Where I Consider Putting My Head in the Oven Only to Discover It’s Electric and I Forgot to Pay My Electric Bill
So a thorough ass kicking via snarky comments at my comfy home blog brings me here. Fairlane wants to know WTF??? When did I decided that I should have a vacation? Is the union involved? A blogger union……
My excuse for the darling FMan, is simple. I have been spending the last couple of days trying to figure out how to cram 103 people into a banquet hall that seats 85 max. It’s the small things. Frankly, it’s a good problem to have. We’re an association that sponsors luncheons where we book mediocre featured speakers. Then there’s low turnout. And then the leadership sits around the Board table wondering why no one wants to leave their jobs in the middle of the day and come the Country Club for a rubber chicken lunch. So to have more people than we ever expected would register for our luncheon? That’s a good problem for a business model (professional associations run by volunteer Boards via networks of local chapters) that’s seen its better days.
So this silly bit of business, which is the part of my job that I really don’t like, is making things a touch difficult. Lots of emails are flying about as people who aren’t meeting planners try to fix the problem. Have at it, folks. Go on. It’s fun. Really! You have those letters behind your name that say you’re an expert. I guess that means you’re an expert at everything. Cool.
But you don’t want to read about my job woes. I should be glad to have a job. And I am. But somedays, it pisses me off to no end that I’m not to the manor born. If only I could pursue my passions without a thought about how I’m going to feed my family or keep the roof over our heads. The trouble I could make.
Which reminds me. I am as of this moment – January 15 – part of the problem for Citi. Yeah. They didn’t get my mortgage payment this month. That $1,500 plus is just going to have to be spread out over the next few months so I can make it up. Sure, it’s going to be late and some poor schmoe who’s gonna get the Citi axe can blame me for their unemployment problems, but in standard American Aristocracy fashion, I’m quite certain that the person who suffers will be some low level worker bee. And worker bees don’t matter. We just don’t.
Lately, it seems that my life with MathMan has tracked right along with our national woes. We were in an adjustable rate mortgage mess. We got into a refinance to solve that problem. The mortgage broker who worked the deal did a classic bait and switch. He promised us the moon regarding cash out to pay off credit cards, a dandy of a lowered interest rate and a fab appraisal on our house.
After getting too far down the road to stop on an already spent dime (read: cash spent on an appraisal and the clock ticking on the ARM being ratcheted up), we got to the attorney’s office to sign paper work with an obscene interest rate (though not an ARM, a 30 year fixed), no escrow (read: We had to come up with our property taxes on December 15 in one $900 lump – doesn’t sound like much for property taxes? well, perhaps not, but I don’t have $900 lying around), only one quarter of the cash out that we were promised on what would have likely been an inflated appraisal (no, thanks) and a higher monthly payment than we were leaving behind.
Ta Da! Since then, our checking account has been the financial equivalent of an Anacin headache. It’s one of those low-grade groaners that isn’t quite a migraine, not just a dull throb.
Now we just need to start watching American Idol, purchase Viagra and lose weight using Nutri-System and we’ll be just like average Americans. Well, except we’re not living on our maxed out credit cards because we’ve closed all those motherfucking accounts. Now we’re living paycheck to paycheck and on the float and life is just one long held breath. (And did I mention that my paycheck wasn’t in the bank today because our payroll company fucked up?)
Fairlane is never going to ask me to post again. Whine, whine, whine.
Today I filled up my gas tank and wondered if those arms that Georgie Boy is gonna sell to the Saudis will make my life any easier. Then I looked over and saw that the WalMart parking lot was nearly empty and smiled. A wad of yellow construction site tape blew, unimpeded, through the vast black paved desert.
Life is good. As long as you don’t think about it.
~ by dcup on January 16, 2008.