Dad Project (or Why I am Not A Project Manager)

I am thinking about starting to keep track of my home improvement projects.  I would like to see if they are as ridiculous as they feel.

A month or so ago my parents were coming out to visit me.  We always do a lot of things that I think my mom and I are totally into.  And I feel like my dad just sorta gets dragged along...so I had this brilliant (hopefully you can feel the sarcasm there) idea that I would think up a "Dad Project."  Thus the idea was born that my dad would help me refinish the upstairs guest bathroom.  

While I'm not a project manager, I work on projects all the time at work and I'm familiar with risk analysis, boundary conditions, scope creep and all that.

And every single home improvement escapade I have been involved with has had issues with planning, scope and how to define when you're done.

So before proposing this fantastic bonding experience idea to my dad, I decided to set the boundaries.

Me:  Dad - would you be interested in helping me with a little home project when you guys visit next month?

Dad:  What do you have in mind?

Me:  The upstairs guest bathroom.  You know how I called you 15 times to help me through replacing the sink faucet, fixing the tile in the shower, re-grouting the shower tiles and re-caulking everything around the shower a year ago?

Dad:  Yes...

Me:  Well, I thought you and I could re-do the floor -- just linoleum like you showed me how to do in my old condo and put in a new vanity.  So sorta finish out the renovation.  And I thought it would be faster and more fun if you were here to show me how to do some of that -- like remove the old vanity and help me do the linoleum around the toilet since that seems more difficult than what we did last time.  And I replaced the toilet seat recently so it's new.

Dad: That sound do-able.  How big is the bathroom?

Me:  Gosh.  Hang on, let me get the tape measure out.  But I can almost touch all the wall when I stand in the middle.  Except the shower wall.

Dad:  Ok.  6x9 probably.  Are there issues with anything?  Like plumbing leaks?  Or cracks anywhere.

Me:  Hey, yeah, 6 by almost 9.  No, I, er, *we* fixed that moldy tile and the stuff we did last time is holding up fine.  Except I really should clean that gritty stuff off the tiles still.

Dad [pointedly ignoring that I didn't finish the grout job]:  Then should we paint too and put a frame around the mirror?  You know, just to really spruce it up.

Me:  No, I don't think so.  I want this to be something we can do on Sunday and Monday while you're here and then you guys can go up to your cabin in the mountains.

Dad:  Ok, sounds fun.  Take an inventory of your tools and let me know what I need to throw in the car on the way our there.  But think about the paint.  It's relatively cheap and it makes a lot of difference.

I did think about the mirror frame.  So much so that I found a lovely example of what I wanted:  teal frame around the mirror, brushed nickel hardware and dark woodwork.  Since our house has dark walnut finish on all the doors, floorboards and accents it seemed like a natural fit.  And a way to save some money.

But that mirror thing ended up costing about $300 more ($80 for the new mirror to be cut down since the home-improvement store won't cut mirrors they didn't sell, $50 for paint and chair-rail type boards to do the framing and drywall screws to hang it, plus $180 for a new mirror and $20 for hanging supplies).

And inevitably the project took an extra day of my parents' vacation.  Then it took an extra 3 weeks for me to fiddle with the mirror frame and finally decide it wasn't going to work and 1 more week of dragging Iggy to several stores to find a replacement mirror since the old one turned out to be way too big and I couldn't make the new one work.

So what I intended to be a 2-day, $500 ($300 for the new vanity, $80 for linoleum and some random supplies) was instead probably an $800 project and took 4 days of work, and 45 calendar days.


On the up side it turned out really well.  It inspired Iggy to want to do more.  So this weekend we bought His-N-Hers projects.  Of course, Iggy's project (replace the kitchen light that broke last year when the new roof was installed) is done and my project (paint the dining room wall) is still in progress.


Clearly we know why I'm not a project manager now...


In case you're wondering, here's the before:

And the After:

I'm Allergic to Power Point

So...just got off the phone with 100 of my co-workers.  And I had to present a slide to them.  I truly hate public speaking with PowerPoint slides whether it is to 5 or 500 people.  I don't know why.  If you want me to go to a client and stand up in front of them and talk about our product I can do that all day.  And you can throw questions at me in that situation that I don't know or expect and I can think on my feet.  But give me some PowerPoint and I start sweating and my voice quavers and I start wondering if it's possible the world might conveniently end before my presentation comes up.

This one was initiated this morning by my boss emailing the team leads saying "I can't make the meeting - which of you wants to volunteer to present this at the global team meeting?"

I thought it would be clever to deflect that one by saying "I volunteer so-and-so."  Be careful what you say because on a teeny-tiny blackberry screen you boss only sees "I volunteer..."

Anyways.  I got all my words out without choking or sneezing or more than 25 ums or 50 sos.  [ "So we put 5 things on the um agenda because they're super-important.  So first up is um..." ]  Minimal add-on comments were needed by the big boss.  So I would say it was a marginal success.

And the world didn't end.  That I know of.

I was thinking about how far I've come (if I do say so myself) in my "career."  "Career" is quoted because I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up.  If you could make finger-quotes in the air while reading this, it would be good.  I most often picture myself as a sort of James Bond spy who flies in, assesses the situation, figures it all out, fixes it and then flies on to the next cool spot.  I did want to be a spy when grew up.  Or a detective.  Or maybe a veterinarian.

I've always wanted to travel internationally for business.  I actually got my first taste of that earlier this year.  Granted it was "only to Canada" and they speak English...  But it was a start!  I realized when I got back that I did it all wrong too.  I did my typical fly-in-the-night-before-at-midnight-so-I-don't-miss-any-time-at-home and then I was only there for a day and a half and flew right back out.  Because of the time change I was so wiped out that I didn't even got out for dinner my one evening there -- I just had room service and worked!  That's ok behavior if you're being sent to places like Bismarck or some small town in North Carolina or even Cincinnati.  But not if you have to take a passport to get to your destination!  Clearly I have some learning to do about how to do it right.

It was weird to answer at immigration the question "What is the purpose of your trip?"  "Business meeting with a client."  "What client?" And I don't think I was very convincing because the guy asked me like 10 more questions.

The sort of funny thing was that I didn't really even think about the fact that this is a teeny step in the direction of being an international business traveler until a month later.  But I did think about the fact that there were literally 100 people on the phone today from different places including Europe, Australia and all the time zones in the US.

Anyways, those were my 2 big unexpected events so far in 2011:
- traveling internationally for work
- presenting to 100 people around the globe.

Sounds way more glamorous than it was.  I still don't like presenting PowerPoint slides either.

Joining the Water Bunnies

The gym class I like was canceled last Saturday so I decided to suck it up (and in) and try the Aqua Aerobics class.  The only things I knew about the class were (1) you wear a swimsuit and (2) the women I've seen in the locker room getting ready for it wear water shoes too.  The only people I'd seen getting ready for this class were at least 70 so I had a sneaking suspicion that I would be a little young for it.  I tried to convince Becca to go with me to "old lady aqua aerobics" so I wouldn't be the only novice/youngster/wet-behind-the-ears-neophyte but she had things to do that day (uh-huh, sure you do, I believe you).  So in my usual "gak! class starts in 10 minutes and I'm still at home in my PJ's" style I rushed over and changed into my swimsuit and water shoes and ran into the pool in time to see what equipment everyone was grabbing before they got into the water and before I could change my mind.

Here's what I learned:

1. The only male was the instructor.
2. Most of the women were older and liked to pick on/flirt with the instructor.
3. Apparently the women had complained about the music last week so this week it was all old 80s pop and Taylor Swift. (Can you really work out to that stuff?)
4. I wasn't the youngest but I was the least connected.  Even the 30-somethings brought a couple friends (darn you Becca) so it was like one big hen party except held while standing 3 feet of water.
5. My towering 5-feet-7-and-three-quarters-inches (if you ask Iggy and his friends I'm at least 5'10" but I'm telling you what the doctor told me) made the workout much easier for me.  The poor 4'9" woman next to me had to struggle through all of it -- but most especially the "ok, now run 2 laps" segments.  At one point she gave up and just did a dog paddle to keep her head above water.
6. Speaking of running laps, you do this in the water, of course.  30 women can create quite a current if they all choose to run the same direction around the pool!  At some point the instructor will call out "ok, switch directions".  If you're lucky you get caught in the whirlpool where the water is trying to change directions with all the ladies -- it's a lot of fun when you're tall enough to keep your feet on the ground.  Not so fun (again) for the cute little lady next to me.
7. The instructor tried to have us work our abs.  Whatever technique he was talking about was incomprehensible to me. I kept getting my head under water.  I think this is a big no-no.  Everyone else had perfect hairdos (and dry hair).
8. Even at the end of the senior ladies' water workout session there is the plug for personal training purchased through the gym (really? an octogenarian wants a personal trainer? maybe he wants to feed his ego with some one-on-one harmless flirting?) with the twist that "we can hold the sessions in the pool with kickboards and waterweights." 
9. I was surprised to find I was a little sore in my legs the next day.

It was a fun new experience, but I can't see me doing this regularly until, oh, another 20-30 years...

Gym Candy

I know.  Sounds gross.  Bear with me.

Long before I knew what eye candy or brain candy was I learned about Candy Christians.  We were in Germany and it was Christmastime and we were at the chapel on base.  I loved that place (for all the wrong reasons, but more on that later).  The preacher had said two very meaningful things (to me) that sermon:

Always keep Christmas in your heart.

and

Make sure you get here early next week before all the Candy Christians.

On the former:  I thought he meant to always have that spirit of giving and love and hope and happiness and excitement in your heart. I thought that sounded quite lovely.  I was in 5th or 6th grade and we'd been in Germany for a while.  It was snowy outside.  We'd been to the Kris Kringle Markets to find little wooden ornaments for the tree.  We had a cozy little apartment in some little village.  There were presents under the tree.  My dad was going to be in town for a while.  My brother and I got to pick out a comic book or Trixie Belden novel at the base book store before going home.  To take that and capture it and keep it in your heart always seemed quite nice.  

Later I realized that it was the first significant misunderstanding about Christianity that I had.  While it was probably a nice double-meaning to the statement, in context it meant to reject the commercialism of Christmas and focus on the True Meaning.

On the latter:  I was a little old for it (feeling quite mature for my age), but I wasn't opposed to Halloween or candy.  I figured whatever next weekend was (besides also being Christmas Eve and Christmas) it was something exciting I was about to discover.  You see, the reason I liked that chapel had very little do do with the building or the religious content of what I learned there.  In the military, at that time, you had your choice of religions:  Jewish, Catholic or Protestant.  All housed in the same building.  This fascinated me.  I was learning lots about culture and people living all the places that the military dragged us.  And this was one more thing.  As a "Protestant" we had 4 ministers: an Episcopalian, a Methodist, a Baptist, and a Lutheran.  Each one had his own costume that he wore on Sunday (one was rather boring and just wore a suit).  Each sermon had a slightly different order and different songs you sang for processionals/recessionals and different ways of doing communion.  I truly have no idea which was which, but I loved that it was a little random what you experienced each Sunday.  The rotation wasn't a strict "every 4 weeks you're up" -- I have no idea what it depended on, but I like to think it had more to do with the needs of the community being served than something like rock-paper-scissors.  I mean, if you were a minister, wouldn't you rather give the Christmas sermon than the sermon in December 18th?  So I figured Candy Christians were some sort of new flavor of costumes, rituals and songs.  Cool.

In the car on the way home I overheard my parents talking about what time to leave next week based on getting there and getting a seat before the Christmas and Easter Christians.

Oh.

C and E Christians.

Not Candy Christians.

Sigh.  I have always had terrible hearing.

But actually, I hold to my original interpretation.  Now that I know what brain candy (necessary after a tough day's work; this justifies sitcoms) and eye candy (drool) and (cringe) gym candy is.

Which brings me to January 2011.  We bought a membership to the local 24-hour Fitness in November (shoot me now - I hate gyms and desperately prefer to be outside or playing a game - but these damn love handles are so-o-o-o-o-o persistent!!!).  The deal was that we had to go at least once a week each (so that when summer comes I can ride my bike ad nasuem and only go to the gym on days were I can't break away from work during daylight).

And in the first couple weeks of 2011 I was dismayed!  The gym was packed!  A line to check in.  No lanes in the pool.  No ellipse machines available!  Really?  They must have 3 dozen!  Running into your neighbor during classes...

I hope that this type of gym candy - the people that start their 2011 resolutions with a weight-reduction, fitness-achievement, gym goal - thin out by March.  (Who makes new years resolutions?  Does anyone keep those for more than a month?  Why start in January?  Why not start in November?  ;-) My original guess was that by Valentine's day they'd be gone.  And it did thin out a bit, but the "rush hour" at the gym from 6-7 still leaves me without a monotonous machine to battle with or the last spot under a speaker in a dreaded aerobics class.


The gym candy that I hope continues includes:

• Inappropriately Dressed Petite Asian Woman:  The first time I saw her she was wearing a fuschia cable-knit sweater, navy dress pants and maroon loafers.  I saw her today and she was wearing a tech-wicking-sports shirt over a one-piece floral swimsuit and some capri Nike pants.  A huge upgrade (I am an exercise-wear slut -- love that stuff!).  But she was still wearing the loafers.  She's so cute!
• Uber Skinny Jump Rope Woman:  The first time I saw her I swear my jaw hit the ground.  She is thinner than Jaime Lee Curtis and has a similar set to her jaw.  She seriously jumped rope in the gym for 10 or more minutes.  I might've been able to do that in 5th grade, but today jumping rope for longer than 2 minutes kicks my bootie.  I was so impressed!
• Water Bunnies:  The elderly women who use the pool to side-step up and down once between each 5-minute hot-tub session.  Sounds divine.  I'll be there someday too.  And I've learned not to use the close lane in the pool because it causes them distress when they have to avoid me and jump the lane ropes.
• Grunting man: The first day I saw him I was on an ellipse machine and was sadly in front of the weight lifting machine where you pull down with your arms from about eye level to your waist.  He started with a 45-lb weight on each side -- 90 pounds!  He did 15 reps quite easily.  I was impressed.  Then he added a 45-lb weight to each side -- 180 lbs.  Alright.  Wow.  No problem for Mr. V (his shoulders were at least twice as wide as his waist which was similarly twice as wide as his feet).  Then he added another pair of the 45-lbs disks.  And another.  As the weight added up the grunting started.  And got louder with each set.  At the 360-level it started to make me uncomfortable because I was sure that even the people even beyond me (people on machines in the next two rows!) could hear.  At the 450-level he was grimacing through his teeth and snarling the numbers.  It was disturbing.  At 560-lbs I think I blushed on his behalf.  He was back today.  It wasn't any less disturbing but was definitely less amusing.

I guess maybe I could do without Grunting Man.  But I love the rest of the gym candy.  I wonder how they see me.  Not that we're supposed to notice.  I hate being on display at the gym. Sigh.

A New Year...and no new me

It's that time of year again.  New Years' Resolutions.  High Expectations.  Great Hopes.  Oh All The Wonderful Things That Could Be.

Meh.

I usually rebel and make my own "Chinese New Year Resolutions."  It lets me delay setting goals until February when I can look at everyone else's goals and take the best/easiest parts for my own reuse/spin.

Anywho.

Today is the expectation-filled, pristine, malleable, day of "Anything's possible!"  It's New Years Day.

And I did absolutely zero -- it was like a passive protest.  We were up until 2 or 3 am playing board games.  We slept in until 10 or 11am.  At 3pm I decided it would probably be best if I finished those 2 mostly-empty bottles of wine left over from the celebrations last night.  I read my book club book for next week (proactive book club reading! Something I haven't done in months -- I'm still finishing September's book) a bit and played meaningless computer games.  Then around 7:30pm I thought maybe I should work on perfecting my Cosmo recipe (it's getting getting pretty good, if I do say so myself, but since I just had one I may not be the best judge).

Then while trying to ignore Iggy's college football game on TV and reading more of my book-club-book I found the profession I wish I'd ended up in.  It's perfect.  Or at least it's a perfect fantasy that I could be there.  And, appallingly enough, I briefly considered buying this book, published in 1973 that costs $500.  Uh, what?!?!  Wouldn't it be hopelessly out of date?  Aren't there any new advances we should know about?  I think I need to do more Googling.

I have always loved fast airplanes and mystery stories.  What better marriage of the two things than Aerospace Pathology?  Plus that vocational title just oozes future, cutting edge, all that is scientific and [bonus!!!] mad scientist lab coats.  How did I not even know about this field?  Especially given that a *textbook* on the subject was written during my toddler years.  There was ample time for me to have heard about it before I went to college.

My general lack of motivation regarding goals is probably that things are pretty good.  Iggy and I are doing well, the dog is [mostly] behaving, I have a couple groups of women I like to hang out with (book club, hockey), I exercise fairly regularly (because it keeps me from screaming in frustration when working with unmotivated clients), etc.  I would love to lose those extra pounds I somehow found in the last 2 years and eat healthier and all that, but not enough to do anything about it.  My job pays the bills, lets me save toward retirement, play hockey and basically do what I want.  Explaining my job isn't sexy and no one I tell about it suddenly gets a wistful look on their face and says "I wish I could do that!" or "Gee, that sounds so interesting!"  When I get to the point where I am dreading work so much that I won't get out of bed, I guess it will be time to do something about it.

At any rate, don't expect anything spectacularly different from me this month.  I'm still that same old me and not pretending that I can (or even care to) be a new, improved me. ;-)

Happy New Year, y'all.