It's another day when time stands still

Some days my office becomes a mystical place where time enters a "no passing" zone. Today is one of those days, so I figured I'd update the ol' blog.

Yesterday afternoon was the afternoon from Hell. It seemed like everyone had waited until the last possible fucking minute to turn in revisions, when they'd had a week to do so. The two key people in charge of one ad decided to take fucking vacation days the two days before the ship date, and then the original ad idea got completely scrapped, requiring a completely new design, which I pulled out of my ass in about 30 minutes. Another person simply forgot to review an ad she commissioned, and I went through 3 revisions on that one. At the last minute The Boss wanted changes to an ad that had been approved 2 weeks ago, but I passed that one on to the freelancer. Like Hell I was going to touch that one again. My brain was fried by 5:30, so I got my fat ass to the gym and did some weights to relieve the tension.

We made another pilgrimage to beloved Wrightsville 2 weekends ago, but our full enjoyment of the weekend was impeded by worrying about the car. Its "check engine" light came on on the ride down, so we pulled into a shop and ran the OBD. Diagnosis: failing oxygen sensors. So we decided to leave early Sunday afternoon just in case the car broke down or something, but it made it home without trouble. I was quoted over $500 to replace the sensors, but thanks to the miracle of the internet, I found the parts for $170 and instructions on how to replace them myself, a fairly simple task consisting of unscrewing four bolts and unplugging the sensors. For 1.5 hours of work I saved well over $300. While waiting for the parts to arrive, I used my mother-in-law's smelly Corolla to get around, which reeked of tobacco and rotten vegetables, had a crust of silt and nicotine on the dashboard and console, and had. I spent 40 minutes vacuuming and getting the stench down from pungent to stale so that I wouldn't arrive at work smelling like I had been smoking a squash.

We finally picked out paint swatches this weekend. Soon our dream of a simulated beach house will become a reality. We picked a cool light blue for the living room and a very light cream for the dining room. We'll probably end up painting the dark wood TV cabinet a light ivory as well, since we can't afford to junk the whole thing and get a flat-panel unit. I would trade our dark recliners for my mother-in-law's sofa and give away our old nasty sleeper sofa, but I don't want to deal with the hassle of moving furniture and having to rent a truck.

I am so ready to retire. Sometimes a flicker of doubt runs through my mind, asking, "wouldn't you get bored doing nothing all day, every day?" That came up this weekend when we had nowhere to go and nothing planned, and sat around the house most of the weekend watching movies. I did start to feel a little bored and restless, but after yesterday's extended period of clock-watching followed by a panicked rush to get all that last-minute shit done, I no longer doubt that I would be much better off retired with millions in lottery winnings. I wouldn't get bored thanks to a custom-designed house which would offer a bounty of entertainments and diversions.

My lottery-winner house would be a miniature resort. Of course it would have the requisite indoor swimming pool for year-round aquatics. It would also have a well-equipped fitness center with ellipticals, treadmills, free weights, and of course Indian clubs, but would look much classier than your typical membership gym. Oriental rugs and potted palms would grace the room, and an elegant beverage bar would have bottled water and protein shakes at the ready. Wicker chairs with sweat-proof cushions would be there to receive my tired ass after a workout. I would install finely appointed changing rooms with showers for my guests, and I would also have a massage room.

A bowling alley would be a must. I'm not sure if it would be fully automated, or if I would have a servant in Punjabi costume roll the ball back and reset the pins. I'd also fit the entertainment wing of the house with a dance club, where we would dance the night away with our friends without overcrowding or being offended by the presence of trashy people. Down a dark hall near the restroom would be a locking chamber with a sturdy daybed, tissues, towels, lubricants, and a basket of prophylactics should drunken guests "get the urge." A British pub-style bar would adjoin the dance club for when the revelers want to take a break in a more quiet spot. Adjacent to the pub would be a spacious oak-paneled billiard room with at least two pool tables and furnished with cushy leather sofas. The entertainment wing would have a large terrace as well, for smoking, taking in the night air, and playing drunken games of cornhole, with plenty of lounge chairs in case guests need a place to pass out for the night. I would probably have various themed dining rooms as well, including French cafe, '50s diner, and opulent Victorian, surrounding a gourmet kitchen, which would be adjacent to a '50s style kitchen with restored vintage appliances. Wi-fi would be available throughout the house.

Most folks love a formal dinner, but I have a greater affinity for breakfasts consumed in splendid surroundings and served in a most elegant fashion. Each morning I would dine in one of many places around the mansion: the breakfast room, which would have large windows flooding the room with the morning sun; the terrace, on a clean white tablecloth with a pot of hot coffee at the ready; or the private balcony in the master suite.

Speaking of master suite, my wife and I would have our own dressing rooms, each with beautiful wooden racks and shelves laden with fine garments, huge mirrors, comfortable chairs, TV set with surround sound, radio, internet access, sound system, and a small beverage bar with a mini fridge and a single-cup coffee maker, should we happen to get thirsty while changing. Hers would have a large dressing table as well. The bathroom would offer a large jacuzzi tub and a huge shower, and a white marble double vanity with plenty of cabinets & drawers to stash our various toiletries out of sight, plus yet another mini fridge for keeping chilled water. The bed chamber would have its own fireplace and sitting area with beverage bar and coffee maker where we could have coffee or juice before breakfast, and of course a big TV with surround sound as well as wireless headphones. At night we would play ocean sounds to lull us to sleep. Adjacent to the bedroom would be a smaller bedroom in case one of us is sick and needs to sleep separately.

Each guest room would have a private bath, private balcony, big TV, and a laptop with wi-fi and printer. Down the hall there would be a sitting area with a fridge full of drinks and snacks for late-night munchies. On weekends when we have guests, I would have a servant head out early in the morning and pick up a copy of USA Today for each guest and quietly shove it under the door. Each nightstand would be stocked with prophylactics should drunken hook-ups occur between guests.

The library would be a spacious room housing all of our books, maps, records, and archives. Guests would sink into big leather chairs with a book or newspaper, or surf the web with the library's laptops. My study would be adjacent. Nearby would be a sort of work room with big tables where we would keep tools for whatever projects we devise. I would also have a small separate room dedicated to wrapping gifts.

No gentleman's house is complete without a theater. Mine would have the largest plasma screen available, surround sound, a vast library of movies & TV shows, and plush leather recliners with cupholders. The theater would have its own lobby just outside, with popcorn, drinks, beer, and snacks for my guests. The restroom would be equipped with its own monitor so that guests wouldn't miss anything. This same library of movies would be available on the server for viewing in the individual guest rooms.

Underneath the house would be a huge garage for my collection of automobiles. I'd try to keep it simple—a few vintage models, including a sedan from the '20s, '30s, '40s, and '50s, a Suburban, an Explorer, a Range Rover, a few black Crown Victorias, a large Mercedes sedan, and a light blue 1989 Volvo 740.

O, how I wish to retire on lottery winnings and live out my days in splendor!