Ok, I'm temporarily suspending my Whine-None-None credo for this post, because if I don't vent about what happened today I'm gonna pop. It started when I rudely awoke myself...
I'm something of a snorer (so I've been told, I'm never around when it happens) and apparently I had an apnea episode that culminated in the apparent inhalation of an undetermined but non-trivial quantity of my own saliva. Yeah, I know its gross. Deal with it! I'm just getting started. Anyway, I wake up coughing like crazy, and this goes on for about half an hour. I finally settle down, get dressed, and start driving to a Dr's appointment, its Annual Physical time again. Just can't wait for that gray-haired guy to stick his finger up my ass! I get caught in traffic so I call to let them know I'm running a little late. It turns out that this appointment I made a year ago (been carrying that damn card in my wallet the whole time) wasn't on the morning schedule for them, in fact my doctor is out today. I inform them that they just called last Friday to confirm the appointment, but they choose to ignore that inconvenient truth. Now I gotta go back tomorrow and try again. Ok, I can deal with this.
So now I'm back at home, and I decide that, since its the first of the month, I ought to see about paying some bills. Top of the stack is my new, post-divorce Visa card.
FLASHBACK: I'm talking to the Visa folks about this card a month ago and mention that I'm about to move. Being the savvy marketers that they are, they inform me of a handy little Credit Protection Plan they offer that will pay my minimum payment for me for up to three months if I'm moving. Great, says I, sign me up. Yada yada yada, "ok sir, its all set up." Great, says I, and go about my business.
BACK TO PRESENT: I see that bill, and its a week overdue but, hey, I'm covered, right? Hmmm, better make sure. I call and traverse the automated phone labyrinth for half an hour until I have determined that, no, I'm not being covered during my move and, yes, my payment is late and, sorry, but the sweet 0% intro offer has blossomed into 12%+ apr, you deadbeat. Fine. I go to my bank (through which I acquired the card) and inform them that I'm canceling this card, please pay it off. As I'm paying it off, one the bank folks is on the phone trying to fix it, and... she does! I'm informed that my intro rate has been restored, sorry for the inconvenience, we value you as a customer blah blah blah.
This is one good thing that happened today.
Now I'm off to the bank that holds my mortgage, with payment coupon and check in hand. I walk in and plop the papers down. The teller informs me that they cannot accept my payment because its short. How short, asks I. One cent.
There is a typo on the payment coupon, says they. The computer has "the correct amount," and its one cent more. So, asks I, if I had mailed this payment with the coupon THAT YOU PEOPLE MAILED TO ME FOR THAT EXPRESS PURPOSE, I would have been flagged as paying late? Yes, says they. I amend the amount on the check by one stupid cent and pay my house note. This doesn't bode well for the remainder of my relationship with this bank. Maybe they'll sell my note soon.
This is actually another good thing that happened today, although it didn't actually seem like it at the time.
Work is uneventful. I get off for my lunch break around 7:00 pm (I work from 1pm to 10pm) and head off for to get some food.
A pizza delivery guy pulls out in front of me, never looking my direction until I lean on the horn. He has by now blocked my path and I must swerve to the left to avoid T-boning him. This path takes me bouncing over the curb and onto the center esplanade, jarring my car and my teeth. I come to a stop, having bounced back onto the road again, and see pizza-guy proceeding on his merry way, the opposite direction. Ooooooh, no you don't. I throw it into reverse and execute a passable Starsky-&-Hutch move and I'm off after him. I finally flag him down well into the adjoining neighborhood. I get out. He gets out. I point to my bent alloy wheel and say, "That's yours. You just bought it." He tries feebly to argue about it but quickly agrees to accept the blame when I mention calling a cop to mediate. We exchange insurance info and I'm back on my way. Hmm, the steering wheel feels a bit mushy, but the tire is holding air. I get some grub and take it to the house to eat.
After I eat, I'm standing on the patio having a smoke when the next-door neighbor prairie-dogs over the fence and informs me that someone threw a couple of big rocks through one of my front bedroom windows. He also found my mail laying in the yard in front of said window. Sure enough, I've been vandalized. One rock (about the size of your fist) made it out the bedroom door and all the way down the hall. Glass is everywhere, and two panes have large holes in them. I notice at this point that there sure are a lot of mosquitoes in my house. So now I get to catch West Nile disease in my sleep tonight. If I'm lucky, I'll inhale the little bastard first with a well-timed apnea gasp.
As I write this, I've opened a claim on my car, and still I await the arrival of one of Houston's Finest, so that I have a police report to reference when I file a claim on my homeowner's insurance. I'm barely in this place and my rates are already about to rise. Sometimes I hate being a grownup, but just briefly. In the meantime I have two window panes covered with duct tape and all my possessions still intact.
A word to the wise. I'm sleeping with my 9mm under my pillow from now on, be sure to knock first. Ok?