Second Effort

I’m sorry. And all that crap. You don’t want to hear it anymore.

So anyway, there have obviously been some big shifts in the “Owski career and life advancement plan.” Sara gave the run down here, so I don’t have to.

While I was getting pretty keyed up to move to a bigger city, I am very happy with this development. For one thing, I’ve been waiting for Sara to catch a break for a while. I feel like this puts her on track to start saving for her retirement and my burial so I don’t have to.

For another thing, I can stop paying rent. Finally. Some quick calculations on my handy desk calculator, which I have to use regularly at the sports desk, came up with the frightening figure of more that 25 grand spent over the last eight years, assuming I paid a minimum of $250 a month. This, of course, is just my half since “hooking up” with Ed,  as I will now refer to my wife. (Sports Ed Note: Ed had to ask for clarification on why I will now call her that. You can see how her intelligence really caught the brass’s attention.) There was that year living in Iowa City when we were both forced to live on my meager income alone, which was challenging considering the vast amounts of Fanta and hot dogs we consumed.

So must begin the search for our first “Home.” I think Sara is both freaked out and excited. While I am pleased that we will no longer be flushing money down the drain, I am dreadfully frightened by the idea of not having someone to call and bitch at when I clog the toilet. No more landlord means the old man will be getting more regular calls.

And I can’t think of anything that will make him happier. Ed and I have pretty much sewed up this independent living thing. We haven’t had to beg for money or ask much advice for quite a while. Since ridding herself of her most recent deadbeat boyfriend, the little sis has been doing pretty well for herself too. So Dad has been left in Dad limbo, making regular pleas for grandchildren in the hopes they will be old enough to mow his immaculate lawn before he has to start paying someone else to do it. This, I’m afraid, is not in the cards.

But this house thing, oh, Dad will take to that. And I have to say I probably will too. While I’ve never been keen on that whole physical labor thing, I’ve reached the age where my male hormones no longer have me praying just for occasional unexpected female nudity. Instead, I have a sickening craving to paint, hammer and prune things. I get embarrassed when sorting through my unorganized tool chest and realize I haven’t used a tenth of the man-gifts given me.

It’s been such a strong desire that I actually volunteer my services to people in the hopes of being part of a weekend project. I can move heavy things, I can rake, I can climb a ladder with a raging power tool in my hand. The latter being my most often practiced and recently perfected craft.

And while I probably helped Dad out with as many home improvement tasks as any youngster, I still feel completely incapable of taking on most jobs. So instead, I will call him every time something goes wrong. He will gripe and bitch and order me to have beer on ice by the time he arrives, and he will love every minute of it.

I just wanted to share the below photo, my new desktop background on my work computer. There are perks to my job. Such as, you know, using company time and our new kick-ass photographer to do regular features on the area’s golf courses. Free golf is always good golf, but how many people get to have a professional photographer follow them around for two hours to take pictures suitable for framing?