Dumps Like A Truck. Truck. Truck.

Blogging is pretty much an exact science… You want to write about the random stuff that happens in your life? Someone will read it.

Hello, someone.

So I got a haircut yesterday. You’re right, that is the most interesting thing you’ve read today. Anyway, I walk in, [Note: I just did some quick research to see if I could say “I walked right in and sat right down,” but, alas, that is the jingle for the slightly shoddier low-budget haircut joint.] and I stroll on up to the computer, just like every other time. They take my name, and tell me it will be “just one minute.”

I had already mentally prepared to spend 5-plus minutes perusing the internet and trick or tweeting on my phone, so their illusion of speed did not phase me. As I will still trying to determine the appropriate complimentary and/or supplementary angles for my wallet, butt, and the old plastic chair, the greeter lady informed me that she was sorry, but it would take a little longer than they thought.

Fast-forward five minutes. In fact, go ahead and fast forward far enough to where you are in a world where the phrase “fast forward” garners only blank stares because the audience you are speaking to has never fast-forwarded anything. It’s a blu-ray world, people. Time to part with the Betamax. Anyway, similar to the night before Christmas…

All the children were nestled all scared in their chairs
While slightly inebriated women ran sharp implements through their hair.
On second thought, I might just wear a kerchief or even a cap.
Because that lady with the scissors redefines a deathtrap.
When from behind the colored hair gel, there arose such a clatter
Clippers were dropped so all could help in the matter.
The most experienced stylist spoke with such candor
“Who [on God’s green earth] is Loren Sanders?”

“That’s me.” Yeah, go figure, the name in the computer was the one guy who was in the waiting area. It was at this point she began to explain that once she had a lady named Charlie who was waiting when she called for a man named Charlie to get a haircut. I honestly enjoy it when people screw up my name or are certain they heard it incorrectly. It’s fun to see how people respond.

Like the lady at the dollar store a couple of years back… They don’t let you take the carts out of the dollar store. In fact, they attached poles to each cart to prevent anyone who believes the whole “4-on-the-floor” thing from rolling them out the door. So, this older lady asked me to help her get her bags from the door to her car. As I was going back in after saving the world, she said, “Now what’s your name again?” As if I had told her before, I replied, “Loren.” “Loren?” “Yes ma’am.” “Wow. That must have been rough.”

What’s a story without a tangent or two? I’ll tell you what it is, it’s a circle, and you’re stuck going round and round and not really having any idea what you’re missing out on outside your circle world. So my court-appointed hairdresser quickly changes the subject as we walk to her chair. She tells me they got robbed, and the thieves took the computer. She then begins cutting my hair. Don’t worry, she wasn’t there when they robbed the place.

I corroborated her story by looking around to make sure no criminals’ bodies were strewn about the place with major head wounds. She started with the clippers. I guess she was making sure the guard she had put on them would stay in place, but from the cut-ee’s perspective, it felt more like the potential for intracranial [Note: Bill Gates corrected my typing of “intercranial”. I would think “intracranial would be between craniums, but I’m no scientist.] bleeding.

She then moved in on the back of my neck. She worked on it. She moved my head. She worked on it some more. Moved my head some more. It wasn’t until my chin was resting on my chest and she pushed my head down that I offered up a little resistance. “Sorry, honey, but you’ve got a tornado back here.” Good to know. A few gray hairs and a natural disaster never hurt anyone. I still don’t know what that means beyond 3 minutes of trimming.

Overall, it was a good trip. $12 well spent… At least I hope it was $12. Their computer got stolen and she had to give me a paper receipt. I’m no expert on internal controls, but that could have been a very expensive low-budget haircut.

One Day is Coming.

You know who really suffers when a person who refuses to call himself a blogger but occasionally contributes to the blogosphere delays getting internet service at his house? The general public. I know, folks, and I'm sorry. Again, I find myself stealing church internet prior to a Wednesday night service... We'll get it straigtened out... I still have to get a phone jack, then get internet, but after that, we'll be good to go.

See you then.

Church Camp: Achieved.

...Stealing church internet to do a fantasy draft and post this (I don't yet have internet at the house. Sure, it's already been almost a month)...

As I sit here in a world without internet or television, I am greeted by a wonderful alternative to unpacking boxes full of crap that I never should have owned in the first place… telling the world (or the 4 of you reading) about church camp.

Sure, you might think I’m a little old for church camp. If I were a camper, you’d be right. But instead, I get to be a counselor. Yep, a bunch of adults who can still remember the shenanigans they pulled as campers are now put in a position to guide the youth of America and, theoretically, prevent current generation shenanigans. We’ll see how that worked out…
If you’re reading this looking for literary flow, you will be disappointed - Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Overall, it was a very calm week as far as the kids were concerned. No complaining. No injuries. Generally good attitudes. And a lot of them really took the spiritual aspects seriously. As far as the staff: One concussion. One twisted ankle. One “boxer’s fracture”. One broken leg. And two pedestrians hit by a motor vehicle. We had generally good attitudes and took the spiritual aspects seriously too, though. On to the highlights…

We go to camp at Taylor Christian Camp, located in Scottsville, Kentucky. Maybe you’re familiar with it. Maybe you know where Scottsville is. Maybe you know how to use Google maps well enough to figure out where Scottsville is. Or maybe you’re a Scottsville resident – If that’s the case and Jan of “Jan’s Bookkeeping and Tanning Salon” is reading this, kudos, Jan: your willingness to provide the perfect combination of necessary personal services to generations of Kentucky’s finest is, in a word, inspirational.

Taylor doesn’t have a pool, but we’ve got a creek. One of our staff members decided it would be a good idea to ride his mountain bike down the hill leading to the creek, grab the ropeswing, and jump off his bike into the creek water below, avoiding the drop off and certain face-plant that awaited him if he missed the rope. As I’m not too good on a bike and generally try to avoid drowning while unconscious from smashing my head into rocks, I volunteered to hold the rope…

Surprisingly, it was a semi-success. Both rider and bike ended up in the water without any blood. No spectacular stunt was pulled off the rope, but the execution was achievement enough.
Let’s see what else happened… In order to thwart the freaking out of any parents reading this, the following was done only after all parties involved were ensured that all minors were in a location far enough away to where they had no idea what was going on. We have a six foot diameter blue ball at camp. We use it to play a game where six teams each send out one person at a time to try to push the blue ball back to their team and knock over a cone. However, for as long as I can remember, the object of the game is to run at the ball at top speed and see who flies the furthest.

Well, in order to fulfill the wish of a camper who had to leave early due to our summer camp being in the fall and school starting in the middle of the week, two of the staff members agreed to take a free shot from the big blue ball. Upon review, it was determined the maximum amount of force that could be applied to the ball for said free shot would be applied by a Dodge Ram 1500. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum agreed to the truck shot. I’ve never been more scared and excited about the same moment. Naturally, we practiced this before the actual event. And just as naturally, the truck ended up going significantly faster in the actual event than it did in practice. Truck hit ball. Ball hit staff. Staff hit ground. Ball hit truck. Ball hit fallen staff. Truck bumper comes to rest within reach of staff. Silence ensues. Staff member A makes a noise and moves. Staff member B responds with noise and movement of his own. Hilarity ensues because, after all, any time something so incredibly stupid happens and no one gets seriously injured, it instantaneously achieves the highest standard of humor.

Don’t worry though, Staff member A went down the slip-n-slide the next day, got his pinky caught in a small tear on the billboards being used as the slick surface for sliding, and broke a bone in his hand. When I later pointed out the obvious that he got hit by a truck without any problems yet let his pinky send him to the hospital, I asked if he told the doctor he’d been hit by a truck. “No. Are you kidding? That didn’t come up.”

Tune in next time as we transition from the physical to the intellectual side of the TCC 2010 Story Vault.

Ever Checked Your Shoes for Poo in a Carpeted Building?

If you took 2-inch by 4-inch stickers off of plastic boxes about 20 times a day, what would you do with them?

If you answered a question with a question, I’m right there with you… You’re wondering if they are recyclable and if this is a trap question to determine if you are truly green in an age where it is cool to worry about the future of the planet. Well, I don’t know if they’re recyclable. Nor do I care.

The right answer is “Well, Loren, I would probably wad them up into a ball. But not a new ball everyday… No, I’m thinking I’d wad them into the same ball. Every day. For five years.

So I spent last week in Tampa for work. We were looking at the warehousing for a couple of hospitals down there. It was on this trip that I met Baby. Baby is the afore-referenced ball of packing stickers. How many packing stickers would you have assembled, in pounds of course? Well, you’d weigh in at a smidge under 300. Pounds, of course. Naturally, you’d want to put eyes and lips on Baby, and occasionally dress her up.

What else happened in Tampa? Good question. You just got your participation points for the week. Let me tell you what else happened in Tampa… We got sabotaged. While my creativity rots away in a cubicle from 8 to 5, even in my imagination’s prime, I couldn’t have made up the following…

I had just badged back in from the bathroom. Yes, badged in. As I walked into our conference room that we were working in for the week, a coworker immediately asked “Do you smell that?” It was at that precise second that I could and did respond with “I do now… What is that?” “I don’t know. I just saw a guy walk by and spray something in here.”

That something must have been the intestinal lining of fourteen cows and the melted glass from twenty-three thousand used rectal thermometers, in aerosol form. I have smelled something similar before… In your effort to learn more about me, you’ll be excited to know that I used to work in a fireworks warehouse. It was there that I was introduced to the Wild Geese Rocket.

Fireworks come from… brace yourself… China. Apparently, cardboard, paper, and urine are the preferred packing products. After a trip across an ocean and 2,000 miles of non-ocean, the cardboard really starts to smell. Don’t worry, the urine doesn’t smell at that point.

Anyway, it smelled [insert your preferred synonym for dreadful here]. We marveled at the odor for a while, which I believe to be analogous to watching a school bus teeter on the edge of a cliff, with nothing but a herd of helpless sheep below. Then we began to look for a solution. People who work in the areas around our conference room began to wander in just to see if it really smelled as bad as they had heard. No one left disappointed.

The guy we were working with most of the time came in and immediately told us to evacuate. Done. So, we’re hanging out in the hallway when he decides to begin the manhunt. Blue shirt, white tie. Look out.

Everyone at the facility has their picture up on the wall… Well, everyone except for the prime suspect. Facility guy comes to us, picture in hand, “Is this him?” Coworker, “I didn’t get a good look at him. I just saw the back of his head.” As I wonder how this guy got profiled as the assailant, facility guy explains, “He has a history of doing stuff like this.” I really want to know what you have to do to get the kind of reputation where you are immediately accused of stinkbombing a room full of strangers in a professional environment.

Regardless, Febreeze and Lysol started coming from various locations and the fumigation began. There’s really no elegant way to go into your office and come out with a can of Lysol. Still, it worked for the most part. A couple of hours later, all that was left was a potential blog post. You can thank public enemy number 2.

Hit the Deck

Why the delay and random Independence post to break up the housing saga? Mostly because I didn't want to jinx it... I believe my house-hunting to be over.

In preparation for trip 3, Rea sent me a few more listings. I picked out one that was quite near the parents’ house. As I wanted to live a little more in the East Nashville area, so I RealTrac-ed anything in the area with 2 bathrooms. This is mainly so I can have one bathroom that appears clean for visitors without having to actually clean it. Found one with potential. Trip 3 was set – 2 houses.

So, Mom had been asking to join me in the house viewings. She said she didn’t want to go to give me her opinion, she just liked looking at houses. Trip 1 occurred at the same time as a family dinner that no one told me about until 24 hours before. As such, Mom had alternate plans. She didn’t make it to trip 2 either, so trip 3 was her first time out.

I told Mom I’d pick her up after work. As I get to the parents’, Dad informs me he’s decided to ride along for the house that is near to them. A family outing has been formed. So we roll up to house 7 to see Rea talking to the homeowner. Homeowner pulls out of the driveway as we get out of the car. This will become slightly less unimportant shortly.

I introduce Rea to the parents and vice versa. Let the house viewing begin.

House 7: Located on a riding mower sized lot. Pro. We open the door and are immediately met with a new objective: find the cat that’s been smoking a pack a day. Con. Why did we care earlier that Rea had been talking to the homeowner? Because it was during that conversation that homeowner informed Rea that the wood in the first room we walked into was formerly used at a Captain D’s run by his wife’s ex-husband. Let that sink in. Not only is fish-grease-soaked wood a selling point, but the guy went through his wife’s ex to get the fish-grease-soaked wood. That’s pretty much all I remember about house 7. Potential diseases acquired: Tetanus, West Nile, Double Emphysema. Naked people seen: 1.

After I have made my way through house 7, Mom comments, “Wow. You went through that really quickly.” Rea, “Yeah, usually I have to schedule an hour to show a house. For Loren, it’s more like 15 minutes.” Turns out, I can tell if I like something almost as quickly as I can tell if I don’t like it. Mind you, I have seen plenty of places I didn’t like in this process. God made home inspectors to find the flaws. So, Rea and I make small talk as Mom and Dad roam around house 7, making up for my sub-par walk-through.

House 8: After Dad says peace out, we’re back in Inglewood, where the slogan is “It’s where we want to live.” Catchy. We park on the street. Primarily because there is no driveway. Good start. We walk the 45 yards of new deck to get to the door. And by new deck, I mean enormous monstrosity that the seller appears to have built himself. Good news, if a strong wind blows through, it will take care of tearing down the 6 foot fortress. Either that or I’m hiring some Israelites with trumpets for 7 days.

As we enter, Rea tells us the house has been staged. For those of you who haven’t watched as much HGTV as I have, that means, someone has strategically arranged the furniture in order to create an atmosphere that encourages home-buying. This would become very apparent when we walked into the master bedroom to discover a cute breakfast in bed tray. These are the kind of personal touches that really make me feel like I could live in one of these places. Overall, nice place. Pretty much all carpet, lots of green, and an enormous mirror that could replace the moon in a pinch. Outside of the “improvements” the guy made on the house, I like it. I kind of wish Noah would have consulted me prior to building his ark outside, but I guess the rest made up for it.

To make an incredibly long story short, after potentially acquiring Tetanus, West Nile, and two strings of Emphysema and seeing one naked person scurrying around, we commence to make you jump. Jump. Nevermind. That was Kris Kross. We, in actuality, commenced the offer/counter-offer process on House 8. Whew.

Thanks for following my soap opera. If you're not some sketchy blog-hopper, stop by the house sometime... There's a clean bathroom if you need it.

"I've Never Used a Port-O-Potty"

Americans are all pyro-maniacs at heart. Nashville had millions of people staring at the same point in the city, drooling over flashing colors. Where else can you find that? Hundreds of other cities across the U.S.A. Count me among the pyros.

Taking a break from the drama of trying to spend more money than I have made life-to-date, let’s talk about America’s birthday. We have a family at church that owns a parking lot downtown. They are kind enough to donate their enormous patch of blacktop every year for “food, fellowship, fireworks, and alliteration.” That might not be the exact title, but it’s close. Riverwood (that would be my church home, and thus, is mentioned first) and Northside have been doing this for a few years now. This year, we invited Jackson Park to join in on the good times.

We showed up a little early to help set everything up. Good news is, the bouncy house people also showed up early to drop off the two Moon Bounces. We got everything set up in record time and set out for the bouncy house. Sure, the youth minister and I probably each exceeded the overall weight limit for these things. However, Independence Day must be a big day for the party rental place, so no one was there to enforce the rules. Having never done a front flip, cartwheel, back flip, or a handstand, I was suddenly presented with the perfect opportunity to achieve all four.

As a twenty-four year old male, I have discovered a bouncy house hangover is nothing to joke about. I failed at all of my four inflatable missions. Having failed at the front flip with a couple of hops to build up inertia, I decided that perhaps I should try a flat-footed back flip. Apparently there is an invisible table located outside the entrance of the Moon Bounce where you must check your logic. As I landed on my face on my one back flip attempt, I discovered I was in pain. Not in my face per se, more the toe I had apparently gotten caught on the netting and then slammed into the floor of the blow-up mansion. I chalked it up as a mild sprain and continued bouncing.

Here I lounge on my July 5th holiday, icing my foot and trying to massage the pain out of the neck I landed on countless times. Lesson learned. Until next year.

Regardless of my pain, a good time was had last night. Plenty of hamburgers and hotdogs, youth group kids conquering their fear of port-o-potties, a little concert, a period of worship consisting of old folks mumbling through newfangled devotional songs, children happily bouncing in the puddles of sweat and blood we left for them in the bouncy houses, catching up with old friends and church league rivals, 4 visits to the dessert table, 93 degrees, 84 ounces of fluid, one folding chair that was far too small for me, and lots of explosions. Like I said, a good time.

Hey, America, let’s do this again next year. Even if China has taken over by then, we’ll be alright – they make all the fireworks anyway.

Home Shopping - Networking

So, due to the success of houses 1-3, more internet listings head my way. I pick a fresh round of 3. As I take some pride in knowing where most gang violence is likely to occur in East Nashville, I decided to take a drive around to explore the potential neighborhoods. Small problem: the little sticker that held Australian Karen, my Garmin, in place was affected by the change in temperature and stopped being sticky. As such, I left Australian Karen in the air-conditioned comfort of the rental house. Additionally, I didn’t feel it worth my while to pull over, pick up my phone, and look up the addresses.

Using my stellar navigational skills, I managed to locate 33% of the houses. Found all 3 streets. Only one house. Sweet, going into the house showing completely uninformed.

House 4: This was the one house I found in my pregame study. That’s because it’s literally one minute from where I live now. Nice house. If you like the feeling of being on the inside of a hand-rolled cigarette. Luckily I do like that feeling. Potential diseases acquired: Tetanus, West Nile, Emphysema. Naked people seen: 1.

House 5: This was a quaint little house that was listed for half of the property assessor’s 2009 value. I figured I’d check it out. Nice little neighborhood. We are walking through the house – it’s nice enough. A little smaller than all the other joints we’ve looked at, but looks relatively fresh. Rea has these sheets that have a little more info than the sheets she’s sent me. As we’re walking around the basement of house 5, she reads (aloud), “Suffered foundation damage in the flood.” Anyone know the quickest way out of a strange basement? There’s a reason kidnappers don’t tell their hostages that there was structural damage to the foundation of their dungeon. Potential diseases acquired: Tetanus, West Nile, Emphysema. Naked people seen: 1.

House 6: So, we’re on our way to house 6. I knew where the road was. And, due to my affinity for not getting carjacked, I knew I wanted to turn left onto that road as we approached it. Right it is. [Note: 97% sure they just bleeped out the word “crap” on Holmes on Homes.] So, we drive past the 3rd sketchiest market in Metro Nashville, and arrive at house 6. Rea pulls in the driveway, beside a teenage gentleman sitting in his car. He apparently was a member of the neighborhood watch. Or the Mexican Mafia. So we exchange pleasantries: “Hey, how’s it going?” (silent stare). We take a look around this house – by far, the biggest house I’d looked at. Not bad, but the neighborhood was a little suspect. In fact, the guy in the driveway was probably a little suspect in some felony somewhere. One feature of house 6: the stone mini-amphitheatre in the backyard. I decided it was either a Greco-Roman bathing area or a ping-pong arena. We didn’t stick around long enough to find out.

House 6 gets 2 paragraphs. Big time. So, I liked the house part of house 6, but wanted to check into the surrounding environment. I called up an old friend. And by called up, I mean facebook messaged. [Note: Again, I acknowledge my error, but feel free to harass anyway.] I will await her reply. Potential diseases acquired: Tetanus, West Nile, Emphysema. Naked people seen: 1.

At this point, I’m beginning to tire of being in the background of an episode of Cops, nearly being crushed by a house, and coming up with new ways of saying, “I’m sorry for risking your life, Rea, to look at a house I no longer have any interest in.” My internal conversation went a little like this:

Me: “Rea’s probably getting a little annoyed showing you all these cheap houses in the hood.”

Me: “Well, turns out she’s in the personal service industry. She can suck it up.”

Me: “Yeah, but seriously…”

Then Rea cut me off when she told me that the last person she found a house for looked at 30 houses before she found the one. At that point I decided I’d cut my eyes out before I’d look at 30 houses. Color me encouraged.

The sentence you are reading right now is designed to foreshadow the foreshadowing. Maybe something positive would happen on trip #3.