It has been a shitty week, with a capital shit.
After I left the last job, I never dreamed I’d be anything other than enamored with my career. But alas, it was a trying, trying week.
I was out of the country last week, so there were all the crises that popped up while I was 4,000 miles northwest. And then this week was spent overcoming some of those challenges.
Toss in a nasty sinus infection caused by people snarfing all over me while I was abroad, and the wine I drank last night and the mango mojito I had for breakfast this morning are not only deserved, but damn well ordained by God to be coursing through my veins!
As some woman said while Lady L and I were wandering the streets of the Gayborhood, “You can’t say you’ve been drinking all day unless you started at breakfast!”
(OK, so it was funnier at the time.)
This week, in addition to work being a bear, I had to get both cars registered in Florida and also get the extra-over-extended houseguest her driver’s license. Needless to say, it was an 18-ring circus and the only thing I achieved was taking her car out of my grandfather’s name and putting it into mine.
We’re going on six trips to the DMV to get her goddamned license. The next one should be it. Oh, and why couldn’t I register my car in the state? Because goddamned GMAC never stamped my FUCKING title that the loan was paid off. So the tax collector had to assume there’s a lien against the damn vehicle. Which has been paid off since 2006.
It got paid off right before the OEH crashed into my life. The car payment became the extra money I had to spend on getting a new apartment with a bedroom for her. Isn’t that depressing — four fucking years of this shit?
So, anyway, I didn’t put her car into her name. I had to pay the $500 fee. (It would have been $140 if I did it in Pennsylvania, but Miss Priss over here on her tuffett never got off her ass to do the paperwork LIKE I ASKED A THOUSAND TIMES. With the car set to be turned over to the state by yesterday if the conversion wasn’t done, I had to pay a steep premium.)
You know, tomorrow’s the one-year anniversary that my beloved Maddie left the earth, and man am I an angry bitch about that. But just as one of my friends said she’d love to come back in her next life as my cat, apparently my mom has no motivation whatsoever to get off her butt and out of my house. I mean, she lives in a condo on the water. Bills are paid. Utilities are covered. Allowance is provided.
The only difference between her and my 23 other “kids” is that I am at least paid to deal with them. And she costs me dearly.
One of my boys e-mailed me after he saw the position for which I’m hiring. Because, I need someone who’s not a dipshit. And the job description make me seem like I must be smart, to supervise said position. So he says to me, “Wow. Can you be my sugar mama?”
And I replied back, “No more freeloaders allowed. At capacity, thanks.”
That ended THAT conversation!
Now she says she can’t use her car now that it’s in my name. Because I told her that if she gets a fine or a ticket, I ain’t paying it. So she won’t take any chances.
Good Christ, isn’t that how teenagers think? Well, someone else will pay for it. Oh, honey, I’ll sell her into the drug-mule business to get my money back. Just you wait!
I spent the last two days with my friend, and another person too. I was, for the most part, relaxed and happy. We had a SPECTACULAR night out last night, and today was damn near perfect. When I’m allowed out of the house, I thrive. Work be damned. Kids who leave shopping lists on the coffee pot for me are far, far away. Over-extended houseguests who cost more than babies (and are certainly more demanding) melt away from view.
Instead, it’s replaced by pinot noir, Brie soaked in french onion soup, crusty bread, peanut-butter-and-jelly tortes, homemade ice cream, gourmet omelets and pina coladas flavored with my favorite fruit: mangoes.
And text messages. Can’t forget those. Friends in person and far away are my only connection to the real world. And I love it.
Anyway, to continue my vehicular homicide rampage that’s soon to start, tomorrow I have to go try to figure out WTF is wrong with my car. Whose registration expired today. As did the OEH’s but I’m mean and nasty for not putting the new license plate on her vehicle — er, as she keeps saying, MY new vehicle.
So, I’m in unfamiliar territory. Not the financial escapades. I’m just glad I can foot these bills. But in my head, I keep wandering somewhere better. All it takes is one word from the right person to send me into warm fuzzies and tinglies and otherwise fantasies about cashing in a round-trip ticket to Mexico for two first-class (and one-way) ones.
And coming home to anything but, well, is kind of wearing me down.
At least the view is nice. It’s just sad how prison-like it feels from this side of the screen door.