Cardboard Boxes and Fire Trucks

I'm getting weary. I thought a solid month of packing time would be sufficient - what the heck happened? I've packed a total of four boxes, and Roger has packed almost two entire rooms and moved them to the new house. I've lost motivation, and the empty boxes are taunting me with yawping cardboard mouths. Reminding me that they need to be filled, and soon.

We had our new furniture and television delivered, and guess what? The furniture I had picked out months ago "didn't quite work" in the living room. Not to mention that I had a double-reclining sofa, which is NOT conducive to having a sofa table behind it. So, after living with the furniture for less than 24 hours, we called the furniture company. They were WONDERFUL, picked up stuff, and let us select new stuff, which they delivered yesterday. It works. And we're one step closer. Why am I so sad?

I went to our old house, plopped down on my grungy couch, and felt right at home. Then I started to feel sad. The rooms Roger had packed felt naked, depressed, bare and lonely. The walls filled with holes where our family pictures had once been seemed to be drooping, having lost their purpose. I suddenly didn't want to leave. I felt as if I was abandoning an old friend, who had carried me thru tough times. I felt like a traitor.

Do you have a police scanner? If so, you'll understand what snapped me out of this funk. Roger popped his head into the living room and uttered words that made my heart stop: "The scanner just reported that there is smoke coming out of the Century 21 building!" He was out the door, flying to my office. Just for clarification, we own the office building where I have my business. To increase the panic, it still has a mortgage.

I sat in shock for a second. Then I started shaking and realized I was hearing sirens. I called the police department to tell them we were on the way. Shaking more, I phoned my firefighter friend, barely able to speak. He told me to relax - reports they were receiving did not indicate that the building was engulfed in flames. I still had to see for myself.

Flying to the office, leaving my 14-year-old daughter asleep in her bed, my mind trying to figure out how to keep business running with no building. Within the 1.2-mile drive, I had a million contingency plans. When I got to the highway, I couldn't see anything but fire trucks and police vehicles. Panic really set in.

But there is good news...my building was safe. The horrible tornadoes that passed thru our state had missed our town, but high winds had broken a furnace vent in the back of our building. The vent was spewing steam against the side, giving the illusion of smoke pouring from the office.

Relieved that I wasn't faced with ANOTHER building project so soon, my adrenaline levels finally stabilized.

And I couldn't wait to get back to my grungy old couch. When the movers come on February 19th, they might have to carry it out with me still sitting on it!

Still Meme-ing!

I'm still trying to finish my five-post meme, and I sense a recurring theme. Let's see if you do! Here is a story of something that happened at work. I don't often blog about my work, b/c I am the boss, and I have a responsibility to my agents. But this story? Oh, it's priceless. I bring you one of "The Orifice Chronicles:"

It was a typical busy day at the orifice (office). Crazy busy, agents rushing around, customers and clients filling our 2-story building, and the phone ringing off the hook. I hang around the front desk in times like these, helping out the client coordinator. Lanna is extremely capable, but trying to handle a team of 10 agents and numerous clientele can be overwhelming.
The young son of a customer came racing towards the front desk, holding a box of matches in his hand. He exclaimed excitedly, "These were in your bathroom!!!!" His tone was of sheer panic, as if our lives were in danger, because they were in plain view, IN OUR BATHROOM. That SMALL CHILDREN might occupy. Such as HIMSELF. It was as if he had discovered a hornet's nest in there - along with a rattlesnake and two tarantulas thrown in for good measure.

Lanna and I try to keep from bursting out in laughter, and I calmly tell the boy, "It's alright Sweetheart, they belong in there. That is their home." All the while, trying not to lose complete control, while witnessing abject horror on his face.

Thankfully, his mother was not one of the complacent parents we often encounter. She overheard the conversation and swooped in to save us from our plight. "It's okay, **** (name deleted to protect the innocent/panicked), they probably use those to light candles in there from time to time. Just go put them back where they belong."

As Lanna and I almost collapse from the effort of stifling raucous laughter, the mother watches lovingly as the lad leaves to return the matches to their proper place on the back of the commode. She passes us this knowing look, with great kindness, as we share the common "assumption" of what great benefit matches can be for those who choose (or are forced by nature) to use that facility for more "odorous" bodily evacuations. This bathroom is dangerously close to the lobby, and though we have three bathrooms - this particular one has the perfect ambience to get the bowels moving. Sometimes, the Febreze spray just doesn't do the trick.

Shortly thereafter, I hear this loud voice from the bathroom: "I've looked all over in here, and I CAN'T FIND CANDLES!!!! Where are the CANDLES?!?!?! How can they LIGHT CANDLES?!?!? THERE AREN'T ANY IN HERE!!!"

The mother, obviously mortified, apologizes with, "I guess he's just at that age where you can't put one over on him." Sadly, we could barely respond, as Lanna and I finally collapsed and burst out laughing, tears streaming down our face.

I don't envy that poor woman, as she will have to finally explain the matches. I can envision her future, as her son will undoubtedly one day "do his business," light a match, stick his head in the toilet to take a whiff and exclaim, "MOM!!!! This DOESN'T WORK!!!! I've lit the match, and how come I CAN STILL SMELL S**T?!?!?!?!"

A Day Late, Many Dollars Short...

I'm late with the Fun Monday post assignment, hosted by Willowtree. Not sure how it affects my grade or how many points I will lose in Blogging 101 class, but I DID do my best to calm the restless natives by posting photos from my party weekend, featuring ample cleavage. So that MUST count for something.I blog from work most of the time, since The Offspring hogs our home computer. This is where I am blogging from now - our front desk - as I sit for Lanna's lunch hour. (She is the girl featured in the last two photos of yesterday's post.) This machine works well, and for some reason, I write better under pressure. Working the desk, answering the phone, and greeting clients as they enter the door makes for a chaotic environment, prompting me to be concise in my writing.Sometimes, I'm forced to upload photos from our office camera (which I did today), and this is the only computer that recognizes my old Kodak DC4800. It is located in our common computer room. Most of photo uploads are done here.
This is where I get brazen. My private, upstairs office. I'm always scurrying around the building, so I'm rarely in here - but if there is something weighing heavily on my mind, and I want VERY private time to blog and measure my words carefully, I'll blog from here.

Here is another view of my office. I figured I should take photos today, since the cleaning lady has recently visited, dusted my corners and vacuumed the floor. Like my skylight? I don't think I've turned on the lights in this room 10 times since I moved into this space 5 years ago.
No, I'm not THAT narcissistic. The mirror to the left used to be a window. When we remodeled the building to add more offices, I had to decide between a two-way mirror that would allow me to spy on my agents in the next office, or a regular mirror. Figuring I'd get nothing more than a disgusting display of bodily habits and a feeling of voyeurism with the two-way, I opted for the regular mirror. At least I can check my posture on occasion.
Last view of my office - and NO, the couch is rarely used. (I know what you're thinking, Matt!) There's a funky '70s mirror above the couch that I just can't toss.

Well, there you have it! I have been totally absent from the blogosphere since last Thursday. Our DSL, cell phones and long distance all went down due to a fiber optic cable accident that afternoon, and I had no time during my weekend to blog. I promise to visit you all and respond to comments by tomorrow, as well as visit your blogging environments!

Bad, Bad, Tiggerlane...

"Baddest broad in the whole....."

Oh, sorry...got to singin' there.

I know, I've been a bad girl. I was tagged by the beautiful Desert Songbird, and haven't completed my assignment. I haven't been blog visiting much. Also, I can't even tell you without looking it up what our next Fun Monday assignment is. BAD Blogger behavior.

The GOOD news is threefold:
1. We had a VERY successful week at the orifice.
2. We have been blessed by visits from various friends like Emily (who managed to treat me to lunch the other day - knowing I would never stop to eat during work unless forced, and I NEED the nutrition! Thanks, Em!).
3. I have basically finished the revision of our house plan, with the exception of inking the final copy to show the builder next week!

To appease you (and demonstrate why I can't blog much from home), I'm sharing some photos The Lovely Offspring has been toying with using Photoshop. She is fiddling with tons of photos, all the time. (As a sidenote, I'm finally seeing a little bit of me in her.)

Ever Have One of THOSE Days?

I try not to discuss my work often. Not that I'll get in trouble with the boss or anything, but b/c this blog is supposed to be a reprieve from my work headaches. However, every so often, I have a day that makes me want to give it all up, head for the Bahamas, and live life as a drunken beach bum. Naked.

Today was one of those days. Difficult clients are a major problem, but I also work with a high-energy agent team full of Type-A sales associates who only earn money when deals reach the closing table. For example, the agents could put a sales contract together, work for a month to get all the required inspections, paperwork, title insurance, etc., just to have a buyer walk away at closing and back out of a contract. Who is usually blamed? The agent. Who gets nothing? The agent. Well, and me. Who do they complain to? Me. To make matters worse, often these deals involve more than one of my agents, and the placing of blame and fault for a deal not closing gets passed around like crazy.

Luckily, having worked in this business for 14 1/2 years, I quit counting chickens before they hatch. It makes no difference if I net $1,000 or $10,000 from a deal - I treat them all the same. I can walk into a closing and not honestly give a crap whether or not a buyer or seller decides to back out - and usually when they sense that from me, they straighten up and drop whatever power trip they're on.

What's hard is consoling an agent who just lost thousands of dollars on a deal that didn't close. Working straight commission is difficult, and no matter how long these agents have been in business, they have trouble being calm about these situations. It should be more difficult for me, seeing as I have an office overhead that MUST be met each month - but it's truly harder on them.

Anyone know of a magic pill I can give them when things get rough? I hate to see them get so upset.

The Orifice Chronicles, Part Deux

We interrupt our regularly scheduled vacation coverage to bring you...MENA TRACTOR PULL!! Get your lawn chairs - this one's all fun! The day I returned from vacation, I was quickly reminded that I was back in the South. In front of my office is an EZ Mart, which is bordered by a grassy area which slopes down to a big ditch. To the left of my office building is another big ditch, which leads down to a culvert that diverts creek water. Thankfully, the mowing responsibilities for these two areas fall to the Arkansas State Highway Department. (Notice the reverence I give them?)Not too long after mowing commenced to the left of my building, the gentleman operating the device miscalculated the weight of his equipment, and became lodged in the culvert, as witnessed in the photo to the left. At the same time, the mowers were working across the street - and guess what?? EZ Mart Mower became stuck within HIS ditch as well, as you can see here to the right (click on images to enlarge). Now, as difficult as this may be to believe, this honestly happened within MINUTES...prompting me and Lanna to snap some photos. (Okay, I was too embarrassed to take them and sent Lanna to do the dirty work.) But as you can see in this final photo, if you look closely, Mower #1 is barely visible over the guardrail to the left of the photo, while Mower #2 is firmly lodged across the street. Sometimes, I LOVE having an office on the highway!

The Orifice Chronicles - Incident 1

It was a typical busy day at the orifice (office). Crazy busy, agents rushing around, customers and clients filling our 2-story building, and the phone ringing off the hook. I am inclined to hang around the front desk in times like these, helping out the client coordinator. Lanna is extremely capable, but there are only two of us, trying to handle a team of 10 agents and numerous clientele.
The young son of one of our customers comes racing towards the front desk, holding a box of matches in his hand. He exclaims excitedly, "These were in your bathroom!!!!" His tone was of sheer panic, as if our lives were in danger, because they were in plain view, IN OUR BATHROOM. That SMALL CHILDREN might occupy. Such as HIMSELF. It was as if he had discovered a hornet's nest in there - along with a rattlesnake and two tarantulas thrown in for good measure.

Lanna and I try to keep from bursting out in laughter, and I calmly tell the boy, "It's alright Sweetheart, they belong in there. That is their home." All the while, trying not to lose complete control, while witnessing the abject horror on his face.

Thankfully, his mother was not one of the complacent parents we often encounter. She had overheard the conversation, and swooped in to save us from our plight. "It's okay, **** (name deleted to protect the innocent/panicked), they probably use those to light candles in there from time to time. Just go put them back where they belong."

As Lanna and I almost collapse from the effort of stifling raucous laughter, the mother watches lovingly as the lad leaves to return the matches to their proper place on the back of the commode. She passes us this knowing look, with great kindness, as we share the common "assumption" of what great benefit matches can be for those who choose (or are forced by nature) to use that facility for more "odorous" bodily evacuations. This bathroom is dangerously close to the lobby, and though we have three bathrooms - this particular one has the perfect ambience to get the bowels moving. Sometimes, the Febreze spray just doesn't do the trick.

Shortly thereafter, I hear this loud voice from the bathroom: "I've looked all over in here, and I CAN'T FIND CANDLES!!!! Where are the CANDLES?!?!?! How can they light candles?!?!? THERE AREN'T ANY IN HERE!!!"

The mother, obviously mortified, apologizes with, "I guess he's just at that age where you can't put one over on him." Sadly, we could barely respond, as Lanna and I finally collapsed and burst out laughing, tears streaming down our face.

I don't envy that poor woman, as she will have to finally explain the matches. I can envision her future, as her son will undoubtedly one day "do his business," light a match, stick his head in the toilet to take a whiff and exclaim, "MOM!!!! This DOESN'T WORK!!!! I've lit the match, and how come I CAN STILL SMELL S**T?!?!?!?!"