Welcome to Chez Cliff!

I thought about this last night and decided to put it out there.

I’ve decided that I’d like to dedicate a post to you.

I love it when you take time to ask questions.  Sometimes, I feel bad because the comments section is too small to write a decent response.  I wind up cutting my responses to just a few words and I feel like I’m short changing the question.

Here’s what I propose.  Use the comments link below and ask me any question you want.  No matter how little, minor or big it might be.  If I mentioned something real brief in an article and you want to know more, now is your chance to ask.

A couple of questions will be chosen.  On Wednesday (08-30-2006), that post will be for those questions.

Since this is the Internet, I do have to make some subjects off limits.  For instance, if you’re interested in my real estate investing, I won’t answer any direct questions regarding exact figures of money.  Also nothing too personal; my dating life and sex life are off limits as well as what I look like naked. 

Put your thinking caps on.  You have until 12:00 a.m. PST, 8/28/2006 to submit your question.

I look forward to hearing from you!

As stated previously, this blog is about my journey.  I share my victories, my defeats . . . and today I share my fear.

Maybe "fear" is a bit drastic.  Let’s call it nervous exhilaration.  You can equate it to the first night of a performance.

Even though there have been thousands of dress rehearsals, the first show is always filled with trepidation, nervousness and anxiety.  As an actor, you never really know how the play is going to turn out until the curtain opens and the show starts.  No, I’m not speaking from personal experience.  The extent of my stage career was playing Soldier #4 in my fifth grade class’ rendition of "The Wizard of Oz".  No Tony’s came my way.

Anyway . . .

The next step is to have the Real Estate Agent walk through the houses.  I already know he will tear them apart.  "Fix this.  Replace that.  Buy this.  Put this there."  Of course, I trust his wisdom.  His changes will be implmented; the curtain will then open and the For Sale sign will appear.

It is at that moment the performance begins.

That is the part that has me nervous.  I know that the "opening day" is quickly approaching: within the next two weeks.

Just as the performers go on in spite of this anxiety, I will go on as well.  I just may have to keep the motion sickness bag

in my back pocket just in case. 

Motion Sickness Bag?  Whatever happened to Barf Bag?

OK so technically it’s not the last thing.  But it is the last thing that I’m paying to have someone do.

Not bad eh?

The left over travertine goes great with the custom kitchen cabinets and the granite countertop.

Cookie Monster was standing in my house, looking at my pictures in my living room.  By this time, she had taken a keen interest in my personal life.  Whether it was an attempt to ingratiate herself upon me or normal curiosity, I’m unsure.  But let’s fire up the Cookie Monster machine and see what she has to say today.

Cookie Monster:  I see that you like French things.
Clifford:  Yes, I’m a self-admitted francophone.
CM:  I speak French you know.
Clifford:  You do?
CM:  I should!  I took it for 8 years you know.  Four in high school, four in college.
Clifford:  That’s impressive!
CM:  Oh yeah.  When I’d travel over there, the French people would be surprised that I was American.  I didn’t have an accent and I didn’t act like an American.  I got compliments all the time!  Have you traveled to France?
Clifford:  A couple of times.
CM:  I love that country!  I travel there all the time!
Clifford:  Si vous voulez, on peut continuer à se parler dehors.  Il fait hyper chaud dans ma maison.  Et vous me racontez de vos aventures en france.
CM:  Um . . . what?
Clifford:  Désolé.  J’ai parlé trop vite?
CM:  Oh, well I’ve forgotten all my French.  It was so long ago.
Clifford:  Of course you have.  Why don’t we go outside?  It’s a bit hot in here.

And for the record, I’m not leading Cookie Monster on.  Even though she’s stated multiple times that she wants to work with me, I’ve told her that I’m working with the Real Estate Agent for many many moons.  She keeps coming around, in my opinion, because she’s hoping to win me over.

I give her credit for being persistent.

More than anything in the world, I wanted to write today and say "It’s finished!"

That’s it.  Just two words.

"It’s finished."

Well, technically that’s three words if you count "’s" as a word.

But I can’t write that.  So I won’t.

The back-splash has taken longer to do than the plumbing.  That amazes me at some level.  I’m not sure which level but it does amaze me.  And the work on the back-splash came to a sudden halt because I ran out of noses.  That sounds weird to me.  I ran out of "noses".  Who thinks up the words for this stuff?

In measuring the kitchen, I measured super sloppy.  I figured an error of 20% and came up with a number I was positive would be sufficient in terms of "noses".  In total, I ordered 36 feet.

"You’re about 10 feet short," the Tile Guy said to me, eyes glazed over from his last bong hit.

He was right.  Not because he wasted the noses.  It was because I completely forgot to figure in the vertical distance.  I only measured the horizontal distance.

An emergency phone call to the tile place and a desperate plea to expedite shipping ensued.  The manager was nice enough to oblige me.

Work begins again.

It’s nice to know that my contribution to the workload has finished.  For these few remaining days, it’s in the hands of the tile guy.  He made a comment about his car payment being due so I can only assume he’ll work so he can finish so he can get paid.

Funny how that works.