That was awkward

Part of my property includes this giant useless field that sits underneath power lines, where the options to do anything with are very minimal, because of the easement and by-laws and other bullshit that are tied to Georgia Power.  Regardless, I am still responsible for my half of the field, and I do the absolute bare minimum in doing so, by paying to have my landscapers run the mower over it, so that the weeds don’t get so high any I have another neighbor try and anonymously report me to the county again, and have them threaten a lien on my property for something I had no idea was my responsibility in the first place.

Despite the fact that it’s legally my property, its ambiguity is still in question to everyone else in the neighborhood, who all seem to make the assumption that I once did, that the land isn’t private property, and that it’s perfectly acceptable for everyone to walk their dogs on, or for people to trollop all over whenever they want to.

Normally, I’m okay with the dogs and the occasional teen girl squad who want to take sunset selfies, as long as poop is not left there, and nobody litters.  A few weeks ago, I came outside to see that a car had parked on the edge of the field and two teen lovers had laid a blanked out on my field and were just lounging out.  It irked me, but I chose to not say anything about it, because I didn’t want to be the neighborhood Clint Eastwood always telling kids to get off my lawn.

Just recently though, I was coming home, and I spotted a golf cart sitting on my half of the field.  I was like wtf, and it turned out to be this couple in the neighborhood that I recognized.  I have no qualms with them, and we’ve been friendly in the past, so I didn’t think it would really be an issue when I came up to them, and explained that I don’t have problems with them walking their dog on my field, but if they would just not drive their golf cart around on it, I didn’t want them setting a precedent that other people would start thinking they could run vehicles on my yard, thinking it was public land.

Pretty immediately, the defense came up, and it was clear that they were not fans of being made a request of, and they immediately disputed the fact that it was my property, and that it definitively belonged to Georgia Power.  They proceeded to bring up the fact that I was dumping tree debris from my fallen tree episode on company land, and that I had allowed so much tree debris to sit there for as long as I did because I have children and no time to clean up my yard whenever I want to.

It wasn’t a pleasant conversation despite both of us being able to keep it tensely civil, but I was thrown a tremendous amount of shade and passive aggression, with his wife chiming in that I should just build a fence, as if I have another spare $10,000 to erect a fence around the field, when I frankly don’t know how I’m going to pay off my credit cards at the end of this month.

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The things I think when I start to feel mopey about being broke all the time

Welp, I didn’t win Powerball yesterday; but I did win a whole whopping four dollars, which seems like a pretty solid consolation prize, I suppose.  So I guess it’s back to fantasy land when it comes to imagining a world where I didn’t have to stress about finances and all the money I don’t have no matter what I do in my life.

One of the things I often hear about, mostly from professional athletes, is the general idea of the importance of banking their first million as fast as possible, because the idea is that once you have a million in the bank, you can start to get on the short road of being able to live off of the interest and dividends alone, as long as you’re smart and don’t go too crazy with newfound wealth.

Obviously, it’s easy for the wealthy to spout this kind of simplistic ideation, but seeing as how it feels like I’ll never see a million bucks in my entire lifetime, who am I to argue with such a broad stroked idea in the first place?

That being said, I think it’d be really cool if I could befriend a wealthy person who has several millions of dollars in the bank, and really wouldn’t be at all affected if they were to temporarily part with just one of those millions, and allow me to just hold and sit on it, so that I too, could feel what it’s like to be able to sit back and watch money come in, solely from having some in the first place.  And after a predetermined amount of time, I would give the original million dollars back to this wealthy friend, and them being an actual friend, would charge me no interest and not make me feel bad about borrowing it in the first place.

I wouldn’t want to borrow a million dollars to frivolously spend and go nuts on all the outstanding mortgage and car payments.  Or fix up the house, make additions, or buy any shit I don’t need.  I just want to borrow a million dollars so that I can get a little bit of a boost at being able to passively accrue my own wealth.  To literally let it sit in a bank account of mine, where it can generate interest and grow for no other reason than the fact that it’s there.

And if the rich athlete theory is truly correct, then after a while, the money starts working for itself, wealth continues to accrue, and I can give the money back and start to live on my own proceeds.  And if this friend is truly a really good friend, they’ll float that million bucks over to someone else who just needs a boost at being able to start making their own passive interest wealth as well.

Obviously though, this is a pipe dream as unlikely to happen as the magical appearance of a fucking genie.  People, especially the very wealthy, are far too greedy, far too possessive and far too protective over their money to be willing to participate in such an idea, no matter just how many people in the world it could help if they were just willing to try. 

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I would just love one day where I don’t feel like I have to hard carry, everything

I am really fucking miserable right now, and this is another post where I don’t really feel like I can unload my baggage onto anyone, so I just put it all into writing the best I can and throw it up on the internet onto a brog where I have zero readers and hope that my words are heard.

But as the subject of this post says, I would just love to have a single day in my life where I don’t feel like the weight of absolutely every responsibility was on my shoulders.  I’m exhausted with life right now and I don’t particularly see anything getting better any time soon, and it’s becoming harder and harder to keep up the façade some days that I’m anything at all beyond an overworked dad and basically nothing else of any redeemable contributions.

I’m sure it’s of no surprise that a lot of this stemmed from the recent homeownership woes that my house has been going through.  I say my house, but the reality is that it’s what I’m going through, because when it comes to any of the home maintenance stuff, that pretty much falls solely on me to do.

I’m grateful to my neighbors almost to the point of tears for their generosity in time and effort in helping me get the whole fallen tree thing resolved, but as expected, the bigger issue was the plumbing matter, where I had a leak infiltrating the lower level from the bathroom above.  After all, moisture is the bane of homeownership, and I just knew that this was going to be a more aggravating matter than the fallen tree.

To summarize, plumbers came out to assess the situation, and I was fully bracing for a $1,000 expense, because nowadays, my old belief that most every small matter pertaining to cars, medical, home repairs, or any sort of labor, usually comes to $500, but due to inflation and just ‘Murica, I’ve upped it to $1,000.  Anything under $1,000 would be decided to be a win.

The showerhead was spraying back, which was determined the culprit of the leak, and a new shower head was affixed.  $467.  I was pretty pleased to have made it under $1,000 and I had hoped that the matter was solved. 

But this post wouldn’t be here if that were the case, and that evening sure as shit, the leaking was still present.  I got in touch with the plumbers, whom were total pros, polite, and I genuinely like them, but seeing as how all this shit was happening behind walls, the next solution would be to convert my 30+ year old three-valve shower hardware to a single pipe system, because the dated hardware was probably what was leaking.  Suddenly, I’m up to $1,700, and add in the showerhead and I’m looking at not just $1,000, but $2,000+ to solve this conundrum.

Whatever fine, I just need this shit fixed.  But since I’m poor as fuck and mostly living paycheck to paycheck these days, I have no real idea on how I’m going to cover this, but I know I need to get this resolved sooner rather than later, because the last thing I want is my home to deteriorate from a leak, because I really do take serious that moisture is the antichrist when it comes to homeownership.

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Home Groanership

Good news/bad news: the bad news is that pretty much my #1 worst nightmare involving my property happened; a tree fell over during a seemingly spontaneous storm with very forceful rain and wind for like an hour.

The good news is that it was not one of the trees in the back of my property that I always fear will fall onto one of my girls’ bedrooms and hurt them.  It was a tree in my front yard, and it fell in a pretty precise manner in which nobody was hurt, it did not hit my home, and it did not hit my neighbor’s home either.

The point remains however, a tree fell down on my property, and I didn’t really know what the fuck to do.  It’s not exactly something that I ever anticipated would happen, but then again I did have suspicions that this particular tree wasn’t optimally healthy based on the fact that mushrooms were growing out of one side of it.  But it was still sprouting leaves and growing branches, so I didn’t suspect that it was really dying beyond survival through a storm.

I did remain calm and rational and figured out what my next steps would be, but I also went ahead and threw out a query to my community’s Facebook page to see if anyone could recommend a tree removal service that didn’t have a completely booty experience.  One of my neighbors chimed in and stated that because the tree had already fallen, it shouldn’t be difficult for him to break it down, and he volunteered to assist.  And seeing as how raising children stretches my finances into frequent discomfort, this type of assistance was extremely welcome.

My priority was that I wanted to clear as much of the tree off of my neighbor’s property as soon as possible.  I know that legally, even though the tree originated on my property, most states’ laws say that the owner of the property where it lands is still the one liable for it’s removal.  Sure, it would be easy to shirk the responsibility but such truths don’t sit well with me, and the last thing I ever want would be to have beef with my next door neighbor, with whom we have a normal, neighborly, friendly relationship with.

But after putting the girls down for the night, I could already hear that work had already begun on the tree, and by the time I came outside to get to work myself, several of my neighbors were already hard at work, and moving branches and cutting down the trunk, and nearly halfway through with breaking it down.  Needless to say, I was quite floored by the immense generosity of time, labor and camaraderie spared by my neighbors, and it’s hard to put in words just how grateful I am for the help.

I’d say it took maybe another 90 minutes before we wrapped up, with not a single scrap of fallen tree left where it had dropped in sight, with only a smattering of wood chips and a jagged stump to indicate that the tree was even there in the first place.

I really need to make sure to compensate my neighbors with some form of food, treats or drinks, because I can’t even fathom just how incredible they were in assisting getting this tree off the property.  I’ve lived in so many places where everyone is just so insulated and keeps to themselves that I’ve practically forgotten what it’s like to have neighbors who care and are willing to help out and it makes me want to be a better neighbor and pay forward the generosity of effort to those whom might need it in the future.

However, as positive as the tree issue is, it’s unfortunately not the only thing to have happened, to warrant the snarky post title of home groanership.

Apparently, I’m having some plumbing issues in my home, to the effect of realizing that there’s a leak in one of the ceilings of my lower level.  It doesn’t take a physics genius to realize the correlation between when the dripping began with the bathroom right above it, and what we’ve got is a scenario of a mystery leak that’s most likely hidden behind the walls and will require some cutting into drywall to identify.

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Identity crisis

Just the other night mythical wife said that our household should be What We Do in the Shadows characters for Halloween.  And without any hesitation, she said that I should be Guillermo.

To the credit of that opinion, my face immediately made the same face Guillermo does whenever he looks at the camera after the vampires do something stupid.  But I wasn’t at all impressed at the knee-jerk association.

The lack of excitement of that was obviously noticed, and the back pedaling and explaining begins; he’s a badass vampire slayer, he’s the glue that holds the house together, he’s the guy that’s perpetually on the edge and verge of snapping being sick of everyone else’s shit, and I’m just thinking about the guy that’s fat, gets walked on by everyone around him, and is basically there for comedic relief but usually at his own expense.

Now I love the show, and it’s a fair comp, but the fact of the matter is that Guillermo is kind of the show loser, and it depressed me to be so immediately comped up to him.  He is an awesome character with a lot more depth than all the others, but when you take a step back and look at Guillermo as a whole, he’s a guy with no discernable identity, and spends the vast majority of his existence cleaning up after others and not at all doing anything for himself, much less forming an identity.  He’s the joke, he’s the doormat, he’s the comic relief.

But like I said, it’s not a completely unfair comparison.  I am the guy that keeps my house together; I’m the guy that maintains or manages the landscaping, the (attempted) cleanliness, tries to keep the house in working order and somewhat organized, with little or no help.  I take the vast majority of parenting duties, and any minute where I’m not working my job, I’m spending time with my kids while they’re awake, and it’s not until they are in bed that I have any semblance of downtime, that is when I’m not back to managing the home.

And I am, perpetually on the verge of losing my shit, because my life is not at all easy, I’m overworked, under-helped, taken for granted, and I’ve just been reminded of my general lack of identity in the world other than a dad or a housekeeper.  Both titles are undoubtedly important and I take them seriously, but when I try to picture anyone else thinking about me, I struggle to wonder what in the world words formulate in their minds when they think about me, other than those two things.

Because I don’t know what words formulate in my own mind when it comes to trying to describe myself.  I think I used to be a sports guy, specifically a baseball guy, when I was super into baseball and talking about sports all the time.  I used to be a League guy when I spent so much of my life buried in the League of Legends community.  I used to be the wrestling guy, which might be the closest thing I’m still identifiable to these days, and I most definitely was the belt guy, but the thing is that I’ve gotten pretty much every blet I want and until I have an office again, there’s not much point in getting any others.  Ironically, the one thing that I have staunchly refused to ever give up, being my desire to write, is probably the one thing so few people actually know I do, because I have zero readers and I’m neurotic and don’t want to advertise that I do it, so being a writing guy or a brogger isn’t exactly something anyone would know me for.

But the thing is, other than the latter I don’t think I’m really any of these things anymore.  As my kids came into existence, and my personal time diminished into negligible amounts, all my hobbies and interests fell to the wayside as any time I had to myself was either staring at a wall or trying to motivate myself to write something, usually about how burned out and over my life in general I was feeling at the time, kind of like I’m doing right now.

And so, I don’t really have an identity anymore, I don’t think.  As often as I think I would benefit from a day or two completely by myself to actually rest and recharge, I really don’t know what I’d even do.  I’m so money conscious that I wouldn’t want to spend the money to go hide out at a hotel or something, and I’d feel guilty eating out and spending money that I know I shouldn’t be spending, but I also can’t really expect to get any recharge time when I’m around my kids, because I want to spend time with them, so I’m left in this spiraling swirl of indecisiveness and end up doing nothing but watching television and treading the waters of depression.

Really, I just need this funky emotional wave to pass so I can go about my life without the baggage.  Hopefully I won’t be reminded of how much of a Guillermo I am again any time soon.

Dad Brog (#112): The inevitability of needing less sleep

For the last few months, the daily routine has been as such:

  • The girls go to bed at 7 pm
  • At around 10:30 pm I tell myself that I need to start winding down and go to bed early, ultimately do anything but, actually go to bed at around 1 am
  • Alarm #1 goes off at 6 am for me to take dog out
  • Alarm #2 goes off at 7 am which I promptly disable
  • Alarm #3 goes off at 7:10 am and I finally get up
  • Prepare breakfast for the girls
  • #1 usually wakes up by 8 am, promptly comes down to start breakfast
  • #2 is woken up five minutes later, promptly brought down to start breakfast
  • Dad mode engage

It’s not always easy, but it’s the life of parenting.  I wish just once in my life that someone else would do this for one morning without me having to be out of town, but I don’t foresee that happening anytime soon, so every single day of my life for the last year or so has been like this.  Obviously nothing involving kids lasts forever, and I knew that there would come a time in which the schedule was going to start deviating, and I believe that time has finally come. 

Over the last few weeks, more often than it hasn’t, #1 has been waking up earlier and earlier in the mornings, and it sometimes throws a monkey wrench into my morning routine, since when things go tits up and she decides to not be chill in her room and wait until 8 pm, I have to bring her down lest she wakes #2 up earlier than hoped, and she’s a colossal pill while I’m trying to prepare breakfast.  Some mornings she’s cool with hanging out in her room and calmly peruses books or plays with her stuffed animals, but usually she’s up and announcing to the baby monitor that she wants to go downstairs, or just whining loud enough to where I’m worried she’ll wake up her sister and things will really go poorly.

The easy solution is to just start waking up earlier so that I can have my peaceful mornings of calms before the storms of parenting, but I’m already sleep deprived enough, and I really dread the idea of doing it.  I’d definitively have to go to bed earlier in order to accommodate it, but I already feel like I don’t have enough time to myself as it is, and it’s difficult to want to sacrifice even more time for myself when I already feel like I always sacrifice too much of myself already.

I really am harkened to the days of reading old Calvin & Hobbes comic strips where Calvin starts waking up at ass o’clock on weekends much to the chagrin of his parents, and now I’m the square unnamed dad character.  But the mornings of angsty kid and grumbly dad aren’t good for anyone, and something’s got to give eventually, and realistically speaking, it’s most likely going to be me.

I’ll tell you how I’m going to become rich

My sister made a recommendation to our family group chat about a film she saw; Happy Cleaners on Amazon Prime Video.  Just from the title alone and given the context of my very Korean family, I knew that this was definitely going to be about the Korean Story, and that it was going to fuck with my emotions.  I watched the trailer and yup, it was about the Korean Story and the trailer alone did succeed at fucking with my emotions.

Make no mistake, in spite of the title of the film, this was going to be anything but happy.  I anticipated that like so many Korean stories, this was going to be depressing, thought-provoking, probably relatable and leave me feeling like I’ll probably want to cry from having my emotional heartstrings yanked around.  Sounds like a great idea to watch right?

But because I’m a sucker for my nationality, I went ahead and watched it anyway, in spite of all the red flags of getting aboard an emotional roller coaster.

And of course, Happy Cleaners was everything I anticipated it would be, and I ended the film in a lower emotional state than which I started at.  Not only was it about an entirely too relatable Korean family much like my own, the plot of the film doesn’t really have much lateral movement, and unsurprisingly starts depressing, and ends in a more depressing state than the beginning.

To make matters worse, there’s a character in the film who’s named Danny, and he’s a Korean-American who has the weight of the world on his shoulders to the point where he can’t achieve any objectives and is working two menial jobs in order to survive.  He’s a classic underachiever, and I’m triggered because after just watching Beef, whose main character is also an underachieving struggling Korean-American named Danny, I feel like the world is trying to tell me something unpleasant.

Frankly, as much as I want to support Asians and specifically Korean or Korean-American filmmakers and storytellers, I’m just kind of over everyone’s rendition of the Korean Story.  Yes, Korean immigrants have historically had it really poor throughout the passage of time, but in most cases in everywhere in the world, when people immigrate to other countries, they’re usually going to struggle unless they learn the native language and/or get the education of the country they’re moving to. 

In most cases of the Korean Story, Korean immigrants get straight to work after arrival, seldom really try to become fluent in English, don’t bother getting an American education, and put all of their eggs and pressure onto their kids to succeed, and there just ain’t that much need for one million Korean doctors or lawyers and there aren’t that many scholarships to be had at all of the Ivy League schools combined.  Instead we’ve got hundreds to thousands of Korean storytellers all telling the same stories of their family’s struggles of surviving in America, with minimal variation.

So I’ll tell you all how I’m going to make my fortune: by writing the Korean story that isn’t the Korean Story.  Even if it’s fictitious and unrelatable to the 1.7 million Koreans in America, maybe it can just be a good exercise in escapism for all of us instead of needing yet another film of book or television special about how Korean lives suck in America.  It won’t be as exploitatively parodying like fucking Kim’s Convenience, and it wouldn’t be mentioned in the same breath as Happy Cleaners or Beef.

It can just be a story about a Korean family that succeeds at coming to America, embarking on and succeeding at achieving their American dream.  By learning English, re-learning an American education, and breaking out of the mold of working at liquor stores or dry cleaners or shitty food franchises, they become contributing members of society not completely insulated in their cultural silo.  Their kids grow up without the pressures of their entire bloodline on their shoulders, and they too become successful adults who are both well-cultured and well-educated and succeed in life.

Surely this narrative has happened somewhere in the culture, but without the angst of feeling cursed by the Korean Story, those that live it probably just haven’t gotten around to writing it out to where it could become a piece of Korean media that doesn’t make me want to jump off a bridge.

So I should just do it myself.  I’m sure I’d become filthy rich from all the Koreans who want to seek that escapism, and I’ll know I really made it if I could then get all the white guilters to get on board with it and ingest my story so that they can seem tolerant of foreigners, and then the rest will follow suite like dominoes.

Just got to have time away from parenting to get right on that though, so I guess in about 5-6 years I can pursue my destiny, hopefully.