Not in a Thousand Years

Would I have expected this.  Wow.

After much agonizing, we decided that fixing the car just wasn't feasible.  It wasn't reasonable or realistic.  A 900 dollar repair that might not fix it, the possibility of a thousand-plus repair on top of that, and all for a fading, ten year old car that is a FLOOD SALVAGE.  No.

No, no.

Of course, with our credit as abysmal as it is (not for late payments or delinquencies--no, we're current and always have been, we've just got a lousy available credit to debt ratio), there's no way anyone would give us a car loan.  Heck, we tried to get one a year-and-a-half ago, when our credit was markedly better.  Facing a future without wheels, we called a local used car lot, Shannon Autos, and they said that, sure, they'll finance us with bad credit--if we put FIFTY PERCENT down. 

Rigghhht.  Like that's going to happen.  Thanks for exactly nothing, folks. Completely crestfallen, we started kicking around renting a car on weekends so we could do our shopping and errands.  We'd just do without during the week.

While looking over used cars online, I noticed on the Brown's Hyundai (Buy Happy!)dealership site (Brown is where we took the car to find out the module on the SRS was bad), they said, "Bad credit doesn't matter." Of course, my first thought was, "Oh, bull--it totally matters, don't say that."

It didn't matter.

We did a little phone tag, then drove down to the dealership with ZERO hope.  In fact, I kept saying to our boy, "This isn't going to happen, don't get psyched."  I intentionally went sans makeup so that, when they turned us down, I wouldn't wind up with tear streaks and mascara runs. 

How's that for pathetic?

We told them we wanted to keep it to under ten grand.  The nice young salesman showed us a number of cars, including a Saab, a couple of Fords, and a few Hyundais.  We were eying an ugly little Hyundai Accent (a 2007, I think), and thinking to ourselves, "It's just temporary."  Of course, at 8 grand (ten after all the fees and such), it's not so temporary.  He kept trying to edge us up just slightly, price-wise (not obnoxiously, mind you--very nice guy).  Then he showed us a 2009 Sonata.  He said (and he's right) that a lot of lenders balk at financing cars with high miles--this one had a little over 60,000, which is a little high for the year, but not devastating.  It's a nice silver/grey (same color as my old Mustang, pretty much), and is an automatic.  It also has an iPod port and CD changer.  Makes the hubby happy.  It was $11,214, which was a little higher than I thought we could afford with any comfort.  Certainly more than anyone was going to finance us for.  Like anyone was going to finance us at ALL, right?  So, of course, we test drove it, just to guarantee the sharpness of the pain when they eventually turned us down (which I was certain they would).  It drove quite nicely.

They sat us in the little cubicle and asked us questions.  Wrote things down.  Asked about the Sonata we were hoping to trade in.  Asked if it had a "clear title."  Then mentioned things that would make a title not-clear--like being a flood salvage.

Yeah.  Obviously, we were totally honest with him.  And that was that--they didn't want our car.  Period.  I thought that was it, since, without the trade we had only $500 as a down.  I actually picked up my iPad and started to stand.  But he kept talking.  So I sat back down.  He asked what we wanted our payment to look like.  He walked away.  Came back. Walked away again.  Asked for our insurance card.  Copied it.  Walked away. 

Then another guy came.  Very nice.  Wanted to talk about payments and terms.  Then left to talk to his "higher up" finance person.

All the while, I was convinced this wasn't going to happen.  No WAY it was going to happen.  Even as the terrifically nice woman in finance was printing out contracts, I was sure something was going to fall through.  Even as I was driving the car home, I was thinking, "They said they were letting us drive off the lot 'pending completion of the particulars.'  They can still take it back."

Well, that was Tuesday.  It's now very early Thursday morning.  I guess I can maybe relax a little.  Not a lot--it's a used car without a warranty, so I can't really relax.  But I can maybe sleep now.

The payment is going to wipe us out--no more jaunts and lazy shopping.  We can do it, but it's not going to be the happiest.  The lesson I'm hoping anyone reading gets out of this?  It can't hurt to try.  The worst they can do is say "no."  Yeah, that would have been pretty bad in our case, but we'd have survived.  So don't think your credit's too awful, don't decide not to give it a shot.  No, I'm not encouraging folks to rack up debt, but if you're stuck like we were, give it a try.  Someplace like Brown's might come along and surprise you. 



Hyundai old (right/blue) and new (left/silver)


Oh, and a quick "oh, hell, that can't be good" before I go--talked to my step-mother yesterday.  We chatted for a good hour.  During the chat, she asked me about my diet.  I said I was slipping up, but that my blood sugar was still good.  She said, "Well, you're father's developed quite a paunch . . . he says the doctor says it's just a cyst, and I'm going to believe him."  Oh, damn.  That doesn't sound at all good, does it?  I'll be talking to him today or tomorrow.  Not sure if I dare ask.

We're Toast

So here we are, the car is toast.  SRS module.  That's around 900 bucks.  We could almost swing that, we're close.  Problem is, they say that there's no way of knowing if there's also a problem with the airbags until they replace the module.  They say that's a very real possibility.  Translation?  We drop the 900 (which would likely involve a small payday load), and they discover it's going to be another grand or more.  We're out the 900, and the car still won't pass inspection.

Our credit is abysmal.  We're not in arrears, we're not delinquent, but the move put our "available credit to debt ratio" in a bad place.  We make our payments, but that doesn't seem to matter these days.  So we're in a bad, hurting place with no way out in sight.

We're going to hit a used car place.  But it's got to be something that is already inspected and emissions tested.  We can't risk getting into a "new" car only to have it turn out it won't pass inspection, which puts us right back where we are right now.  Oh, what a mess.  What a sad, sorry, stupid mess. 

I don't see any way out of this.

Bad Dreams and Aunt Helen Jean

Napped this afternoon--hoped the down time would do something about this vicious headache, but I should have known better.  Headaches like this don't just go away--they're borne of wowser stress, and only go away when the scary stuff resolves.  Hopefully tomorrow.

I dreamed about my Aunt Helen Jean.  I do that a lot.  Dreamed about Hallstead, about her house, and about the barn across the way--an old business converted to stable, arena, and office for my Uncle Bob's and Aunt Helen Jean's Arabian horse biz.  As usual, my brain twisted up the geography of Hallstead and the house/barn.  It's funny, because Hallstead is ingrained in me, yet I always dream it different.  I always dream it with the old steel bridge still spanning the Susquehanna. 

In this dream?  Helen Jean was dead, and we all knew it.  She knew it.  So we (hubby and I) were at her house, waiting for my mom and sister to show up so we could all get together and have one last meal.  I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water while Helen Jean reclined on the sofa.  I noticed she had been cleaning out her cabinets and fridge (being dead, she wanted to leave the place neat).  I noticed meat and other perishables in a bag on the counter.  I called out, asked if she wanted me to put them in the fridge.  She said she didn't.  I pushed, not wanting things to go bad.  She heaved a sigh and rose from the sofa, wandered into the kitchen, and began putting things away.  I protested, said I was happy to do it, she should rest.  She refused, continued restocking the fridge with those painfully thin, pale hands.  I said, "Helen Jean, please--please let me do this for you.  Please!  You've never let me help, you've never let me do for you--let me do this.  Please." 

She refused. 

So I sat there on a kitchen chair--a chair at that same kitchen table where I had so many wonderful meals when I was younger--and cried, watching her pained efforts. 

Doesn't that suck? 

My Aunt Helen Jean (sometimes known as just "Helen") died late March, 2011.  No one called.  No one wrote.  No one emailed.  I found her obituary quite by accident while checking the Hallstead area news online one day.  I hadn't spoken to Helen Jean in a little over three months--since right before Christmas.  Her health had been deteriorating one miserable thing at a time since my Uncle Bob (my mom's brother) had died a few years earlier.  She was quite obviously contracting in on herself, had asked that we not send Christmas or birthday gifts anymore because it was too difficult for her to get out and about to return the favor.  Of course, I told her she didn't NEED to return the favor, but Helen Jean took her social niceties very seriously, and the idea of receiving a gift and not reciprocating rankled. 

Upon learning of her death, I cried.  I cried a LOT.  I had so hoped she would rally, had hoped she would get that last trip to Sonoma in with her niece (her sister's daughter).  I hoped that we would get moved back east to be nearer her before she died.  I hoped my son would get a chance to more than meet her a few times.  But it didn't happen--her health nosedived, and she died hard. 

Know what did happen?

Some of the foulest, lousiest, most ill-mannered meanness I've ever encountered.

Rather than hurl accusations or yell at not being called, I ordered flowers and a card for Helen Jean's sister (the aforementioned niece's mother).  I sent a letter expressing my sorrow and sympathy.  I also mentioned that, via my Grandpa and Uncle Bob, Helen Jean had been in possession of many family photos, mementos, clippings, etc.  These are things related to my mom's side of the family.  I said that I would be very happy to pay for the shipping, or, if the niece and her mom wanted to keep them, I would be glad to pay for the making of copies.  After all, while these things aren't related to their family at all, we considered them part of our family.

I thought I was being nice.  Reasonable.  Sympathetic.  Kind, even.

I got no response.  Nothing.  After months, I dug around online and found my Aunt Helen Jean's attorney's number and called.  They were thrilled to hear from us, because, according to them, Helen Jean's family was being completely uncooperative when it came to finding me, my sister, and my mom.  I gave them our information, and then asked if there was a problem, if perhaps that part of the family was struggling somehow.  The attorney's secretary?  Laughed and said something on the order of, "No, they're just not very nice."  She recounted a dust-up in the attorney's office that involved shouting and name-calling.  Certainly NOT the way I remembered Helen Jean's family.  However, Helen Jean was very close to her niece, and I could certainly understand being distraught and emotional at such an awful time.

I waited a while longer, then wrote another letter.  In the mean time, my sister began trying to call.  She actually got a kid on the line who yelled, "Mom, it's for you!"  She heard a woman ask, "Who is it?"  When he gave my sister's name, there was some whispering, and then the boy said, "She's not here."  That happened more than once.

Niiiiice.

Understand, I've had no bad experiences with these people.  In fact, I remember my Aunt's niece fondly from when I was a teen.  So this was a shock for me; I was blindsided.

My sister did finally get through, after months of trying.  The answer she got?  My Aunt's family was so traumatized by her death that, even a year and change later, they hadn't gotten around to going through Helen Jean's home.  When they did, IF there was anything there they felt we had some claim to, they'd let us know.  And then silence.

The other letter?  No response to that, either.  There may have been another letter, I don't remember.  But then I decided to try writing my Aunt's sister again, since the niece was so obviously unwilling to engage.  Again, my letter was the picture of politeness.  I even mentioned that, now that my family was on the east coast, I would be happy to come up to Hallstead and lend a hand in anything that needed to be done, save them the heartache and stress.  What I got in return?

Amazing.  Devastating.

I got a letter from the niece.  A letter admonishing me to not drive up to Hallstead and break into my Aunt and Uncle's house.  No, she didn't use the term "break in," she said something like, "do not enter the premises."  Seriously!  Like I ever would!  She made it clear that she STILL hadn't gone through the house (I cringe to think what must be going on in my Aunt's beautiful home after over a year-and-a-half of standing unoccupied), and also hinted that she didn't think there was anything there--that my Aunt may have thrown it all away. I was then instructed to never contact her mother again--that any and all contact, should there be a need, should be with her.  Period.  I can't even describe how insulting it was.

Understand that this whole experience has really poisoned my memories of my Aunt.  Learning that she had her animals (she had many) all destroyed upon her death hit me hard.  Wondering what she may have said to her niece and family to make them treat me this way?  Devastating.  Even so, I know one thing--there's no WAY my Aunt would have thrown away family photos and mementos that weren't hers to dispose of.  She took being proper and being correct way too seriously to do something that awful.

Not that it matters.  We're clearly not ever going to get these things back.  Understand, I only have a couple of pictures of Helen Jean, and only a few of my Uncle Bob.  I have only a couple pictures of my Grandma and Grandpa, and only one of my Grand Uncle Herbert.  I have NONE of my Grandpa and Herbert's siblings or parents, nor of my Grandma's family.  These are things I will never be able to share with my son or niece and nephew.  There is no other family that might have these things.  They were in a chest in the guest bedroom (used to be my Grandpa's bedroom) at Bob and Helen Jean's house.  The chest was brimming with my family's history.  I feel robbed.

Do I have legal recourse?  Who knows?  I can't even afford to get my car legal, how can I afford an attorney?  It's not like there's a big payoff here, I'm not after the house, I'm just after a chest with family photos and the like in it.  Plus, the niece is an attorney.  So that's that.  I'm out my family's history, I'm out my happy memories of my Aunt Helen Jean.  It is breathtakingly sad.

2003 Hyundai Sonata and Terror

Well, it happened.  Everything on the car passed except one of the most awful, expensive things.  The airbag light isn't working properly.  That's a hundred dollar diagnostic (we have that--we've actually saved up 800 bucks just in case the car needed work), and possibly up to $1,600 for repair.  That's not possible for us.  There is absolutely no way.  We could save that up in a couple of months, but we don't have a couple of months, we have two weeks.  No rich relatives, no possibility of taking out a short-term loan (other than a payday loan, and that's insane). 

So we may be totally screwed.

We already went out and hubby followed the mechanics instructions to disconnect and reconnect all the wires under the front seats, but that didn't fix it.

Already cried, will likely cry again.  Taking the car back down to have them run the diagnostic in a few minutes.  Oh, please!  Cross your fingers, huh?  I have no idea what we're going to do if this goes worst case scenario on us.  Damn!

Update:  Took the car back for the diagnostic, they said their equipment can't scan our particular car.  Hubby's on the phone with the dealership, and that's almost always disastrously expensive.  More as we know.

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. 

Yeah.

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 (http://www.epinions.com/user-trawma) 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. 

A Butterfly for Bucky

If you don't get the reference, forgive me.  If you DO get it, forgive me even more.

9 am found the whole family at our new optometry office.  Eyes dilated, puffs of air, this-one-or-this-one?  I'll let you in on a little secret--I love the optometrist's office.  Always have, ever since I was a kid.  I have no idea why.  I wasn't even given a driver's license until I was 27 because, according to the public schools, I was close enough to "legally blind" as makes no odds.  The sad/funny/enraging thing?  I'm not anywhere near legally blind--in fact, at the time, my vision was 20/20 in the right, 20/23 in the left.  But I've astigmatism and really struggle with small letters.  11 years I was denied a license!

While a vicious eye infection (which the clinic doctor insisted I didn't have, which left me without treatment for a week-and-a-half) did a number on the vision in my left eye (20-125 instead of 20-23 now), my overall vision is still good enough that I don't require glasses to drive (according to state law).  Plus, I have this cool monocular-type thing going on with my eyes, where my left eye is crap for distance vision but great for close up, while my right is fabulous for sharp, clear distance vision and lousy for close up.  Together, even at my age, I can see great distances AND still read most fine print.  It was so refreshing to have an optometrist say to me, "We could fit you with glasses, but why?  I just charged someone five hundred dollars for contact lenses that do exactly what your eyes do right now!"  So the whole visit was ten bucks, and she says my eyes look amazing--optic nerve nice and tight, no glaucoma, no degeneration, all healthy and happy.  She offered to write a letter to the DMV removing my "needs corrective lenses" notation.  In more good news, our boy's eyes are perfect, and even hubby's eyes have leveled off--maybe even improved slightly.

After the eye-doc's, we went to the farmer's market in Old Town.  Brussel sprouts, ears of corn, Winesap apples, carrots, and amazing bread and rolls.  But still no Muscadine grapes!  What is UP with that?  We found them a month or so ago at Walmart . . . ONCE!  None anywhere since.  I'm feeling very put out about that.

Came home to find a Tim Kaine campaign flier on the porch.  I need to call them and tell them not to bother--we're already voting for him, so no need to drop the pennies on trying to convince us.

Here are some carrot pictures:




No, Charlie doesn't get to have the carrots!




One of the monster carrots from the farmer's market--no, that's not a miniature water bottle.



Not a lot of fall color yet, though we did see some spectacular, blazing trees over by Vint Hill near Gainesville.  Here's what I have in my yard, though! 

My wonderful mums!

Love it here.  Scared to death about the car inspection, but still love it here. 

Oh, and if you were wondering about today's title's reference?  Here ya go, but I advise against it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nny3aQBU8Ec&feature=related

Green, Green Grass

So the grass seed we put out a few weeks ago?  Still alive, still green, still sprouting.  Despite my best efforts, I find myself getting weirdly excited.  What if it works?  What if, next spring, we'll finally have green grass?  I'm planning on heavily overseeding next month, hoping to see a real difference next year!

I'm proud of Vice-President Biden.  A little surprised, sometimes his mouth is a problem, but proud. But more than anything, I want the stress of this over--I want our President re-elected and I want to stop worrying about it!

Speaking of worrying, the car is due for inspection, and I'm scared to death.  Added to the worries inherent when you own a nine year old car that was once submerged in a FLOOD is this gem, presented me by my husband--what if the mechanics decide they don't like our political bumper stickers?  I know, it sounds paranoid, but I've been floored by the number of Romney/Ryan folks who pull up behind us, then swerve out and around so they can get in front of us to display their Romney stickers.  Worse, they speed up so we can't merge, they slow down to prevent us from changing lanes--it COULD be coincidence, but it doesn't FEEL like coincidence.  It feels like aggression.  So now I'm worried about that, too, especially since our usual shop is closed for remodeling.  We're trying a new place near Old Town Manassas, and hoping for the best.  A devastating inspection could sink us, and there's nothing we can do about it.

Went shopping at Wegmans last night.  Turned out to be a lot more expensive than I had hoped.  How does that always happen?  I try to be good, thought I had been.  Dang.

Used my new "Clean and Clear Morning Burst" face cleanser last night, only to have my neck break out in a vicious rash.  Emailed the company, but no response.  I see a review shaping up.  Speaking of reviews, Epinions is switching over to Paypal for payments.  Some folks are very upset about this, but I'm thrilled--no more missing checks, no more iffiness on the timetable.  I'll KNOW when my cash is coming, and I'll always have access.  I'm happy.

I used to have a link to my Epinions reviews here, but I worry that somehow clashes with my Google deal, so I pulled the link.  Wish I had a clearer idea of how that works, because I liked having my reviews associated with my blog.

Oh, hey, Glade has a wonderful spray out right now, it's a limited release called Autumn Harvest.  It's smoky, sweet, spicy--really nice.  Even the hubby likes it.

Just got back from the local Halal market.  Hubby needed tea, but, of course, we wound up with the sweets, too.  The usual ma'amoul, plus fancy baklava.  Blood sugar, shlud sugar, huh?  Hoping to hit the farmer's market after tomorrow morning's eye appointments--on a quest for muscadine grapes.  They were so plentiful last fall, but we've only found them once at the store this fall. 

And out I go.  Not a lot of substance today, just a lot of worry.  The neck's been nicer to me the last couple of days, but the fingers have been a mess thanks to an all-out war with a marinara bottle's lid. 

Have a marvelous today!

**Updated to say that Johnson and Johnson, the makers of Clean and Clear, did get back with me.  They emailed, I called, they had me talk to a nurse, dug around for symptoms/medication clashes/reasons, and then they refunded my money.  It was a good customer service experience.