Our New Home and a Lost Friend

Lots of big changes going on in my life. As most of you know by now, we are expecting our first child, a girl, in July. We’ve named her Ella. Our friends had a lot of theories as to how we came up with the name. Some thought it was a play off of "L.A.," since I’ve got a lot of Los Angeles pride (particularly with the sports teams). Others thought it started with an "E" and ended with an "A" for our names, "Esther" and "Austin". The truth is, we just liked the name. And "Ella" means "bright light," which we thought was perfect seeing how her mother’s name means "star."

When we found out we were expecting, we knew we had to move out of our one-bedroom apartment. We recently moved into our new townhouse in Redondo Beach. Since I’m sure many of you are curious, below are some pre-move photos we took of our new home:

If you’re wondering why I’m making that face in the last photo, it’s because the dining room light is hung too low which caused me to hit my head at least four times. I’ve now had as many concussions as Steve Young and Troy Aikman combined.

Things are slowly starting to come together. I am no longer living out of a suitcase, but there are still a few boxes lying around. All was good in Austher Land until I discovered something that I knew would alter my existence forever:

The movers busted my television set.

I was devastated when I discovered it. I would’ve preferred that the movers key my car, scuff up my walls, or even defecate on my bed before destroying my wonderful TV. Esther said I looked like I had just found out my best friend had died. She was exaggerating of course. I never considered the TV a "friend." Future babysitter, yes. Friend, no.

I tried to watch the Lakers-Rockets playoff game last night on the busted set. Ever try to watch a basketball game when you can’t see the bottom 1/4 of the screen? I could only see when the Lakers scored on the left side of the screen. All of Houston’s offensive possessions on the right side of the screen were hidden behind a distorted mask of multicolored vertical lines. If I had to guess the score at halftime, I would’ve said Lakers 57, Rockets 0. To make matters worse, the TV started shutting off on its own during inopportune moments. For example, it shut off right after Fisher "backed that thang up" and checked Scola and his greasy mop of a hairdo to the floor.

As the playoff intensity escalated, I desperately wanted—no, needed, to see the rest of the game. As Esther was mindlessly surfing the web, I asked her whether I could run across the street to the local Japanese/sushi restaurant to finish the rest of the game. She gives me this incredulous look, sighs, then says, ‘Fine, go.’ Being married has taught me a thing or two. Like the SATs, this was clearly a test. The manner in which my wife said ‘yes’ clearly translated into, "Yes, you can go, but if you do, I’m going to tell all of my girlfriends that you left your pregnant wife and unborn child to fend for themselves at home so that you could go to a bar and watch TV."

Needless to say, I did not go. And I could not track the game on the internet because *gritting teeth* my wonderful wife was on the computer. So in my desperation, I kept turning the TV on, even though it would shut off by itself 10 seconds later. It was the electronic equivalent of a dying patient pleading for the doctor to "pull the plug," only to have the doctor say ‘nahhh’ and use the defibrillator instead.

CLEAR!

OK, this post is way too long and has taken up too much of my time. But I bet yer pretty surprised I blogged two days in a row! ‘Til next time. (If you're ever in the South Bay, give us a call. We'd love to show you around the new hood.)