In which I scream and rage at the heavens as uselessly as possible, because the world is conspiring against me.
Me and mine live in a house with a roommate, the lady that rents the place. She's lived here for almost fifteen years, it's her place.
She just got a job. I just got a job. Both of us have part time jobs. My other half hasn't worked in three weeks, and there's no foreseeable work in his future.
My mother, out of the kindness of her heart, has been supplying me with gas money for my truck, and cigarettes for me the the Other Half. And occasionally a little bit of play money. Occasionally. Because until now, Other Half has had at least a little bit of money to throw for rent.
I woke up this morning with a text message from Biker Roomie saying that, not only do I need to give her some tampons because she's out, but I also need to talk to my mom about money for the water bill. Cuz she ain't got any.
I have a big fucking problem with this.
I provide transportation (because I have the only working vehicle), at no cost to Biker Roomie - she hasn't given me a dime in gas money for all the running I've taken her to do. I've nearly run out of gas on more than one occasion because I've taken her to run errands, then I haven't had gas to do what I need to do.
I also provide food - I'm on food stamps because I have pretty much zero income and a child. The entire house eats and gets around because of me.
Also, thanks to the kindness of my mother's heart, me and mine always have cigarettes. Biker Roomie usually does not, and I end up providing cigarettes for her, too.
And now she expects me to call my mom and say "Hey, can I have a wad of cash for the water bill?" In addition to giving her tampons when I'm not going to be able to afford a new box of them when I need them before too awful much longer.
I have a big problem with this. And now I'm fucking pissed.
Great way to start the day.
Showing posts with label stupidity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stupidity. Show all posts
Monday, November 21, 2011
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Excuse the absence...
Life has been crazy hectic as of late. As soon as we got back from Texas, school started and I had to leap into that feet first. Daniel picked up a stomach bug somewhere along the way, and did I mention I bought a car? Oh yeah.
Today has been spent in a town about 1 to 1.5 hours away, kicking it with Redhead's mom whilst her personal mechanic combed over the car to identify some problems I knew of, and many that I did not know of. Mira (my Mitsubishi Mirage) got to stay the night with Personal Mechanic until the rest of the parts she needs come in tomorrow morning.
The kicker about her getting work done? She needs about $400 worth of new parts. I'm being charged a grand total of $500 for all of it.
I was quite anxious leaving her behind, and felt out of sorts being in the passenger seat instead od the driver's. But tomorrow I will go pick her up and pay the nice man, and she will no longer suck gas and stall. Yay.
Currently: Curled up in bed under a sheet, an afghan, and two big thick comforters, AND still shivering. Legitimately ill. Send soup and fruit juice.
Today has been spent in a town about 1 to 1.5 hours away, kicking it with Redhead's mom whilst her personal mechanic combed over the car to identify some problems I knew of, and many that I did not know of. Mira (my Mitsubishi Mirage) got to stay the night with Personal Mechanic until the rest of the parts she needs come in tomorrow morning.
The kicker about her getting work done? She needs about $400 worth of new parts. I'm being charged a grand total of $500 for all of it.
I was quite anxious leaving her behind, and felt out of sorts being in the passenger seat instead od the driver's. But tomorrow I will go pick her up and pay the nice man, and she will no longer suck gas and stall. Yay.
Currently: Curled up in bed under a sheet, an afghan, and two big thick comforters, AND still shivering. Legitimately ill. Send soup and fruit juice.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Self Defense
The subject of carrying a gun and self defense in general hit home last night.
Redhead was on his way home from hanging out at Country Kitchen with some friends and stopped in to get cigarettes at a store less than a block from our apartment. He left the gas station and began walking through parking lots to take the most direct route to our apartment.
Three guys jumped him right next door to the gas station. One pulled a gun and the other two shoved him to the ground and take everything out of his pockets. Once they took off down the alley, Redhead ran home and called the police.
The cops were out in force last night, and we only discovered why this morning. In addition to mugging the Redhead, three other girls were jumped on their way home. The guys that snatch and grabbed them fit the description of the cum-stains that attacked Redhead.
They snuck up behind each victim, spun them around, pointed a gun at their face while two guys with masks on grabbed purses, bags, wallets, iPods, whatever was had on them. They even asked the Redhead if he had any pot before taking off down an alley. We suspect they live in a house that backs up to the alley, for the cops never saw them come out, and they were all parked with headlights on both ends of the alley. Some friends say that a guy matching the description of the man with the gun, wearing no mask, lives in an upstairs apartment in one of those houses, and is known to act like a wanna-be thug with a chip on his shoulder.
Best we can figure is they thought Redhead was a girl, being built small with long hair and a shoulder-bag for carrying books in. They took his bag, his wallet, the iPod that I had just given him, and ran.
I moved out of Houston to escape this kind of shit. I figured life would be a little safer for a girl in a small town in the middle of nowhere. But with unemployment on the rise, so is the crime rate.
Ladies, please. For the love of all that's holy, if you have to leave at night, even in a decent neighborhood, don't walk if you can avoid it. If you have to, try to go armed, or don't go alone. There really is safety in numbers. Try to keep your eyes peeled and look for signs of suspicious activity, people lurking in the shadows, what have you.
The world is not a safe place. That message was quite clearly hammered home last night for me and my family.
Redhead was on his way home from hanging out at Country Kitchen with some friends and stopped in to get cigarettes at a store less than a block from our apartment. He left the gas station and began walking through parking lots to take the most direct route to our apartment.
Three guys jumped him right next door to the gas station. One pulled a gun and the other two shoved him to the ground and take everything out of his pockets. Once they took off down the alley, Redhead ran home and called the police.
The cops were out in force last night, and we only discovered why this morning. In addition to mugging the Redhead, three other girls were jumped on their way home. The guys that snatch and grabbed them fit the description of the cum-stains that attacked Redhead.
They snuck up behind each victim, spun them around, pointed a gun at their face while two guys with masks on grabbed purses, bags, wallets, iPods, whatever was had on them. They even asked the Redhead if he had any pot before taking off down an alley. We suspect they live in a house that backs up to the alley, for the cops never saw them come out, and they were all parked with headlights on both ends of the alley. Some friends say that a guy matching the description of the man with the gun, wearing no mask, lives in an upstairs apartment in one of those houses, and is known to act like a wanna-be thug with a chip on his shoulder.
Best we can figure is they thought Redhead was a girl, being built small with long hair and a shoulder-bag for carrying books in. They took his bag, his wallet, the iPod that I had just given him, and ran.
I moved out of Houston to escape this kind of shit. I figured life would be a little safer for a girl in a small town in the middle of nowhere. But with unemployment on the rise, so is the crime rate.
Ladies, please. For the love of all that's holy, if you have to leave at night, even in a decent neighborhood, don't walk if you can avoid it. If you have to, try to go armed, or don't go alone. There really is safety in numbers. Try to keep your eyes peeled and look for signs of suspicious activity, people lurking in the shadows, what have you.
The world is not a safe place. That message was quite clearly hammered home last night for me and my family.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Attention Idiots
Now, I know, it's 5 PM and you're eager to get away from work and do what you want, whether it be go to WalMart or home or whatever. I don't blame you on that, I'd be the exact same way.
However, this does NOT give you the unspoken right to drive like a fucking idiot.
Running red lights, cutting me off when I'm driving a friend's vehicle, stomping on your brakes unexpectedly and for no discernible reason. These are all examples of how people are FUCKING RETARDED when on the road sometimes.
I swear, had I been driving a vehicle of my own, I would have committed suicide, only in hopes of taking out as many of these fools as possible.
You! Out of my gene pool!
However, this does NOT give you the unspoken right to drive like a fucking idiot.
Running red lights, cutting me off when I'm driving a friend's vehicle, stomping on your brakes unexpectedly and for no discernible reason. These are all examples of how people are FUCKING RETARDED when on the road sometimes.
I swear, had I been driving a vehicle of my own, I would have committed suicide, only in hopes of taking out as many of these fools as possible.
You! Out of my gene pool!
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Wharrgarbl!
Okay, so we're not just waiting for my muse to return, now. We're waiting for me to get my head out of my ass and for final exams to pass this week.
As mentioned, I had my head up my ass in one of my classes and am failing it miserably. Sociology, to be exact. But my professor for that class, Dr. Q, she with the heart of gold, has gone above and beyond any call of duty I can imagine for a college professor, to give me the chance to pull my grade out of the gutter.
Yes, this week is all about finals. It's the last week of the semester.
She's going out of her way to help me. All I have to do is write six reaction papers about chapters in our text, a five page explorament about personal boundaries, make up an exam on Tuesday and survive my final on Thursday.
Shouldn't be too hard.
This woman is a goddess. She's letting me make it up in hopes of pulling my grade up. She's taking on extra work for herself, on top of grading finals and turning in grades. Grading a total of seven papers and an extra quiz at the very tail end of the semester, all in hopes of helping out one student who's desperate to save her GPA.
I swear, I could kiss this woman. Must get her a Christmas present.
I'm just glad I don't have the Cranky Professor for this class. I'd be boned six ways from Sunday, were that the case.
It's the little (okay so this one isn't so little) things that count in life.
As mentioned, I had my head up my ass in one of my classes and am failing it miserably. Sociology, to be exact. But my professor for that class, Dr. Q, she with the heart of gold, has gone above and beyond any call of duty I can imagine for a college professor, to give me the chance to pull my grade out of the gutter.
Yes, this week is all about finals. It's the last week of the semester.
She's going out of her way to help me. All I have to do is write six reaction papers about chapters in our text, a five page explorament about personal boundaries, make up an exam on Tuesday and survive my final on Thursday.
Shouldn't be too hard.
This woman is a goddess. She's letting me make it up in hopes of pulling my grade up. She's taking on extra work for herself, on top of grading finals and turning in grades. Grading a total of seven papers and an extra quiz at the very tail end of the semester, all in hopes of helping out one student who's desperate to save her GPA.
I swear, I could kiss this woman. Must get her a Christmas present.
I'm just glad I don't have the Cranky Professor for this class. I'd be boned six ways from Sunday, were that the case.
It's the little (okay so this one isn't so little) things that count in life.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Reasons I'm Awesome, Pt. 632
Scene: Sidewalk, after dark. Streetlights are on, stars are out, faint sounds of traffic in the background. A young man of the dumbshit emo variety, and a perky female of the yuppie variety are standing on a section of sidewalk in front of a house, talking. Our hero, Snarky, enters from the end of the street, humming a song to herself and smoking a cigarette as she approaches the young couple.
Snarky: Hum de dum dum. *puffs*
EmoFuck: *glares at approaching person, sees cigarette* You know smoking will kill you, right?
Yuppie: *rolls her eyes and puffs on her own cigarette*
Snarky: *exhales big plume of smoke* Yep. That's why I do it. *flicks ash*
Yuppie: Me too! *giggle*
EmoFuck: *sneers as Snarky gets closer* That stuff is so bad for your health.
Snarky: *takes another puff and flicks the cigarette away, walking up to EmoFuck. Exhales smoke in his face and smiles darkly* And me without it is bad for your health, pal. If you have a problem with it, take a number and go fuck yourself.
EmoFuck: *coughs, hacks, sputters, calls Snarky a stupid cunt, and wanders in the opposite direction of Snarky*
Yuppie: *giggles the whole time*
I didn't say I was in the best of moods.
Snarky: Hum de dum dum. *puffs*
EmoFuck: *glares at approaching person, sees cigarette* You know smoking will kill you, right?
Yuppie: *rolls her eyes and puffs on her own cigarette*
Snarky: *exhales big plume of smoke* Yep. That's why I do it. *flicks ash*
Yuppie: Me too! *giggle*
EmoFuck: *sneers as Snarky gets closer* That stuff is so bad for your health.
Snarky: *takes another puff and flicks the cigarette away, walking up to EmoFuck. Exhales smoke in his face and smiles darkly* And me without it is bad for your health, pal. If you have a problem with it, take a number and go fuck yourself.
EmoFuck: *coughs, hacks, sputters, calls Snarky a stupid cunt, and wanders in the opposite direction of Snarky*
Yuppie: *giggles the whole time*
I didn't say I was in the best of moods.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Stupid Bitch
Dear Tails,
First off, I want to say what a beautiful daughter you have. Congratulations on the birth of the most important thing in your life.
With the niceness aside, I would just like to say...
Fuck. You. You're two-faced and a liar, and I severely hope you never find another man to be good to you.
You and Doc were great together. He loved you to no end. That's why he PROPOSED TO YOU. You were happy when he did, too. You two lived together happily, and were overjoyed when you found out you were pregnant.
After your daughter was born, however, you did a complete 180* and suddenly loathed being around him. You kicked him out, broke off the engagement, and now refuse to let him see his daughter without giving a reason, all the while demanding he pay more and more child support.
You don't deserve the love he gave you, you fucking whore. I got a bad vibe from you from the very beginning; there's a reason Doc never brought you with him when he came to visit me. And no, I wasn't being "a dirty little cum-guzzler", trying to steal your man away from you. I've dated Doc before, and we're better off being just friends. Get your head out of your ass and get a fucking clue.
I hope to the gods above Doc wins custody of your daughter, and I hope you burn in hell.
Sincerely,
Snarky
First off, I want to say what a beautiful daughter you have. Congratulations on the birth of the most important thing in your life.
With the niceness aside, I would just like to say...
Fuck. You. You're two-faced and a liar, and I severely hope you never find another man to be good to you.
You and Doc were great together. He loved you to no end. That's why he PROPOSED TO YOU. You were happy when he did, too. You two lived together happily, and were overjoyed when you found out you were pregnant.
After your daughter was born, however, you did a complete 180* and suddenly loathed being around him. You kicked him out, broke off the engagement, and now refuse to let him see his daughter without giving a reason, all the while demanding he pay more and more child support.
You don't deserve the love he gave you, you fucking whore. I got a bad vibe from you from the very beginning; there's a reason Doc never brought you with him when he came to visit me. And no, I wasn't being "a dirty little cum-guzzler", trying to steal your man away from you. I've dated Doc before, and we're better off being just friends. Get your head out of your ass and get a fucking clue.
I hope to the gods above Doc wins custody of your daughter, and I hope you burn in hell.
Sincerely,
Snarky
Saturday, March 14, 2009
I hate you, Internet
So, I'm a geek. It's true. I love Transformers. When I first saw a trailer for the first movie on TV, I just about creamed myself.
When I heard that a second one was in production, again, I almost creamed myself.
Now, IMDB has two teaser trailers up on their site concerning Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen. This is great. Except every time I go to watch one, I can't get the damned thing to load.
When all else fails, hit up YouTube. Right?
WRONG!
Apparently, the idiots on the internet (and there's a lot of you little cockbites out there, too) think it is absolutely HILARIOUS to post roughly a MILLION videos on YouTube, marked under the names of various movie titles, songs, TV shows that are big hits and frequently searched... only it's Rick Astley.
Rickrolling. The internet's most annoying fad currently.
And god DAMN IT, these little idiots are keeping me from just seeing the teaser trailer to one movie I really, REALLY want to see. Why? Why can't you just leave me alone and let me watch my freaking videos?
No less than six different videos, marked as trailers for Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen, have turned out to be Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up".
UGH!
The internet has cancer. His name is Rick Astley. I swear to god, I'm going to kill this man simply because of this stupid, stupid song. It's not even a halfway decent song, either. It sucks.
Argh.
When I heard that a second one was in production, again, I almost creamed myself.
Now, IMDB has two teaser trailers up on their site concerning Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen. This is great. Except every time I go to watch one, I can't get the damned thing to load.
When all else fails, hit up YouTube. Right?
WRONG!
Apparently, the idiots on the internet (and there's a lot of you little cockbites out there, too) think it is absolutely HILARIOUS to post roughly a MILLION videos on YouTube, marked under the names of various movie titles, songs, TV shows that are big hits and frequently searched... only it's Rick Astley.
Rickrolling. The internet's most annoying fad currently.
And god DAMN IT, these little idiots are keeping me from just seeing the teaser trailer to one movie I really, REALLY want to see. Why? Why can't you just leave me alone and let me watch my freaking videos?
No less than six different videos, marked as trailers for Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen, have turned out to be Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up".
UGH!
The internet has cancer. His name is Rick Astley. I swear to god, I'm going to kill this man simply because of this stupid, stupid song. It's not even a halfway decent song, either. It sucks.
Argh.
Friday, March 13, 2009
This pisses me off.
Granted, they haven't made a public announcement about said plan, but still.
I agree with the senators on this, I agree with the Veterans of Foreign Wars spokesman.
That's... ugh! Why would you do that? Why?!
I have a lot of friends in the military. My adopted big brother, Dragonslayer, is currently serving his second tour in Iraq. When I read the article, my thoughts immediately went to him. He survived his first tour unscathed, and so far it's been easy his second time around, but... things happen.
And I don't want to see him get hurt. If this plan were to go into effect, he'd get shafted. He doesn't have private insurance.
Isn't it enough that the men and women in the armed forces sign up to fight these wars for us, volunteer to go in front of the firing squad, as it were? Some of the injuries they get over there... the costs for fixing them back up are astronomical. And you want that to come out of pocket?
Redhead says, "It would make a lot of people think twice about joining the military."
Redhead, you don't agree with this war, the war in Iraq. I don't agree with it either. I support our troops, but not the war. You seem to be displaying an attitude of 'every soldier is a blood thirsty war-mongering berserker'.
What about career military men? What about the men that enlisted after September 11th, when everyone felt the pain of having so many lives lost to a terrorist?
Oh, that's right. You don't think al Quaeda even exists. It's a conspiracy, the government really took those planes and rammed them into those buildings.
I sense a massive fight coming on from this, but that's not what's important here.
This plan? It's ridiculous. And it should get shot down. And I'll be watching and waiting for it to get shot down. That's.... that's downright evil. Even for a politician.
Hat tip to LabRat for the article.
Granted, they haven't made a public announcement about said plan, but still.
I agree with the senators on this, I agree with the Veterans of Foreign Wars spokesman.
That's... ugh! Why would you do that? Why?!
I have a lot of friends in the military. My adopted big brother, Dragonslayer, is currently serving his second tour in Iraq. When I read the article, my thoughts immediately went to him. He survived his first tour unscathed, and so far it's been easy his second time around, but... things happen.
And I don't want to see him get hurt. If this plan were to go into effect, he'd get shafted. He doesn't have private insurance.
Isn't it enough that the men and women in the armed forces sign up to fight these wars for us, volunteer to go in front of the firing squad, as it were? Some of the injuries they get over there... the costs for fixing them back up are astronomical. And you want that to come out of pocket?
Redhead says, "It would make a lot of people think twice about joining the military."
Redhead, you don't agree with this war, the war in Iraq. I don't agree with it either. I support our troops, but not the war. You seem to be displaying an attitude of 'every soldier is a blood thirsty war-mongering berserker'.
What about career military men? What about the men that enlisted after September 11th, when everyone felt the pain of having so many lives lost to a terrorist?
Oh, that's right. You don't think al Quaeda even exists. It's a conspiracy, the government really took those planes and rammed them into those buildings.
I sense a massive fight coming on from this, but that's not what's important here.
This plan? It's ridiculous. And it should get shot down. And I'll be watching and waiting for it to get shot down. That's.... that's downright evil. Even for a politician.
Hat tip to LabRat for the article.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Stupid with Money
The economy is in the shitter. This is no big surprise to anyone. And if it is, what rock have you been hiding under and is there enough room for me?
Well, I don't know if life works this way for everybody, but for a lot of the folks in my immediate circle, it's like this: If it doesn't directly effect me, it really... doesn't exist. Like a horse with blinders on. Not the smartest thing, I know, but a lot of people are like that. It's just an abstract concept, it's not real.
Friday, it became a whole lot of real for us at the House of Snark.
I got up at 6 AM and took the Redhead to work. Didn't take my phone with me, got home to a text message from him saying "Hey, I left my time card in my wallet, would you bring it to me?" Of course, I didn't discover this until I was back at home, out of my clothes and curled back up in bed. Ugh. Up, get dressed, out into the cold again... I'm so inconvenienced. How can people do this to me?!
(That's sarcasm, if you didn't notice it)
Take it to him, go BACK home, curl back up in bed, try to get a couple more hours of sleep. Blessed, blessed sleep. I'm so tired all the time. I hear that's part of the *joy* of pregnancy, so oh well. Not much I can do about it now, huh?
Around 9:30... the door bell rings. I wake up, but none of my friends ring the door bell, so I don't move. My friends also text me and let me know they're coming over, and I tell them to just come on in. I know it's not for me, so I don't worry about it. Close my eyes, try to go back to sleep. It rings again. Apparently, Princess isn't awake. Oh wait. The door's opening. She must be.
I can hear the door bell to our neighbor's place ring, and a few moments later, Neighbor Guy's Mustang starts up and squeals tires out of the lot. Roomie appears shortly thereafter, then him and the Princess take off. I'm awake by now, with the feeling that something Isn't Right. Text Roomie to ask what's wrong. "I'll tell you in a bit."
Definitely Not Right. But oh well, it's just about time for me to wake up anyway. I have to take a bath to shave, then a shower to wash my hair. I can't do it all together because the water heater doesn't offer enough hot water for me to shave AND wash. I got stuff to worry about.
I grab a bite to eat and start some music up, and set about getting myself fully woken up. Just as I start running some hot water for a bath, Roomie and Princess come home. Time to find out what's up.
"That dude you told me about last week? He wasn't jerking your chain. We have thirty days to move out. The building has been foreclosed on and we are being evicted."
....Shit.
Apparently, the man that owns the building we live in lives out in California. Where the economy is a lot more difficult to live with, considering the higher cost to simply survive. And we all know how foreclosure works. It's pretty self-explanatory, I think.
Thankfully, the management company cut us a check immediately for the security deposit, since they were being forced to terminate our lease. Half of it's ours, half belongs to Roomie and Princess. The check is sitting in Roomie's account, waiting to clear at the moment. Gives us a little bit of a start on saving, for the new place. First month's rent plus security deposit adds up fast, and in thirty days time? That's REALLY pushing the line.
So here I am, worrying about how to make it all work with the cash, in addition to the fact that neither me nor the Redhead have a rental history, nor do we have good credit to speak of. That tends to make finding an apartment to rent... a little difficult.
ACK!!!
Thankfully, Redhead's tax return came in. So now we're sitting on a grand of extra cash that we weren't expecting to have, and it helps as far as the whole "pressed-for-time-to-save-and-move" issue.
Still gonna have difficulty actually QUALIFYING for a place, though.
So, yeah. Economic problems have come home to roost.
Well, I don't know if life works this way for everybody, but for a lot of the folks in my immediate circle, it's like this: If it doesn't directly effect me, it really... doesn't exist. Like a horse with blinders on. Not the smartest thing, I know, but a lot of people are like that. It's just an abstract concept, it's not real.
Friday, it became a whole lot of real for us at the House of Snark.
I got up at 6 AM and took the Redhead to work. Didn't take my phone with me, got home to a text message from him saying "Hey, I left my time card in my wallet, would you bring it to me?" Of course, I didn't discover this until I was back at home, out of my clothes and curled back up in bed. Ugh. Up, get dressed, out into the cold again... I'm so inconvenienced. How can people do this to me?!
(That's sarcasm, if you didn't notice it)
Take it to him, go BACK home, curl back up in bed, try to get a couple more hours of sleep. Blessed, blessed sleep. I'm so tired all the time. I hear that's part of the *joy* of pregnancy, so oh well. Not much I can do about it now, huh?
Around 9:30... the door bell rings. I wake up, but none of my friends ring the door bell, so I don't move. My friends also text me and let me know they're coming over, and I tell them to just come on in. I know it's not for me, so I don't worry about it. Close my eyes, try to go back to sleep. It rings again. Apparently, Princess isn't awake. Oh wait. The door's opening. She must be.
I can hear the door bell to our neighbor's place ring, and a few moments later, Neighbor Guy's Mustang starts up and squeals tires out of the lot. Roomie appears shortly thereafter, then him and the Princess take off. I'm awake by now, with the feeling that something Isn't Right. Text Roomie to ask what's wrong. "I'll tell you in a bit."
Definitely Not Right. But oh well, it's just about time for me to wake up anyway. I have to take a bath to shave, then a shower to wash my hair. I can't do it all together because the water heater doesn't offer enough hot water for me to shave AND wash. I got stuff to worry about.
I grab a bite to eat and start some music up, and set about getting myself fully woken up. Just as I start running some hot water for a bath, Roomie and Princess come home. Time to find out what's up.
"That dude you told me about last week? He wasn't jerking your chain. We have thirty days to move out. The building has been foreclosed on and we are being evicted."
....Shit.
Apparently, the man that owns the building we live in lives out in California. Where the economy is a lot more difficult to live with, considering the higher cost to simply survive. And we all know how foreclosure works. It's pretty self-explanatory, I think.
Thankfully, the management company cut us a check immediately for the security deposit, since they were being forced to terminate our lease. Half of it's ours, half belongs to Roomie and Princess. The check is sitting in Roomie's account, waiting to clear at the moment. Gives us a little bit of a start on saving, for the new place. First month's rent plus security deposit adds up fast, and in thirty days time? That's REALLY pushing the line.
So here I am, worrying about how to make it all work with the cash, in addition to the fact that neither me nor the Redhead have a rental history, nor do we have good credit to speak of. That tends to make finding an apartment to rent... a little difficult.
ACK!!!
Thankfully, Redhead's tax return came in. So now we're sitting on a grand of extra cash that we weren't expecting to have, and it helps as far as the whole "pressed-for-time-to-save-and-move" issue.
Still gonna have difficulty actually QUALIFYING for a place, though.
So, yeah. Economic problems have come home to roost.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Situation Awareness
So, Friday morning. Got up at 6 AM, got dressed, took the Redhead to work. It's the only time I ever get to drive any more, so I tend to slow down, obey the speed limit, and enjoy the drive. Roomie keeps six CDs in the multi-disc changer now, because he's a delivery guy, so he spends most of his work days in the car. Good reason for me rarely getting to drive anymore. Also explains why I am usually trapped in the apartment all day, and desperate to get out and do something as meaningless as sit at Country Kitchen for hours on end and surf the internet. Let my brain leak out of my ears for a few hours, it's okay.
No, I don't have internet at home, either. So if I wants 'Net access, it's off to Country Kitchen to stuff myself full of either coffee or soda for hours on end and socialize with everybody that walks by. Swear to god, Country Kitchen is the best place in town to talk to people. Screw Pine Street (where ALL of the bars are). Forget the university campus. Country Kitchen, all the way, baby! There's a cult following, I swear.
Anyway, where was I going with this? ... Oh yeah. I'm gonna sound random and off-the-wall for a few more minutes before actually making a point with this post.
If you haven't noticed, I read blogs to entertain myself most often. When I find a new one that catches my interest, I go AAAAAAALL the way back through the archives to the very first post. I did this with the very first blog I became addicted to (Ambulance Driver), and have since then been linked to LawDog and Matt G, to name a couple. Of course, there are a handful more in my sidebar over there, but those two are the first that come to mind. I'm currently working my way through the archives of the ever-lovely Cranky Professor, and she has a LOT for me to read.
The reason I mention Matt and LawDog in particular is because they are police officers. Don't get me wrong, I don't prefer cops over all others, nobody takes second place to them in the heirarchy of folks whose words enrapture me, none of that (AD, you know you're still my favorite anyway!). No, their being officers of the law enforcement variety means... Just like in the nurse blogs and the AmboDriver's blog... they blog about what they know, and what they encounter.
They also offer advice and whatnot to the people that read them. They've made posts about women who carry concealed, CCW in general, all sorts of things. If you have a question for them, leave it in the comments, and if it's of a good topic that deserves to have some light shed on it, they'll answer.
They've also posted about situational awareness. Matter of fact, in the past week or so while availing myself to Matt's archives to catch up on him, I came across a post explaining it and warning people (women especially, because apparently in the eyes of critters everywhere, the fairer sex is still easy prey, and I can understand that, with today's society in America. "Just give them what they want." No. Fuck you. I refuse to be victimized.)
Take note of your surroundings, people. It could save your friggin' LIFE. And after yesterday morning, after dropping the Redhead off at work, this subject really hit home with me. Nothing bad happened, thank god, but after I came into my apartrment (and took care to lock and bolt the door behind me, for once), the alarm bells were still going off in my brain something fierce. It kept me from getting back to sleep, kept me from getting even remotely comfortable, and it kept me edgy for most of the day.
Now. I live on a dead end street. There's a round little cul-de-sac on each end, and the only way to get onto the street is to follow the winding, bendy-ass road that T's into it, after navigating your way through one of the higher-end neighborhoods in this dinky little town. Don't ask me how I managed to land in this apartment, but after being used to living lower-middle class slums most of my life, being surrounded by nice houses and fancy cars makes me a little... nervous, for some reason.
ANYWAY.
Each building holds four apartments, with a small parking lot for each. I live in the second building from the end closest to the street out. Okay. So I stop at the stop sign and as I start to turn, I see headlights coming towards me. Slowly. I start to pay a little more attention, coming out of the trance I feel when I can drive and relax. I turn onto my street, flip on my blinker to let Other Dood know which parking lot I'm pulling into... and he pulls into it ahead of me. Parks next to my neighbor's Mustang and kills the engine. Parks right next to the only... open... spot. Shit.
Cue the alarm bells starting to sound. I was officially nervous and none too happy about it.
In Houston, where I hail from, this is the way that Bad Things happen. It was a quarter til seven in the morning and it wasn't even light out. The horizon was just starting to brighten in anticipation of the coming day. And there is some strange dood whose car I had never seen before, parked next to me. Had I been one of my weaker-willed relatives or friends, I may have had a panic attack at that moment.
But, nonetheless, I was sitting in my roommate's truck, fifteen feet from the front door of my apartment. Hell, I'm five feet from my own bedroom window. With some weird guy I don't know in the next car. And I'm cursing my roomie's Mazda, because there is no way to turn off the interior lights when you open the door. I have tried. The windows aren't tinted at all, so Stranger Man would be able to see when I got out of the car. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I was getting myself really worked up over this, can you tell?
I ended up getting out of the car, keys in my fist. I loves me some stabbing implements. Yay. And I hear the guy get out of his car. My mind is going absolutely nucking futs by this time, let me tell you. The guy comes around the back of the Mazda, and meets me when I'm halfway to my door.
Stranger Guy: "You live here?"
Snarky: "Yeah."
SG: "Which one?"
S: "This building right behind me."
SG: "Oh. Well. The bank is foreclosing on this building today, and..."
At this point, he steps even closer to me. Granted, when he first started talking to me, he was a good three feet away. All I could see was the receding hairline, glasses, and dark-colored polo he was wearing. Still wasn't light enough. But he stepped forward, and I stepped back.
Snarky: "Please, stay where you are."
SG: "What? I'm not gonna hurt you, lady."
Snarky: "I don't know that. Stay where you are."
He stayed. Thankfully. He went on to say that he was looking for information about the buildings, like how many bedrooms in the apartments, what appliances they came with, what rent ran us each month. Told me that if an investor bought the building, we might not have to move. If the bank kept it, then we'd have sixty to ninety days to relocate. He gestured to the rest of the buildings on the street, telling me "There's obviously plenty of places to move."
The realtor we rent from owns all the buildings on the street. If the bank was foreclosing on one, wouldn't they close on ALL of them? Or at least more than ONE building? Not to mention, not once did this guy identify himself, who he was with, or anything.
He said he was looking for information on the buildings, but didn't want to go knocking on doors. No shit, sherlock. Get the fuck out of my parking lot and away from my home, lest I start screaming and call the cops.
If I see him or his car around here again, I'm definitely calling his plates in.
No, I don't have internet at home, either. So if I wants 'Net access, it's off to Country Kitchen to stuff myself full of either coffee or soda for hours on end and socialize with everybody that walks by. Swear to god, Country Kitchen is the best place in town to talk to people. Screw Pine Street (where ALL of the bars are). Forget the university campus. Country Kitchen, all the way, baby! There's a cult following, I swear.
Anyway, where was I going with this? ... Oh yeah. I'm gonna sound random and off-the-wall for a few more minutes before actually making a point with this post.
If you haven't noticed, I read blogs to entertain myself most often. When I find a new one that catches my interest, I go AAAAAAALL the way back through the archives to the very first post. I did this with the very first blog I became addicted to (Ambulance Driver), and have since then been linked to LawDog and Matt G, to name a couple. Of course, there are a handful more in my sidebar over there, but those two are the first that come to mind. I'm currently working my way through the archives of the ever-lovely Cranky Professor, and she has a LOT for me to read.
The reason I mention Matt and LawDog in particular is because they are police officers. Don't get me wrong, I don't prefer cops over all others, nobody takes second place to them in the heirarchy of folks whose words enrapture me, none of that (AD, you know you're still my favorite anyway!). No, their being officers of the law enforcement variety means... Just like in the nurse blogs and the AmboDriver's blog... they blog about what they know, and what they encounter.
They also offer advice and whatnot to the people that read them. They've made posts about women who carry concealed, CCW in general, all sorts of things. If you have a question for them, leave it in the comments, and if it's of a good topic that deserves to have some light shed on it, they'll answer.
They've also posted about situational awareness. Matter of fact, in the past week or so while availing myself to Matt's archives to catch up on him, I came across a post explaining it and warning people (women especially, because apparently in the eyes of critters everywhere, the fairer sex is still easy prey, and I can understand that, with today's society in America. "Just give them what they want." No. Fuck you. I refuse to be victimized.)
Take note of your surroundings, people. It could save your friggin' LIFE. And after yesterday morning, after dropping the Redhead off at work, this subject really hit home with me. Nothing bad happened, thank god, but after I came into my apartrment (and took care to lock and bolt the door behind me, for once), the alarm bells were still going off in my brain something fierce. It kept me from getting back to sleep, kept me from getting even remotely comfortable, and it kept me edgy for most of the day.
Now. I live on a dead end street. There's a round little cul-de-sac on each end, and the only way to get onto the street is to follow the winding, bendy-ass road that T's into it, after navigating your way through one of the higher-end neighborhoods in this dinky little town. Don't ask me how I managed to land in this apartment, but after being used to living lower-middle class slums most of my life, being surrounded by nice houses and fancy cars makes me a little... nervous, for some reason.
ANYWAY.
Each building holds four apartments, with a small parking lot for each. I live in the second building from the end closest to the street out. Okay. So I stop at the stop sign and as I start to turn, I see headlights coming towards me. Slowly. I start to pay a little more attention, coming out of the trance I feel when I can drive and relax. I turn onto my street, flip on my blinker to let Other Dood know which parking lot I'm pulling into... and he pulls into it ahead of me. Parks next to my neighbor's Mustang and kills the engine. Parks right next to the only... open... spot. Shit.
Cue the alarm bells starting to sound. I was officially nervous and none too happy about it.
In Houston, where I hail from, this is the way that Bad Things happen. It was a quarter til seven in the morning and it wasn't even light out. The horizon was just starting to brighten in anticipation of the coming day. And there is some strange dood whose car I had never seen before, parked next to me. Had I been one of my weaker-willed relatives or friends, I may have had a panic attack at that moment.
But, nonetheless, I was sitting in my roommate's truck, fifteen feet from the front door of my apartment. Hell, I'm five feet from my own bedroom window. With some weird guy I don't know in the next car. And I'm cursing my roomie's Mazda, because there is no way to turn off the interior lights when you open the door. I have tried. The windows aren't tinted at all, so Stranger Man would be able to see when I got out of the car. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I was getting myself really worked up over this, can you tell?
I ended up getting out of the car, keys in my fist. I loves me some stabbing implements. Yay. And I hear the guy get out of his car. My mind is going absolutely nucking futs by this time, let me tell you. The guy comes around the back of the Mazda, and meets me when I'm halfway to my door.
Stranger Guy: "You live here?"
Snarky: "Yeah."
SG: "Which one?"
S: "This building right behind me."
SG: "Oh. Well. The bank is foreclosing on this building today, and..."
At this point, he steps even closer to me. Granted, when he first started talking to me, he was a good three feet away. All I could see was the receding hairline, glasses, and dark-colored polo he was wearing. Still wasn't light enough. But he stepped forward, and I stepped back.
Snarky: "Please, stay where you are."
SG: "What? I'm not gonna hurt you, lady."
Snarky: "I don't know that. Stay where you are."
He stayed. Thankfully. He went on to say that he was looking for information about the buildings, like how many bedrooms in the apartments, what appliances they came with, what rent ran us each month. Told me that if an investor bought the building, we might not have to move. If the bank kept it, then we'd have sixty to ninety days to relocate. He gestured to the rest of the buildings on the street, telling me "There's obviously plenty of places to move."
The realtor we rent from owns all the buildings on the street. If the bank was foreclosing on one, wouldn't they close on ALL of them? Or at least more than ONE building? Not to mention, not once did this guy identify himself, who he was with, or anything.
He said he was looking for information on the buildings, but didn't want to go knocking on doors. No shit, sherlock. Get the fuck out of my parking lot and away from my home, lest I start screaming and call the cops.
If I see him or his car around here again, I'm definitely calling his plates in.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Update on the truck
I told you I'd be back with pictures of the truck once I got them.
Took these babies this afternoon, and just about cried when I saw her. It was the first time I'd laid eyes on her in the week since the wreck, and god damn do I miss her. Horribly.
Too bad I'll probably never see her again.
*teardrop*
Friday, January 16, 2009
ARGHWTF
So, as we have all noticed, God hates me.
No, seriously, the big man upstairs just has a hard-on for making my life difficult. He really does. First with the living way the hell outside of town, second with the pregnancy, then there's the ever-difficult to deal with Redhead... you know, it's enough to try a girl's patience. It really is.
Travel arrangements in this house usually end up with me being the one holding the keys most of the time. Since everybody has different schedules, and they all can't keep the car because it always happens: If Roomie has the car, I need to pick up Redhead. If Princess has the car, somebody needs to go get Roomie. Or something. That poor car cannot be left alone for an entire day. It just doesn't happen. And if somebody doesn't NEED to be picked up and taken somewhere, I usually (in my usual fashion) get extremely pissed off to the point of violence and end up just driving off to cool my head.
So anyway. Because I am not working, the keys and the car usually get left with me all day. I'm cool with that. I love driving. And the car is a joy to drive, it really is. It's my style of vehicle, the one I know how to handle on the roads best. It's an SUV. I can't drive a car to save my life, they're too small and they don't have enough power. My first vehicle was a 2000 F150, I'm used to a something with a little more umph than a Honda Civic. It's just the person I am.
This is the vehicle in question.
That, my friends, is one 1999 Infiniti QX4. It is classified as a luxury SUV. And she's great, I love her. Of course, if Roomie were a smart vehicle owner, he would have kept up with routine maintenance and she wouldn't be so touchy. He's about ten thousand miles past needing an oil change and she's slow to start because the fuel filter needs to be cleaned out, she's not getting enough fuel. That 'luxury' in the title makes her a little spoiled sometimes. But it's okay, I love her. Hell, because of the way I am, I'm bonded closer to that car than I am to her owner. I'm a car type of person, and in the past four months we've lived with Roomie and Princess, I've been doing all the driving. I've driven that thing more than anyone else in the house has.
Anyway. The subject of this post. I love that girl. She makes my day. And Tuesday, she reminded me of why I'm more comfortable driving SUVs and trucks than I am with a conventional car.
At 11 AM, I had to drop Princess off at work, and then go pick up Roomie from class. Bring him home, and make sure he was at work by noon. No big deal. So I drop Princess off, and aim the truck south for the university campus. Pick up Roomie, and began the track back to the other side of town where we live. No big deal.
I'm an aggressive driver, folks. My father taught me that. That aggression has saved my ass numerous times, because that aggression has somehow quickened my reflexes behind the wheel. I can swerve and stop REAL quick to avoid hitting someone, or as the case is most often in Missouri (because nobody in this god damned state has a fucking brain when behind the wheel of a car), I can easily avoid getting hit BY someone. The past couple weeks have shown me that God really hates me, and he has sent so many low-IQ assassins after me in moving vehicles it ain't even funny. I nearly got T-Boned by a cop Sunday, for crying out loud. The sun was in my eyes, but I still saw him pull out into traffic without even stopping to check the flow (and see me). It's ridiculous. Even the cops have it in for me.
Anyway. My aggression driving does have a tendency to manifest itself in ignoring speed limits, and when there are multiple lanes, weaving between cars. I'm impatient, I can't help it. But I have never once been or caused an accident. I'm aggressive to protect my own skin. The aggression and the quick reflexes Tuesday kept me from being injured (the most fearful idea being my pregnant belly colliding hard enough with a steering wheel to cause me to lose the baby, which is my one big fear when driving these days), and it kept a 14-year-old child in the passenger seat of another car from serious injury as well.
Anyway. Picked up Roomie on campus. And we're in a good mood, listening to the radio as we're driving home. We're about two-thirds of the way there when we hear the DJ talking about an article he read pertaining to flying cars. A concept has been made. Cue me and Roomie going nuts. "The future is HERE! WE HAVE FLYING CARS!"
As we're saying this, my attention never being diverted from the road, we're pulling up to an intersection. I have the green light, and I'm close enough that I know I'm going to make it without the possibility of a yellow. So I'm doing about 40 mph, which isn't a big thing.
As we get about five feet from the intersection, an ugly, old maroon Chevy Lumina, with an ugly old crazy lady behind the wheel and her 14-year-old son in the passenger seat run the red light. Right. In. Front. Of. Me.
CUEFASTREFLEXESNOW!
Insta-stop. Not enough to avoid a collision, but squealing tires and desperately praying for a stop slowed me down enough to where I was only doing about 20 mph when the crunch happened. I didn't budge in my seat, and the passenger doors on the Lumina caved in, but the kid wasn't harmed.
This was the first car accident I've been in when I was driving. The Infiniti turned about fifteen degrees, and the Lumina spun around a full 90 and jumped the curb next to me. I came to a stop in the middle of the intersection amongst shattered glass from her passenger windows, and the grill cover on the Infiniti fell off.
The first thing I thought was, I swear to God, "The Sirius radio came unplugged." God-awful static filled my ears, and my hands started to shake. The second thought in my brain was "Okay, to keep me from getting KILLED now, I should probably pull out of the intersection. Begin damage control." I wheeled the Infiniti around, who protested every step of the way, and parked in the corner of the O'Reilly's parking lot right next to the intersection.
I get out of the car, trembling from head to toe, and Roomie instantly leaned over, told me it wasn't my fault, checked to make sure I wasn't injured, and then walked over to the Lumina, and asked the lady and her son if they were okay. No pain there. Thank god.
First words out of the lady's mouth: "I'm so sorry, my son was talking to me and I just sort of spaced."
Son: "Mom. I was telling you that THE LIGHT WAS RED."
The lady claimed full responsibility for the wreck, and while her and Roomie exchanged insurance information and called the police, Roomie informing me that the cops would be told he was driving, I looked over the car. The nose was thoroughly crunched. One headlight was completely shattered, bulb included. The grill guard fell off, the front bumper bent inwards and pressing uncomfortably into the radiator. Anti-freeze was leaking everywhere. She might have been able to make the drive home, but Roomie and I agreed not to risk it. She wasn't drivable.
The cops never questioned me other than to make sure I was okay, and I'm perfectly fine with that. They swept the glass out of the street, picked up the grill cover from the middle of the intersection and tossed it into the grass next to us. I picked it up and placed it in the back seat of the Infiniti and noticed that the silver Infiniti logo had fallen off. Roomie grabbed it from where it had been swept up next to the curb and handed it to me. It's all we have left of her.
The Kelly Blue Book value of a 1999 Infiniti QX4 is $6,400, according to the insurance adjuster who came out to look at it. Insurance companies total the car out when the repair costs reach 70% of the vehicle's value. When the adjuster met Roomie at the Chrysler dealership where she was towed to for repairs, he never even popped the hood and quoted the repair costs at $6,200. Most likely, they're going to begin repairs and find much more than another $200 worth of damage to repair.
She's totaled. She's not coming home, and we all know it. So Roomie has begun the search for a new car.
In the mean time, Lumina Lady's insurance is paying for a rental car, seeing as how we have four people living here, and on the outer edge of town, we need a vehicle. Badly. I'm not walking well over three miles in the winter snow to get ANYWHERE. Fuck that.
So what is Roomie driving now (that he has expressly told me I will never sit behind the wheel of, but after thinking about it, I'd rather not anyway)?
A white 2008 Ford Focus.
"Omigawd, it's A FOCUS!!"
His manly pride will never survive the wait to get a new set of wheels.
But... I miss the Infiniti already. I have a soft spot for cars; they are my joy in life. I love to drive them, admire them, work on them. They are my passion. And in four months, I had bonded quite a bit with the Infiniti. And now, she'll never come home.
It's all we have left of her. And it's marred by maroon paint from a stupid bitch who couldn't keep her head out of her ass for five minutes while driving.
As soon as I get a chance, I will be taking pictures of the Infiniti where it is parked at the dealership, and I'll post pics of her when possible.
I miss her...
No, seriously, the big man upstairs just has a hard-on for making my life difficult. He really does. First with the living way the hell outside of town, second with the pregnancy, then there's the ever-difficult to deal with Redhead... you know, it's enough to try a girl's patience. It really is.
Travel arrangements in this house usually end up with me being the one holding the keys most of the time. Since everybody has different schedules, and they all can't keep the car because it always happens: If Roomie has the car, I need to pick up Redhead. If Princess has the car, somebody needs to go get Roomie. Or something. That poor car cannot be left alone for an entire day. It just doesn't happen. And if somebody doesn't NEED to be picked up and taken somewhere, I usually (in my usual fashion) get extremely pissed off to the point of violence and end up just driving off to cool my head.
So anyway. Because I am not working, the keys and the car usually get left with me all day. I'm cool with that. I love driving. And the car is a joy to drive, it really is. It's my style of vehicle, the one I know how to handle on the roads best. It's an SUV. I can't drive a car to save my life, they're too small and they don't have enough power. My first vehicle was a 2000 F150, I'm used to a something with a little more umph than a Honda Civic. It's just the person I am.
This is the vehicle in question.
That, my friends, is one 1999 Infiniti QX4. It is classified as a luxury SUV. And she's great, I love her. Of course, if Roomie were a smart vehicle owner, he would have kept up with routine maintenance and she wouldn't be so touchy. He's about ten thousand miles past needing an oil change and she's slow to start because the fuel filter needs to be cleaned out, she's not getting enough fuel. That 'luxury' in the title makes her a little spoiled sometimes. But it's okay, I love her. Hell, because of the way I am, I'm bonded closer to that car than I am to her owner. I'm a car type of person, and in the past four months we've lived with Roomie and Princess, I've been doing all the driving. I've driven that thing more than anyone else in the house has.
Anyway. The subject of this post. I love that girl. She makes my day. And Tuesday, she reminded me of why I'm more comfortable driving SUVs and trucks than I am with a conventional car.
At 11 AM, I had to drop Princess off at work, and then go pick up Roomie from class. Bring him home, and make sure he was at work by noon. No big deal. So I drop Princess off, and aim the truck south for the university campus. Pick up Roomie, and began the track back to the other side of town where we live. No big deal.
I'm an aggressive driver, folks. My father taught me that. That aggression has saved my ass numerous times, because that aggression has somehow quickened my reflexes behind the wheel. I can swerve and stop REAL quick to avoid hitting someone, or as the case is most often in Missouri (because nobody in this god damned state has a fucking brain when behind the wheel of a car), I can easily avoid getting hit BY someone. The past couple weeks have shown me that God really hates me, and he has sent so many low-IQ assassins after me in moving vehicles it ain't even funny. I nearly got T-Boned by a cop Sunday, for crying out loud. The sun was in my eyes, but I still saw him pull out into traffic without even stopping to check the flow (and see me). It's ridiculous. Even the cops have it in for me.
Anyway. My aggression driving does have a tendency to manifest itself in ignoring speed limits, and when there are multiple lanes, weaving between cars. I'm impatient, I can't help it. But I have never once been or caused an accident. I'm aggressive to protect my own skin. The aggression and the quick reflexes Tuesday kept me from being injured (the most fearful idea being my pregnant belly colliding hard enough with a steering wheel to cause me to lose the baby, which is my one big fear when driving these days), and it kept a 14-year-old child in the passenger seat of another car from serious injury as well.
Anyway. Picked up Roomie on campus. And we're in a good mood, listening to the radio as we're driving home. We're about two-thirds of the way there when we hear the DJ talking about an article he read pertaining to flying cars. A concept has been made. Cue me and Roomie going nuts. "The future is HERE! WE HAVE FLYING CARS!"
As we're saying this, my attention never being diverted from the road, we're pulling up to an intersection. I have the green light, and I'm close enough that I know I'm going to make it without the possibility of a yellow. So I'm doing about 40 mph, which isn't a big thing.
As we get about five feet from the intersection, an ugly, old maroon Chevy Lumina, with an ugly old crazy lady behind the wheel and her 14-year-old son in the passenger seat run the red light. Right. In. Front. Of. Me.
CUEFASTREFLEXESNOW!
Insta-stop. Not enough to avoid a collision, but squealing tires and desperately praying for a stop slowed me down enough to where I was only doing about 20 mph when the crunch happened. I didn't budge in my seat, and the passenger doors on the Lumina caved in, but the kid wasn't harmed.
This was the first car accident I've been in when I was driving. The Infiniti turned about fifteen degrees, and the Lumina spun around a full 90 and jumped the curb next to me. I came to a stop in the middle of the intersection amongst shattered glass from her passenger windows, and the grill cover on the Infiniti fell off.
The first thing I thought was, I swear to God, "The Sirius radio came unplugged." God-awful static filled my ears, and my hands started to shake. The second thought in my brain was "Okay, to keep me from getting KILLED now, I should probably pull out of the intersection. Begin damage control." I wheeled the Infiniti around, who protested every step of the way, and parked in the corner of the O'Reilly's parking lot right next to the intersection.
I get out of the car, trembling from head to toe, and Roomie instantly leaned over, told me it wasn't my fault, checked to make sure I wasn't injured, and then walked over to the Lumina, and asked the lady and her son if they were okay. No pain there. Thank god.
First words out of the lady's mouth: "I'm so sorry, my son was talking to me and I just sort of spaced."
Son: "Mom. I was telling you that THE LIGHT WAS RED."
The lady claimed full responsibility for the wreck, and while her and Roomie exchanged insurance information and called the police, Roomie informing me that the cops would be told he was driving, I looked over the car. The nose was thoroughly crunched. One headlight was completely shattered, bulb included. The grill guard fell off, the front bumper bent inwards and pressing uncomfortably into the radiator. Anti-freeze was leaking everywhere. She might have been able to make the drive home, but Roomie and I agreed not to risk it. She wasn't drivable.
The cops never questioned me other than to make sure I was okay, and I'm perfectly fine with that. They swept the glass out of the street, picked up the grill cover from the middle of the intersection and tossed it into the grass next to us. I picked it up and placed it in the back seat of the Infiniti and noticed that the silver Infiniti logo had fallen off. Roomie grabbed it from where it had been swept up next to the curb and handed it to me. It's all we have left of her.
The Kelly Blue Book value of a 1999 Infiniti QX4 is $6,400, according to the insurance adjuster who came out to look at it. Insurance companies total the car out when the repair costs reach 70% of the vehicle's value. When the adjuster met Roomie at the Chrysler dealership where she was towed to for repairs, he never even popped the hood and quoted the repair costs at $6,200. Most likely, they're going to begin repairs and find much more than another $200 worth of damage to repair.
She's totaled. She's not coming home, and we all know it. So Roomie has begun the search for a new car.
In the mean time, Lumina Lady's insurance is paying for a rental car, seeing as how we have four people living here, and on the outer edge of town, we need a vehicle. Badly. I'm not walking well over three miles in the winter snow to get ANYWHERE. Fuck that.
So what is Roomie driving now (that he has expressly told me I will never sit behind the wheel of, but after thinking about it, I'd rather not anyway)?
A white 2008 Ford Focus.
"Omigawd, it's A FOCUS!!"
His manly pride will never survive the wait to get a new set of wheels.
But... I miss the Infiniti already. I have a soft spot for cars; they are my joy in life. I love to drive them, admire them, work on them. They are my passion. And in four months, I had bonded quite a bit with the Infiniti. And now, she'll never come home.
It's all we have left of her. And it's marred by maroon paint from a stupid bitch who couldn't keep her head out of her ass for five minutes while driving.
As soon as I get a chance, I will be taking pictures of the Infiniti where it is parked at the dealership, and I'll post pics of her when possible.
I miss her...
Monday, December 8, 2008
A Tale of Assholes and Princesses
So. Like most 20-year-olds living in a college town, I have a room mate. This is not unheard of. Also in the living arrangement is my boyfriend. Also not unheard of.
So, in this two bedroom apartment we call home, there is Me, Redhead Boyfriend, Roommate, and his girlfriend, the Princess. The Princess is also pregnant, and due just two days before I am.
Come the end of May, no one will be sleeping. Ever.
Here in the past week or so, the Roommate seems to have a problem with my attitude. Says it needs to change. I told him there is no changing it, it’s part of who I am, and he should have realized that. Then I realized where said problem with my attitude comes from.
He owes me five bucks and refuses to pay on it. And I got the feeling he had no intention of paying me back. So I called him out on it.
Now, I know it seems petty, just being five bucks. We were out at the local hangout drinking coffee, only a friend had already bought mine. And he looks at me and says, “If you pay for mine and the Princess’ coffee, I’ll give you five bucks tomorrow because I get paid.”
Technically, the money hits his bank account at midnight. And it was 11:30 PM. And he knew how much he was getting paid. I say okay, whatever, pay for his and Princess’ coffee.
Next morning, I go to take him to work and take the Princess job hunting with me (for the first time since she’s been back in three weeks). I ask when I’m gonna get my money, so I can buy some ramen noodles to eat at home. Roommate says when he has it, and runs into a gas station to buy smokes. Princess then starts carrying on about how tight money is and all that, and the whole time she’s talking, I’m envisioning blowing the back of her skull off with a 12-guage shotgun. Point blank. Then Roommate reappears and we go on our way.
As we pull into the parking lot, he swings around to McDonald’s for a bite to eat. Looks at me and says, “If you want that five back, this is how you’re getting it.” Excuse me? A couple of dollar cheeseburgers and you expect us to be even? No. I need that money for other things, like buying a little bit of food for at home, to keep me from spending money I don’t have on fast food junk.
And I tell him as much in a text message later.
He doesn’t like it when people challenge his authoritah, apparently. He doesn’t like when people refuse to kiss his ass. So, after I point out to him several facts and he refuses to respond, he ignores me for the rest of the day.
After I go to sleep, he sticks his head in my bedroom to tell Redhead, “C’mere, we need to talk.” When asked, what about, all he can offer is, “Stuff.”
Redhead follows him to the kitchen, at which Roommate (henceforth referred to as Asshole) begins to tear into HIM about how I have an attitude problem. Redhead looks at him, holds up a hand, and says “Don’t even start.” Turns around, walks back to the bedroom, locks the door, and curls up with me.
See, I had shown Redhead the text messages back and forth between Asshole and I. Showed him the text saying if he owes me money, he owes me money and not cheeseburgers. Showed him where Asshole responded with a clear and disrespectful “Bite Me.” Showed him where he continued to disrespect me and outright lie, until which point I nailed him on his never having any intention of paying me back, and his silence for the rest of the afternoon.
Redhead was going to have none of Asshole’s lies. Or should I say ‘fairy tales’? Asshole would never lie! Just like he would never, ever brag about how many women he sleeps with, or what kind of job he has, or who he knows. Not him.
One thing that really chapped mine and Redhead’s asses both was the fact that Asshole wanted to bitch about me not contributing around the apartment. Whoa whoa whoa. Rewind. Did he just say what I think he said? This coming from the boy who told me he wasn’t going to do dishes because he hated them, and if I wanted the apartment clean, I should clean it myself? And a week later, bitching me out because there’s no clean glasses?
See, I’m the only person in the apartment who cleans. And I’ve tried telling the rest of them: as far as dishes are concerned, as soon as you’re one with them, put them in the dishwasher. That way we don’t have a mountain of dishes that are going to require a day’s soaking in hot water before I can manage to get the gunk that’s caked on there off. So, yeah. I do dishes. I take out trash. I scrub counters. I cook most of the time, too.
And he wants to say I don’t contribute? This all goes without saying I’m out on a daily basis, busting balls to find a new job. I need a job. Money is too tight for me to not work. I know this. So I look. Constantly. Every day, I’m out there. And when I come home, I clean.
Most people would consider me cooking and cleaning… contributing. Especially considering the job-hunting by day bit.
But what makes Redhead and I the angriest is the fact that Asshole wants to chew me out about not contributing, when his darling little Princess never even comes out of her bedroom. Cleaning? Yeah right. Look for a job? Ha! Her rent is paid on a nightly basis. All she’s got to do is lie on her back with her legs in the air.
She doesn’t know any better. She was a virgin when Asshole met her. She’s never been with anybody else. Romantically, either, from what she’s said. She doesn’t know about how big of an asshole is. He’s charming to her, and he takes care of her, so she doesn’t care.
But yes. She sits in their bedroom, playing the Sims and Solitaire on his computer. Only time she comes out is when she wants something to drink. Or is hungry, in which case she sends Asshole for Chinese food, like she did Saturday night.
I thought money was tight, kids? What happened to not being able to afford to pay me five lousy dollars? Can’t do that, but you can go spend twenty bucks on crappy Chinese take-out?
The worst part was Friday night. Redhead’s friend came into town for the night, met us at Country Kitchen where we were drinking coffee and hanging out. They went downtown to the bars to celebrate. Asshole texts me, wondering if the car will be home by the time he has to get up early and go to work at Arrowhead Stadium. I tell him yes. I point out the fact that the bars close at 1:30, those two have no place else to go, and I never stay out later than 1 AM anyway. He persists with hypothetical what-ifs that he knows are never going to happen.
I do not stay out late. And Redhead does not stay out late either.
I sent a text to Redhead saying, “Asshole is making a big deal about whether or not the car will be home by in the morning.”
I thought I sent that to Redhead. Somehow, I sent that to Asshole. Asshole wasn’t too happy and immediately called to tell me I had an attitude and he didn’t want none of it. This is where it gets amusing.
See, I have this character flaw. I can’t deal with bullshit and arrogant pricks who think they’re better than everybody around them. This is probably why me and Asshole get into a fight at least once a week. I told Asshole without even thinking that he was really one to talk, considering the line of bullshit he had tried to feed me the night before.
Oops. I think I crossed the line. He told me to come home, and do it now.
Ordinarily, I would tell him to take a flying leap. And I was begging to, trust me. Except for the part where I didn’t want to get arrested for Grand Theft Auto.
When Asshole first approached Redhead and I about moving in with him, he had to beg us. We didn’t want to live out on the edge of town, especially with no way to get back into town. It’s several miles that I severely do not want to walk on a daily basis. But he needed someone to room with him, because he couldn’t afford the place on his own. I asked him, why don’t you find a place that’s cheaper? There’s plenty of them in this town.
He wanted this place. This place was more his style. He has standards, you know.
I ignored that slap in the face and we negotiated. We needed transportation, and Asshole agreed to leave his truck with me during the day. I’d drop him off at class, then pick him up and take him to work. That way I would be able to go job hunting, pick up and drop off Redhead at work as needed, and be able to make it to all my doctor’s appointments. And it worked fine.
Until I bucked against him and refused to submit to his will. Then he tells me to bring his car home, and right now.
So I do. But not after driving clear to the other side of town to buy cigarettes (and waste gas), and letting some air out of each of his tires. Not all of it, just enough to be a nuisance.
I know. Petty and juvenile. But he pissed me off, and I’ve been taking a lot of shit from him since we moved in. My pride is severely wounded.
I text Redhead and let him know what’s going on. About an hour later, him and his friend come home, bellowing at the top of their lungs.
My heroes.
Asshole got up and went to Arrowhead Stadium. He came back real late that night, and for two days in a row, has gotten up, and instead of the usual having either myself or the Princess drop him off at class or work, he has taken himself, and kept the truck with him.
I mentioned this to Redhead. I think my driving privileges have been revoked because I refuse to kiss his ass. Redhead calls him. “Have her driving privileges been revoked?” No, of course not. “Because it sure as hell seems like it. Every time she needs the truck to get somewhere, you have it, and you aren’t due home for hours. Convenient.”
I still have driving privileges, apparently. It’s just getting my hands on the fucking keys to the truck that’s the hard part.
Redhead and I are moving out as soon as I find a new job. And we’ll laugh and watch Asshole and Princess flounder and drown under the weight of their own egos.
*Gigglesnort*
So, in this two bedroom apartment we call home, there is Me, Redhead Boyfriend, Roommate, and his girlfriend, the Princess. The Princess is also pregnant, and due just two days before I am.
Come the end of May, no one will be sleeping. Ever.
Here in the past week or so, the Roommate seems to have a problem with my attitude. Says it needs to change. I told him there is no changing it, it’s part of who I am, and he should have realized that. Then I realized where said problem with my attitude comes from.
He owes me five bucks and refuses to pay on it. And I got the feeling he had no intention of paying me back. So I called him out on it.
Now, I know it seems petty, just being five bucks. We were out at the local hangout drinking coffee, only a friend had already bought mine. And he looks at me and says, “If you pay for mine and the Princess’ coffee, I’ll give you five bucks tomorrow because I get paid.”
Technically, the money hits his bank account at midnight. And it was 11:30 PM. And he knew how much he was getting paid. I say okay, whatever, pay for his and Princess’ coffee.
Next morning, I go to take him to work and take the Princess job hunting with me (for the first time since she’s been back in three weeks). I ask when I’m gonna get my money, so I can buy some ramen noodles to eat at home. Roommate says when he has it, and runs into a gas station to buy smokes. Princess then starts carrying on about how tight money is and all that, and the whole time she’s talking, I’m envisioning blowing the back of her skull off with a 12-guage shotgun. Point blank. Then Roommate reappears and we go on our way.
As we pull into the parking lot, he swings around to McDonald’s for a bite to eat. Looks at me and says, “If you want that five back, this is how you’re getting it.” Excuse me? A couple of dollar cheeseburgers and you expect us to be even? No. I need that money for other things, like buying a little bit of food for at home, to keep me from spending money I don’t have on fast food junk.
And I tell him as much in a text message later.
He doesn’t like it when people challenge his authoritah, apparently. He doesn’t like when people refuse to kiss his ass. So, after I point out to him several facts and he refuses to respond, he ignores me for the rest of the day.
After I go to sleep, he sticks his head in my bedroom to tell Redhead, “C’mere, we need to talk.” When asked, what about, all he can offer is, “Stuff.”
Redhead follows him to the kitchen, at which Roommate (henceforth referred to as Asshole) begins to tear into HIM about how I have an attitude problem. Redhead looks at him, holds up a hand, and says “Don’t even start.” Turns around, walks back to the bedroom, locks the door, and curls up with me.
See, I had shown Redhead the text messages back and forth between Asshole and I. Showed him the text saying if he owes me money, he owes me money and not cheeseburgers. Showed him where Asshole responded with a clear and disrespectful “Bite Me.” Showed him where he continued to disrespect me and outright lie, until which point I nailed him on his never having any intention of paying me back, and his silence for the rest of the afternoon.
Redhead was going to have none of Asshole’s lies. Or should I say ‘fairy tales’? Asshole would never lie! Just like he would never, ever brag about how many women he sleeps with, or what kind of job he has, or who he knows. Not him.
One thing that really chapped mine and Redhead’s asses both was the fact that Asshole wanted to bitch about me not contributing around the apartment. Whoa whoa whoa. Rewind. Did he just say what I think he said? This coming from the boy who told me he wasn’t going to do dishes because he hated them, and if I wanted the apartment clean, I should clean it myself? And a week later, bitching me out because there’s no clean glasses?
See, I’m the only person in the apartment who cleans. And I’ve tried telling the rest of them: as far as dishes are concerned, as soon as you’re one with them, put them in the dishwasher. That way we don’t have a mountain of dishes that are going to require a day’s soaking in hot water before I can manage to get the gunk that’s caked on there off. So, yeah. I do dishes. I take out trash. I scrub counters. I cook most of the time, too.
And he wants to say I don’t contribute? This all goes without saying I’m out on a daily basis, busting balls to find a new job. I need a job. Money is too tight for me to not work. I know this. So I look. Constantly. Every day, I’m out there. And when I come home, I clean.
Most people would consider me cooking and cleaning… contributing. Especially considering the job-hunting by day bit.
But what makes Redhead and I the angriest is the fact that Asshole wants to chew me out about not contributing, when his darling little Princess never even comes out of her bedroom. Cleaning? Yeah right. Look for a job? Ha! Her rent is paid on a nightly basis. All she’s got to do is lie on her back with her legs in the air.
She doesn’t know any better. She was a virgin when Asshole met her. She’s never been with anybody else. Romantically, either, from what she’s said. She doesn’t know about how big of an asshole is. He’s charming to her, and he takes care of her, so she doesn’t care.
But yes. She sits in their bedroom, playing the Sims and Solitaire on his computer. Only time she comes out is when she wants something to drink. Or is hungry, in which case she sends Asshole for Chinese food, like she did Saturday night.
I thought money was tight, kids? What happened to not being able to afford to pay me five lousy dollars? Can’t do that, but you can go spend twenty bucks on crappy Chinese take-out?
The worst part was Friday night. Redhead’s friend came into town for the night, met us at Country Kitchen where we were drinking coffee and hanging out. They went downtown to the bars to celebrate. Asshole texts me, wondering if the car will be home by the time he has to get up early and go to work at Arrowhead Stadium. I tell him yes. I point out the fact that the bars close at 1:30, those two have no place else to go, and I never stay out later than 1 AM anyway. He persists with hypothetical what-ifs that he knows are never going to happen.
I do not stay out late. And Redhead does not stay out late either.
I sent a text to Redhead saying, “Asshole is making a big deal about whether or not the car will be home by in the morning.”
I thought I sent that to Redhead. Somehow, I sent that to Asshole. Asshole wasn’t too happy and immediately called to tell me I had an attitude and he didn’t want none of it. This is where it gets amusing.
See, I have this character flaw. I can’t deal with bullshit and arrogant pricks who think they’re better than everybody around them. This is probably why me and Asshole get into a fight at least once a week. I told Asshole without even thinking that he was really one to talk, considering the line of bullshit he had tried to feed me the night before.
Oops. I think I crossed the line. He told me to come home, and do it now.
Ordinarily, I would tell him to take a flying leap. And I was begging to, trust me. Except for the part where I didn’t want to get arrested for Grand Theft Auto.
When Asshole first approached Redhead and I about moving in with him, he had to beg us. We didn’t want to live out on the edge of town, especially with no way to get back into town. It’s several miles that I severely do not want to walk on a daily basis. But he needed someone to room with him, because he couldn’t afford the place on his own. I asked him, why don’t you find a place that’s cheaper? There’s plenty of them in this town.
He wanted this place. This place was more his style. He has standards, you know.
I ignored that slap in the face and we negotiated. We needed transportation, and Asshole agreed to leave his truck with me during the day. I’d drop him off at class, then pick him up and take him to work. That way I would be able to go job hunting, pick up and drop off Redhead at work as needed, and be able to make it to all my doctor’s appointments. And it worked fine.
Until I bucked against him and refused to submit to his will. Then he tells me to bring his car home, and right now.
So I do. But not after driving clear to the other side of town to buy cigarettes (and waste gas), and letting some air out of each of his tires. Not all of it, just enough to be a nuisance.
I know. Petty and juvenile. But he pissed me off, and I’ve been taking a lot of shit from him since we moved in. My pride is severely wounded.
I text Redhead and let him know what’s going on. About an hour later, him and his friend come home, bellowing at the top of their lungs.
My heroes.
Asshole got up and went to Arrowhead Stadium. He came back real late that night, and for two days in a row, has gotten up, and instead of the usual having either myself or the Princess drop him off at class or work, he has taken himself, and kept the truck with him.
I mentioned this to Redhead. I think my driving privileges have been revoked because I refuse to kiss his ass. Redhead calls him. “Have her driving privileges been revoked?” No, of course not. “Because it sure as hell seems like it. Every time she needs the truck to get somewhere, you have it, and you aren’t due home for hours. Convenient.”
I still have driving privileges, apparently. It’s just getting my hands on the fucking keys to the truck that’s the hard part.
Redhead and I are moving out as soon as I find a new job. And we’ll laugh and watch Asshole and Princess flounder and drown under the weight of their own egos.
*Gigglesnort*
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