Atomictumor

So, I know all the Christmas food drives are over, but damnation, I have like 4 bags of flour and a big ol’ box of dry food that we’re never going to eat, so I need to know who needs it. I know the Second Warehouse or whatever its called down in K-town takes it, but man, I’m not into driving all over hells half acre to give away food. I’m all about charity, but convenient charity.

Go ahead, call me lazy.

(lazy)

Gee, thanks.

Seriously tho, (and I’m going to be bad and name somebody on the blog) a gal named Stephanie who knew BJ at Pellissippi (and who I don’t think I ever met) was responsible for a massively huge part of our Christmas. She arranged for this food, through the Knoxville Christian Center, and about 4 massive garbage bags full of toys for the kids. Good toys too. They found a nerf gun that I couldn’t find in Target, Toys R Us, Walmart, or online. Big old massive thing, could put a dent in a car. It made the kids Christmas, and I’m very, very grateful.

I call her out, but there were also so many other people who helped. All those that donated to the BJ fund, and all those that sent 10 or 20 bucks as checks. I really, really appreciate it. I tried to pay the world back somewhat by making a donation to Doctors Without Borders in BJ’s name (I think I mentioned that before), but I’d rather do something more personal and local, but I don’t think I’ll be able to. Maybe I’ll be the guy that can help out the next person in trouble, or something.

(Edit: In my tendency and determination to get things wrong, I have been kindly reminded by Eaves that it was not Stephanie who provided the food basket, but Sandy King and the crowd at ADFAC the Moose Lodge here in Oak Ridge. They also forked over some of the gifts, I understand. Sorry!)
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We’re working hard cleaning up the house. MastaG is working toward that massive nerf gun war I promised, and Pigpen, well, he’s only working when I’m watching him, but thats OK. I don’t really mind him not wanting to work, but G thinks its unfair that the slacker doesn’t work while he’s having to, and part of me agrees. The other part remembers going red in the face trying to get G to clean up at 4.

So, its OK.

Today’s been a stress free day with regard to working, but thats because I’m doing the bare minimum. I can’t keep that up for long and feel good about being paid, so I’m still not sure there. HR suggests that I talk to a grief councilor, and gave me a number for the one that the company pays for. I might call that tonight.

Which leads to the next item for today, cancelling BJ’s cell phone line. We bought in with Nextel right before Sprint when and screwed it up by buying them and pissing all over the customer service department. I hear getting out of a contract without paying the $250/line fee takes an act of friggin congress, so we’ll just have to see what happens. I sent an email today, because I’m not interested in explaining the situation over the phone.

I’d love to get out of my line also, because frankly, it sucks, but I think I might be willing to suck it up and wait for June, when our contract ends. That, or it might be worth $250, but that seems awful wasteful.

When I get a new phone, I reckon it’ll be a pda’ish kinda thing. Woot.

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So, anyway, local people, tell me where to take all this damn food. Cuz its taking up room in the kitchen!

The title says it all, right? I can just stop typing now, hit the “Publish” button and call it a day.

When we test drove our van, the lcd on the cd player didn’t work. We were told that sometimes “they just go out” and sorry Mr. & Mrs. Tumor, there was nothing else we could do. Sometimes it comes back to life for a short period. That’s when I rush to program stations… while I can still see the call numbers.

After we signed the papers and gave them our check, we got in the van to go home. Smoke started issuing from the left headlight. That appeared to be a case of mechanic who’s too stupid to install a lightbulb.

About a year ago a fly got in the van. I rolled down my driver’s window to let it out. I pushed the button to raise the window, but nothing happened. That night, AT took a look at it and managed to get the window up, but smoke started coming out of the door where the motor is.

Sometimes the passenger window works, but we try not to use it since we don’t know if it’ll ever go back up again.

The sunroof, too.

The “door ajar” sensors on the trunk and rear driver’s side door malfunction. Every time I go up a hill or hit a bump, the interior lights come on.

The RPM meter is stuck.

I’m almost out of windshield wiper fluid, so every time I turn a curve, that light comes on. Yeah, that one’s fixable. We’re just lazy.

The other day I woke up to take the kids to school. I hit my head on a lamp, couldn’t find my f-in’ keys, the kids couldn’t find any of their stuff. When I got to the van, everything malfunctioned at the same time. I got huffy and stomped my foot on the brake pedal.

Now the “service brakes” light comes on every time I use them.

Anyone want to buy a van? It has a tv and vcr.

After only three prematurely aborted forays into the seedy world of residential interior design, I have come to the conclusion that it just ain’t for me.

The first job I had was with an overly permissive client who appeared at the outset to have virtually unlimited cash to put into a renovation.  As time went on and we pushed him to secure the money, the more difficult it became to contact him.  After we had picked out furniture and hired a general contractor, he changed all his contact numbers and email addresses and moved.  To Maryland.

The second job I had was really a commercial endeavor, not residential, but it was with a small business owner.  We were to turn her recently purchased meat-packing plant into a corporate HQ and bottling facility.  After some miscommunication, I was squeezed out by a fellow designer.  She and I have since patched up our relationship.

This last ex-job though… whew.  An elderly home-owner contacted one of my teachers asking for a student designer.  I called dibs and got the lady’s phone number.  After consulting with my teacher, I settled on an hourly wage for myself.  To say my client balked would be doing it an injustice.  She actually laughed when I told her.  She suggested a price that was half what I was asking.  Since she was elderly, I acquiesced.  I went to her home (in hoity-toity Farragut) once to “interview” and look around at what I’d be dealing with.  The room she wanted to redo was really quite nice, and I told her that I’d like to leave most of it alone, and just rearrange furniture and purchase some new pieces.
I went out to her home a second time to take pictures, measurements and to match colors.  After I was done, she casually told me that she has been in contact with a professional designer and that, if the designer’s prices are right (twice over what I initially asked for, easily), she’ll be giving the other woman the job.

“But don’t worry, we’ll save something for you to do.”

Excuse me?

I was hired.  I was given a job, an hourly wage was agreed upon, I’ve begun considering changes and have put time into planning, worrying and consulting with my teacher.  And you call to tell me, “Don’t do anything between now and the next time I call you, because I’ll be consulting with the professional designer next week”?

So I’ve decided to be pro-active and call her and turn down the left-overs that she’s saving for me.

Edit:  She just called me to tell me she’s going with the experienced designer.  She did say that she’d give me a call when she needed another room done, but I politely told her not to bother.

Being civil very well might be the hardest part of my line of work.

This is the first installment (hopefully) of a series. This is by no means the first unintended scientific experiment we have undertaken, merely the first one documented.

While putting a box of Capri Suns in the refrigerator, I came across a faux-tupperware’d box of left-overs. Unable to recall the last time we had a meal that warranted saving for future supping, I took it out to have a look-see.

Upon initial examination, I noted that the box appeared to contain rice and was sealed. Its contents rattled when shaken.

Previous experience has taught me not to inhale when opening mysterious containers, so I’m afraid I am unable to share with you any olfactory data.

The specimen was found to indeed contain rice (reverted back to its uncooked texture, devoid of moisture), but there was also an unknown quantity present.

The unknown quantity appeared to be small 1″ cubes of an uniform grey color, with small black spots on its exterior. There appeared to be a thin coating of milky-white slime on the cubes.

I did not attempt to identify the unknown quantity via taste test. I am not paid nearly enough.

Searching through my mental index of side dishes, I have come to the conclusion that the unknown quantity must be hashed potatoes.

Door opens and closes… thump thump thump… door opens and closes… assorted and various muffled noises… door opens and closes… thump thump thump… door opens and closes… assorted and various muffled noises…

I ignored this ruckus for as long as I could (about 45 seconds) and then arose to see what was the matter.  When I opened the door, I noticed two things immediately:  the foulest smelt anyone has ever dealt, and Pigpen.

“Hey, buddy, whatcha doing?”

“Getting dressed.”

“Did you have a poop?”

“Yes.”

“I probably ought to help you wipe then, huh?”

“Yes.”

I open the bathroom door and OH SWEET BABY JESUS WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?

Every. Single. Surface. Is. Covered. With. Poo.

It’s on two(!?) pairs of underware, two towels, the pjs he went to bed in, the floor, the door, the toilet (inside and out (mostly out)), and the walls (higher than he can reach?!).

AT gets up and volunteers to do the cleaning since scenes of gratuitous violence make me queasy.  It takes him a full half-hour to make the brown room white again.

When AT came back to bed, we tried to speculate as to exactly how Pigpen had managed to create such catastrophy.

Some things are best left unknown.