Good Children! Clean Carpet!

We moved a lot as I grew up. I mean a lot, more than a little, much, many many times. Seriously.

My parents have owned and sold several homes. They also rented a few. One such rental was a horrible cookie cutter monstrosity in Florida. I don't have many fond memories of Florida, but this is one that made me laugh...after the fact.

We had lived in this home for less than a year before we had to move again. My family likes to leave homes better than we found them, so my mom bought some paint and we started repairing and repainting.

Yes, the carpets were that color. I'm telling you, the place was hideous...but it was home for a while. Funny how you get nostalgic over things you cared little about at the time. I remember laying on the back lawn watching the thunderstorms roll in until my mom freaked out and called us in. There is nothing like a Florida thunderstorm, lightning flickering in and out of clouds like the angry tongues of gods. I don't remember many reaching the ground, choosing to flash out sideways, thunderous canons as each cloud fought for dominion of the sky.

But...this story isn't about that. We had moved most of our stuff out and painted when my sister and I managed to knock over a full can of paint on the aqua carpet. I can't remember how we did it. My sister probably did something annoying and I chased her. I love her, but she was super annoying in Florida. I have another story about that later.

My sister and I were alone and decided to clean it up. I was a smart kid. I knew latex could be cleaned up with water, so I grabbed a pitcher, filled it up, added a few drops of dish soap, and dumped it on the spill.

It worked to thin the paint, but now we had two gallons or so of milky liquid to get out of the carpet. We got some towels and started massaging, trying to get it all out.

That is when the landlord walked in. I looked up...oh this was not going to go well.

This wasn't what I'd expected. My parents wouldn't have walked in on this and had that reaction.

He repeated himself.

Seriously. Did he not see the cans of paint? Did he really think we were shampooing the entire carpet by hand? Yes, yes he did.

He then wandered off to find my parents, giving us time to finish the clean up. Like it never happened.

That is when the "two dolla" started.

I am not inclined to make fun of people with accents. I have learned another language and it is hard work. Accents are tough to get right. It takes time, practice, immersion in the language, and a good ear. I am not making fun of this person's accent or culture...this is just how he said it and his accent served to highlight the ridiculous situation.

After the paint can incident, I thought his final inspection would go smoothly. The man was oblivious, won't notice anything, right? Wrong.

He spent the next hour or so poking and prodding everything while shouting out his deductions from our deposit.

He noticed every little speck. How was this the same man who thought we were shampooing the carpet? He continued, room by room, shouting out his two dollar deductions. My favorite part is when he came to the dryer. Instead of pulling outward to let the mechanism disengage and release the door, he pulled to the side.

My family still randomly screams "two dolla" when we accidentally break something.

Even to my 12 year old brain, it seemed easier to take a cursory glance at the place and say, "Due to some light wear and tear, we will be keeping 50 dollars from the deposit." And, how is everything two dollars? But, I am not a landlord and do not know the ways of landlordia.

The joy that is bum warmers

My blog has lost its way. I'm terribly sorry about that. I created it in an attempt to include everyone in on my way of seeing the world. Little random moments of intrigue in the sounds that the mustard bottle makes. The way light glints off the oil slick pooling under my garbage can. The hum of a real copper penny when you flip it in the air. I have been sidetracked by my incessant complaints about work. That's not what this blog is about. It is about me dang it, not my job. It is supposed to be funny and inspirational...mostly funny. It also needs more pictures.

One of my favorite blogs uses pictures from paint and I got to thinking, "Hey. I don't have any of that fancy computer software. I used paint to make my business logo which ain't half bad. I should try my hand at that."

I don't expect my blog to be nearly as popular, amazing, or beartastic as hers, but I want it to be a little goofier. It's time to take myself and my job a little less seriously. It's time to talk about bum warmers.

There are many inventions I care deeply about. Toilet paper is one. The alternatives were not pretty.

Insulation is another great invention. I love being warm. I do not like the cold. I am thankful that there are things that keep the cold out. Nasty, icky, worthless cold. That is why I live in St George. We rarely see the Devil's Dandruff (snow) here and I like it that way.

But, whoever invented the car seat bum warmer is my hero. My bum warmers heat up faster than my regular heater which likes to blow frosty air at me for several minutes before coming close to warm. My seat starts radiating heat within a minute or two, like someone just swung the summer sun around to my backside, beach air rolling across my seat, the ocean waves crashing in the background. I love my bum warmers. They make me warm and happy. They are like little hugs from my car.

My dog likes to ride in the car. He is also somewhat obsessed with me and wants to be on my lap the whole time. I don't allow him to, so he hovers right next to my lap. This happens to be right on the bum warmer buttons. Not a big deal in Fall, Winter, or even Spring, but in the middle of Summer it becomes a nightmare. St George turns into an fiery oven full of hair dryers during the summer. It gets hot, very hot. My dog sets off the bum warmer without me noticing and ten minutes later I realize something is wrong. By then, it is too late. The hugs are replaced with mauling fire lemurs of death.

I am on fire, melting with the onslaught of flame. My body tries desperately to stop the heat. Let's look at the physical reaction:

Sweat breaks out and begins to pour down my back in growing rivers and streams in a fruitless attempt to put out the flames that have erupted below.

Why is this fruitless? Because, despite the feeling of heat, there is no actual flame.

So the sweat converges and collects until you have a nice amount of warm water pooling where warm water should not pool unless you are here:

So, even the best inventions have their flaws. With such a wonderful thing as bum warmers we must all be responsible and remain vigilant against their misuse. There are few things worse than bum sweat.

I hope you like where my blog is headed. Sorry for the bum cracks, but I'm a thirteen year old inside and can't help it. Thanks for reading. Love you all.



Raptor Bark LLC Refinishing, Art, and Design

My new business is getting more official. My sister and brother in law are going to work on creating two websites for me, one for the biz and one for me as an author. I don't have much money to spend on websites right now, so this is how I paid them.

My sister had this old, beat up dresser thing, stained and cracked white paint slathered on all sides. I spent several days getting the seven layers of paint off. White, yellow, pink, blue, white, blue, and a dark stain. Sad thing was, the first layer of paint was to cover up a water stain that would have been an easy repair. I'm also pretty sure the last two layers of paint were lead based. They didn't react right to the stripping agent. I may die now. A little scraping and sanding later and this is what the dresser looked like.

Some glue, wood filler, stain and polyurethane later and the final product is done. I think it is worth a little website or two, but I am biased like that. Let me know what you think.

Oh, this is my logo for the biz, by the way. Raptor Bark is so going to be awesome. Thanks for reading and supporting my crazy idea to make money without enervating (look it up) my soul.

Oh The Lemurs Will Fly

People keep trying to keep me from quitting. I understand their good intentions. I know they are trying to protect me, save me from myself perhaps. I want them to stop. The decision is somewhat out of my hands. Yes, I could backtrack with my RVP, make nice and manage to salvage my place with this company. Yes, I could ignore the things I dislike about my job and join the land of the gruntled.

I keep hearing this from my friends, family, people I know, and people I don't know:

"In this economy, you should be happy to have a job at all."
"You don't want to be out of a job right now."
"You really think its wise to quit your job right now?"
"At least you have a job."
"Do whatever it takes. Now is not the time to walk away from a steady paycheck."
"Being unemployed is not a good option."

Really? Thank you all for the words of wisdom, but please stop. I love you all (except those I don't know), but you are wrong.

What is steady? Could my hotel be sold tomorrow? Yes. Could I be laid off by the new company? Yes. Most new owners let the entire previous management team go. Could I snap and throw a lemur at a guest's face tomorrow resulting in a pink slip? Most likely not, but if a guest pushed the right buttons and a lemur was handy...well, yes. Could a crazy employee slap the company with an even crazier lawsuit that puts my job in jeopardy? Oh yeah. Some of you know that story. How stable really are any of our jobs?

Let's go through some of the reasons for me to stay:

"Steady" Income I agree. That is nice to have. I have bills to pay, a wife and puppy to feed, car, home, insurance, student loans, credit card, utilities, and maintenance costs (for home, cars, and ourselves).

Loyalty I like my direct boss as a person (though not always as a boss). I like some of my employees very much. They have been a joy to work with.

...hmmm...yeah, I got nothing else.


Now, the reasons to leave:

Finances Most people get weird about discussing their money. I don't understand this. We all have money. We all work towards having more. Most of our life is spent amassing it, paying bills with it, spending it on kids, homes, cars, pets, jewelry, art, projects, entertainment, food, and other random needs or wants. Yet, when someone asks details of money, people clam up. I will be honest with you. I make just over $38,000. I am salaried. It is more than my last job, but not by much. My last job was based on a 40-45 hour work week. My current job is based on a 50-55 hour work week. That means, on a typical week, I make about $13.50 an hour. On a busy week, like this one where I was called in for 14 hours on my day off, I make around $11.40 an hour. That is a lot of work for not much pay, especially once you take account for all the extras I do for my job and the treatment I've received lately. I made more an hour working at a health food store ten years ago, before I had a degree.

Physical Health I work long hours, weekends, and holidays. I am under great stress, do not eat well, and sit a lot. I weigh more than I ever have. My cholesterol is dangerously high. I have heart palpitations. People say I should make time to exercise. Thank you. Let me make time from my special time making machine. It is hard enough to eat with my schedule. Eleven hour day where I get home at 7pm, need to make dinner, spend some time with my wife, and get some rest before doing it again. Let's not forget that I am also renovating my condo, refinishing furniture, painting my light boxes, and have a novel to write.

Mental Health My job doesn't fulfill any of me dreams. It is a job, nothing more. Should I turn something I don't enjoy doing into a career? I find myself growing less patient, forgiving, and kind. I don't like it, but I am under a lot of stress and guests are more demanding and entitled each day. I need to unwind, but I don't have many chances to do so.

Social Health I got about five texts this week that read, "You working?" Not, "Hey man. What's up?" or "You wanna go to a movie?" or "Annie and I are going to dinner. Want to come?" That is often the first thing people think to ask me when they call or text. Why? Because I am always working. Some of my friends don't even bother to pick up the phone and call me anymore. They know I won't make it. Hotels never close. I work weekends. I miss birthday parties, dinners, nights out, church functions, road trips, and holiday get togethers. I miss my friends. I miss being able to visit family members who live far away or across town.

Spiritual Health It doesn't matter if you are atheist or a devote Christian, people need something that feeds them on a deep level. This isn't just church for me. It is camping, hiking, spending time outdoors. Half my weekends are spent pushing papers and dealing with guests. I would like to go to church more. I would also like to go camping. No, I need to go camping. I find myself growing more cynical. I have always been a practical optimist. I am very pragmatic, but I believe in the best of people and myself. Lately, I have been losing the optimist part. I can't blame all of this on my job, but it is a contributing factor.

Overall Happiness Just thinking I am down to my last few months at this job has made me happier than I've been in a year. I can make money doing other things. If my business ventures do not work out, I will take a job. Maybe it will make less overall than I make now, but poverty is not the worst thing in the world. It is tough and stressful in its own right, true. But, this job is killing me in more ways than one. I will be happier earning a little less if I am also working a little less. So...long story short, stop trying to talk me out of it. I am making the leap. Don't call me egotistical; I am too smart and talented to be wasting myself on this job and this company.

This is not directed at any one person. I have had a lot of support about my decision from many of you, even employees that I will be abandoning. The support has been great. I just want those of you who are still clinging to the cliched "at least you have a job" mentality to know that I am annoyed. By saying these things to me you show doubt in me as a writer, artist, and entrepreneur. Stop that!