She's a very kinky girl

It's funny what you find while unpacking after a move. I only vaguely remember captioning this box, probably because I did it like a zillion years ago. I'm thinking I probably need to toss these out.

Loved Despite of Great Faults

In my quest for a title, I typed the world "fault" into the search bar of my iTunes, and only three songs came up, the first of which became the title of the post you see before you. I'd like to say it sums up the remainder of this post, but that would be a stretch. Still, I like it. Because really, any one who is loved by another is loved in spite of their faults, yeah?

I've figured a little something out about myself. I'm not a sports guy by any means, but I'm familiar with a superstition apparently common among baseball pitchers wherein if it looks like they may have a no-hitter in their immediate future, they won't talk about it, and they don't want their teammates to talk about it to them, a communal silence held intact by fear of The Mighty Jinx. As if giving breath to the looming possibility of something great is to ensure its certain demise. In some cases, I'm sure it's just an issue of maintaining focus and concentration, but come on; we all know sports are as riddled with superstitions as a back-porch conversation between old southerners.

As much as I hate to admit it, I think I carry something akin to this sort of jinx-based superstition deep within me. I am afraid to talk very much about a good thing that looks like it might happen, for fear that it won't. But it's not so much that I'm afraid of jinxing it. It's more that I dread the idea of getting my hopes up, of exciting others with my news, only to have to come back later with a disappointing update. And to dig a bit deeper than that, it's not the sharing of bad news that makes me cringe, but rather the thought of how that bad news reflects back upon me.

I absolutely do not believe that the only reason bad things happen to people is because they somehow deserve it. Sure, sometimes people bring shit on themselves, but when you start saying things like, oh I don't know, that an entire city was leveled by a hurricane because the people who live there were BAD, well then you're an idiot. And you're stupid. A stupid idiot. Oh, and mean. A mean stupid idiot bad person. Who will be punished! Oh wait, uh...

But all that aside, it seems that somewhere along the way, probably very early on, I internalized the idea that bad things happen to people solely as a result, be it direct or indirect, of their own moral wrongdoings. I don't believe it consciously, but below the surface, there it is, a completely unfounded unfair untrue wrong hateful judgmental proven-wrong-a-billion-times-over idea. Perhaps it was some of the hellfire and brimstone brand of religion that I was exposed to as a boy, the kind that sees sin and damnation in even the most beautiful that life has to offer. Plus I grew up in a family that routinely discussed a variety of superstitions, most of which seemed to call out strange events as the results of even stranger, seemingly unlinked actions. Like for example, if both of your shoes were untied, it meant that you'd either been telling lies or peeing in the road.

Whatever the cause, it seems that I have become a person who is hesitant to discuss good things that might happen, things that might go my way for fear that, if they don't, that if the scales tip the other way, then it will become apparent to all that I must have failed somehow. Whatever bad news I have will be a great big giant banner proclaiming to the world that I must have done something wrong to place myself in a position out of favor with the cosmos.

Which is just fucking stupid.

So in a challenge to these foolish little superstitions of mine, and in an attempt to pry them loose from that which makes up myself, I'm going to talk about the good news that just might happen for us. It's actually a pretty certain thing at this point, but the final bits of paperwork haven't been signed yet. I'm referring, of course, to the house we're buying. The link is to my wife's blog where she posted about this a few days ago. Even though the news has been out there for a little while, and many of you who know us in the flesh are already aware of this, I still get this giddy risk-taking feeling by putting this out there. Which is okay with me. But yes, we're buying a house, one that we've fallen absolutely in love with, one which meets all of our requirements, and falls well within our budget.

Like I said, it's a pretty certain thing at this point. But more importantly, it feels good to challenge this notion of mine that when things don't go my way, it's some indicator that I'm a failure and now everybody knows so cue the pointing and laughing. If you must point and laugh, do so because my fly is open, which of course is a sure sign that I've either been stealing fruit out of the farmer's orchard or playing with matches.

I'm not always so goddamn jovial, you know

So I have to confess that it's been a bit of a challenge for me to be in a good mood this week. See, I took the week off from work. Not to go anywhere, mind you, as that would require money we don't have. No, I just took it because I had the time to take and I thought it would be nice to relax for a spell before school starts again in September. But then this last weekend came and brought with it decisions, decisions that we made, specifically the decision to try to sell our condo and move.

Off our fucking rockers we are.

So yeah, a single conversation betwixt the Ash and I pretty much sealed the deal. We just started talking and by the end of the night we had made our decision. We don't need more space or a better location, we're good on those fronts. No, while the reasons to move are multiple, the main thing that we need is a yard that a little boy can play in...and later two little boys. When we decided to buy this place, we completely underestimated Henry's need to be outdoors. I figured that wouldn't kick in until age 4 or 5, by which time we had planned to be out of here anyway. But no, the kid needs the outdoors, the trees and the grass and the sunshine and the ants and the squirrels and all that. Right now, the kid walks outside and he's greeted by a parking lot. Thus, we find ourselves visiting our local parks pretty often.

And oh, but The Holmes was pissed as the realization came crashing down upon him that his week off would be spent getting his condo ready to sell, as he saw all his looked-forward-to free time blown away like the pages of the only copy of a brilliant manuscript by a cruel wind. Curses! Oh, I was pissed my friends, and not much fun to be around for a while there.

But I think I've gotten over it, and I'm about half-way through the work we've decided to do. Tonight, Tim and Julie were kind enough to come over and help us hang up new ceiling fans. And they brought their little girl Stella, so the kiddos got in some play time. Lucky for me, Tim got stuck with the harder of the two fans we were hanging, but he came through with a flourish. They stayed much later than they needed to, and for that we are grateful. After they had left, I was in a rush to get everything cleaned up and all the trash thrown away, which involved several trips out to the dumpster. A few minutes after the last trip, I was admiring Tim's handiwork when all of a sudden I realized that I was going to have to go dumpster diving since I had thrown away the box with the light bulb globes. Goddamn but I am brilliant sometimes. Want me to watch your kids?

So our place should be on the market by Labor Day. I'm going to do my best not to be an impatient bundle of nerves over it until it sells.

On a completely unrelated note, I ran across this video on last.fm. I clicked on it because the artist is called Goddamn Electric Bill, which sounds more like a band that should be opening for the Supersuckers, but it isn't. Enjoy.