JamesSlusher.com

I live by the old adage:  If at first you don’t close, cry, cry and then go play poker.

Turns out that yesterday was not Closing Eve.  There seems to be a problem with how the plat was recorded by the surveyor, and with the surveyor’s office being closed today, closing wont happen until Monday.  This really sucks because it puts me 4 days behind in my work and throws off all the money figures since we will be closing in a different month.  It’s not a huge deal as far as the deal itself goes, we will still close.  It does have time and money repercussions that I would prefer not to have to deal with.  So now I’m in hurry up and wait mode.

Oh, and just for the record, Todd Heath is a hateful little coal-hearted man who wished this on me and I hope he gets diaperchickenitis so bad that his bottom falls off.

Since closing on this new house is like waiting on christmas for me, I would just like to wish everyone Happy Closing Eve.  I’m quite excited.  Short of getting struck dead by an act of God, we will own a house tomorrow at this time.

Shortly thereafter, a hellified amount of work starts.

Waiting on the 31st so that we can close on our new house is like waiting on Christmas.  Or in this case, Halloween.

Much like the house we just sold, it’s a 1960’s ranch fixer-upper.  You know, that thing Marilyn said she would never buy again.  HA.  Actually, it’s not so much a fixer-upper as an updater.  The bones and structure of the house are in really good shape.  It’s well built, it’s just outdated.  It’s got a blue wall oven, for Pete’s sake.

I look forward to getting started on the projects inherent with buying such a thing, but waiting to start is maddening.  My wife and I have both made list after list after list of the things we need in each room, how much they cost, what color/design they should be, and it gets to be a bit overwhelming.  Communication becomes key in these things, since we don’t actually have a picture or designs drawn out, we each could (theoretically) have different ideas of what is being done in a room.  We are learning that when a conversation starts to get heated, it’s usually because some basic assumptions about the room are different and we are imagining two different (and conflicting) things.

And their have been some heated discussions.  Part is the aforementioned assumption problem, but part of it is nervousness and impatience and plain maddening waiting.  I wake up in the middle of the night thinking about cabinet doors and hinges.  I think about water drainage from gutters and harvest gold tiles.  At work, I find myself thinking about getting rid of green sinks.  My nerves are wearing a bit thin.  I’m losing sleep.  My appetite is shrinking.  I’m just plain distracted.  I’m just not good at waiting.  Either that or I’ve got diaperchickenitis.

Jonathan has been slow to talk.  We haven’t determined yet what is causing his speech delays, but his hearing has been tested a number of times and it’s just fine.  So in the absence of knowing what the delay is (it could just be him taking his time), we work at getting him to say words.

Whenever he wants some juice, I make him say “Juice!”.  If he wants to be picked up, I make him say “up”.  Emily helps us all the time with this.  This morning she was giving Jonathan a good grilling.  Say “Daddy”, say “Mommy”, say “Emily” and on and on.  It got to the point the rest of us were starting to roll our eyes.  At one point, I piped up and and said, “Say diverticulitis“.

Emily stopped immediately and got a somewhat cross look on her face.

“Daddy, Jonathan can’t say diaperchickenitis.  That’s silly.”

She’s right.  Diaperchickenitis is silly.  If she thinks her old man isn’t going to work “diaperchickenitis” into every conversation he has over the next week or two, she doesn’t know me very well.

I’ve been a plumber and I’ve hung out with plumbers, but never once did I base my choice for president on their opinions.  Of course, it might have something to do with their rampant pot use.

Hating Muslims doesn’t make you a better Christian.  I’m no biblical scholar, but I’m willing to bet the exact opposite is true, in fact.

Leaving everything else the same, if Obama were named Jack Smith and was white and McCain was black and named Thelonius Jackson, Smith would be winning by so much it wouldn’t be worthwhile even discussing the election.

After countless opportunities to inform themselves, I think that voters that are still in the “undecided” column are probably just too stupid to decide.

At this rate not only will my 401k never reach 401k, it looks to be heading towards $4.01.

That’s not really much of an exaggeration either.  Since the beginning of the year I have a personal rate of return of -40%, effectively wiping out every contribution that has been made to it in the last 2.5 years.

Thank God the economy is strong, my friends.

I’ve heard a number of people, myself included, accuse Sarah Palin of being dumber than bag of hammers.  I decided to rescind that opinion based on one headline:

Palin pre-empts state report, clears self in probe

That proves she’s smart, because only an idiot would’ve found herself guilty.  She found herself innocent.  Genius!

I could go the rest of my life without hearing Billy Mays’ voice ever again.