Completely Floored

Ta-dah! Carey poses with a significant portion of her new floor. Click to enlarge.

We decided to go with the "Maple" Tundra. As you can see, it's much, much different than the "Pine" Tundra. I guess. Click to enlarge.

This is just a sampling of the foul carpet that was ripped up to make way for our new floor. And if you think that looks gross, you should try smelling it. Fuah! Click to enlarge.

So Carey had decided, even before we'd put a bid in for our cozy lil' home, that she had to HAD TO have hardwood floors. Damn the expense, we need them. It was part of Her Vision.

The cheapest, easiest way to achieve that Hardwood Look is to buy the click-lock stuff from IKEA. Supposedly it's better than Pergo, less expensive, easier to install, glue-less, durable, and, best of all, it comes with a 15-year warranty. It's called Tundra and it's now covering about 50% of our home.

25 boxes and about $1,000 later, my poor little Jetta was tooling up the 405 with no suspension and roughly half a ton of our new flooring distributed throughout the trunk, back seat and passenger seat. I'm still amazed it fit. I love my car.

We hired a friend from Carey's work and his cohort to do the installing and they're currently about 2/3 of the way done. I'm a little miffed that the job is taking somewhere in the neighborhood of three times what they initially estimated and we have to pay these jokers by the hour... but, geez dude, I have to admit I'm digging the look of hardwood floors in the living room, dining area, hall, entry way and office.

Hopefully the job'll be done tomorrow. It's been frustrating, but our living room will be complete soon enough.
...


On Friday, we did our taxes.

The wife had heard about some slick-Willy accountant in Long Beach who's an expert at getting his clients ultra-mondo-tax returns, so we showed up bright and early.

Uh. Let me try to paint a picture, here. I wouldn't have believed it unless I'd seen it.

The waiting room was... well, it was ugly and unkempt, but that's beside the point. Old, torn magazines and broken toy parts strewn everywhere. Gross Goodwill furniture. What disturbed us the most, though, were six framed photos on the waiting room wall.

The photos were of women. Mostly in bathing suits, posing like Maxim models... well, trying anyway... backs arhed, doggy-style, asses out, pouty lips and come-hither eyes. Sadly, these women were not incredibly attractive... average at best, really. And the quality of the photography was nearly on par with something Helen Keller could have easily achieved with a disposable camera. We got the impression that maybe the accountant's brother was trying to open a modeling agency or something and the accountant was letting him borrow a bit of his office space. I have no idea. The most frightening thing about these photos, though? In medium-sized type, at the bottom-right of each photo, were two words: "Love Me".

I wish I had some clever explanation for this, but I'm completely drawing a blank. "Love Me"??? The devil you say!

"LOVE ME"???!!!

The waiting room began to steadily fill up and it soon became obvious that Carey and I were probably among a very slim minority of this fellows clients in that Carey and I happen to speak English. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. But, this place was quickly turning into a veritable fiesta of ethnicity, if you take my meaning.

Finally, the accountant called us into his office. The place was a shambles. Papers everywhere, confidential files laying about for the whole world to see. And the centerpiece of the room: a fully stocked bar with every sort of liquor imaginable proudly displayed. Not a shelf or a cabinet, mind you... a BAR. It was obvious that a heckuva lot of drinkin' went down in this little pad.

The accountant waved us into a couple of chair in front of his desk. I'm not exaggerating when I say that this guy didn't have a single clean, white tooth in his head. He was obviously Mexican, which, hey, no sweat, but it was very apparent that he and English were, at most, distant acquaintances. He said, "let me see jou papers."

JER: Our...? Oh, sure, the... the papers. Okay, here you go.

ACCOUNTANT: ...

JER: By the way, my name's Jeremy. This is my wife, Carey.

CAREY: Hi.

ACCOUNTANT: Mn.

JER: Should I, uh. Do you want us to tell you about our incomes or...?

ACCOUNTANT: (shrugs) Hokay.

JER: Well, I have a part-time job and I freelance on the side. I'm an illustrator and designer.

CAREY: I'm a banquet and catering manager at Virginia Country Club. By the way, Stephanie Wells recommended you. Do you remember Stephanie?

ACCOUNTANT: (nods) Stephanie.

JER: We, ah... we bought a condo in 2003. It's... well, am I jumping ahead? Should we start with the W-2 stuff?

ACCOUNTANT: (shrugs) ...

JER: No? Yes?

ACCOUNTANT: Hokay.

The dude made deduction after deduction and it looks as though we'll be getting somewhere in the neighborhood of $3,000 back, thanks to our home-buying. So, good news. The whole thing left me with an uneasy feeling, though. I dunno. It all felt a little shaky and maybe even a little seedy.

Carey was, however, pleased as punch. I guess she just wanted a nice return.

And cripes. Who can blame her?