Home is... where?

Dad sold the house last week. Not the house I grew up in, but the last house I lived in when I left home. The last place Mom, Dad, my sister, and I ever lived, together.

The house had a third bedroom that had been added on behind the carport. The south wall of the bedroom was all brick, having formerly been the exterior of the house. And the ceiling sloped from about twelve feet at the brick wall down to about six feet at the back.

The room was set lower than the rest of the house, with concrete steps leading down from the kitchen. And, most importantly, there was an outside entrance from the carport at the other end of the room. This was my bedroom. It sort of felt like my own little one room apartment. With kitchen privileges, of course.

When we moved there, I was probably nineteen. And I was so excited that I spent two nights sleeping on the living room floor before we'd even moved any of our things. It was just me, a pillow, a blanket, and a telephone sitting on the floor.

So many memories come flooding back about the house and the neighborhood. There was the elderly lady across the street who at least twice gave cars parked in front of our house a gentle nudge. If you saw her backing out, you knew not to be anywhere near the road.

She'd always come and apologize when she hit something. Fortunately, she never drove more than four miles per hour, so the damage was never visible without a microscope.

I fondly remember, especially this time of year, climbing up on the roof to hang Christmas lights. Mom loves Christmas lights and we always tried to have a nice little display for her. Late November/early December was always a time of extension cords, staple guns, and replacement bulbs.

I remember Dad and I putting up the basketball goal. Pouring Quickrete for the pole. And that reminds me of Dad's shot. Which makes me smile and cringe all at the same time. Which, if you saw it, you'd laugh. But he's my Dad and I love him for trying, and thinking about it now makes me sad.

I remember afternoons in the backyard chipping plastic golf balls onto the roof. Mom's family coming over on the Fourth of July. The countless times I mowed that yard. When my sister begged for and got a trampoline. When my sister begged for and got a cheap above ground pool. Beginning to notice a pattern here?

And then there was the time I temporarily lost my kitchen privileges. I had put a TV dinner in the oven when I got home from work at 1:00 in the morning. And then promptly fell asleep. I woke up two hours later to smoke, one of the five most awful stenches ever to pass thru the portals of my nostrils, and of course, angry parents.

It was the house I lived in for most of the time I was in college. It was where I lived when I met and began dating Lily. And it was the home I left, when I left home.

A few months ago, a truck arrived at my door, loaded with furniture and cardboard boxes. Dad had begun to clean out the house and we were dividing the things we wanted, before selling the rest. Among other things, I got a lamp, a coffee table, and a dresser that had been my sister's. But what I got didn't begin to compare to what it felt I was losing.

I know, home is where the heart is and all that. But there's something safe and comforting about having a tangible place to come home to. Knowing that no matter how far away you may wander, it's there, waiting. Someplace familiar, filled with memories and warmth. They say a house is not a home. But that one was.

No one had lived in the house for the last six months or so. But still, it was there. And it was ours. Finding out last week that it had sold left me feeling nostalgic. Reflective. And more than anything, homesick.

Homesick for a place that exists only in my memory.

"Then winding down that old familiar pathway, I heard my mother call at set of sun. Come home, come home, it's suppertime..."

Man Versus Machine

I considered blogging in pig latin today, in honor of The Office last night. Ut-bay, I-ay, ecided-day, o-tay, are-spay, ou-yay...

The CD player in my car decided to stop working Saturday. After a few frustrating moments of me inserting CD's and it continaully rejecting them and displaying a "Check CD" message on the LCD, I finally surrendered. At some point, the CD player evidently must have taken on human qualities because I began speaking to it.

Later, a friend of mine noticed that the CD player was still making noises, even after I'd turned the car off. I stopped singing and listened closely, and sure enough, it sounded like it was trying to load a CD even after I had turned off the radio and removed the keys.

Well, I thought it would stop after awhile, or at least after sitting overnight. But nope. When I got in the car Sunday, the CD player was still making those same noises. And it was still showing the "Check CD" message when I started the car. I began to be concerned that this continual "running" would eventually drain my battery.

But it was fine for the next few days, so I wasn't too worried about it. I figured that I would either try and find someone who could fix my CD player. Or that I would buy a new one and install it myself. Since we all know that I have no problems doing that. Besides, the radio and cassette player still worked. So I could still listen to my Milli Vanilli, Donna Lewis, and Deep Blue Something cassettes.

Then Thursday morning when I got out to my car, (I think we all know where this is going), I pressed the unlock button on my high-tech remote keyless entry thingie. And nothing happened. It's the first time that had ever happened. What do I do?

I admit, I panicked for a few brief seconds. Then I remembered something my Dad told me. He said, "Son, when I was growing up, to get into the car, we had to stick the key into the lock and turn... in the pouring rain or a foot of snow, yada yada yada."

That's when it hit me. I held the key! Me! I was reminded of that old Eagles' song. So often times it happens, that our remote keyless entry doesn't work, and we never even know we have the key...

But I digress. I did manage to unlock the door, but then as I had feared, the car wouldn't crank. So I called my mother. Isn't that what everyone does when their car won't start? She came over and jumped me off.

Unfortunately, the CD player was still possessed. And I knew that it was going to drag the battery down again eventually. So when I got to work, I decided to take out the fuse that goes to the radio. (I thought that was pretty clever.) I listened. The CD player wasn't making any noises.

After work, my car started fine. But I left the fuse out. Driving home with the radio completely dark was eerie. And by this point, I figured I was definitely going to have to purchase a new car stereo. Because, let's face it, False Messiah can't roll without his tunes.

Then when I was leaving to go running yesterday evening, something came over me. I don't know if it was the kinship of all living things, or that voice in my head saying, "Put the fuse in." But I put the fuse back in. The "Check CD" message was gone! The CD player wasn't making noises!

And then, deciding it was now or never, I inserted a CD into the player. And waited. And hoped. For what seemed like seconds. Then I heard it. Simon Le Bon wailing, "Please please tell me now!" Yes! It worked!

It's a pre-Festivus miracle!

"I know you're watching me every minute of the day, yeah. I see the signs and the looks and the pictures that give your game away..."

Three Word Wednesday #12

Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. It doesn't have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I'll also write something using the same three words.

Be sure to leave a comment if you participate.

This week's words are:
Net
Lock
Flipped

Hi... I know you didn't expect to see me here. I got the address from your mother. You look better than ever. Look, I don't quite know how to say this, so I'm just gonna say it.

I love you.

I've never stopped loving you. And I know you probably don't feel the same, but I've basically been running around in circles the past five years. Looking for something that I'd already found. Looking for something I lost.

And I know this probably doesn't change things, and that's OK. But I just had to let you know. Just in case...

Standing on her porch, I went over the words again and again in my head. What I wanted to say. How I wanted to say it. My hands shook as I reached to press the doorbell.

This was it. I was jumping without a net. But the danger wasn't in dying, or failing. The danger was in not living. Not trying.

In a few seconds, I would know. And that would be enough.

My heart pounded into my head. My stomach flipped. My throat was suddenly dry. I attempted to swallow, but couldn't. Then I heard someone turn the lock.

"Since you've been gone, there's something I wanna say. Since you've been gone, there's no one taking your place. Since you've been gone, I've just been foolin' around..."

The False Messiah raps

I was awakened by a text message at 7:16 Monday morning. It read, "By by shula channel six." That was my Mom, alerting me that Alabama's football coach had been fired. (Except that it actually said channen six. But she's only been texting for a short time, and I don't think she knows how to delete or backspace yet.) Anyway, that probably tells you more about my life and background than anything.

Thus ended my Thanksgiving holiday weekend. It wound up being more eventful than the False Messiah had anticipated. First of all, Wednesday was Laura's last day on General Hospital. It was incredibly sad. And might I add, cruel, for them to bring her back then snatch her away just as quickly.

I also noticed that with my gray pullover sweater and glasses, I was beginning to look a bit like Dillon Quartermaine. Although when I took the GH personality quiz online, it said I was most like Nikolas. Which is probably accurate.

Thursday was good, as I got to see Mom, Dad, and my sister. And eat. And then play Clue and 80's Trivial Pursuit with friends. Although I kept blurting out answers to other people's questions. And everyone got mad. Well, not really mad. More like slightly perturbed, in that it's-cute-at-first-but-now-it's-getting-old-but-still-it's-Bone-so-what-can-you-do kind of way.

Mom had oral surgery Friday. Even though she didn't say anything, I could tell she was really nervous about it, as she'd never been put to sleep. My sister and I took turns sitting with her Friday and Saturday, as she pretty much laid around all weekend. She seems to be doing OK now.

Saturday night, I went to see Bobby. Let's just say it wasn't what I expected. And I mistook Demi Moore and Emilio Estevez for Courtney Cox and David Arquette. But the video and audio clips of Robert Kennedy campaigning and speaking were worth the price of admission for me. They don't make speakers like that anymore.

Began my Christmas shopping Sunday and put up my tree last night. (I'll try and post a picture later.) Also checked to make sure my Festivus pole was still in the crawlspace. It was. I'll be dragging that out later this month.

I've also spent the past couple of days pondering my dating quiz results from the post below. I think that False Messiah would be a killer rap name, should I ever decide to pursue that avenue.

Here are just a few lines I've been spitting, as the kids say:
I'm the False Messiah/This ain't Mount Moriah/I don't know Hezekiah/But you can call me king/My street cred's invincible/My rhymes super sensible/Your crime indefensible/If you don't dance and sing...

I'll keep tweaking it. It's all a process. A journey. I imagine this is how Eminem got started. Or at least Weird Al.

"Come on, weatherman, give us a forecast snowy white. Can't you hear the prayers of every childlike heart tonight..."

The 32-type Dating Test

Daphne. "He said you could never ma a commitment to anyone, and you'd just wind up hurting me."
George: "He said that? What a nerve! How dare he say something like that!"
Daphne: "Is it true?"
George: "Of course not... I mean sure, there may have been one or two occasions in the past, when I may have reacted in an impulsive or somewhat immature manner. But those days are well behind me."

Got this little quiz from Circe.

The False Messiah Deliberate Brutal Love Master (DBLMm) People believe in you, and then you send them to hell. Behold, the False Messiah. You're usually a very kind person, and conscientious, too. Socially, you're a leader, and your friends and associates look up to you. You're probably tall. In intimate relationships, you're a capable, responsive, and experienced lover. Outside the box, however, you run into trouble. Your exact opposite: The Pool Boy Random Gentle Sex Dreamer Girls fall hard for you, but you're much more ambivalent about them. The beginnings of your relationships are unusually intense, making it all the rougher on her when they end. At first, using all your accumulated tricks of the trade, you ladle on the affection. But once she's all covered in soup, you withhold the true napkins of commitment. What's that all about? We should've called you the False Waiter. You're looking for Love. But history tells us you struggle to settle down and accept it. There's a deep streak of carnality within you. And while you'll never be a predator, you'll always fight the urge to roam free. You like to plan things out, so plan this: find someone who can indulge your selfish side, has a healthy sexual appetite, and doesn't mind uncertainty. FLEE: The Sonnet, The Window Shopper PURSUE: The Stiletto, The Peach, The Nymph Link: The 32-Type Dating Test by OkCupid - Free Online Dating.

Geez, that's the last time I'm completely honest on some stupid love quiz. Although stilettos are hot.

One of my favorite questions was #26: Do you ever start a relationship already knowing you want out?

Who would ever do something like that....... what..... What's everyone looking at?

"Moons and Junes and ferris wheels. The dizzy dancing way you feel. As every fairy tale comes real. I've looked at love that way..."

Three Word Wednesday #11

Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. Don't spend too much time on it. It doesn't have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I'll also write something using the same three words.

Be sure to leave a comment if you participate.

This week's words are:
Smoke
First
Rolling

The morning was cold. Frost sprinkled across the grass. My breath like smoke in front of my face. Steam coming off his bald head. Which sometimes made me laugh. But not this morning.

It was 7 AM. My first day out of school for the holidays. I didn't know much, but I knew there was no way on Earth I should be up this early. Unless it was to play Nintendo.

"Do you know how to use this?"
"No," I said in my most disgruntled 14-year-old voice.
"It's a post hole digger. You do it like this."

He began to demonstrate, driving the contraption into the ground. His flannel sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I always wondered if my arms would ever get to be as big as his.

"Here. Try it."
I gave it my most half-hearted effort. The ground was hard. The old wood handles cut into my hand.
"It's too hard," I whined.
Rolling his eyes, he uttered one of his favorite all-time phrases.
"What you gonna do when your ol' Dad's not around anymore?"
Sleep, I thought.

I was sure he was trying to teach me some kind of lesson, but I was much too cold and ill to know or care what it was.

"When you comin' home, son? I don't know when. But we'll get together then. You know we'll have a good time then..."

The survival guide inside my head

One day last week after work, I was walking across the parking lot to check my mail. Without bothering to look, I could tell that a car had slowed down and come to a stop right in front of the parking lot. I figured they were waiting for oncoming traffic to clear so that they could turn left. But no.

Before I reached the mailbox, I heard a car door open and a voice yell, "Hey! Get off my a--!"

This caused me to finally look over, and I saw that a car had come to a complete stop right in the middle of a wet, rather busy two-lane street. The driver had his head out the door glaring at the guy behind him.

I was just waiting for shots to be fired or something. So I pondered what I would do, you know, if it all started going down right there.

I figured my best hope would be to dive onto the concrete. Then using skills I learned playing in driveway culverts when I was eight years old, I would belly crawl until I found cover behind the nearest car in the parking lot. Once there, I would try and call for help on my cell phone.

Fortunately, my emergency plan of action wasn't needed in this case. The irate driver closed his door and started going again. And the car behind him revved up its engine and rode his tail all the way down the street. Mission accomplished, Ace.

But this isn't a post about road rage or making oneself look like a total idiot while endangering the lives of those around you. Although those topics deserve their fair share of attention.

No, this is a post about what was going on inside my head as the situation unfolded. And how I often think thru possible worst-case scenarios like this. There are many other examples.

When I'm running in the park, if it's after dark, there usually aren't many other people on the track. A couple of times I've been the only one. And I often think, what would I do if someone jumped out of the darkness and attacked me?

For some reason, the first thing that always comes to mind is that I would throw my keys into the woods. That way, they couldn't steal my car. Although just thinking about it now, throwing my car keys into the woods somehow doesn't seem quite as brilliant as it does when I'm running.

And I always think that even though I've been running and I'm quite tired, that my assailant is probably out of shape, and I could still outrun them to the road and flag down a passing car for help.

One night last week I was coming out of Wal-Mart. There's been a rash of robberies in the Wal-Mart parking lot lately. So I started thinking, what if someone jumped me right now? What would I do?

I've always thought there's no way I would just hand my wallet over to a thief. That most are cowards who don't want to shoot anyone, so I'd make them fight for it. That's probably stupid. And I've probably seen one too many Jason Morgan escapes for my own good.

But still, I think things like, "I have my cell phone in my hand. If I hit them in the head with it, that'll probably knock them out." Would it? Who knows. But that's what I think about anyway.

And there you have it. A look inside my head. Something tells me I should spend more time pondering things like what I would say if I encountered a cute girl. I guess it all goes back to something I learned at the only boy scout meeting I ever attended. Be prepared.

Does anyone else ever think about such things?

"I was flying, just like a track star. Dying, nah, I ran through the back yard. Trying to get into my building..."

The Office

The Office is money. The cast is outstanding. The writing is fresh and funny. I can even overlook the Pam and Jim will-they-or-won't-they thing which has been done to death in television, because the rest of the show is so brilliant. And also because I was rooting for them to get together myself.

It has become the proverbial water cooler show. As well it should. For in my opinion, The Office is, quite simply, the best sitcom since Seinfeld.

Besides making it's way into pop culture, workplace conversations, and blogs, I think that The Office may or may not be effecting the way I behave at work.

Now I've always been a bit of a jokester around the office. Doing things like taping the receptionist's mouse to the desk, ringing the doorbell when she's in the bathroom and has locked the front door. You know, the usual.

But lately, I've been trying to be more "official" with things. We have a small office. Only five full-time employees, along with a general manager and an owner, both of whom are out more than they are in. Still, just because we are small in number does not mean we can't be a real office.

So lately I've been doing things like this. Today, we were out of tissues. So instead of asking the secretary--oh I'm sorry, administrative assistant--if she could pick some up, I said, "I'd like to turn in a requisition form for some tissues. Preferably Kleenex, in the box with blue and purple flowers."

The other day, one of our computers went down. And instead of asking the administrative assistant to call about it, I said, "I need to turn in a trouble ticket on one of our computers."

See how much more official that sounds? I'm even thinking about turning in a requisition form for a booklet of trouble tickets. Although I'll have to order the requisition forms first. And pay for them out of my own pocket.

I'm not sure how well my little tactics are working yet. Sure, people smile or snicker. But then it's right back to their humdrum-thirty-years-til-I-die lives.

Also, tornado drills, when you're the only one sitting in the hall with your head between your legs, not safe, just... odd. And don't even get me started on the time I tried to institute a fire drill.

Nevertheless, I will press on in my quest to create a more official, and therefore, efficient workplace. Because my credo is, I may not be able to change this office. But I will never allow this office to change me.

And I will not be redacting that statement.

"And if your train's on time, you can get to work by nine. And start your slaving job to get your pay..."