What Silverfox Calls a Clusterf*ck

The day after my bilateral nerve blocks, we had our “snow event.” We were extremely low on propane and the guy couldn’t get the gate open the week before. He was scheduled to come out again so I was watching for him. Todd had fixed the gate and closed it again even though I told him to just leave it propped open so there’d be NO problem.

Well, propane man couldn’t open the gate again because the bottom part was somehow stuck on the outside of the fence. I have no idea WTF happened or how, but I trudged out there with a screwdriver, in the falling snow, slipped and damn-near fell on my ass (already tender from the day before) and unscrewed the plate that holds the door in place at the bottom so it could be opened, all the while cursing the gods and my dear husband the fix-it man who couldn’t just leave well enough alone until after the propane was delivered. (And yes, we have a drill – but God only knows where Todd left it.)

Todd was at a conference in Long Beach, so I roused Opac from his bed midway through the day and told him to start clearing the driveway. So he goes out and fires up the snow blower and gets to work. I sent V out to shovel. It must be noted: there was barely a complaint from either of them all day. I looked out the window at one point and the two shovels were lying on the driveway and no one to be seen anywhere.

Suddenly the two of them came thundering across the back deck… engaged in a wicked snowball fight and both of them soaking wet. Stop the press! They were having fun with each other. I made them hot chocolate and fed them French toast for dinner.

Friday night Opac had friends over and I drove Veruca to her dad’s. When I got home I changed out of my work clothes and decided to take a shower. Our master bath has a [somewhat opaque] glass door that opens out to the deck, which is on the second story. This sounds weird but it’s in a corner and so – private. But it overlooks the side yard and that gate I mentioned above. I was toweling off when I saw a shadow on the fence below – I assumed to be O and his friends. I walked closer to the door, pulled the curtain aside and looked out. That’s when I saw him.

There was a man bent over, creeping up to the door. My first reaction was – Ted! What the fuck! So I banged on the glass and he started to back away. I rushed out of my bedroom and yelled for Opac, who came running from downstairs with all three friends behind him like a herd of elephants. They ran out through the living room sliders and Ted came out of the garage apartment wondering what all the commotion was about.

So. It wasn’t Ted. Some creeper lurking in our backyard, who had been in our detached garage out back. Ted found the garage door half open and tools spread around the table saw. But what’s really alarming is that this person had the balls to cross the yard where he could clearly see O and his friends through the sliders to the family room, creep up the adjacent stairs to do what? Look in my windows? I still don’t know why I’m not having a nervous breakdown.

(Yes, I called the police. Yes, we have taken further measures to protect ourselves and our property.)

The neurotomy went well. It was very nearly painless, though there were a few moments where I think I stopped breathing. When it was over and he asked me if I was doing okay, I told him I was very disappointed because he promised me bacon and I didn’t smell any bacon.

The next day I returned my car to the dealer. While they had the car for two weeks, they were supposed to address a number of issues – most importantly, the grinding, humming noise coming from the front driver’s side wheel. Well. They fixed the anti-freeze leak, replaced some thingy that prevents oil from leaking, and replaced a broken splash plate they said was causing the rattling we hear on the passenger side. Never addressed the most important part we brought it in for.

They gave me a loaner – guess what? The same fucking Taurus, which Veruca had nicknamed “Rosa.” When I picked her up at the bus stop that day, she laughed her little ass off. By the weekend, they said they had fixed the car and so Todd and I drove down Saturday morning. I forget what it was they fixed, but it had something to do with the axle or whatever – I don’t know, I’m not a mechanic.

So we drove to the Costco next door – and once we left there and got the car up to 50 mph, there was the grinding noise at the left front wheel and rattling in the passenger door. BACK to the dealer and oh! your loaner is still parked outside and I’m STILL driving Rosa. Long story short – Todd spoke to the manager yesterday who said the mechanic drove it and didn’t hear anything. I cannot tell you how angry I am. This whole time I think no one ever actually drove the car. Now this mechanic is either not the brightest crayon in the box, or he’s deaf, or needs a new career.

My car has literally been in the dealership for a month, and they can’t diagnose the problem. We’ve had the car for two years. I know what’s next, and I’m ready. I’ve had enough. And, (V says not to say it in front of her), I’m sick of driving Rosa.

V and I went to the high school information night, which was a total waste of time for me since I’ve already done this with #1 and V didn’t get to tour the school anyway. But she did get to meet her Chinese teacher for next year and the night was probably more for the kids anyway. I personally didn’t need to hear all the statistics on retention and attendance. It reminded me of the days in PA schools where we parents sat and listened to the principal preach about the legal ramifications of truancy. Every principal has their “campaign promise.”

Opac has officially confirmed his acceptance. The check was sent and we’re going up soon to visit again. I am cautiously optimistic since he still needs to secure a student loan for the difference that he will owe, and I don’t earn enough to co-sign. His dad does, but he had previously suggested that he couldn’t co-sign either. I don’t know where that’s going, but suffice it to say that nothing is ever not difficult with him, when he chooses to make an issue out of something. We had an issue a few weeks ago that had absolutely nothing to do with me and he turned on me like a rattlesnake, and I – like the fool I am – was actually blindsided by the degree of ugliness he can hurl at me.

Meanwhile…Eighty days to 50. And the dog and cat have taken their relationship to the next level.

Advertisements

No April Fools

Today’s post is brought to you by this:

Oh my God, Trix! We were talking about what we eat for breakfast – my friends and I were talking about it – like what kind of cereal we like and Hope said she loves Fruity Pebbles and I love Trix which is really just the same thing except they’re little balls, you know? Oh, and mom – you might not get to sit with [a mom friend] on the field trip because you have to choose your bus ahead of time and she may not be on our bus. And we have to get tickets to Mary Poppins because Reena is in it and I really want to see my bestie and be there to support her. And guess who’s playing Mary Poppins?  I don’t remember what part Reena plays… I have to text her and ask. And you have to buy the tickets TONIGHT.

And this:

Opac tried to hug Veruca and she yelled at him to stoooooooop! She didn’t want a hug. His response? You weren’t held enough as a child.

Meanwhile, back in Spring Break land….

Todd got the flu. It was ugly. And then it morphed into pneumonia. After work I drove him to urgent care where they can do everything under one roof, which they did, and I’m happy (well, not happy happy) to report he tested positive for flu and pneumonia, and is currently recovering.

He announced in the car on the way there that he did NOT want to spend his entire night in urgent care, and I told him to shut the hell up that it wasn’t going to be that long and that it’s better than spending the entire next day traveling to three different locations to accomplish the same goal. And he knows I’m right, because he left there already feeling better because he was ranting about the family doctor all the way home and he’s now a fan of Patient First.

So this week is spring break at the college and he’s got pneumonia. Todd is so not the right person to get long-term illness. It’s one of the few differences between us: he is not a sitting-still person. He needs to be doing something. All the time. It’s been a week and two days, and he has watched every episode of every car show and American Pickers and Pawn Stars and Forged in Fire, and he’s pissed off.

I took him out Monday to buy a new kitchen faucet – we had a cheap one he’d installed before the renters had moved in and it corroded at the top so that when you turned it on it shot water straight out at your face. It was great. I kept forgetting and I’d turn it on and … you can picture this, right? I decided not to mention it to the kids, to see who got hit first. It turned out to be Opac, who hilariously exclaimed WTF?! It’s the little things, people.

One of my coworkers suggested putting a paper towel over the hole, since it will cling when it gets wet. Great idea! I really wanted to tape it up with duct tape. And I would have too, if I could’ve found it. And that’s another story in this great house of ours. The mystery of Where-Is-It applies to just about anything you might be looking for.

Usually it’s tools. But here’s the thing – if you know where it was used last, that’s where you will find it. Seems legit, right? Except that WE can never remember where we last used it. I am fruitlessly trying to apply that place for everything, everything in its place rule… but unfortunately it only works with those willing to play.

Anyway, Grumpy Gills got to spend the day out again on Tuesday thanks to another trip to the car dealership. My car – I swear is a lemon – there, I said it – is acting wonky again. Engine light came back on, on Sunday on my way to pick up the kids for Easter.

(Todd stayed home because, sick, and I took the kids for an early dinner at a Japanese hibachi steakhouse with my mom… because why not? V was in heaven and O decided to sleep in the car while we ate. Teenagers. I ate sushi again and I think I’m good for a few months.

I also remembered what I don’t like about hibachi places – feeling obligated to watch the show and then sit with mouths gaping like seals while the chef tries to land pieces of broccoli in your mouth. Three times. Because one sailed past my head, one hit me on the nose, and the other landed in my hair. There is absolutely nothing dignified about this.)

So anyway, the car. We sat in the waiting area while they ran diagnostics on it. The music was classic 80s rock and it was so loud I thought I was in a fraternity house. At 9 o-clock in the morning. The place was like an ant hill. People everywhere, hustling about. The waiting area sits back behind the showroom, so we have a full view of one gorgeous $72, 000 blue Cobra that was polished so bright I could see my reflection in it, and a fully-loaded F250 white king cab that Todd spent the better part of 78 minutes trying to sell me.

Given the state of the Edge, which is only a year old and has spent more time in a garage than my ‘77 Audi Fox in high school, Todd is becoming increasingly keen on trading it in. I love my car. I’d be happy to trade it in on an identical one. Todd was still pitching the merits of pickup trucks when I suggested that a) I’ve already driven two, b) I am too short to be driving something that big, and c) he can trade in the California GT if he really wants that truck. He smiled at me and then suddenly remembered that it’s been an hour and a half and no word on WTF is going on with the car, so got up and wandered back to service. I went to the coffee machine and loaded up on cup #3, which – if you know me – was not going to end well.

Nearly two hours later the Enterprise guy comes to deliver us to our loaner – a f*cking PICK UP TRUCK – because the dealer needed to keep our car. The entire ride home Todd is all, how great is this… this truck runs so smooth… and I’m all, I will fall out of this thing every time I drive it. But not really, because I know it’s short term and I can enjoy the adventure of driving a pickup again because I know it aint ever gonna be mine.

Other miscellaneous stuff:

One of our neighbors saw our exterior motion-sensored light going on and off like an SOS signal and was worried we were signaling for help, so she got another neighbor involved who called to check on us.

I returned to the chiropractor for the first time in 3 months. He’s feeling around my neck making “oh” sounds and I’m like, am I dying? You know it’s bad when the doctor is admitting it’s bad.

Buying tampons at 48. This is bullshit. Eight bucks for a box. Tampax PEARL. WTF does that even MEAN? Why can’t they just call them tampons and be done with it? Gotta make them sound all fancy and shit. Like, what difference does it make, really? I know this all sounds trivial, but it occurred to me when I emptied the last box that why the hell do I need to keep buying these?

I’m embracing the aging process, sort of, but some of the details are just BS.

 

 

The Pump, a Tooth, and the Carpocolypse

The tale of an endless string of bullshit that might not only seem implausible, but has all the potential motivation for getting rat-arsed and banged up on sauce.

It all started with Veruca’s insulin pump, which was no longer under warranty. I called Animas, the company who produces her pump, to get a head start on acquiring a new one and … just how much of this $6,000 device was coming out of our pockets?

The sales guy asked if anything was wrong with the current pump (no warranty notwithstanding) – because insurance companies typically don’t want to fix what aint broke. Turns out I didn’t have to dig deep. While I was on the phone with him, I asked V if I could see her pump. She hands it to me and there’s a nasty crack around the cartridge compartment – a potentially dangerous situation and don’t use this pump because it’s dangerous. This isn’t our first rodeo. Somebody has a habit of over-tightening the cap on the compartment and this has happened before. Oh, and for the record, it isn’t ME.

So we start the process. Our insurance company covered the full cost. Woohoo! I was so happy. Until five days later when Animas announced they were going out of business and all pump holders would be transitioning to another pump company. I was so angry. And stressed. There was more drama over it, but I’m over it. For now.

Meanwhile, back in the garage….

The 2012 Mustang. One Friday evening, Todd went to start it and … nothing. Dead battery. Pressed for time, he took my car. A few days later, my 7-month-new car decided to take a seizure on my way to work. Todd took it to the dealership in town, who essentially accused him of not maintaining the car, told him there was only a quart of oil left in it and contained metal shavings, and the engine was blowing smoke.

They’d need to tear down the engine to determine the cause, and until they tore the engine down they couldn’t determine whether it would be covered under warranty or not. Todd called bullshit and told them he was taking the car home. The receipt stated that customer failed to produce receipts (of maintenance) and was “taking vehicle with known internal engine issue.” Way to piss off my husband, guys. (He rarely calls me at work, but this day he called me on a rant that literally had all my anxiety nodes tingling with electricity.)

He called the original dealership that sold us the car to arrange for a tow. Ford will tow your vehicle to their dealership at no cost. Or, at least at no cost up to 35 miles. We live exactly 38 miles from the dealer who sold us the car. So it was going to cost I-don’t-know-how-much to tow it the extra 3 miles, and so THEN he called AAA who would tow it but wouldn’t tow it until the dealership opened because someone has to “receive it.”  (This is a new one. And even the dealership was perplexed.)

The happy ending to this story: the dealer found no metal shavings, and – shockingly – no smoke blowing from the engine. Turned out a cylinder-6 spark plug needed to be replaced – a known problem among this particular model. And, OMG, they didn’t have to tear down the engine. Oh yeah – and it didn’t cost a thing.

Meanwhile, back in the driveway, the Ford Fiesta, which was residing with another family member for the past 3 years, came back to us. The timing was good, since I needed to switch cars that fateful morning. But this car is like a petulant child you have to coax into doing shit. You have to turn the key in the ignition just so far, and hold your foot on the brake for 30 seconds. Then, after those 30 seconds, turn the key all the way and it will start. Yeah, that’s right. Ridiculous. This is so not a good feature for someone with anxiety who is also perpetually late. Or if you’re being chased by zombies.

During all this drama, the 2012 got a new battery. Then I decided to take the 2001 convertible out last Saturday afternoon and, since I was running late, I tried starting it and IT wouldn’t start. Todd was in the garage with me and said, wait a minute! I can fix this. He jumped the car, and told me it’ll be fine now, it too has a brand new battery. Um, … okay…… BUT, there was no gas in it. SO – he dumped a gallon and half into the tank while I’m sitting in the car. Because motorheads always have gas and tools. Enough to get me to Veruca’s softball game.

It was a beautiful day, a beautiful ride. When the game was over, I went to turn the key in the ignition and …. Nothing. Son of a bitch. I flagged down my ex, his wife, and my kid as they were leaving, while I called Todd who insisted that it must be a loose connection, because it’s a brand new battery, after all. So, the ex got to be the hero and held the connector to the battery and the engine started right up. It was just cracked and needed to be replaced. But still – I still needed gas and I sure as hell wasn’t stopping because I’d need to shut off the car again. Ugh. I hate cars sometimes.

And here’s why. I inherited a 1977 Audi Fox when I turned 16. Nice car right? Wrong. It was all kinds of wrong. My best friend dubbed it the boogeymobile, after the shade of green it was. It was a standard transmission, and I was driving it long before I was truly skilled in the fine [smooth] art of stick shift. And then it started breaking down – at intersections, back in the days before cell phones when you had to rely on the kindness of strangers and the nearest pay phone. This car is the reason I have anxiety every time I drive an “older” car.

So all the car situations got all straightened out. (Except for our Fiesta’s special needs.) Todd replaced the thingy that connects the battery to the whatever-that-starts-the-car. And then my front tooth cracked off. (Not at the exact same moment.)

Well, it’s not exactly my tooth. So, my secret is out. I’ve had composite on the top 6 front teeth since I was 14. I’m of the generation when fluoride stained adult teeth with white spots. My previous dentist repaired this front tooth about 2 years ago and he literally drilled off a huge part of my natural tooth, which not only makes me furious, but he did a shitty-ass job and there continued to be a thin line on the surface that he couldn’t seem to smooth over.

So last week the composite just cracked off, coincidentally right where that thin line was, revealing the ugly truth I’ve been worried about since he did that. I’ve since changed dentists, who fixed it temporarily so I could be seen in public – which lasted a whole hour and I had to go back the next morning for the real fix.

Epilogue

The ’01 and the ’12 are running beautifully. My car is running like a new car again. The Fiesta still needs 30 seconds to get pumped for trip to the supermarket. Veruca has a brand new Animas insulin pump with a warranty which will protect her until Metronic replaces it free of charge during the transition in the next two years. I have a beautiful front tooth again but know that forty years from now I’ll be sitting in a nursing home with a half a tooth. Maybe that’s what they mean about being good to your kids now… so they’ll pay for your teeth later?