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Posts Tagged ‘bills’

What a great day to ride my bike! I think I’ll hop on the ol’ 12-speed and pedal my way down to the river. Maybe ride along the riverside trails. Pack a light lunch. Stop on a big rock and eat my sammich (I’m making a Balki Bartokomous™) and overlook the rapids. Maybe read a few chapters of a classic book and take in some sun before making my way back home.

Get a lil’ exercise, too. Lord knows I need it.

Yeah. Sounds fun. I think I’ll go do that.

Oh, hey. My bicycle tires are flat. Hmph.

No problem. I’ll just get out my trusty tire pump. Where did I put it? In the basement? [Looking around the basement]

Can’t seem to find it. Did I put it in this box with my high school and college diplomas? [Digging through box]

Oh wow! Look at these old pictures of me with my college friends and my old dog, Tony B!

The B stands for Baloney. Tony Baloney. “Tony B the Incredible, Girls Say He’s Edible.” He’s an old dog now. Lives with my parents. They were not pleased when I left his crazy Black Lab dog-butt with them when I moved to Richmond. He was a wild one back then. I taught that dog how to drink beer, hump legs and pick up chicks. You know, typical college stuff. My roommates and I used to sit in a circle and pinch his backside. He would go crazy, spinning around trying to see who was touching him until he eventually gave up and collapsed, panting and defeated. To this day, you can’t touch his backside without him growling and nipping at your hand.

But he’s slowed down a lot since then. Even had some nasty medical issues which forced my mother to make the tough decision whether to shell out hundreds of dollars for treatment or have him put down. As much as she hated that dog, she just couldn’t watch him die. He’s still alive and kicking. I hear he’s besties with my mom’s new cat. She even lets him sleep in the living room hallway now – somewhere he was never allowed before. I think my mom secretly loves him. Good ol’ Tony B.

Now where did I put that damn tire pump? Is underneath all this beach and recreational gear? [Digging through our beach gear]

Oh, look at that! A kite! I remember buying this kite on our trip to Nags Head a couple of years ago. We went with Wifey’s extended family and had a huge beach house with all the amenities. Spent a whole week down there. That was the trip when Wifey totaled my brand new Mustang. Totaled it. Not even a year old. Loved that car. Love her even more. Funny thing was, I wasn’t even that upset about it. I could barely afford the payments anyway.

Man, I love North Carolina’s Outer Banks. So relaxing. We haven’t been back since then, though. I guess we just haven’t had the time or the money to support a week long vacation. But I remember her dad trying to fly this kite. Trying to run up and down the beach with his bum ankle. Kite in one hand, beer in the other. Big toothy grin.

But my tire pump. Where the heck did I put it?

I bet it’s over here with all my old clothes. [Rummaging through boxes and bags of old clothes]

Hey! It’s my favorite hoodie! I thought I left it somewhere and forever lost this comfortable, grease-stained and once-white sweatshirt. It’s got a hole in the hood from where my dog chewed on it when he was a puppy. It’s missing the drawstring because some drunk and angry Redskins fan pulled it out when he grabbed and tried to fight me because I was wearing my Bills jersey over it at a game up at FedEx field which the Bills won. He was so drunk and angry, silly guy. It’s not really furry on the inside anymore and the pocket stitching is starting to come loose, but man, is it comfy. I think I’ll put it on now. Yes, I’m fully aware that it is 95º outside, but I FOUND MY FAVORITE HOODIE THAT I THOUGHT WAS GONE FOREVER. I bet my wife put it down here. She does that sometimes, hide my stuff. She does it on purpose with the hopes that I’ll forget about it. But I’ll never forget you, my tattered and stinky friend.

What was I looking for? Oh, the tire pump. Right.

Oh yeah, I forgot. Wifey has it in the trunk of her car. Which, at the moment, is about 20 miles away.

Looks like I won’t be riding my bike today. [Standing in the basement, wearing my hoodie and bicycle shorts, staring at a box of all my sports memorabilia]

Guess I’ll go write a blog or something.

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I took the advice from Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg and have been chilling ’til the next episode, and I think the next chapter of my unemployment is about to begin. The next episode is here, dear readers, and it’s freakin’ scary.

Truth: After our wedding, we compiled a small amount of savings to which we contributed if we ever had an extra few bones lying around after our fancy dinners at Mexican restaurants and our exotic and extravagant weekend jaunts to Buffalo. It wasn’t much, but it was a start to what I hoped would one day become a down-payment on a home or at least a super big TV. Whatever that money was destined to become, I’ll never know. Instead, it became rent, car payments, insurance payments, credit card payments and groceries. It’s almost gone. In about a week, it will ALL be gone. Nothing. Not a dime.

Truth: Some bills will not be paid this month. Sorry, but I can’t. I don’t have it. I would gladly offer you another form of payment, but last time I checked, you don’t accept a pillowcase full of dog hair. I have to decide which bills to pay and which ones to forego. I suppose I’ll skip the ones that will have the least negative impact on my credit. Like the electric bill. Heh… don’t turn me off just yet, Dominion Virginia Power. I need the internet so I can write blogs and apply to jobs. And speaking of the internet, I’m sorry to say, but that’s next on my cancellation list – which is hard for me to swallow because I use it for some freelance writing gigs (that obviously aren’t paying enough for me to keep the service).

Truth: My wife and I each have an iPhone, which was a stellar and affordable choice this time last year. However, I’m embarrassed to pull it out of my pocket now. I feel like one of those people who are buying their groceries with food stamps and claim to not have enough money to feed their babies, yet they have professionally manicured nails, designer clothes and drive an Escalade with big shiny rims. How the hell can I afford the service plan for our phones, but still risk having the power turned off? Well, I can’t afford it. But we’re under contract. I’m not sure if I can swap out our phones for a basic phone with a minimal plan, but I need to look into it. But, by golly, I’m going to miss this phone if I ever have to give it up. They’re gonna have to pry it out of my hands with a shoehorn and try to stifle my public screaming sobs.

Truth: I have an interview tomorrow morning. Yup, it’s true. I awoke to an email inbox that had a couple responses to some of the résumés I sent out recently. One of those responding companies offered me an interview. We set it up for tomorrow at 11am. So wish me luck. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t skeptical, though. In truth, most people who have been responding to my emails have represented some sort of scam or door-to-door sales job. Maybe it’s just me being cynical, but I approach all of these potential job opportunities with a high degree of caution. But at the same time, I need a damn job with a paycheck. So I’m gonna get all suity-suited up and put on big smile and find out what deal is with this company. Maybe it’ll be great. I hope it is. I’m telling myself it will be. It will be. Right? Cross your fingers for me.

This is Day 70, folks. I know I seem upbeat and hopeful and cheery and fun and silly and optimistic. For the most part, I am. That’s me. That’s my natural personality. But come visit me at 3AM when I’m laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering when our lives will get back on track.

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