November 23rd, 2007RIP
Precious and Bon Bon, 18 years old.
I’m about to complete a whirlwind trip to the west coast. I flew out Wednesday night, spent three days and am now sitting at the airport, getting ready to head home.
Mainly I came to see my childhood cat, who is no longer really eating, and sleeps constantly. Everyone knows it’s about her time to go. And it’s incredibly devastating to my mom, who has spent every last bit of these past 18 years with her.
On a different note, I got to meet my sister’s new puppy. She’s been in Mexico on vacation, so my parents were babysitting… which, for the past three days, has translated to me babysitting.
Fortunately, she is kinda cute (she grows on you). And she’s funny as hell. Not potty-trained yet, which was entertaining to a point, lol, but so tiny that the teaspoon of pee looks so pathetic you don’t even want to discipline her.
The Chop has been packing the past couple of days and that’s what I am heading home to do for the next few weeks. Should be fun.
My mom called. Bon Bon probably won’t make it to Thanksgiving, it looks like she’s in total renal failure. :(
I was thinking about trying to head out there in the next couple of weeks, just for a few days, but…
The realtor called. We have to move in six weeks, for December 1.
Technically they gave us until Christmas, but we’re heading to the Porkchop’s for Christmas and really, who wants to be moving right before heading out of town for Christmas? Not us.
Apparently the sale is conditional on us moving by the end of December… the new owners want to renovate and expand (don’t think they’ll be allowed to, but whatever).
Our lease states that either one of us can cancel the lease with 60 days of notice, so technically we have no recourse. And she’s offering us a month’s rent to move by then, so what the hell.
Unfortunately this means we have to find a place, pack and hire movers in six weeks. And the cash hit we’ll be taking right before Christmas won’t be a picnic either.
Not the greatest weekend.
One of my father’s closest friends, the man who mentored him in the early years of his private practice, died yesterday.
He was in his 80s and had been moved into hospice, but it wasn’t more than two years ago that he was still assisting my dad.
My mom said she hasn’t seen my dad this devastated but once before, and she had never wanted to see it again.
I know it’s hard for him, being a doctor, to have people die. Particularly those who are so close. It’s hard for us as well, those who are around him, to watch someone so generally happy and ready to see the best in every situation, crushed.
September will never be a happy month because of 9/11, and now, because of this.
**Update: The bloodwork came back and yes, she is in the early stages of renal failure. :( However, he thinks with a special food and weekly rehydration, she’ll live for a couple more years. :) My mom is very happy.
My mom promised my sister and I, when we were young, that when we got a “real” house (my dad was in the military at the time) we could get a kitten.
The instant we moved off base and got our real house (with stairs, hence, real), we clamored for the promised pet.
That Christmas two little furballs were found in the laundry room and the two Himalayan kittens entered our lives.
When my sister moved out she ended up getting two kittens of her own and when I moved cross country, I did as well. By that time our babies were getting on in years and had been with their current vet for a decade, so my mom wouldn’t let me take them, lol. Truth is though, she absolutely adores them and couldn’t bear to part with them.
Both over the years have suffered from different health issues. Mine has a mega esophagus and has to eat standing up; my sister’s has had kidney issues.
Bonnie, mine, has been displaying some signs of more serious issues and my mom took her to the vet today.
They gave her intravenous fluids and are waiting on the bloodwork, but the vet says she’s in kidney failure. :(
Bonnie is on the left and Precious is on the right. This picture was taken in 1989.
Right before my parents come to town I always get my car detailed. And it’s especially important now that Regina thinks cars are the best things in the world.
I got a call from the dealership I took it to about an hour ago. They wanted to put some emissions tags or something on it and I said, yes, please. Then they called me back. Did I know my tags were expired? They couldn’t put the emissions tags on it until I fixed that.
Confused, I got online looking for registration renewal in my state.
OK, online it says registration is good for two years, so since I got the car in ’05, I should be only a few months behind. Damn, why didn’t they contact me?
I go to renew online, and lo and behold, since it’s over three months expired, I’m not allowed.
So I call the DMV, whereupon I am directed to four separate automated lists (press 10 should be the suicide hotline). When I finally do get a person, she tells me that my registration did expire in May… of FREAKING 2006.
Shit, I think, wtf?
She tells me that in this state (which I now loathe and think should die) the registration renewal is sent to the town you live in, not you (already I’m thinking this is the stupidest thing ever) so that you can pay your taxes before you get your new tags.
Taxes? ‘Scuse me? I’m fucking moving to my own island with no damn taxes, is all I’m thinking at this point.
So I sigh, and call the town hall of where I lived last year.
And the tax lady tells me I owe $387 and it needs to be in cash and I should come today because interest is assessed at 18%. What. the. fuck.
You have to be kidding, I say to her.
No, we don’t take personal checks. [Figures I get a joker.]
Well, I said, I never received notice so I would like to know how to fight the interest. I will pay whatever the tax is, but I should not have to pay interest.
Oh you can’t fight that, everyone always pays the interest. And we did send out a notice.
To where? I never received one.
She reads off the address of my first apartment in Warren. The one I moved from in June of ’05.
I don’t live there anymore, I say. I haven’t lived there in years! (All the while fuming at the mean woman below me who, upon buying the house from her dad who loved me, kicked me out to move in her good-for-nothing nephew. Now the house is purple-not kidding-and his stupid giant truck is perpetually parked in the yard. Yeah, real keeper.)
Well that is the address we have on file and you have to pay this or you can’t get registration for your car. It’s not our fault you didn’t notify us when you moved.
I didn’t know I had too. I don’t even know what you people do. Why do I have to pay taxes to a town FOR A CAR?!
This conversation was not going anywhere, and at this point I was in tears.
The woman was now telling me that I should call my new town because I probably owe taxes there, too.
Great, I say. Thanks, bye.
And I hung up.
And proceeded to slam my fist into a wall. Good times all around.
Fortunately I owe the new town nothing… yet. I’ll get a notice in June. What the hell kind of sadistic practice is this to tax people when they get a new car?! Shouldn’t we be encouraging the economy, not penalizing people? What the hell?
So I did what everyone does in this situation (primarily everyone who can’t drink or smoke or do anything that makes it all go away)—I called my mom.
And through my tears raged about the government and how I didn’t want this car and I want my old one and oh my god, no WONDER people go into debt, what the hell!
Because the sum total of what I will be shelling out? Right around $500. For the taxes and the new registration, which won’t come for a month and if I get a ticket, I’ll have to pay that too.
How I haven’t gotten pulled over before this is beyond me. I almost wish I had, because then I would’ve had less interest.
Because they do interest like this: let’s say it was originally $50. And then I don’t pay for a month, so that’s $9 at 18% interest now that I owe. But then it gets more fun, because the interest isn’t on the original amount, oh no, it’s on the total due. So now it’s $59 plus 18% interest, so that’s $69.62.
.. So I just spent 10 minutes on an Excel sheet and I think it originally cost $35. THIRTY-FIVE FREAKING DOLLARS.
And now i owe $387.
That. is. bullshit.
Update: Apparently it was originally $245 and the tax lady was wrong about how interest was assessed.
Whatever, I still owe a ridiculous amount.
E met J at a wedding about two years ago. I distinctly remember the first few conversations we had about him, mainly because I wanted to make sure he wasn’t a jerk (as her previous guy turned out to be) and because we were both intrigued by his persistence.
Which, obviously, paid off.
On the other hand, before we headed out there I was very uncomfortable about them getting married. I’ve met him a couple of times, but not nearly enough to get a feel for his character and they’ve been dating barely two years.
I kept telling the Chop, “It’s too soon! Why are they jumping the gun?!”
I think his reply was, “sex,” which, considering their religion, does make sense.
After being there, meeting some of his friends (some nice, some assholes), meeting his family (brother and sister, both incredibly nice) and hearing that her brother completely approved (aside from the fact that they would be having sex, LOL), I became much more comfortable about the match.
That being said, I’m still a little sad (in a good way) that she’s married. And I think it’s because the door to our childhood slammed shut this weekend and I just wasn’t prepared.
I don’t have a lot to say about the VTech shooting, mainly because it’s all been said, but also because it was my first year in high school when Columbine happened and everyone involved was older than I. This time, almost all of the students were my age or younger and that’s devastating to me. The coverage has been prolific, and deservedly so, even though I know the survivors feel it’s too much.
But survivors have felt that way in every tragedy.
April is a crappy, crappy month.
The Chop has a hard time with all the coverage, but not because he feels it’s intrusive. No, he’s instead upset that all the other human tragedies that are happening in the world are under-covered and that we as Americans are so involved when things happen in our space, yet unconcerned with the daily mass murders being perpetrated all over the world.
I understand where he’s coming from, but what I know is that I feel more personally involved with this shooting than with what is happening overseas. Not that I don’t think it should have equal coverage, but I understand how we (as Americans) want more information and feel more sadness about this than about anything that happens there. It’s here. It’s home. It was unexpected. It made no sense.
So that’s that.
I love This American Life on NPR. It is one of the best hours of commentary on radio and I adore it… especially now, because I can listen to the archives while I’m working.
They recently redesigned their website and included ALL of their archives since 1995. The best part? You can stream it free.
Good lord, I will never be bored at work again. :)
Happy 82nd Birthday Nana..
you are loved and missed by everyone who knew you.