Pho Sho

In Ho Chi Minh City. Passed out hard last night, and woke up in reasonable time this morning to a breakfast of egg pho and coffee. Claudia and I went out for a walk to a local spa where she got her hair and nails done while I had an amazing 45 minute head massage. Yes, head massage - basically all I ever want in life.
The rest of the day was spent wandering around on a mission to locate a particular style of scooter helmet that I kept seeing and really wanted for a bike helmet. Got all humid and sweaty, but then the torrential rain came, trapped us under a shop awning, and we grabbed some beers from the cooler and waited it out. Helmets and groceries were eventually acquired; now it's time for dinner and the bar.

Good morning / good night

Parked watching the sun set over Hong Kong through the windows of the airport - knowing full well it's getting ready to rise not long from now in the city I flew out of about 15 hours ago. Needless to say, I'm feeling a little bit disoriented, but the view is spectacular. I am really excited my connecting flight to Ho Chi Minh City will leave here after dark, so I can see that mushroom farm of skyscrapers on the islands all lit up. Welcome to the other side of the world.

Automatic

Sitting here at my desk, reading a printout of an article, I caught myself subconsciously holding the mouse with my right hand and using the scroll wheel to scroll down when I was getting to the end of the paragraph. I need to get away from my computer more.

Keys

Tomorrow we get the keys to the new castle - I can't even explain how I feel about that right now. I'm trying to ignore it so that I don't get too distracted, but every once and a while I remember what's going on and I get a touch of the butterflies in the stomach. I can't wait to start bringing stuff over and making things our own - not having to deal with anyone else's BS. I can't wait to think about planning my garden and doing all the things I've been wanting to do with more space of my own. Dan will have his workshop area, and we'll finally have our basement bar. There will finally be enough room to not have bikes in the living room or hockey equipment airing out in the kitchen.

The nest week or so of living out of boxes will be kind of bogus, but the ends will definitely justify the means.

From what we've been told by the old owners, the Bridgeport welcoming committee has already been over asking questions and trying to feel us out, so I'm curious how that will all go down. I told them to tell them we were incredible loud, messy, and Cubs fans, so we'll see.

To do

My list of small goals that I would like to achieve, bit by bit, in the near future:

01. Move in and get the house in order
02. Brew a batch of beer
03. Set up worm bins for kitchen waste
04. Read a chapter or two for LibriVox
05. Get some of my photos up on etsy to sell
06. Find out where I can take Polish classes
07. Learn to do metal work/make stained glass objects
08. Get back to training - I want to do this next year
09. Cut out pointless sugar and caffeine
10. Learn to can/pickle things
11. Go shampoo-less
12. Get the sewing machine from Mom and start learning how to use it
13. Learn to crochet
14. Plan out next year's plantings
15. Start henna dying el pelo

Boxing Day

So we are one day out from our trip to Europe, which we will return from just in time to scramble to be reading for moving day. Needless to say, things are nutty around the house. It's a precarious balancing act between getting everything shoved into scavenged boxes, and making sure not to pack anything that might be needed or desired while we are abroad. Apologies to all those near and dear who may have had their needs and requests packed messily into one of my mental crates during this time; hopefully when I get back refreshed, and get moved into the new place I will be back to being a semi-rational human being.

In the meantime, leave a message to let me know what you want from Norway, Germany, or Poland - it may happen!

Helplessly addicted

The post-grad-school chasm that was left after my final semester concluded has slowly started filling in - with an unhealthy addiction to low, cheap fiction. Currently the most anticipated event in my near future is the arrival of the next three volumes of the Sookie Stackhouse Southern Vampire Mysteries series (HBO's True Blood series is based on these - it's my other shameless fix). With titles like Dead Until Dark, Dead as a Doornail, Definitely Dead, and Dead and Gone, how could you resist? You know what you're getting into, and you like it.

I just caught myself daydreaming about getting home and checking my mailbox for the familiar cheap yellow padded mailers used by other amazon junkies like myself. Maybe I'll have time before my 11pm game, I plot. It feels like of like being in love with someone you're kind of embarrassed of introducing to your friends; you love the time you've spent with them, but you just know some of your people will wind up giving you shit about it. Sookie has been keeping me up until 2am on weeknights, head under the covers with a book lamp so not to bother Dan - he teases me a bit, but understands. Dan has been carrying out an unhealthy relationship with World at War for the last few months, so I guess he is in no position to judge anyway.

I guess my brain is on vacation for the time being, and it has sought out vampires as a means of escape (I plowed through the Twilight series during finals week). Not sure what this means I'll move on to next; perhaps I'll move on to other deeper, darker areas of sci-fi, but I kind of doubt it. The vampire novel really does encapsulate all the guilty pleasures one could ask for in garbage reading: mystery, excitement, romance, corny humor, semi-predictable plot twists, pseudo-history, and more.

Thankfully I'm three books in and barely half way through the series; these should take me through my upcoming trips. I laugh to even type that, knowing that my level of anticipation is greater related to waiting for my books than it is for heading to the airport in less than a week and a half to head to Europe - I guess it helps me to focus on short-term events than to get all worked up waiting for the major things to finally arrive!

stretch

This summer will go down in memory as the summer of skirts - not because I feel particularly feminine and dressy, but because they allow me to hide the extra baggage I took on over the winter. Good times.

An open letter to nurses

Before I begin, thank you. I do appreciate and respect what you do, and nothing that follows should diminish that; I realize that the situation I am about to describe doesn't stem from any sort of malice, but, rather, a very well-deserved pride in your professional abilities.

What I want to ask is that you take my word for it when I ask you to draw blood from my hand. Yes, I know it's more painful. Normally. Unfortunately for me, it's become more than obvious that you will never be able to get blood any other way. My making this request is not a challenge for you to find the elusive non-rolling vein that lies somewhere buried in the fat of my inner arm. I don't care how much you call other nurses who tried, got frustrated, bruised me, and failed unprofessional, it doesn't mean that you will succeed. Trust me - it's not you, it's my veins.

So you called my bluff like all the rest - said you found one. You failed. At least you had the decency to look shame-faced while apologizing before heading off to the hand. Thing is, at this point the damage has been done and it's only going to get worse. As someone who has spent about 20 hours under the tattoo gun and have run out of fingers to count past and present piercings on, I know how to mentally prepare for needles and pain; what I can't prepare for is the unexpected, or even expected pointless pain. My tattoo artist or piercer would never jab around my arm trying to do something I'd already told them not to do - I trust them. At this point, I have lost my trust in you.

You dig into the hand. Things are going ok, and I am trying to breathe evenly, but I feel the white hot sensation all over my body, rushing into my ears and eyes, that means I will soon pass out if you don't stop. I wait as long as I can before telling you this - until you jiggle the needle and send a flame of pain through my hand. I need to lie down. Yes, I want a glass of water - thanks for fanning me. Funny enough, I am the one who is deeply embarrassed at this point for lacking the control to avoid this, either by not having tried hard enough to stop you, or by maintaining better focus.

A few minutes later, prone, I am ready to let you finish the last two vials. You laugh and say next time I should tell the nurse right off the bat that I need to lie down. I resist the urge to tell you that the mini nap never would have happened if my initial request had been respected. It's not the loss or sight of blood that gets me, it's a fear of this ritual repeating and being drawn out every single time. It's tiresome being made to feel over and over again that you assume I just don't know what I'm talking about, and that you need to show me. You do show me - that I'm right.

So, please - everything else you do is wonderful - you just need to learn that we, as patients, know a bit about our bodies and comfort zones. So, it's long sleeves for me tomorrow and the inevitable questions about why my hands are purple.

Getting closer

We signed the disclosure documents earlier in the week and are having the inspection this afternoon - I'm pretty excited about that. The whole house buying process is starting to feel a bit more real now, like it might actually be pulled off. Here's hoping that they don't find out the place has house AIDS or anything of that nature - basement crabs.

No quarter given

1:15AM - just after the harrowing encounter.

I had gone downstairs to turn out the lights Dan left on in his man-cave, and was just about ready to head up for the night. On the way up I made a stop to use the facilities, and was lost in thought when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye - quick, furtive, darting, low movement across the doorway, towards the kitchen.

My nemesis.

There's no mistaking that scurry - that tan/gold blur of hate - the reckless disregard of nearby human presence.

I finished up and looked left and right before exiting the bathroom, to size up the location of my foe and make sure that he wasn't waiting to ambush my toes as I crossed the threshold. Curse him for matching the color of that damned carpeting the landlady installed before we moved in!

I grabbed my trusty weapon - my hockey stick - which is always nearby to provide convenient protective space between me and the object needing smushing. I started towards my many-legged foe after being sure that it was him laying low and not a dust bunny. I was about to do him in with the butt-end when I realized I'd probably never want to handle the stick again with that evil gore where my hands would touch.

Flipping the stick over, I poked tentatively at the beast with the toe of the blade, half afraid the jab would make him jump on me - centipedes, of course, possessing the magical ability to leap great distances when provoked (who doesn't know that?). After about the third try I managed to pluck up the courage to do him in, and then quickly scooped him up to toss his still-writhing bug husk out the window.

Now I am left with the pressing questions:

How did he get in?
Was he acting alone?
Was he on recon?
Will there be reinforcements?
What were his plans?
Will there be more in my boots in the morning? I swear he was headed towards them!
Why the hell does he need all those legs?

I may have won this round - but I fear the end may not yet be in sight. Tonight, dear kitty, you will need to be on your guard!

We have a house*

Dan called me last night from Houston, at the Astros game, to tell me that our offer had been accepted more or less outright. *I am reserving doing the happy dance until we have keys in hand because things can never be that simple with us. Apparently the place they had lined up to buy just got taken off the market because the seller wants to sell to a family member; I hate to be the one to wish ill on anyone's hopes and dreams, but I'm kind of pulling for that sale to fall through so we can get this over with.

As things stand right now, we have a closing date of 9/1, 'or ASAP;' if things move along quickly, we'll move more quickly. This presents a minor problem because our lease is up 8/1. The plan as of right now is to throw our stuff in pod storage and live with the folks - on the bright side, this won't need to go on too long because we're going to be in Europe for the majority of August.

So, still waiting, but this time with a bit more hope.

Plot twists

It's hard not to feel like something out there is now jerking our chains. Last night we were scheduled to see three places - the new one in Bridgeport, the one we were about to sign on in Oak Park, and another random joint that looked really nice in OP.

So the Bridgeport place was everything we wanted, sans the yard space, though that was made up for with an awesome deck and balcony. We were on our way out of the neighborhood when we decided to call our realtor to tell him to cancel the other showings, and that we wanted to move on the place. As it turns out, Paul was already on the phone with the listing agent for the Oak Park place that was waiting for our signature - a pipe burst while they were replacing the bathtub - we wouldn't be able to return there until Thursday. Excellent, we now had time to figure things out without having to stall.

Beyond that, the sellers of the Bridgeport place are poised to move and have a place picked out at their destination that won't sell to them on a contingency. Basically, they want to get out as quickly as we want to get in; if everything goes right, we could have this sealed up without that place ever being listed on the MLS.

So here is the hardest part - waiting. Their listing agent, the notorious S from the 3331 debacle, has been working hard to get this done for us - to make it up to us - but doesn't know these sellers well enough to be able to say whether or not they'll get freaked out or become greedy over the fact that they had a good offer before even listing. Hopefully not. We met the wife, and she seemed awesome, but that never means anything.

So, now we wait - with all luck things will fall neatly into place. I feel like I've deserved them to after all the stress and heartbreak this process has caused, but I know I'm not owed anything in the grand scheme of things. All I can ask for is speed for the good or bad news so that I can get to moving on!

Decision-making time - again?

A quick and dirty update on the long saga of house hunting that I have been sparing whatever readership I have left from:

January: I contacted a realtor to see a couple places in Bridgeport, which I went to see with Audrey because Dan wasn't ready to look yet. Those were a flop, but the realtor seemed like a good guy, so we kept in touch - him sending me properties that fit our criteria, and me, for the most part, vetoing them.

February: Dan joins the search party, and we begin to look at places in earnest as our lease was going to be up at the end of May. Things seem to be going slowly but steadily, though nothing really sparked our interest.

March: more of the same.

April: A nice 2-flat came on the market, Dan and I put in a successful offer and were ready to buy when 3331 Lowe showed up. 3331 was a cute brick number on the street we currently rent on; it was dated and needed some work, but overall it had a ton of potential. We made an offer, beat out a competitor, and eventually had our offer accepted - or so we thought. A couple days later and talks start going downhill. All the sudden the seller doesn't want to use the dates she had previously agreed to because they are too soon - keep in mind that any later date will cause us to be homeless in the interim. Seller refuses to cover our storage and housing costs for this homeless period and seemingly re-agrees to our dates. Hours later, she backs away completely, telling her listing agent that it is simply too mentally and emotionally taxing to sell. That same day she shows her property to other people - days later it is under contract to someone else.

May: We manage to extend our lease on a monthly basis on the understanding that we will give our land lady two months notice, and will not leave after August if we haven't told her we were intending to. We continue to look, this time in Oak Park because no properties have hit the market in Bridgeport since 3331. Oak Park begins to look great - loads being listed - historic, lots of land, tons of room, etc. We put an offer in on our dream place, but are told that there is already an offer in that is higher than we think the place is worth.

June: Time is ticking. Found another place that is very much like 3331 Lowe in terms of charm and potential. Put in an offer, got a reasonable counter, and were hours away from signing. Call comes in from our realtor the evening before we sign that he had heard from the listing agent from 3331 - she has a dark horse contender. We are given the option to preview a place that hasn't even hit the market yet in Bridgeport (this apparently happens a lot - things sell there that never officially hit the MLS). Tonight we see this place, and go back to see the Oak Park place - it's decision time about whether we stay put, or move on. Space or location; city or burbs. This may seem minor, but it's anything but - it's a shift in lifestyle that Dan and I have to jointly decide to make - or not.

Here we go.

Crazy Eyes Chronicles

For those of you who know Dan and me, you probably have heard me tell stories about Dan's sleep talking, or as I like to call it, Crazy Eying or Running Manning. Well, I've always wanted to start writing these down, possibly keeping a notebook by the bedside so that I could remember to make fun of him the next day. I think that notebook will be this blog.

So, this morning's entry (or last night's - it was somewhere in between) is dedicated to the rummage.

~2:30 am - wake up to Dan sitting bolt upright in bed, rummaging in the covers.

Me: What are you doing?
Dan: Looking for *mumble*
Me: Looking for what?
Dan: I'm looking for awesome.
Me: You're looking for awesome? It's right here!
Dan: *gives me dirty look, goes back to rummaging*
Dan: I need to find the awesome belt.
Me: OK love - you find it *rolls over and goes back to sleep*


Later that night/morning
Me: *returns from bathroom and jostles Dan while getting back into bed*
Dan: *tenses up and gives me a crazy stare*
Me: *busts out in nervous laughter*
Dan: *joins in, laughing*
We: *laugh together for a bit, at entirely different things I'm sure*
Me: *goes back to sleep*
Dan: *keeps on chuckling to himself*