
And it's not as if I start jumping up and down giddily clapping when you tell me that you're setting me up on a dude-date. I get just as excited about a potential buddy as I get when you tell me we're getting a new bed-skirt. I mean, it's nice and everything, but is it really necessary? And then Rach always says, "Well, I just think yall would get along. That's all." Of course we would get along! I get along with everybody. I wonder when the last time she thought to herself, 'Oh geez, this guy would HATE Jeff.' Because THAT's actually a person that I'd like to hang out with.
Okay, enough ranting. Here's where this is relevant. Rach convinced me to go to a 'Men's Meeting' at the church. Apparently, the husband of one of her friends was going, and I was just gonna LOVE him. I gotta say, I'm still a little confused how she roped me into going. She must've used some sort of Jedi mind trick on me. She said she already had a meeting at the church at the same time, and they had free child care, and it required little to no effort on my part. Wait, on second thought, maybe she didn't have to use a Jedi mind trick on me. Anytime you use the phrases "free childcare" and "little to no effort on your part", I'll pretty much go along with anything. Doesn't matter what we're doing.
"Hey Jeff, I'm gonna go bomb a village of handicapped baby seal orphans. Wanna come?"
"Ehhh, I don't know."
"There's free childcare, and it won't require any effort on your part."
"Alright, I'm in."
So we're pulling up to the church, and Rach is giving me some last minute pointers on how to act on my man-date, "Don't talk about yourself too much. Oh, and act like you know how to fix cars. And make sure you pretend to enjoy hunting - church guys love to hunt. Pull your sleeves up a little bit, show them some biceps--but not too much! You don't want to seem like some workout slut!" Okay, I'm just kidding. She really didn't say any of that. But she did tie a steak around my neck to make sure they'd play with me. Okay, kidding about that too. But I have to say, it was a little strange when I walked in, looking for some random guy I've never met. I didn't know if Rach told the guy what I looked like, or who I was, or anything like that. So as people would walk up to me, I had the same sad, desperate, "please don't be crazy" smile that a thirty-nine year old single lady with five cats would have waiting for her blind date. I waited and waited, but alas, he did not show up. Sniff, sniff. Or even worse, he showed up, saw who I was, and then left. But if he's going to act like that, then he didn't deserve to be my homey anyway.
So the meeting starts, and they start talking about how men have a tendency to bridle up their feelings and avoid any emotionally damaging memories. They discussed the potential damages that bottling up all of those emotions could cause. Then some of the guys up on stage starting sharing their stories and what negative impacts that their issues had on their lives. There were issues with emotionally distant fathers, alcoholic fathers, absent fathers, abusive mothers, paranoid schizophrenic aunts. Guys dealing with depression, anger, alcoholism, estranged children, etc. It was some really powerful stuff. At this point, I could tell that these topics were really tapping into some emotional burdens weighing down a lot of the people in the audience. It was probably comforting for people share this moment with others who were going through some of the same issues. But for me, as I was sitting there trying to relate, all I could keep thinking about was how little I have to complain about. I mean, think about it, what problems do I really have? And I don't mean this in a cocky, braggadocios sort of way. But in more of an appreciative, thankful manner. It made me realize that whatever problems that I may conjure up in my head are just that; conjured up in my head. These people have legitimate beefs. Real issues that they have to contend with. My biggest problem is that my job can be stressful. Or that my healthy, beautiful kids brought home a B on their report card. Or that my hot wife can be a little....umm...eccentric sometimes. These are not problems. These are hardly even 'less than fortunate' situations. These are blogposts. So all of this is running through my head while I'm sitting in this men's meeting, and then it dawned on me. This lack of a serious situation is what enables me enjoy myself wherever I am. This is why that, somewhere, right now, one of Racheal's friends is talking to her husband, and she's saying, "Oh my god, you are just going to LOVE Jeff!"
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