accountantsdoitinarrears's Xanga

Ciao

Fri, 15 May 2009 16:10:12 GMT

Goodbye xanga. We had our fun, but I'm leaving you.

au revoir

Lent

Wed, 25 Feb 2009 13:25:08 GMT

I've given up booze for Lent. Beer, Liquor, Wine.

Day One: Haven't had a drink all morning... only mild shakes.

Algebra is diff-e-cult.

Fri, 23 Jan 2009 16:40:53 GMT

I have a 24' run of track with with 10 track heads at 76 watts per head on it.

City code requires I take the most of either : The total linear feet of track times 33w, or the total number of watts per track heads. if I have varying degrees of track lengths and track heads throughout the room, how long can I spend working on the project before I realize I'm out of coffee and leave to go get some more?

The truest thing I've ever read.

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 01:08:34 GMT

The hardest thing for me type out is this. It's hard for me to face it, it's hard for me think it, it's hard for me fathom it... so hold on while I get a beer. Okay. My Dad died a week ago. Sunday evening before last, he passed away. It was a shock I could see coming. The last few months the cancer had spread. His mobility slowly declined, first his right side, then his left. He started using a walker... then he started using a wheel chair. Then we brought in the hospital bed so we could lift him in and out of bed easier and keep him at the house. As the last month went by the words "hospice" and "quality of life" was whispered in the backgrounds of thoughts I'd have through the day. I'd work in Dallas all day and spend every other evening at my parents house. It's the reason I moved here, it's the exact reason I moved here... to help. The problem is that I helped so much that it's hard to remember what it was like before, and looking at it now, I wish I had just stayed here and spent more times with him.

A few weeks ago, on a Monday, my Granny had her knee replaced. That Wednesday we had an MRI scheduled for my dad. We all knew what it was, mom told me that she had bad feelings about it... we all did, but we had them every time before. The entire process was a roller coaster, the initial seizure Dad had on the floor of St. Joseph's in Houston, I traveled in from San Francisco, Jeff came from Italy, mom and Matt drove down from Dallas, even Dad's work friends came in from Dallas. The good news, they removed 99% of the tumor, the bad news, he wasn't cured, and this was the beginning of a long road. The Doctors came in and talked to us, words and phrases echoed around the hospital, it's not contagious, you can't give it to anyone, there's nothing you could have done to stop it, you're going to make it through all of this. I spent most of the nights with him in the hospital. Even my friend Jessica came down. Dad left Houston and came back with Mom, Matt and Jeff.

Six months later, in October he'd be going under surgery again. Bald from the radiation, bloated from the steroids, Dad was in high spirits when he went under for his second surgery. He had just turned 60 the day before, and we had a large party at my parents house. Without a doubt, the most difficult party I've ever been to. It's one thing to get up in the morning, put on a face and go to work. It's another to put on that face and be surrounded by people that are as scared shitless as you are. The surgery itself went well, but when it was done the Surgeon told us that he did all he could but it still didn't look promising and dad would most likely pass within the next few months. I chose to move home right then... I chose to... but I still had to convince myself to. It took about a month to make that decision, and two months before I moved back to Texas. But the doctors were wrong, and Dad's chemo looked like it was working.

I had spent all weekend at my parents, and Sunday Dad's breathing had been strained. In general he had difficulty breathing after he ate, imagine trying to clear your throat for a few hours and you'll know what it sounded like. We called the hospice and gave him some morphine.. and some muscle relaxant to help him. I left at 9:00pm to go to my place. I had talked with Jeff, and he asked if I thought he should head to Dallas tomorrow. I said No... and that he'd be fine coming to Dallas on Tuesday. Jeff had been spending every other week in Dallas, working from my parents house. He was an enormous help, and relief to me... and it was just nice to have him in town. I was home, and had opened a bottle of wine, and halfway through it I noticed I had a new voicemail from Mom.

shit

Then a text from my brother Matt "Call me at the house"

Then another call from Mom, but I already knew. She told me, but I already knew. "His breathing had just stopped... and he died quietly, at the house." I was blown over by both a wave of both relief and emptiness.

We all took that week off of work.

The hardest part of it all is reliving it. Everyone you tell, you can hear their throats close. You can feel their pain, and you cry their tears. One of my Dad's oldest friends, Bernie, just bawled. I had never heard an adult let it go like that before. A woman who worked with him told me "Your Daddy was one of the best men I've ever known in my life, I count him in my top three men I've ever met, and one of those men is my Daddy.... my husband isn't one of them though."

I told my friends, I called them, and emailed them. I told the out of town ones not to come... I know how much those flights cost, and it's a waste for them to do it, I have a good support group here.

The wake was on Wednesday... and it was actually kind of fun. People got up and told old stories of Dad we had never heard before. We got to put faces to names we had heard throughout dad's career and got to pretend to know people who we had met before.

The funeral was Thursday... it was as beautiful of a service as it could have been. And as entertaining of a Catholic funeral mass as it could have been.

It's Tuesday now, and I came over to my mom's house to keep her company during the election, and I stumbled upon a letter written by Dad. I know it's by dad because it's written as a list. He was big on organization. It talks about how happy he was in life, his wife and his sons. How he wished he hadn't spent so much time at work. The best advice I took out of it through was just a simple sentence, and I think it completely encompass everything in Dad's life, his family, his friends.. him.

Life is about people and how you treat them.

When asked about my Dad's religion

Fri, 10 Oct 2008 03:16:47 GMT

He's Catholic now. But his family is Presbyterian. Well they were, grandmother and grandfather passed away. His sister still is though, she lives in Arlington, but we don't really talk to her much, the last time I saw her was last October on Dad's 60th, and before that and my Grandfather's funeral when I was a junior in High School. Actually, she came by last week to sit and talk with Dad. She brought some cookies for us, and they were exactly like the ones grandmother made for us growing up. Sugar cookies, and they were all perfectly round and the same size and depth, with almost the exact same amount of sugar on each. And she was so sweet, from what my mom said, she sat on dad's bed for a few hours and just talked and talked to him. And he was awake for all of it. Which rarely happens, I mean, if you want his attention you really have to engage him. And she kiss him goodbye and when she stood up to leave dad reached up and grabbed her hand. it was so intense. he barely moves on his own anymore unless he's scratching his head or something like that. I wish I had been there to see it.. at the same time, probably not, I would have cried.

Anywho, she's married with one son who's probably a big weeeener.

Symphonic Euphoria

Tue, 16 Sep 2008 02:26:27 GMT

There's something that's just beautiful about driving a standard. It's hard to explain it to someone, especially when that person has spent most of their life in an automatic car. But none-the-less, I'm going to.

It's 7:45 pm and I've been sitting in traffic for the better part of an hour and traveled a grand distance of two miles. Stop. Go. Stop. Stop. Let someone into the lane. Go. Stop. A few cars ahead of me in a Z3. A beamer, driven by someone who probably doesn't know how to drive it. His Z is a convertible. He's probably a douche. I feather the clutch as I pass by three cops and a wreck on the side of the road, the Z is just in front of me, he has both hands on his wheel when the traffic opens up and he drives from 10 mph up to 30, and up to 50. I stay behind him shifting through my gears. Release clutch, push gas, slow gas, engage clutch. Repeat. It's fluid, and I feel connected to my subaru. The car doesn't stop where the pedals meet my black converse, they're so fluid, and they know each other so well that they've become one. Like that couple that everyone hates because they're such a great match. I stick behind the Z in the next lane, shifting up, not pushing to pass him, just to stay behind him. It's not a race, just an adrenaline rush after far to much time spent throttling in first gear. We push up to 60 and I'm still in third. When we hit 70 a second later I'm shifting into fourth and stay there until we pass 95. Ninety Five. a magic number. The speed where my car nestles in and wants to be driven. The speed it was made for. And the speed I've figured out at which the cruise control will stop accelerating and force itself back down to the 80s. He and both hit about 110 before the traffic gets heavy and we're forced to slow down. But the rush was worth it. The balding man in the Z, now just next to me as I pass him, shoots me a look like he's beaten me, as though we were racing. As if I care who's car is faster. Although I would guess mine is since he bought the cheap model of the beamer. As he looks at me, the truck infront of him hits a bump. Not really a bump, more of a wave in the road, where the entire car dips down or bumps up for about two seconds. This happens and a box flys out of the back of the overpacked bed of the truck. It rolls under the beamer as he tries to swerve and nearly manages to hit me, but I downshift, punch it, and roar ahead into the open spaced ahead of me. The box explodes and packing paper is sent all over the highway, spreading out, like food coloring in water, as I watch it in my rearview.

Hooray Texas

Tue, 19 Aug 2008 03:45:50 GMT

"It's just common sense"

An email

Wed, 06 Aug 2008 20:53:04 GMT

An email sent to my friend Brian that works at the Ft Worth paper:

What do you guys have to meet about?

In said Meeting:

mngr: "So, I hear there's thing called the internet out... you guys heard about it"

suck-up: "yes, I believe it's a series of tubes."

mngr: "So... you think it might... ugh.... you know, kill us completely outright if we don't adapt to it or find a way to use it for profit?"

suck-up "No way, from what I hear, it's mostly used to watch explicit videos."

mngr: "O rlly?!"

Brian: "Uhm... yeah, about that guys, I think we should maybe do something..."

suck-up: "Don't you need to go take out the garbage? Garbage man! Garbage man!"

mngr: "Good one Gary!"

-mngr and suck-up have akward s3xual moment where there eyes meet and the suck-up bites his bottom lip-

Brain: "Right... well I'm gonna go polish up that ole re-su-may, you guys enjoy your internet tubing, and following the buggie whip and train compaines into the annals (hehe) of history."

Business Decisions

Mon, 28 Jul 2008 03:05:03 GMT

So, since I graduated I have had three different jobs. I graduated with a degree in accounting, took a job as an analyst, got into Lighting Sales, and then moved into Lighting Design. It's crazy how it works out... now if I could just think of some good lighting innuendos.

mmm perfection.

Fri, 25 Jul 2008 02:36:26 GMT

Last Sunday was a going away party for an old friend of mine. Friend isn't exactly the right word, I don't call Bob to get a beer or talk, but I have known him since Junior High. And we run in the same crowd, and when we see each other we have a good time. But he joined the army, and someone through him a going away party, so I went. Party statred at 4:00 pm on Sunday.

Fast forward to that night at 11:00 pm. I've been drinking steadily for the last seven hours and I'm heading home out of my parents place. As I drive down the street a car started to pull out, slowly. Very slowly. I push down on the gas and flash him my highbeams so he sees me coming.

At the next light a car pulls up to my drivers side and motions for me to roll down my window. I turn the stereo off and roll down the window and look over at the two guys sitting in the car next to me. The passenger is sitting facing forward, like a stone, not moving, making as much effort as he can to not move or show that he condones what is about to happen.

The driver leans over, and mustering all of the vocabulary he can think of, starts to yell at me "Hey Motherfucker! Don't you ever high beam me when I'm fucking backing out of my fucking driveway, and then don't you dare fucking swerve around me when I back out, you got that mother fucker, me and boy here will fuck you up, you wanna throw down asshole? Lets fucking go."

An overwhelming sence of calm comes over me and I slowly explain in small words that I was coming along at about 50 and wasn't going to stop so I flashed my brights at him, and I go on to tell him that if his biggest fucking problem is that someone he doesn't know highbeamed him, than his life is pretty damn good.

He cleverly responds, "Listen Mother Fucker, don't you ever fucking flash your high beams, you wanna go with me and my boy Pussy, we'll fucking kick your ass."

My eyes dart from the driver, back to the stone cold faced passenger who clearly wants no part in this, and there's a short pause, he probably thinks I'm wondering if I can take him (which I probably couldn't) and just before the light turns green I tell him "So is this what you guys do, you yell at people for no real fucking reason and give each other handjobs to get off, is that what does it for you? Was it your turn to yell tonight and his turn to cup your balls?"