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Life: 1 Me: 0
Earlier this week I dove head-first into the dark quagmire where many have traveled and few escaped: home ownership. The local traffic management office (TMO) had my shipment of goods delivered to my new home on Monday. I had to go into work late in order to meet the movers when they arrived. Predictably, they got lost on their way to my house and made a one hour detour through scenic Gurley, Alabama. When the tractor trailer arrived it had four crates and a couple cardboard boxes on the bed. My couch was in one of the cardboard boxes. I know this because it was visibly protruding through the box which was obviously unable to contain the fury of 75 pounds of fake leather all the way from Florence to Huntsville. I greeted the movers, showed them around, and then quickly turned the operation over to my wife.
After work that day I came home and the ass-kicking contest began. As the proverbial one-legged man in the ass-kicking contest I then began to feverishly try to beat my many woes into submission, with limited success. First, my belongings were piled everywhere. I’m not a fan of caps lock, and there are much better ways a writer can express himself rather than caps, but here goes: EVERYWHERE!!!. There could have been a Brazilian pot-bellied pig on my kitchen counter and I would have never been the wiser. I always have the movers unpack and take away all of the excess boxes. It saves me a lot of time spent unpacking and disposing of boxes and dunnage later. The downside is that they don’t arrange your stuff. They leave it in piles…EVERYWHERE!!! This also forces you to arrange your stuff (or suffer a cluttered house) rather than spend the next six months surrounded by boxes you wish to unpack at your leisure.
On Wednesday the fourth of July my wife and I arose and began working in our house around 8 AM. We finally quit about 8:30 PM. The ass-kicking contest had proceeded in bouts all day long with no victory in sight, and it was fought on many fronts. It also turns out that with my new house came a lawn…made of grass. I hate grass. I hate cutting it. I hate pulling it out of flower beds. I hate watering it. I hate everything about grass–or at least I did. Apparently there is a mental switch that is flipped when one actually owns the grass one is working on. My switch has been flipped. I’ve been converted. My grass must be thick and green, preferably resembling carpet. It must border my driveway neatly and not send shoots onto the concrete. It must received specified amounts of water at specified intervals in specified places–evenly. It must be free from weeds and other plants that detract from the look of the lawn. A week ago I didn’t know what nut grass was. Now I find myself wandering the lawn looking for sprigs of it to pluck. And so the host of the second round of the ass-kicking contest was chosen: my lawn. I’ve spent innumerable hours dragging hoses, adjusting sprinklers, plucking nut grass (Thanks for the info, Eric. Now I can’t stop looking for it. Some friend.), mowing, trimming, edging, sobbing, crying …err…nevermind.
Another bout was conducted mainly via phone: me vs. contractors. This is a slippery ordeal involving fences, wiring, and plumbing. For reference, I don’t care how long it takes you to get to the project. Just tell me. Accurately. Without me having to call you. Repeatedly. As much as I would enjoy it, my life doesn’t consist of me lying on a Persian couch eating strawberries while I wait for contractors to arrive at my home to perform work. My place of employment likes me. They like me so much that they mandate that I spend 40 hours a week with them. If I spend the first 4 hours of my day waiting on a contractor then the ass-kicking contest takes a drastically negative turn. All of a sudden I’m staying at work later, sleeping less, operating heavy machinery under the effects of hallucinogens…I’m talking cats living with dogs–total chaos.
Thankfully, the next round was held close to home. The good people at Lowe’s know that new home owners need to visit Lowe’s on days ending in “y,” so they were kind enough to position one just 3-4 miles from my house. I initially thought I could ally myself with Lowe’s for my round versus the contractors, but such was not the case. Lowe’s is a vicious, money-gobbling institution that funds pirates off the coast of Tripoli. OK, maybe they don’t fund pirates, but they’re funding someone…with significant funds from me.
After all of that the contest continues. With one leg tied securely behind my back I continue to flail at my disorganized house, my lawn, contractors, and even Lowe’s, with no end in sight. I can only hope the weekend will bring some type of recess. Perhaps I can get away with only working 10 hours this Saturday. Is this what it means to be a home owner?
Dear Jeff,
I have loved your blog since I first stumbled across it 2 weeks ago, especially the posts chronicling your Iraq deployment. I’ve been “aboard” Al Asad Air Base (with 125+ Alabama Natl Guardmen) since 18Aug06, and hope to come home to CULLMAN, ALABAMA by the end of Aug. I am deployed with the 226th ASG out of Mobile. Your description of Iraq and everything contained here is right on the mark. I’ve lived with Marines of the 2nd and 3rd MAW for the last 11 months, so I’ve come to understand the mindset of those in the “Corps”.
I’ve taken the liberty of sending some of your “random thoughts” to our parody newsletter editor, to be included in his last edition. You can read of our deployment by accessing the link contained in the “website” box above. Our deployment has not been as exciting as yours, but such is the mission of an ASG. (This is my 2nd deployment to Iraq, so I’m thrilled to be with this type unit!)
Thank you for the humor you’ve provided me these past weeks. You know how it is when you’re nearing the end of a deployment: patience wears thin and even a cross look between friends can ignite WWIII!
Thank you so much! ~SSG Blicker