It feels like I’m forever playing catch-up. My regular job gets pushed to the side twice a year by the Gazette Charities (it’s currently Camp Fund time), and the Charities get pushed to the side when marketing reports are needed or other more pressing projects crop up. I’m never caught up anymore. Can’t remember the last time I was. And now I’m trying to squeeze in a day off here and there to work on the house. Thank God for caffeine.

I took off a few days last week during Celeste’s spring break, and together, along with her friend Bre, we ripped up all the first floor carpets on the new house. We still haven’t closed on this new house, by the way, but the owners have moved out and gave us the key. It’ll close soon. I’m not worried. And if something does happen and it doesn’t, well, the work sure was fun. I’ve never ripped up old carpets before.

Celeste and Bre were a huge help. I was totally impressed with how much work those two did and how competent they were with tools and a paint brush. We put in three full days at the house and they never complained or asked when we could leave. We did a bit of jousting with mops and brooms, and they took a few walks around the neighborhood hoping to find some kids, but for the most part, they hardly stopped.

We found beautiful oak floors under the carpet that I couldn’t be happier with. There are a few spots, like where a threshhold used to be, that will need replaced, but there’s enough wood on the floors in the closets for me to rob from that I should be able to match things up fine.

I love doing this sort of thing. It suits me far better than a desk job. I wish there was some way I could be good enough and fast enough at it that I could do it for a living. I’d be so much happier (and so much less stressed).

Most normal people dislike waiting rooms. They’re usually filled with sick people, uncomfortable chairs and old magazines. None of which most normal people enjoy.

But I’m not normal. I love waiting rooms. I’ve found them to be one of the most entertaining places to watch people and how they respond to awkward situations.

My favorite of all awkward waiting room situations has to do with TVs. The idea behind putting television sets in waiting rooms was a good one—to distract people from how long they are waiting. But the problem with televisions in waiting rooms, though, has to do with what channel they’re tuned to.

Somehow the television at my OB/GYN’s office seems to frequently get turned to ESPN or a hunting and fishing show. Sports and Things To Kill, yet no men in sight. Still, the bored-looking women will politely tolerate the show rather than risk changing the channel and possibly offending someone who might actually be watching.

The last time I was there, the only offspring in the room were still in utero, yet the channel was tuned to the Wiggles. Several women distracted themselves by flipping through wrinkled and dog-eared magazines while others attempted to hold conversations between “Hot potato, hot po-ta-to,” but most sat in resignation, staring blankly at the set as the colorful quartet bounced and twisted about with artificial glee. 

Knowing my name was next to be called, I finally stood and walked to the set and changed the channel. To ESPN.

There’s another waiting room situation I like to observe that has to do with where to sit. I expect most know the feeling of walking into a room and noting where everyone is sitting, what they are doing, and where the gaps of empty seats are. There’s seems to be an unspoken rule with regard to allowing others their space, which accounts for the empty chairs left between those waiting to be seen. Eventually, though, many of the chairs will be filled, and the new arrivals must decide whose space to impose upon.

When I find myself in that situation, I choose the seat next to the person talking on a cell phone, as that’s generally proven good for a chuckle or two. Since I seem destined to forever be exposed to cell phone users speaking loudly, I’ve learned how to entertain myself by making assumptions about the other half of the conversation, the part I don’t hear.

For instance, I was recently seated next to a woman talking loudly on her cell phone about her horrible mother-in-law. After a particularly long and ugly tirade, the person on the other end of the line said something that caused Loud Talker to exclaim, “You’d do that for me? That’s wonderful! Oh no, that’s not too much to ask. I’ll stop and pick some up on my way home from work.”

That’s where my desperate-for-entertainment imagination took over, building elaborately onto those mother-in-law complaints until I was convinced the person she was talking to had promised to do away with the mother-in-law if Loud Talker would stop and pick up some lime to help keep down the smell.

Yeah, I know. I’m not normal. But I’m not often bored either.

There are certain waiting rooms I look forward to spending time in more than others. For instance, the waiting rooms of both the OB/GYN and the veterinarian have proven to be far more entertaining conversation-wise than others. And strangely, the conversations in both are often quite similar.

 “Looks like you’ve had some success breeding.”

“Yeah, he’s a real hound dog. I need to get him fixed.”

“What a cute little ankle-biter. Is he housebroken?”

The only part I truly dread about the whole doctor’s waiting room experience is when my name is called to go back and I’m taken to a room and directed to change into a backless, thin gown and have a seat because, “The doctor will be with you in a minute.” Shivering on the crunchy white paper that covers the table, waiting for that “minute” to pass, I soon become so desperate for reading material that I turn to the posters and brochures thoughtfully provided by pharmaceutical sales reps. After those have been read, paranoia sets in. I become more and more certain I’ve been forgotten, that the place has closed up and all have gone home.

Just as I’m nearing the point of venturing into the hall in my gown, I’ll hear the doctor’s voice by my door, and know all will be well. Once in a while–I think just for kicks–he’ll tell me I’m normal.

 But I know I’m not.

       

I’m not a fighter. I didn’t keep the deposit. In order to keep it, I’d have to hire an inspector who could prove my basement has never flooded and it would be ME who would have to pay for that inspection. Which would cost practically the same amount as the deposit. More important, though, is that I couldn’t accept any other offers on my house until the entire issue was resolved. It’s already been off the market a month and this is the time of year people are out looking.

What we DID do, however, was get out of our contract with our realtor. We’re going to sell it ourselves. That gives us a lot more flexibility on the price.  And since we’ll be moved out of it soon, it’ll stay clean.

I’m beating myself up for not fighting this. It’s already cost us another month’s house payment, but I can’t risk this getting tied up in court and me having two house payments to make every month. It just isn’t worth it.

My friend, Julie Blackwell, sent this one to me.

I used to have a sign over my computer that read “Old dogs can learn new tricks,” but lately I’ve been asking myself how many more new tricks I want to learn. Wouldn’t it be easier to just be outdated?

It reminds me of one I already have stuck to my computer.

“Achieving the impossible means only that it will be added to your job description.”

I’ve spent the past three work days immersed in Scarborough market research. I really need to be kicking off the Send-A-Child-To-Camp Fund, at least scheduling the stories so I’ll have one monkey off my back, but this was a rush job, needed for a presentation today.

These marketing reports have only been part of my job for six or eight months. It’s a long learning process, complicated by me having no background whatsoever in marketing, advertising, or statistics. But I’m getting it, and the weird thing is I’m starting to like it. At times, it’s almost like a computer game. You have to figure out where and when to click, what to combine, how to get what you need out of its archaic set-up and labyrinth of screens. When I succeed, it’s like earning the high score.

What’s hard, though, is shifting gears–going from numbers and a best-approach way of thinking to writing a column. I usually write on Monday nights, but last night—after a day spent with numbers—I just couldn’t get out what I wanted to say. I stayed in at lunch to work on it then, but again, the words wouldn’t come.

 I’ve noticed that many people who are good at writing aren’t so good with math, and those good at math often suffer with words. For me, it’s like the part of my brain that can do the one thing overpowers the other and won’t let it go. Hopefully, once I’m more fluent at operating this software, that won’t be such a problem. For now, though, pass the Excedrin.

“Sometimes the mind, for reasons we don’t necessarily understand, just decides to go to the store for a quart of milk.”  ~ Diane Frolov & Andrew Schneider

 “I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living. It’s a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope. That’s what I do. It enables me to laugh at life’s realities.” ~ Dr. Seuss 

“I hate learning through experience. Just once I’d like to learn something because someone was nice enough to tell me it in advance.” ~Rita Rudner, comedian