Archives for 2012

Houses, Hogs and Cotton Candy

February 19, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

Two weeks ago, on a Friday night at American Airlines Center, during the second half of the Dallas Mavericks-Indiana Pacers game, John and I decided to buy a house. Finally, after 6 months of lengthy discussions regarding three houses we really liked, complete with detailed lists of pros & cons and bar charts, we made a snap decision. During the third quarter, over a Bud Lite, right after I went to the bathroom, we made a selection. Immediately, I shot off a text to Paula Larson, our real estate broker – like she didn’t have anything better to do, late on a Friday night. I wanted to get the message out there into cyber space, before we changed our mind. The game was plenty dull.

The extra tricky part of this equation is the location! location! location! The house we had finally decided on is 262 miles away, in Fayetteville, Arkansas. And we actually live in Dallas which could possibly make for a long morning commute for John. It’s not a bad drive for a weekend road trip and a Saturday night football game, but I imagine it would be a tad bit tedious on a daily basis. He doesn’t much enjoy his current 30 minute morning drive to Las Colinas. From Big D, Fayetteville is a straight shot up Central Expressway, north past the Red River, through Oklahoma with no reception – cellular or otherwise – and up to God’s country. Home of the Arkansas Razorbacks.

Our plan has always been to move back home to Arkansas before we are dead. And dead is sneaking up. If we wait too long, we will soon wake up in an East Dallas assisted living facility, riding a bus to Walgreens for our prescriptions. And I don’t much like buses. We need to do this soon while we can make new friends.

CottonCandyMan

Not that we have anything against Dallas. We love Dallas. It’s been a great place to live and raise our children. There are job opportunities and all the restaurants you could ever desire. But, we want season tickets to everything Razorback. I want to walk into Herman’s regularly and not think, “Oh look there’s a Razorback welcome mat at the front door. How odd!” – because it isn’t odd there. I need to see the Ozark Mountains while I’m driving to Target instead of the cotton candy man on Gaston Avenue. In our barrio, there is actually a man who walks around in the afternoons with a huge tower of cotton candy for sale. I believe it is the strangest thing I have seen in our neighborhood, and there have been many. We live nowhere near a ballpark.

We were ready. If we buy something, this would force our hand, right? We would have to list our house and sell and move. Right? Or maybe John was trying to get me the hell out of Texas, so he could truly work 24-7…? There would be no one to nag him about going to the doctor. He could snore to his heart’s content without being elbowed and told he has apnea. He could weigh each morning in peace.

After thinking and talking about this house for six months, as well as not talking about it and totaling ignoring the subject, we made a decision. Wooooo Pig Sooooie!!!! We decided to make an offer, as if we were deciding which movie to go to the next evening. Paula, our patient, charming broker no doubt now recognized she was dealing with lunatics.

The following day was Saturday morning. And here we go again. John had a mid morning flight to Atlanta. He needed to leave the house fairly early. He had to run by the cleaners because someone (me) had forgotten to pick up his shirts. He had to run by his office on the way to the airport (why? I don’t know – habit?). Oh and, of course, he still needed to pack. This trip was for several days, unlike his previous red-eye to Pittsburg – more clothes to ponder, shoes and belts to match up – just overall more challenging. AND, in the middle of this, we had to get our offer in on the house. We had to buy a house.

Apparently, after sitting on the market for months with no activity and several price reductions, we were suddenly buying THE most popular house in Fayetteville. The seller had coincidentally received a contract on our house the day before. Naturally. Then, as Paula worked up the contract, John packed and I tried to just breathe, a second offer came in on the house! Really? What were the odds? Now it was a competition. There were three offers.

Paula was a trooper – emailing, texting and calling me back and forth, along with the listing agent. John was already in route to the office. The three of us strategized over a conference call as John tried to print his boarding pass. We had a second conference call while he was in his car headed to the airport. Last night he dreamed he had missed his flight… After John was on the plane and headed to Atlanta, I signed the contract to officially throw our offer in the ring.

This is how we do things. This is how we bought our current home. Spur of the moment decision during a midnight drive by, leaving a nearby party. Just like that. We weren’t even house shopping. We didn’t look at any other homes. And John immediately left for Denver during the contract negotiations. But we did it and never looked back.

Within 30 minutes Paula called to let me know that we didn’t get the house. Someone else paid over asking price. Someone else was buying our house in Fayetteville. It was just as well, I was exhausted and needed a nap. This just wasn’t the right house for us. Maybe we will find one soon or maybe not. Maybe we won’t find one until ten minutes before Kelsey walks down the aisle (someday). But all it takes is 20 seconds of insane courage. And we have the insanity part down to a science.

talya

Musical Pairings:

John Parr, “St. Elmo’s Fire Man in Motion”

Eurythmics, “Sweet Dreams”

“All it takes is 20 seconds of insane courage and great things will happen. I promise.” Benjamin Mee in “We Bought a Zoo”

http://paulalarson.crye-leike.com/

99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall

February 18, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

It’s interesting being home in the middle of a “work day”. The neighborhood is totally different between 8-5. Until recently, I was at the bank during these hours and missed this time slot at home – unless I was sick in which case I was drugged on Nyquil. I love Nyquil. Although it makes me do crazy things sometimes…

Until I left my banking job, I never realized a yellow school bus drives down our street around 3:30 every afternoon. I find this strange in the inner city where we live, but I suppose this is very necessary – kids in Dallas are bussed all over the city in over 1,700 yellow school buses. I just never much thought about it. I always equate school buses to little rural schools out in the country – like where I grew up.

Did you ride a school bus? I’m not referring to weekly basketball games with the team or the annual field trip to the zoo, but EverySingleDay in Elementary School? Because you lived out in the boonies? I was envious of those kids who lived in town. They were so lucky to walk to school. I wanted to move into town to the new Keiser housing project and walk with my friends. Not fair!

Sandy Robinson
My bus driver:)

Riding the bus was traumatic. On the first day of school, my mother and I followed along in her car behind the bus the entire route, so that I would know exactly where Mr. Robinson was taking me each afternoon, before dropping me off at home. My mother was a saint to do this. Driving all over Mississippi County gravel roads eating bus dust for at least an hour and a half, while I’m sure I was begging to be home schooled. Had I only known about home schooling… After that first day – or maybe she did it for a week – I was forced to grit my teeth and ride the bus.

My bus route changed slightly from year to year. Why, I’m not sure? Maybe a ditch flooded and a road was completely washed away changing the school district boundaries?? There were several years that I was the first person picked up – before sunrise. I watched for the bus from the back porch off the kitchen. I stood there and scribbled on the door frame in No. 2 pencil, “I am so sleepy”. My mother left my mark there for a long time before re-painting. I waited and watched each morning, nauseous the entire time, silently praying that Mr. Robinson had flipped the bus into Clide Barnett’s wheat field in the 7 minutes between school and my house. I didn’t want him to be injured or anything – I really liked Mr. Robinson – but I hated that school bus. But it always showed up, driving down Highway 140 in the dark, those unmistakeable bus lights glowing in the distance. I walked as slowly as possibly down our lonnnngggg driveway like it was a death march with my mother standing on the carport in her robe yelling, “Hurry! You’re gonna miss the bus!” I knew I couldn’t be that lucky. I just knew it was a matter of time before one of those rickety bridges we crossed would collapse with me inside. It was simple math.

These kids were late for school.

After school, the route was reversed, and I was the very last child to leave the bus, well after dark, getting home after the evening news. It sucked. Never mind that the bus turned north onto Highway 101 ten yards from my house! I could see my house. I could practically touch my house! I was not allowed to get off until we circled the entire county and looped back on Highway 140 directly in front of my driveway. I wanted to scream every afternoon “Let me off!!! My house is right there!” as we turned in the opposite direction. I could have an extra hour and a half to watch I Dream of Jeannie or Gilligan or read. I considered opening that emergency door in the back of the bus but would an alarm sound?

WHAT, pray tell, was my mother doing during this time? Why couldn’t she drive me to school? A mere 7 minute drive – 14 round trip – compared to 3 hours per day I was spending in that dusty bus!!! I knew very well that she drove to Keiser every single day for groceries and gossip… She could easily do that in the morning after dropping me off. I was totally on to her. Later, when I became a mother of two small children, I understood that this was, of course, extra free baby sitting time for my mother, courtesy of the MissCo School District. But I’m still just a tad bitter.

Some years for whatever reason, I was the last person picked up in the morning. This allowed me more time to sleep, which was a nice perk; however, by the time I boarded, the bus was crammed packed with wild kids – some had been on the bus for nearly 2 hours – and there was no place to even think about sitting. For a shy kid like me, this was distressing. I only had to brace my legs and hold on to the back of a seat for 7 minutes, trying my best not to fall into the nasty aisle. Add to this, the certain group of mean girls (who shall remain nameless), who rifled through my purse every single morning and stole my milk money. Sometimes I just handed over my milk money each morning as I boarded – like bus fare. I hated milk anyway. But I hid my lunch money in my saddle oxford so the mean girls would not know. I loved lunch. Mr. Robinson, our bus driver, had to know this was going on, but he let us deal with our own issues. Kids fought their own battles then…not that I ever fought.

With this LIFO bus route, they finally let me get off first in the afternoon at that Highway 101 intersection. I walked through the ditch and over into our yard, adding months and possibly years to my life. I would gladly let the mean girls have my purse each morning to get home by 4:00 instead of 6:00.

Today, as that bus drives by my house each afternoon I wonder about those kids inside. The buses are probably different now with cameras for the driver to maintain control. Those kids probably each have an iPhone which keeps them busy playing Angry Birds and texting. Or maybe they too are traumatized trying to keep their seat mate from stealing their $250 Livestrong Air Max Nikes.

talya

Musical Pairings:

Brownsville Station, “Smokin’ in the Boy’s Room”

Cat Stevens, “Old Schoolyard”

“Even to this day, when I see a school bus it’s just depressing to me. The poor little kids.” Dolly Parton

It Is What It Is!

February 17, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

When I drew pay at the bank, the President and I kept an ongoing list of phrases and words that needed to be ixednay asap. We were so over it. I hope he is still keeping the list going. I know it’s still in his head. Many of these annoying words are used primarily in everyday conversation, when Facebooking or text messaging. LOL they are smooth worn out.

Whitney looked terrible at that party, just saying. Just saying? Just saying what? Exactly what is the point of these two words tacked on the end of a sentence? These two words change the meaning – it’s a bit of a pot-stirrer phrase. The sentence is insinuating and must be spoken with a cocked eyebrow. Whitney looked terrible at that party, just saying (…I think she was drugged out of her head). Also it reminds me a bit of Yoda-speak? Terrible at the party Whitney looked, just saying.

Anything with Obama used as a prefix needs to go – hopefully by the next election – Obamaland, Obamamama, Obamanation, Obamayomama, Obamalicious.

Today for something to be politically correct it must be green. Green living, Green building, Green clothing, Green Obamacare, Green eggs. Slap the word green in front, and it is like super awesome! Greengreengreen! Like, it is so cool to be green. Like, whatever. OMG, like was he for real? And then I was like, ROTFLMAO! No way? Way! Like duh! I know! Like, whatever! Seriously. Like for real.

And, thinking outside the box. What’s wrong with being inside the box? I would not, could not, in a box or with a fox. My bad! Your bad what? Your bad grammar?

In the BIG-bidness world, there are many obnoxious phrases that need to, like, totally disappear.

“When you pencil it out with the major players going dark, the hard corner would be cash neutral even with ground up construction. Let’s drill down and revisit these mission critical actionable items in next week’s focus group maintaining full transparency, of course.” Totally. Huh?

At the end of the day, this makes me want to puke. Seriously, just saying.

talya

Musical Pairings:

Tim McGraw, “Back When”
Laura M. Kelly, “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious”