Sunday, October 14, 2012

Postcards to Nowhere

So, a year ago (plus a month) we moved from Northern Utah to Northern Virginia.  It was for a job--a job hubby had been angling for for over three years.  We really wanted out of Utah.  Being a federal employee, hubby, of course, makes over 125 grand a year, and the tax payers forked over for the very best professional movers . . . NOT!  Yeah, contrary to the crap propaganda forwarded by the right these past couple of years in their quest to vilify federal workers, fact is most don't make that much money (we don't see even half that after taxes, actually), and not one dime of our move was covered by the feds.  No, we forked over for that baby ourselves, and we're still drowning in the bills.  We self-packed, loaded a big ol' Penske truck with the help of wonderful friends, and stayed in a series of Motel 6s (including one in Mars, PA that was so scary we nearly left in the middle of the night).  Determined to keep a promise made to our wonderful niece and nephew (my sister's kids), we bought a gaggle of post cards from various spots along the way.  Being, as we were, exhausted, we spaced sending them until our last night on the road.  I filled them all out--postcards for the kids, for my sister, for my mom, etc.  I then set them on the table so I could dig up my sister's address.  Hubby, not knowing I hadn't addressed them, slapped stamps on them without looking, and dumped them into a mailbox. 


I didn't realize what had happened until my sister said the cards had never arrived.  I asked hubby if he'd addressed them. He said he thought I had.  So I guess those fancy, picked out special for each kid postcards are sitting in a bin somewhere in a PA post office, collecting dust.  Sorry kids--they were really cool cards, a good half-dozen of them.  You'd have really liked them.

We put up a few tentative Halloween decorations tonight.  Scared to death those rat kids across the street and that asshat punk behind us will tear them up or fill them full of Airsoft pellets.  Heck, we had to yell at one of the rats Thursday night for shooting at us from an upstairs window while we were unloading groceries from the car.  We found pellets in our grocery bags while putting things away.  This is going to keep escalating, and I don't know what to do.  What a mess.

Speaking of messes, the punk from behind wrote on the pavement, "Max is stuped."  Someone had crossed out "stuped" and replaced it with "stupid."  This kid is thirteen, certainly old enough to be able to spell "stupid."  And worse?  He made the same mistake on his Facebook page a few months ago, and was corrected by a number of people.  So maybe he really is "stuped."

The car goes in for inspection tomorrow.  If it costs more than $850 (including registration), we're utterly screwed.  We're given the option of registering for two years.  Does that mean we don't have to have the car inspected for two years?  Probably not, but wouldn't that be cool?

Our boy's struggling with the University of Toronto Python programming course he's taking online.  He's getting the material (though it is very challenging for him), but he's got no concept of meeting unyielding deadlines.  He submitted his first assignment yesterday and only got 18 out of 41.  After much grief and digging through things, we figured it out--he actually got 36 out of 41, but they knocked off FIFTY PERCENT of his score for missing the "soft" deadline.  Ouch!  So we're working harder on getting things done on time.  On the bright side, he is grasping the material, and that really is the point.

Walgreens keeps sending me emails telling me that I have a script due for refilling.  Except I don't.  I've called them repeatedly, but they don't know why the email keeps being sent--it's apparently for a script that has no refills.  Irritating.

Epinions ( has revamped its payment and income share schemes.  Hopefully, that will be to my benefit and not a smack.  It's not a lot, but I enjoy writing, and it's nice to have a little something to show for it. 

I dreamed my old neighbor Judy died.  Not good.  Of course, I also dreamed I was a super-spy who blew up a roller rink and was hiding in my neighbor's bathroom waiting for the chance to take out a rival spy.  So Judy's probably okay.

Cross your fingers on the car inspection.  I need less stress. 

No comments:

Post a Comment