Yeah, I know I said I'd do more on my childhood, however given what I currently have going on, I'm going to post about that instead right now...especially since it's way more relevant to me, and this is really all about me anyway.
So, last year I finally took the plunge into home ownership and bought a townhouse.
It looked like a good deal, given it was a foreclosure and apparently just needed some TLC. I did everything by the book, down to having it inspected prior to escrow to make sure I wasn't getting shafted or distracted by the price.
One thing that I made sure to point out to the home inspector was that there was absolutely *no* air flow upstairs. The A/C was running, but nothing was happening upstairs. I told him that a screwed up A/C was a deal breaker, as there were a couple of other properties in the same community I could have made offers on, which were larger and had working A/C.
However, according to the Inspector, "it was something a handyman could fix, nothing major" ...
I wish I'd gotten that in writing or as some sort of guarantee.
After suffering through a Georgia summer with absolutely no A/C except for fans (and let me tell you, the HOA really loved seeing fans in my windows) because it turned out *not* to be a "handyman fix" - the coil was dirty, the plenum (that's the box the air goes through to be cooled) was designed wrong, the duct work going to the attic was all screwed up, and that's just what I can remember off the top of my head, after having 9, yes NINE different companies come out to look at the system and give me bids on getting it either fixed or replaced.
Anyway, I ended up going with a heat pump as the replacement option rather than repair, figuring that a new system will offer far less complications than something essentially brought back from the dead, not to mention be Green and add serious bucks to the resale value. The heat pump will be installed near the end of September, just in time for the heat to break and the new A/C not see any real use (or so you'd think.... I'm seriously considering running the damn thing at meat locker temperatures just because I'll have a new A/C).
Unfortunately, going with the replacement option temporarily killed my plans for new kitchen cabinets, however thanks to a *kicking* 12 month no interest/no payment sale at Floor & Decor, I got laminate flooring for the downstairs, in addition to slate for the hall, kitchen and laundry area...why slate? Because the entry way and the downstairs half bath both have slate floors, and I love the look.
Originally, I'd planned on doing the work myself, however after running into serious issues with trying to install the laminate myself with no experience, I elected to turn both jobs over to professionals in order to make sure the job was done right.
The tile guy is doing the kitchen, hall, and laundry over the next couple of days, and the laminate guy is coming on Saturday to do the living/dining area.
Yeah, it's going to cost me more, however the results so far are stunning and in the long run, the value added by having the work done professionally instead of half assed more than makes up for the expense.
Again, since I'm at work I'll post more later.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Back from the Void
It's been a while since I've posted, not that anyone's really noticed.
Again, don't care, I just want something on record for posterity, however I really should try and do this on a far more regular basis to get that achieved.
I'm writing this from work, so brevity will have to be the operative phrase.
I'll try and post more about my childhood during the dinner break, and even try to be somewhat sequential, picking up where I left off.
Til then, au revoir
Again, don't care, I just want something on record for posterity, however I really should try and do this on a far more regular basis to get that achieved.
I'm writing this from work, so brevity will have to be the operative phrase.
I'll try and post more about my childhood during the dinner break, and even try to be somewhat sequential, picking up where I left off.
Til then, au revoir
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Me and the family
Where should every good story start?
At the beginning, of course.
So, to begin:
I spent the 1960's and early 70's in a 2 bedroom apartment on Rock Springs Circle, in an apartment complex that has since been demolished to make way for condos.
I shared the space with my parents and younger sister, and we were raised Conservative Jewish.
My father was a High School teacher, my mother a housewife. My father was in his early 40's when I was born, and my mother was in her early 50's - (I didn't find out conclusively that I was adopted until I was 25 - more on that in a minute.)
Their relationship is a whole other series of postings, let me tell you.
I had a nurse for the first few years of my life, her name was Carrie. I don't remember much about her except that she was nice and she was a black woman. I'm thinking that she was there more for my baby sister, and I was part of the bargain, i.e. she took care of the two of us.
After that, my mother shared a maid with her sister for the next 30+ years - different women, however if she worked for my mother, she worked for my aunt also.
We were technically the "poor" relations, since my mother's brothers and sisters were all successful, being doctors or accountants, or married to them while my father was a school teacher.
He also always had a 2nd job going of some sort. I think coming through the Depression did that, though. In addition, he was also only first generation American, as were my mother and her family.
I was the 2nd youngest of all my cousins, my sister being the youngest in the family.
Dad had 2 siblings, a sister and a brother. He was the middle child.
Mom, I'm not real sure of the birth order with - I do know she had 2 sisters and at least 2 brothers, and it wasn't until one of my uncle's heart attacks that I found out that my maternal grandparents had 6 children in the Old Country who died prior to their emigration to America.
Of these various aunts and uncles, I had 11 cousins of various ages, the oldest at my birth was I believe late teens, early 20's, the youngest around 1 or 2 - for various reasons, we were never included in social activities with them except on rare occasion.
(Being the "poor" relations I suppose *did* have a bit to do with it)
Anyway, my sister arrived when I was about 2.5 - we shared a bedroom until 1973, when my mother found a 3 bedroom apartment within walking distance of my father's work and my High School.
Yes, my father taught at the same High School I attended.
I think I'll leave it at that for right now - want to talk about one of the biggest influences in my life?
That's gotta definitely rank right up there. I'd say Top 10, possibly even Top 5.
When I think about the shit I got away with simply because my father was who he was, I still have to shake my head.
That however, was severely compromised for the same reason.
Kids automatically hated me because of who my father was, because he was, among other things, one of the hardest teachers in one of the harder classes at the school.
C'est la vie. No use crying over it, I'm just recording it.
Enough for now, I'm going to see what else this software can do and then head to bed.
Not bad for a first night's writing, I'll see what else I can add later.
At the beginning, of course.
So, to begin:
I spent the 1960's and early 70's in a 2 bedroom apartment on Rock Springs Circle, in an apartment complex that has since been demolished to make way for condos.
I shared the space with my parents and younger sister, and we were raised Conservative Jewish.
My father was a High School teacher, my mother a housewife. My father was in his early 40's when I was born, and my mother was in her early 50's - (I didn't find out conclusively that I was adopted until I was 25 - more on that in a minute.)
Their relationship is a whole other series of postings, let me tell you.
I had a nurse for the first few years of my life, her name was Carrie. I don't remember much about her except that she was nice and she was a black woman. I'm thinking that she was there more for my baby sister, and I was part of the bargain, i.e. she took care of the two of us.
After that, my mother shared a maid with her sister for the next 30+ years - different women, however if she worked for my mother, she worked for my aunt also.
We were technically the "poor" relations, since my mother's brothers and sisters were all successful, being doctors or accountants, or married to them while my father was a school teacher.
He also always had a 2nd job going of some sort. I think coming through the Depression did that, though. In addition, he was also only first generation American, as were my mother and her family.
I was the 2nd youngest of all my cousins, my sister being the youngest in the family.
Dad had 2 siblings, a sister and a brother. He was the middle child.
Mom, I'm not real sure of the birth order with - I do know she had 2 sisters and at least 2 brothers, and it wasn't until one of my uncle's heart attacks that I found out that my maternal grandparents had 6 children in the Old Country who died prior to their emigration to America.
Of these various aunts and uncles, I had 11 cousins of various ages, the oldest at my birth was I believe late teens, early 20's, the youngest around 1 or 2 - for various reasons, we were never included in social activities with them except on rare occasion.
(Being the "poor" relations I suppose *did* have a bit to do with it)
Anyway, my sister arrived when I was about 2.5 - we shared a bedroom until 1973, when my mother found a 3 bedroom apartment within walking distance of my father's work and my High School.
Yes, my father taught at the same High School I attended.
I think I'll leave it at that for right now - want to talk about one of the biggest influences in my life?
That's gotta definitely rank right up there. I'd say Top 10, possibly even Top 5.
When I think about the shit I got away with simply because my father was who he was, I still have to shake my head.
That however, was severely compromised for the same reason.
Kids automatically hated me because of who my father was, because he was, among other things, one of the hardest teachers in one of the harder classes at the school.
C'est la vie. No use crying over it, I'm just recording it.
Enough for now, I'm going to see what else this software can do and then head to bed.
Not bad for a first night's writing, I'll see what else I can add later.
Dear Dorothy:Hate you, hate Oz.Got the shoes,find your own damn way home.Toto
Opening the Closet Door
Okay - so I've joined the Blogosphere (is that even still the term?) -
Regardless, this is my story. I'm 46 years old and a gay male Witch living in Atlanta, Georgia. (actually, Peachtree Corners but I digress... I do that a lot).
I think I'm starting this blog because I've led a very rich life, and I have noone who honestly knows it all.
At least that's still alive, anyway...
What's my background?
Well, over the course of my 46 years, I've done everything from being a Tarot reader in a bordello to holding down a very respectable job for the last 11 years.
And from what I've seen of other blogs, and I admit that my exposure to them is recent and not exactly extensive, ya'll want to read about shit like this.
So, here it is.
Out of the Broom Closet: The Autobiography of a Faery.
Regardless, this is my story. I'm 46 years old and a gay male Witch living in Atlanta, Georgia. (actually, Peachtree Corners but I digress... I do that a lot).
I think I'm starting this blog because I've led a very rich life, and I have noone who honestly knows it all.
At least that's still alive, anyway...
What's my background?
Well, over the course of my 46 years, I've done everything from being a Tarot reader in a bordello to holding down a very respectable job for the last 11 years.
And from what I've seen of other blogs, and I admit that my exposure to them is recent and not exactly extensive, ya'll want to read about shit like this.
So, here it is.
Out of the Broom Closet: The Autobiography of a Faery.
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