Good days, bad days; part two

Yesterday was a bad day. Lets start with Tuesday night. I went out for dinner for my great buddy Anderson's birthday. Tim Bietz made reservations at Chifa, which was a very good Peruvian restaurant in Old City. Dinner was excellent and the company was grand. It was the most fun I have had on a Tuesday night in a very long time. I did not drink very much because I still had to take the train home and had to be ready for a deposition the next afternoon. I had four drinks and really felt fine when I went to bed, but I guess between the noxious smell of polyurethane from getting my floors redone, my slight hangover from doing a shot of tequila, and my overall stress level, I woke up with a terrible headache. It felt like an ice pick behind my left eye. I pounded some water, put on my suit and headed to the train station with the plan of studying for my deposition on the hour long train ride. I also had a meeting at 8:30, so I had to catch the earlier train.

So there I am, standing on the train platform with my terrible headache waiting for the 7:10 when the announcement comes over that the train was going to be 10 minutes late, then 20 minutes later the announcement says the train is going to be 15 minutes late. Soon it was going to be 30 minutes late and they start telling us it is because of "electrical problems." Fine, fair enough. I have promised myself not to get angry over SEPTA, but by this point I had to go to the bathroom. When the announcement said the train was going to be an hour late, I briskly walked to my car, drove home, went, and drove back to the station. The train had come and I had missed it and the announcement had started to cycle over again telling me the next train would not be for another 30 minutes.

One thing about me is I hate to be late. I think I might even have a phobia about tartiness and can honestly say I have been only a few minutes late only a handful of times, all due to SEPTA. On top of that, I certainly don't miss meetings, but at this point I knew I was going to be a no show, and despite the fact my office manager said it was no big deal I really felt like I let myself down. My head still pounded.

Not wanting to wait for a train that I was not sure would come I got in my car and drove through terrible traffic to work, then spent about 20 minutes looking for a parking space, arriving to work at about 9:50. Fifty minutes late and not one second of reviewing for my deposition. This is so unlike me and I still feel guilty.

My deposition was at 1:00 and everything that could go wrong went wrong. My headache had gotten worse, I was nervous about being late and not being prepared and sure enough I got my butt kicked. The defense attorney was a former district attorney and was great. He had all types of records that I did not and kept dropping things on me that threw me all off. It took forever and I just could not concentrate. Soon enough I was back in my car sitting in traffic. Once home I spent the rest of my evening studying for my deposition that was today.

Today was much better. I woke up feeling great. The train was on time and I nailed my depo. The lawyer said I was "wonderful", and I got paid! Enough about that... the best part was on my way home, again on the train. Far be it from me to laugh at someone else's bodily harm, especially in my profession, but I could not help being amused. Some lady about 10 rows up, some normal looking lady, opened her umbrella on the train causing the end of the spokes to hit the person in front, next to, and behind her all at the same time. All three winced in pain at once. The lady then hunkered down in her seat and made a sort of fort with her umbrella. None of the people said anything to her, amazingly, and just sat there and took it. After about 10 minutes of this she closes it over her head and rode the rest hidden within her folded umbrella. I wanted to yell, "What are you, on acid" but it was the quiet ride car and I did not want to get in trouble. Then I had pork chops with Rachelle. It was a much better day.

Someplace to stand

We are currently getting our hardwood floors finished. This requires us not to walk on the floors, which include our living room, the upstairs hallway, and the steps that lead up upstairs. Over the past week we have had to live in our basement to avoid messing up the floor guy's work, which at this point looks pretty good. As a result I am tired due to sleeping on an air mattress and frustrated from not being allowed in my own rec room and bedroom. It will be worth it though.
Last weekend I decided to tear up my kitchen floor that consisted on linolium ontop of three layers of plywood only to find two more layers of tiles, which may or may not be asbestos. The plywood was glued together and nailed using some sort of nail thing I have never seen. This nail things would not come out using a hammer or pry bar. I had to use plyers to gradually work each nail thing out resulting in both my hands blistering with open wounds and me not being able to fully open my hands for about two days. Not a good idea for a chiropractor. It took me 11 hours on Sunday and several hours past that just to get the plywood and nails up. Now we are not sure what to do next. My buddy Dan says we should leave the tiles and just put Pergo down over them, but I want to tear up the tiles in the kitchen and the Parkay floor in the dinning room so that the new floor will be even with the foyer floor. Calling Bob Vila, Bob Vila to my house please. Why can Holmes on Homes just show up and finish this mess for me?