Nea Fane – Un Biet Român Pripășit în America / A Hapless Romanian Stuck in The US

Dear Diary,

Today was one of those days. Good and bad. Mostly both. At the same time.

It started at 3 a.m., when I woke up to go to the bathroom. Which is a good thing: better to wake up than the alternative. But, stupid me, I checked my email because that bloody phone is Krazyglued to my hand.

Big mistake.

At 1:30 a.m., while decent people were sleeping, the company I interviewed with politely informed me that they had decided not to move forward with my application. Thanks, but No Thanks. Almost poetic. A haiku of rejection.

As a bonus, Sam’s Club, where I had applied “just for kicks,” also said no. They went with another candidate. Apparently, kicks are insufficient these days.

I laughed. Then I stopped sleeping.
I was upset about the first rejection, so around 4-something I gave up on rest and switched to the Olympics and late-night conversations with friends in Romania. Emotional support, international edition.

The morning disappeared somewhere between sports, coffee, and confusion. I think I cooked something. I’m pretty sure I did. I talked to Irina. That part I remember. I tidied the living room and unearthed a box full of mismatched plastic containers. Another one. Matching the containers with the lids seems to become a full time job. Unpaid. No benefits.

Then the flooring guy came. I love that guy. He looked at everything and said “Not worth replacing the floors.”
And everyone (I mean Irina) listened.
So, YAY him.
Also yay me. Indirectly. I had thought the same, but nobody (I mean Irina again) listens to me.

Later, we loaded the boys into the car and began what would become The Great Tile Tour of 2026. Returns, visits, errands: a full itinerary.

The dogs, however, were the real stars, the main feature!

First stop, Monterrey tile store. While Irina returned tiles, we toured the parking lot.
Second stop, Cosmin’s resting place. A quiet, quick walk.
Third stop, our friends B. & E. We delivered something and left with four bottles of wine, just because. Buh-bye dry February.

Stop 1: Monterrey Tile. Irina returned tiles; we toured the parking lot.
Stop 2: Cosmin’s resting place. A quiet, quick walk.
Stop 3: Our friends B. & E. We delivered something and left with four bottles of wine. So much for dry February.

B., being B., invited us into the backyard. I hesitated (I know my guys) but eventually agreed. And then… chaos.

Baloo discovered the chickens.
Not “sighted,” not “observed,” not “noticed.” Discovered. His reaction time was impressive. From sniffing around a pretty big backyard to suddenly charging towards those big, black birds.

The chickens exploded into noise, that frantic, high‑alert buk‑buk‑buk‑BAAAAWK! that only birds in mortal panic can produce. It sounded like a feathered fire alarm. Within seconds the whole coop was screaming, flapping, ricocheting off the walls like they were auditioning for Survivor, Pets Edition.

He almost brought down the entire coop. Running, barking, circling, plotting, looking for the vulnerable spot to break in and wreak havoc. Full predator mode. It was wild. Gicu decided to join in the hunt, because it seemed fun. They were circling so fast I couldn’t catch them.

B. watched and, at some point, shrugged, like, “Nah, don’t worry, man. You know what? Maybe Baloo’s right. Maybe the chickens had it coming.” In a cloud of dust (but no Hi-Yo Silver!) and a chorus of barks we caught the dogs and tried to calm them down. And suddenly the backyard was almost quiet again, the only noise being that relentless, angry buk‑buk‑buk-buk echoing like a siren.

Then we went to K.’s. More things delivered. More neighborhood walking. More sniffing.
Then Floor & Decor. More tile returns. More parking‑lot touring. More marking of trees.

By the time we got home, the dogs had lived three lifetimes.

So had we.

And because the day still wasn’t finished, I stopped at Superstition Ranch and bought some citrus to dehydrate. Like a full trunk. I had promised E. dry oranges. A man must honor his dehydrated-fruit promises.

Now I’m drinking some of that wine.
The Olympics are on.
The house is quiet.
The dogs are exhausted, dreaming about a new career in farming.
I am, too.

Honestly?

I’d do it again.

Bye-bye.