I’m Calling It

MarchI don’t care if I’m a few days early.

I don’t care if it isn’t technically correct.

I’m calling it anyway.

March is DEAD. It can die now.  It’s April -4 so far as I’m concerned.

HI APRIL!!  You’re a beautiful month. I know you’ll be a fair sight better than that bitch, March.

After all, the only thing she gave me was broken drain pipes, cash flowing out way faster than it was coming in, heartache, and stress levels so high I couldn’t sleep.

April, I welcome your soothing rains, your signs of spring, you warming temps. I also welcome the arrival of April 20th when I can see and hug my bestie and my second mom again. Hell, when I can hug all those crazy, insane ICDC people again.

So hello, April -4th. Glad to see you. You’re a beautiful thing, you are.

 

Adulting is Stupid

IMG_20160309_145248One leaking drain…in the wall.

One homeowners insurance claim.

One giant salamander in the backyard (for treatment of water damage).

Three different companies (so far) dealt with in repairs.

One doctor pissing me the *bleep* off.

One car deceptively decent attempting to bleed us dry.

One 100* home (due to aforementioned treatment for water damage).

One new extra PT job.

Five cranky household members.

One miserable pooch.

Zero capability to cook in an already over-baked home.

One teenager eager to flee the coop.

Two exhausted adulters ready to turn in their adult cards.

Can I go back to Disney?

And never ever leave?

~le sigh~

Done.

That is me.

Just done.

 

 

Plastic Culture

I work in a bank. I have for years, off and on.

My first teller job was in 1999 in Virginia. Back when banks had actual banker hours, and checks were still a thing.

plastic cultureNow it’s over 15 years later and the world of banking, like everything else, is so different.

I’ve seen what a plastic culture we’ve become.

Every day I see people that don’t have a register to keep track of their spending.

Don’t even know how to balance a checkbook.

Then wonder why they are in the hole, how could a charge have hit?

There have been so many times I’ve asked, “Do you keep a register?” only to get the identical response every time, “No…but I know what is in my account. I check it online every day.”

I’ve had teenager upon teenager, and quite a few adults come up to my window in a panic because they forgot their card, and “How on earth can I get money out?”

I am stunned on a regular basis on the ineptitude of people and how to handle their checking account. (and for the record, it is checking account…one of my biggest pet peeves is calling it checkingS. ~shudder~)

How did we come to this?

Plastic. It’s made everything so easy. I’m guilty of it myself.

So I implore every single one of you.

If you don’t know how to handle a checkbook, LEARN. Do NOT count on what you see on your online banking every day. Pending charges can drop off only to return. Some online payments don’t show up right away. And god forbid you actually write a check…you are bound to forget about it.

If your kids are coming of age to get their own accounts, teach them how to balance a checkbook. Teach them what a withdrawal is, and how it can be done without an ATM.

Remember that just because the card works doesn’t mean the money is there. It’s very possible your bank allows a certain amount of overdraft.

Also, remember you are dealing with real money, even if it doesn’t cross your fingertips. Plastic doesn’t make it fakes, just easy to abuse.

Oh, and please don’t blame the tellers for fees or errors. While we do make mistakes, often your issue is not our mistake. I promise, we really are there to help.

And lastly, teach them, and yourself, some basic bank protocol. I have some examples, but this’ll turn into a lecture. Let’s just say, use common sense and be kind to your tellers.

*~*

One final note: Try going plastic-free for one month. Use checks and cash. It’ll change the way you view money inw ays you never imagined.

As The Stomach Turns

[flickr id=”8275829697″ thumbnail=”small” overlay=”true” size=”small” group=”” align=”left”]Full of the Christmas Spirit (or is that panic?) – I dove into wrapping presents on Saturday.

I had a huge pile of gifts to go through, a good amount of new rolls of wrapping paper and some old rolls in my trust wrapping paper box that I’d used for years.  I do mean years, it’s an old packing box. Plain cardboard, tall to accommodate the long rolls of paper.

Because I have been using it for years and it’s stored in our only storage area – the garage – some of the wrapping paper in it was well squashed down. Smashed and broken from years of careless tossing into the box.

With all the new rolls I thought it was as good a time to clear out the damaged rolls.

I began pulling them out of the box and realized there was stuff hidden underneath them.  An old (now broken) Easter basket I never used, some Easter faux grass, some Christmas cards, stocking stuffers.  I noticed an odd stain in the corner of the box and cursed that the bugs had gotten into the box like they do everything else in my garage.

And then…

I realized the stain wasn’t bug remains.

It was bird poop.

And the contributing animal lay dead midway through the box.

I have to say I almost threw up right then.

Box went in the trash and I thanked the heavens that I’d had the foresight to buy new wrapping paper.

This year?

I’m spending the money for a proper storage box.

I never.

Ever.

Want to see something like that again.

~shudder~

Open Letters

[flickr id=”5980080364″ thumbnail=”small” overlay=”true” size=”small” group=”” align=”left”] To the Person that Stole my Phone,

Shame on you.  You were ten feet from a customer service desk and couldn’t see fit to turn it in once you realized you couldn’t get into it without my passcode?  Instead of answering a call, you turn it off?  What did you do with it?

Karma is a bitch, and apparently so are you (Since it was lost in the women’s room i think that’s accurate).

Shame on you. Do the right thing, jerk.

~The True Owner of the Phone You Stole

 

*~*~*~*

To the Woman at Wal-Mart today,

Thank you, for cutting in front of a line of five people under the guise of it being “two lines”.  It wasn’t.

Thank you, for ignoring the person behind me saying loudly, “There is only one line in the self-checkout area”.

You are not priviliged.  You’re just a jerk.

~Everyone you cut in a busy Wal-Mart (I’m seriously surprised someone didn’t really yell at you, guess you got lucky people were in a better mood than they usually are at that Wal-Mart)

 

*~*~*~*

To our waiter Sam from last night’s dinner at Houlihan’s,

Thank you.

Just thank you for existing. You made our night.

~The Mom Bloggers of Indy

 

*~*~*~*

To my Black Leather Seats,

Oh, how I loved you as a selling point in our new car. Your excellent condition lent a plush air to the car that is far older than it seems. When I was wearing jeans and the weather was cooler, I loved you so.

I think we are going to have to have a trial separation, though.  My shorts-clad legs don’t like being burned and then getting stuck. For the next few months I think we’ll need to be separated by a towel.

Don’t worry, I’ll come back to you when the weather is cool again…and you will be my best friend in the winter when I can turn on the seat heater and get all cozy.

~<3 Me

 

*~*~*~*

To Road Rage Guy,

I know Road Rage is a bad thing, but since it wasn’t directed at me, I must say your revenge to the woman that cut you off and nearly dinged your $50k car was SAH-WEET. I was laughing all the way back to my house.

~An Amused Driver that almost was the one she cut off.

 

 

The Limbo – Only Fun As A Party Game

[flickr id=”6271416484″ thumbnail=”small” overlay=”true” size=”small” group=”” align=”left”]When I was young I used to love the Limbo.  I was really good at it and always won.

As an adult, as a parent of special needs kids, as a human being – limbo has taken on a new meaning.

It’s the in-between.

The period of nothing.

No answers.

More questions.

Infinite waiting.

In my personal life. In my pursuit of a writing career.

Limbo now consumes my life.

Tests for the kids, my husband, myself. Infinite questions on our health, our futures.

Submissions of my work to strangers for judging.  The ones that might hold the key to my writing future.

I hate limbo.

If I didn’t love writing so much I’d throw in the towel and end it just to give up another source of the interminable status of ‘waiting’.

I’m not about to do that. Writing is a part of me. It gives me release and happiness.

So I suppose somehow I have to turn this new definition of Limbo into something I can live with.

I just can’t see how to make it a party game.

Maybe a drinking game…