Somebody Please Tell the Car to Stop Talking to Me

Your love is like  shaved ice in the winter

 So I had to go into work today, for the first time in almost a year.

This meant I had to put on pants. I hate that.

The car DINGS to alert me there's a possibility of snow on the roads.

How does my CAR know this?

Apparently the car doesn't know snow is forecast for tomorrow. Maybe my car is special. Maybe my car should shut up. Jeez- I'll bet it's telling me all sorts of things and I'm just not looking.

• Asshole Ahead
• Asshole Behind
• That was a pretty good tune, who was it by?
• You should really hit your wife up tonight - she's in the mood

I have my music over BlueTooth, plenty of gas, and I'm off.  Speaking of Bluetooth, I need to find a really interesting Bluetooth name. The name of the car is too obvious. NSA Spy Van might work. Or Undercover Police. That way when anybody needs to connect, Undercover Police will show up. Better yet, IRS Collections.

Having gotten to work, I remembered how stressing it was on my body: all the standing, kneeling, walking, and standing and walking again made me really sore. Then the driving... mein Gott.

We made the server room Super Secret Access - it's incredibly safe. It's incredibly safe because we made it Super Secret Access and didn't bother to tell anyone, specifically me. The people who lovingly put everything in the racks did a wonderful job, as always, but they have a new way of doing things that involves hiding things in the rack. Even if you find them, you need a stool, 2' more height, and a nice suite of floodlights to figure out what's going on. Sometimes a seeing eye dog. If you put your phone in flashlight mode, it laughs at you, like that's going to help you see anything.

Then I made the ridiculously optimistic move of calling Mrs. lefty, to see if I could pick anything up for her on the way home. I say optimistic because she'll never hear the phone ring, whether it's the house line or her phone. Twice today I watched her walk out of the room and immediately, the phone rang. It makes me feel better that she's not ignoring me. She has her voicemail set up to tell everyone who calls that it's full and they can't leave a message. She shut voicemail down on the house line, so the only way to get her is if the phone is in her hand. Since she never knows where her phone is, you simply can't get in touch with her. She also doesn't receive texts from certain persons, #1 being me. I've tested this, so don't go telling me she's ignoring me. I've mentioned stapling the phone to her forehead, but if she answers it, she'll forget to re-staple it when she's done.

• Now I know two people with the Flying AIDS. A coworker had a bad headache, went to the ER, and tested positive. Since he was otherwise asymptomatic, they sent him home and told him to take ibuprofen if necessary.

Today I identify as   Bridget Jones

Flying AIDS News 

Omicron is not mild and is crushing health care systems worldwide, WHO warns

Florida’s COVID cases and hospitalizations are surging, but the state has the second-lowest death rate in the nation.

but they can't agree on why

CDC updates are straining already-pressed public health departments

Supreme Court appears poised to block Biden's vaccine and testing rules for businesses

Teacher put 13-year-old son in her trunk while driving to testing site for fear of COVID-19 exposure       Gawd bless America! 

CDC Pushes Flawed Study on Kids, COVID-19, and Diabetes

Covid-19: Common cold may give some protection, study suggests

• Pope Francis says choosing pets over kids is selfish
• So is molesting little boys and covering it up, pedophile 

Sinead O'Connor's 17 year old son committed suicide after he simply 'went missing' from suicide watch at a hospital. They both suffer from bipolar disorder.

I can't speak for Ireland, but if you're on suicide watch in the US, you either have someone sitting next to you or you are visited every xx minutes. The place is locked down pretty well, too. And the US has a pretty poor system.

Our most sincere regrets go to Sinead. 

We still don't like her music.

• Did you know there's a book called "Breasts - A Natural and Unnatural History"?  I'm shocked the author didn't send me an advance copy.

Just saw a commercial for athletic socks.

I can see I'm going to need them, to help me get out of bed, down the steps, and to the couch. Athletically. Because the regular old socks just aren't helping me athletically. 

Next up:

• athletic shoelaces
• athletic condoms
• athletic supporters

Facebook Launches 'Privacy Center' to Educate Users on Data Collection and Privacy Options

IRS launches Tax Center to educate taxpayers on paying a fair amount of taxes.

• If you use Norton or Avira antivirus, they just installed a cryptominer. It takes serious CPU cycles and Avira gets 15% (not sure about Norton). Avira was just purchased by Norton. Advice: go into settings and turn it off.
• if you have a QNAP device, get it off the internet NOW, per article. These things shouldn't be touched with 10' poles (opinion based upon constant issues)

RIP Bob Saget (65) unknown causes

I really thought that one of the Olsen twins was going to become famous in a bad way. Drugs or something. I never watched the show, but from the pictures, I thought the slutter-looking one was cuter (of course).

Well, it's winter, it snowed, and it's time for CLEANING! 

(don't tell anybody, but we've been cleaning for about 20 years and it has only made things worse) 

Dear?

Yes?

On the stove is a bunch of stuff I found in the prep area that might not be needed.

Cool. What? 

A set of wrenches, several packets you pour into water to flavor it, hubcaps from a 1974 Datsun, half-empty medicine bottles, some xmas presents, and $1.74 in change in the sink.

Ok, thanks.

Do ya think you could do something with all that stuff? The hubcaps are worth a lot, plus we could use the prep space.

Wait, wait, I'm doing something.

You probably don't remember, but we agreed not to leave non-kitchen-related things in the kitchen.

Nope, but I'll leave them there get them tomorrow.

Thanks. I don't want to go as far as to say we're getting organized, I just want to maximize the square foot of prep space so we don't have to move the elephant every time we want to cook.

Who's this lady?

What lady?

On tv.

I'm in the kitchen.

Well come in and see.

That's Jennifer Lawrence. I believe she's the highest paid female actress at the moment. I would like to have her babysit when you go away.

I've never seen her before.

To the best of my knowledge, they don't need to check with you before they decide on pay. Besides, your movies rarely have color in them, so it's understandable you might have missed her. So, about her babysitting....

When I was younger, I bought books on organizing and clutter.

And now they're piled up so high, we can't get into the kitchen.

Part of my problem was we were poor when I was little, so I'm overcompensating by buying lots of stuff.

No wonder Every Shopping Network<tm> calls to check on you weekly. We're putting their kids through school. Is it possible that money could have gone to better places?

It did. To cigarettes.

Small wonder we're broke. So, about cleaning....

The doctors told me to work on one spot til it's finished. 

And?

That's not the way I work.

So there are 17 half-finished projects in every room.

I'm working on it.

And how's that working out for you?

Maybe the doctors were right....

The kitchen and attic both need work, but it's probably not productive to remove only half the nuclear reactor parts from the kitchen, then spend quality time half-wiring the attic.

Look, I have to do it my way.

We both have a problem with clean, flat spaces. We simply cannot leave them alone. Every unoccupied space must be filled as soon as possible.

Why do you say that? 

That spot on the coffee table where my laptop sits? The moment I pick it up, there are 3 remote controls, strawberry Quik, and some batteries popular during the Truman administration sitting there.

It's a compulsion, like keeping all labels toward us.

No, that's obsessive compulsion.

NO IT ISN'T. Everybody goes through gallons of hand cleaner a week and keeps the tv volume only on even numbers.

So if the doctors were right about one task at a time, how do you think you're going to change?

I'm still thinking about it. STOP BULLYING ME.

I stopped discussing any of this with you after last time.

What happened last time? 

I cleaned up entire flat surfaces in the living room. 

I don't remember that. 

No matter, they were re-cluttered within hours. 

What about your contribution to the mess? 

I will cop to the guitar stuff, anything elephant-related, and the vertically-oriented Camaro in the dining room. The rest is mostly clothes. You have more shoes than some small countries. And you hang up clean clothes in places the elephant goes, so they're always on the floor. Or on the elephant, and trust me, he doesn't look good in some of your dresses. They're too small and he can't figure out how to put them on. It was only a matter of time til we had the world's first cross-dressing service elephant. I have to keep the LGBTQ+ people away - they want to celebrate his uniqueness and he just wants to be a service elephant. He says he really can't be a cross-dresser because he doesn't wear clothes in the first place. He insists he'd be more of a costume dresser and the other elephants would laugh at him. So he's in a good place now.

Did you say something? I was spackling the oven.

I felt I hadn't had enough grief and aggravation, so I went food shopping with Wife. She's feeling a bit sore, so I had to carry the heavy stuff. Naturally it's raining. In fact, the rain got heavier as we parked the car. Oddly, the only thing we've had approaching sun lately was after it snowed. I hate it here.

It was, as expected, a course in Supply Chain Issues.

Oddly, it was more a course in lefty Supply Chain issues. If I wanted it, they didn't have it. At one point, I didn't get too close to shelves so maybe there would be something I wanted.

Can I have some cherry yogurt?

Sure, out of the empty spaces for 100 different kinds, there are exactly two, so long as you want strawberry.

I see. How about some vanilla ice cream?

There's Philadelphia Vanilla.

WTF is Philadelphia Vanilla? Is it more highly taxed? Does it have pieces of cheesesteak in it? How about some frozen pizza?

Not a single one we eat. Some look decent, though. Look at this.. stuffed cheese and bacon.

What is it you say? Yeah, no.

But it rises in the oven.

Oh, the Exploding Crust Pizza! By all means.

I can't find the tomato soup.

You're right - I can't find a single can of it either. Imagine... tomato soup... wait - here's one. 

That's Healthy soup.

Oh. Here's one.

That's no salt.

Perhaps they stopped making good old regular tomato soup. Maybe there's no demand for it... heh heh.

Ok, pick out a few.

I want bean with bacon. It's right up there, in the empty spot.

Look on the bright side - there's cream of mushroom, cream of broccoli, cream of cream, and cream of onion. They're not the healthy or low salt varieties either.

Of course they're not. Those cans have been here since WWII. If anybody bought cream of celery, the registers would ring, sirens would go off, and the customer would win a million dollars.

Really?

No, I'm making it up, but it's not far from the truth. Geebus - my M&Ms caramel are fourteen dollars a bag! Maybe I'm higher maintenance than I thought.

Look, they have bologna.

Cool, I love buh-low-me.    {do not use this pronunciation around kids}

Look - soda is buy two, get two.

Oof, that's still expensive. Almost as expensive as water. Dammit, no matter which side of the soda box I pick up, the handle is on the other side.

Law of physics.

Have you noticed only a few people are wearing their breathing arrestors?

Yup, there was no sign. And they took out the 6' spacing signs.

Maybe they know something.

Or they just gave up.

Or that stupid robot-thing running around sucks up the virus.

Is that what that thing does?

I'm not sure, but there are definitely a lot of missing children around here.

Why does that magazine say Betty White turns 100?

Because some editor is about to be fired. Can I have some of that seasoning I like?

No.

Why not?

Because they have eleven varieties, but not yours.

Would it be easier if I stayed in the car?

No, you're not good when left alone, and I don't want to bail you out like last time. Remember: it's ok to watch those movies on your phone, but it's not ok to show your appreciation without pants.

You're as stuck up as the rest of them.

No, I'm the one who bails you out. Again and again.

We also went to the place that rhymes with Home Repo.

They required breathing arrestors. This caused me to not smell that woody smell the store has piped into the air. Because of this, their Competent Ray didn't get to me, and I didn't feel that if I bought tools, I could build stuff. That's how they get you: you come in for a screw and walk out with a complete $600 battery-powered drill and auger set. You had never seen an auger before in your life. It's a good thing you missed the plumbing aisle... heaven knows what you would have done to the toilets.

The thing that really got me was that the extremely friendly, helpful staff asked if they could helpful us with anything. She said no thanks, stood there, then walked right to the shelves she needed. She had never been in that store before. This has me worried. Out of all the superpowers....

Our last task was to get keys made. This sure has changed. There's an entire wall full of silly character keys you can buy. Hint: do NOT buy them. They're made out of a super dust polymer that breaks on its 25th use. It only looks like metal. There are regular key blanks available. They're proudly displayed by the second key machine, in the locked drawer, beneath the bags for the finished keys. Again, the employees were friendly and helpful. Especially Bob. Bob was hired to prove to the world how progressive and woke Home Repo is, by hiring an old man who is the only one who doesn't know he needs hearing aids. I suspect Bob has never seen wood either. The customer in front of us asked questions, Bob looked confused, and said things like 'Uhhhhh' and 'Green' a lot. By the time everything was over and the fire was put out, the time-saving, customer-operated key machine required three employees (and the firemen) to operate. That there is some time-saving hardware. If the employees can't operate it, the customers are better off trying to build their own houses. Even with the adorable little display that gave you instructions, that the third employee called over told the second employee to ignore because sometimes they're wrong. I was pleasantly surprised the key worked. At least I think the key worked. There was no screaming when she used it, so things must be ok. So far we've been through two Eeyore keys and one of those things that looks like a Twinkie but has 13 movies out...Minions? I suggested real metal keys, so she got Twinkies. We'll be back for another key in a month. The only thing that confused me is that there were six Customer Service ladies at registers and one cashier. She was all sorts of bright and happy, telling us, in detail, about her cats. The way she described one, I think he was a dog, but I didn't want to ruin her day by telling her. When you go to adopt a cat, hearing a BARK is a pretty definite indicator. Although having a cat that barks would be pretty cool.

When we got home, she wanted dinner. She suggested the cheese-infused pizza. I wanted the Philadelphia Vanilla ice cream. We combined them.

And still no trip to Guitar Center.

I am very high maintenance and highly demanding.

I always thought I was cheap and easy.

• Good: You bought a Mercedes
• Bad: The hood is locked. No user serviceable parts, etc
• Question: when was the last time you saw a Mercedes owner under the hood?
• the way some of these people drive, the doors should come locked too 

I should probably have Tesla send me their press releases... I couldn't write this stuff every week....

Tesla’s ‘Full Self-Driving’ beta has an ‘assertive’ driving mode that ‘may perform rolling stops’.  Also...

• gives the finger to other drivers
• blows the horn at other drivers
• aggressively passes if drivers in front aren't going fast enough
• stops using its turn signals entirely

I Told You So. Again.

According to my Special Blogger Dashboard, readership has gone up. No, really, I was as surprised as you. Instead of six per day, I'm up to twenty two. In what must be New Math, the counter says twenty two, but the bar graph says seven. Maybe it's a graphics thing - I never understood graphics. If I had my way, email would still be text-based, with no pictures or backgrounds or, heaven forbid, emojis. It would also be virus-free, but what do I know?

-----------------------------------------------------

I have maintained that exercise will kill you and that housework is exercise. Everybody laughs.

Well, I just proved it.

Mrs lefty has gone on a cleaning spree, the likes of which have not been seen since before we moved in. In fact, this is our 20th anniversary in the house, so to celebrate, we're cleaning. Ok, be fair, she's cleaning. I'm holding down the couch, which is quite a valuable and respected job. What if the couch were to get away on its own? That would be ugly, and we don't want that sort of ugliness in the place. We prefer other, more ugly, sorts of ugliness.

Mrs lefty is a very patient woman. We've been married for about twenty-some years, so that explains a lot about her patience and tolerance and sense of humor. But I can try the patience of the pope (Judge Judy can make the pope antisemitic) and I have tried (and succeeded) my wife's patience past the breaking point. She very politely 'suggested' that I assist with her Grand Cleaning Scheme. She would not hear of my successes in holding down the couch, not the dangers of it defying gravity and escaping. Now when I say very politely, I mean the sheer volume of her request fired off nuclear alerts in four countries on the other side of the globe. She was even so bold as to ignore my statements about exercise and cleaning.

Realizing that I wanted to sleep in my own bed, I 'decided' to join her in her quest.

One of my first tasks was to get the trash out. Now this is an stunningly mundane and ordinary task. Except in my house. Due to a very peculiar trash can, in a very peculiar house, inhabited by peculiar people and their very peculiar dog, we use peculiar trash bags, which are a bit larger than the can. When I go to pull the bags out, they refuse to come out. If I listen closely I can hear the sound of them openly mocking me. So I do the only thing a man can do - curse and do the Trash Can Dance, where I yank on the bag with one hand and with the other hand I try to pry it loose from the inside, again, using a lot of screaming and cursing.  Screaming and cursing, by the way, is the only way to fix computers, cars, and most of the time, houses. Then I put my hand in the other side, dislodging it from the can. I repeat this in two inch increments until the can finally lets go of the bag (complete with final mocking noises). Sometimes this produces a sigh, sometimes I just fall back on my well-padded derriere. Buttocks. Bum. Bottom. Situpon. Ass.

Having accomplished Trash, I got on to Carrying Things. In my wife's condition, it's best that I carry things up and down steps, as some days she can't carry herself up the steps. This particular device needed to be relocated to the basement, as the singing and dancing interrupted midnight chocolate runs. Down the steps I went, unable to see the steps or my feet, when I got the warning to watch the large storage box by the bottom of the steps. We, for some reason, have rather a large quantity of storage boxes, perhaps for storing things. The part that makes this situation unique is that we can never find the correct lid for the box, much like the 3,000 piece Tupperware set we have. While it might hurt to count, I'd say most of the house is in plastic storage boxes in the basement.

Down the steps I went, under my own power, careful to notice the storage box by the bottom of the steps.  I was so careful that I performed what I was told was a very amusing, slow-motion, sideways triple lindy onto said storage box. I performed this feat while saving the device I was carrying, as opposed to saving any part of my body, which was apparently unimportant to me at the moment. Oddly enough, I managed to survive this adventure without any screaming at all. In fact, I might perform it again with screaming, just to make sure I got it right the first time.

So I submit to you proof that [exercise = cleaning = injury]. I told you so. Again.

The Unemployment Follies - Final: The Pets' Lament

Thanks for hanging in there with Thermionic Emissions through this most interesting time (all three of you).

As you might have noticed, this is the final installment of The Unemployment Follies.  This can mean a number of things: 1. I'm going to shoot myself (or someone else), 2. I somehow managed to become employed.  As amusing an idea of shooting would be, I'm going to have to go with number two; I somehow managed to become employed.

This blog is nothing if not logical.  Now follow this logic: as we know, I'm am information security guy. And as we've all read, there are tons of hacking incidents happening all over the place, each worse than the previous one. Therefore, there is a huge demand for security people, so I should get a job very quickly.  While this blog is logical, little outside of it is, thus the five month desperate search for a new position.

My wife is very supportive. She's been dealing with everything well but for some reason lately she's been reminding me (constantly) that I only have one month of unemployment compensation left. It's not that I didn't appreciate the rather frequent, panic-filled reminders, but I was somewhat well-acquainted with the impending date. No pressure, of course. Mowing lawns and McDonalds were starting to look good. And you know about my almost paralyzing fear of mowing. Not to mention my almost paralyzing fear of eating anything from McDonalds.

I started looking outside my specialty. Interviews started picking up. I spent hours each day looking for a job. My in-laws were holding prayer vigils outside the house at night, complete with candles that kept me up until daylight. The neighbor's children added me to their school's prayer list. Two people read my tarot cards and put me in a job before the end of the year. A friend said I was working way too hard and to simply ask for a new job within forty-eight hours, also writing it down on a piece of paper.

One, some, or all of the above held a conference, wherever these types of conferences are held and laid one on me. Within a few hours, someone called about a job. Within a week, I was provisionally hired. When I say provisionally, I mean that they have to do a little snooping around in my past. You're thinking that I'll be back on the unemployment rolls again, aren't you? I wish them luck - since I can't remember a bunch of it, perhaps they'll have better luck (and tell me a little about it). Hopefully neither of us will discover what I did with the bodies.


ADJUSTMENTS

There will have to be many adjustments made after me being home for such a long time. The ones affected most would be the poor pets.  Not that we weren't bonded well before this but now I have two quadrupeds almost physically attached to me all day.  Since I'm not exactly an athletic guy, this means there are two pets fighting for lap and sofa space all day. If one lays against my leg, the other one hops up on my lap. This is less than optimal, as there's usually a laptop there. The damn dog can do things I can't do on my laptop, with just one paw. I suspect my wife will have to take them through some sort of Pet De-Attachment Program. They won't know what to do without Daddy sitting around the house all day.

Inter-species same sex sibling relationships are the best.

The humans will have to make adjustments too, like having electricity and heat. Ok, more like having better chocolate and paying bills. I have a genuine fondness for paying bills. Well, maybe not a genuine fondness and maybe the wife pays the bills, but you get where I'm going with this.

Speaking of the little four-legged darlings, the cat has taken to peeing on a mat by the kitchen sink. Even after I've just gotten up, the mat does not resemble his litter box in any way, shape, or form. Now picture my sheer delight when washing the dishes, to discover I'm standing on a mat made wet by cat urine. Serves me right for not wearing shoes when I wash dishes. Or for having a lovely little furball who decided not to use his litter box that particular time.

The dog, not to be left out, has decided I take too much time to let him in from outside. Today I had to apologize for him having to bark twice before I let him in. I looked at the cat and asked him why he couldn't let his brother in - after all, he's a very bright cat. Of course he's bright... he gets ME to open the door.

THE BIG EVENT

Once in every decade or two comes an event so spectacular as to defy belief.  Yes, we started cleaning the house. Marshall was especially grateful for us removing all of the clutter that had deposited itself on the dining room chairs. This allowed him to use a chair as a step stool, gaining access to the table itself, whereupon he proceeded to eat the remaining half of a fresh cherry cheesecake. Let this serve as a lesson to each and every one of you: DO NOT CLEAN. EVER.


STARBUCKS

Most of you know Starbucks as a place to get overpriced, over-roasted coffee with a whole lotta smug appeal. Did you know it's also a great place for a sociology lesson?  Someone asked me to meet him there last week, in spite of my begging and pleading to go anywhere else, even Denny's.  While I waited in the parking lot, I observed the following:

• Some genius in an SUV pulls up to the NO PARKING HERE sign and parks (with a half-full parking lot).
• A BMW driver getting into his car with his double espresso half latte nonfat cream. He closes the door then opens it again and proceeds to pour out his old coffee onto the parking lot.
• A sixty-something with dyed black hair and boots so high she couldn't walk in them, attempting to navigate the lot and somehow open the door.
• Two more people spilling old coffee onto the lot.
• Several other people randomly inventing their own parking spaces, again with a half-full lot.

WESTERN UNION - WORSE THAN DENTISTRY

Speaking of paying bills, it became important to pay one bill immediately, as in now; and when I say now, I mean yesterday. I was advised to use Western Union, Moneygram or Wells Fargo. So I went online and did the transaction with Western Union. A day later, I realized that Western Union had not only not bothered to complete the transaction, they hadn't bothered to let me know they didn't complete the transaction.

So I called Western Union. Apparently the transfer was on hold. Apparently notifying me was on hold too. The nice non-English as a first language speaking fellow told me that it could not be completed. So I asked him why and he didn't know. Then he told me I could go into any Western Union office. I informed him that if I wanted to go into an office, I wouldn't have called him in the first place. He suggested I try online. I already tried online, using two operating systems and four browsers. Online help told me that people were having trouble online and to use the phone. Are you following me still?

He promises me a coupon. I don't want a coupon, I want him to put the damn transaction through. It was like the Cheese Shop sketch:

You are Western Union, right?

Yes, sir.

You send money, correct?

Yes, sir.

You have been around since long before I was born?

Yes, sir.

Are you telling me you can send money for everyone but me?

Well... let me check.  Ok, I checked and we can perform the transaction again. All I need is all of your information over again. And we're processing. And it has rejected again.

What has rejected - Western Union or the bank?

Western Union.

So you're telling me that Western Union cannot send money.

I didn't say that.

But you can't send my money.

You can try again but not for twenty four hours when our computers reset.

CLICK.

So I tried Moneygram online.  Oops, they don't have the correct receiver number - have to go to one of their locations. At their location I set up the payment, got my transaction number, went to the counter and POOF - they couldn't take credit cards for wire transfer.

My friend looked at me in wild-eyed wonder.

This morning I decided to go straight to Wells Fargo bank, as the money was being transferred to Wells Fargo anyway.  I called to make sure this was ok and off I went. After giving them cash, they took the opportunity to mention that the payment wouldn't post for up to three days. At this point my eyes were rolling like a slot machine. My ears were buzzing and the voices in my head were telling me to do things that were quite illegal, immoral and generally Not Nice.

The bank's staff were incredibly helpful and set out to find out how to let another division of Wells Fargo know that this division of Wells Fargo got a payment for them.  After another thirty minutes, we all discovered, to our shock and surprise, that it was faster to use Western Union or Moneygram than their own branch.

Since I will pull all of my own body hair out, one by one, before I visit Western Union, I opted for Moneygram. Within three minutes, the money had transferred. Two entire days to pay a bill by wire transfer. My brain hurts and there are still pieces of my cranium on the ceiling at Wells Fargo.

I'd like to close this merry missive with the words of the latest email I received:

Love the Monkees? Don't miss this!!!  

When I opened the email, it was an ad for an Aretha Franklin concert.

The Unemployment Follies (#5)

Well, it's been a real whirlwind since I last wrote.  And when I say a whirlwind, I mean that much effort has been put forth for absolutely nothing of any consequence in terms of gain.  Oh sure, I've been solicited for jobs halfway across the state, in the next state over, the state on the other side, up north of the next state over; for security guard, software engineer, governance manager (?), relationship director, project manager, and of course, my monthly offer for insurance sales.

I even had a call from a recruiter who was excited about a position, wanted to send my resume and references right over, set up a lunch for us, and never called back or responded to emails.  I specifically avoided references to his mother or family members and farm animals, as I'm told this could be considered offensive by some people.

As I type this, I just discovered that my Linked-In picture was taken down for violation of their terms. When you consider that the picture is of my pets, I fail to get this alleged violation.  Let's face it, a large number of Linked-In pictures are not pictures of the account owner.

HOUSE

My wife has gone on a house cleaning spree. This came as a shock to both of us, causing me to join her.   We've taken untold amounts of bags to the curb, freeing untold amounts of space inside the house. I even discovered there is carpet next to my bed.  While I will cop to being a slob, I'm not claiming responsibility for this, instead preferring to blame it on the dog.  I tidied and arranged all reading material on the side of the bed. The dog proceeded to untidy every single page, in addition to tearing the trash apart on a nightly basis.  After two or three times, I gave up and let him rearrange things to his liking.  Even after we got a flip-top trash can, he still goes there first, every single evening, to see if there is any more tasty trash that needs to be shredded (all over the bed).

With all of this wonderful new-found space, the items in my house are having a difficult time adjusting.  In fact, they're having such a difficult time, they're acting out.  I just watched my wife carry some wash downstairs and a vacuum randomly put itself in her way and got knocked over as a result.  Whenver I reach for something on a clean table, something else falls off.  It's only a matter of time until things start leaping about the house on their own.  One guest swore a cup hurled itself at her.  She was probably correct.


CAR

You know what's coming, right?

It's been quite a few weeks.

Our insurer has missed us.

Yes, someone hit the car. Again.  In fact, I stopped counting a while ago.  Guitar players can't count past four anyway (and I know my limitations.. 1-2-3-4!).  I can only estimate and I refuse to estimate, as it would make me sad(der).  We didn't even report the last time it happened.

This time, some idiot stopped short, caused my wife to stop short, causing the brand new black Mercedes behind her to slam right into her. He tried to avoid the car, managing to only ruin one rear corner of the Target Hyundai.  This being Philthydelphia, they had to wait two hours for the police. I suppose she was lucky, as the Philthy cops don't usually respond to anything that doesn't involve a gun. Did I mention that the idiot who caused the accident drove away?

This morning I am yanked out of bed at some horrid hour (before noon) because someone's coming over.  Why should I care?  Because something happened and the bank account needs money or we won't be able to pick up a rental car.  So someone's coming over with money, bless them.

I am horrified.

I got into the car for the first time, post-accident, this morning.  As we're driving down the street, I hear a really bad rubbing of some sort.  Turning to the wife with that look, she explained that she told me about this.

Huh?

Yeah, it's ok.

Huh?  The horrible rubbing noise is ok?

Yeah, the guy(?) said it was ok.

What guy?

The guy from the accident.

Ah.

So I'm driving, my heart (and wallet) pounding due to the rubbing noise (that's ok). When we parked, I took a look for the root of the rubbing.  No problem, I said... it's only the broken, very hot exhaust pipe, sitting against a rear tire.  No, it's ok.

Is your skull coming apart at the seams yet?  Mine is.

Finally we managed to obtain a rental car.  It's a lot nicer than our car, even if we're just talking about the extreme lack of dents and parts hanging off it.  Since it's black, the polar opposite of white, our luck will be much better with this one.  And I say this because the last rental we got when the last bit of body work had to be done after the last accident, had to have its mirror replaced after someone hit that.  The cost of the Mirror Operation exceeded the amount I paid for each of my first three cars.

Following the wife to the dealer, I pulled in behind her. This was made more difficult by the random parking arrangements of the existing cars.  But all of this was no matter, as this was the wrong location. The correct body shop location was a few blocks down the road (it's all the same dealership).

After locating the correct body shop, we somehow managed to park (this place had the same Parking IQ as the last one).   Some lady, with an 'I just sucked on a lemon' look, came past me and drove our car to the garages.   A few minutes later my wife comes up to me and says we may have to cancel the entire operation, as they won't look at the car for a few weeks if it's driveable.  I point out that it's not driveable, given the rubbing (that's ok).  Lemon Face brought a mechanic out, pointing out the correct area of damage (differentiating it from the other areas of damage).  Mechanic agree with me.  As it turned out, the rubbing noise (that's ok) turned out to be not ok.

Wife explained that Lemon Face was agitated and didn't want to admit the car for repair. Regardless, the repair would take two to three weeks.  For some reason, business is good for the humongous dealer's body shop (with twenty bays or more).  And I thought it was just us....


GIMPY

I casually asked my wife why her walking was worse than normal.  She casually answered that her knee had been bothering her since the accident.

DING!

I didn't want to overstep my boundaries or appear parental but I suggested that she stop cleaning for a few moments and if her knee hurt, maybe, perhaps, she should get it looked at professionally.

I didn't want to bother you.

DING!



I want my wife back.

And my car.

And my typing, which has gotten extremely dyslexic lately.


Meanwhile, the dealer, body shop, car rental place and insurance person all know us on a first-name basis.