About Me

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Seminole, Texas, United States
"A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on." - Sir Winston Churchill

Thursday, March 30

The Ex-Wife-in-Law

You know, when I started this blog it was due to crappy customer service that I found humor in. Once I got to blogging, I thought "The most consistent gripe in my life would be my ex-wife-in-law. I should put some of her psycho moments out here." But then I thought about the additional energy I would be spending on her and I decided long ago that the woman was not going to get a single extra moment of my time or energy than was required by the court. (She and my husband have a 17 year old daughter together.) We pay the child support (only 14 more months left, Thank You Jesus!!), which by the way we have voluntarily increased ourselves each year when Hubby gets his puny little government raise; we pay our 50% of all out of pocket medical costs; and, we stay out of her life completely (except for the checks she gets from us in the mail.) She has successfully terminated any relationship Hubby might have had with his daughter - family courts don't want to deal with psychotic custodial parents and the bartering they do with their own children. The courts only want to deal with the money involved because cash is tangible. Apparently the emotional health of the children is secondary, if considered at all. I really think the courts need to put a little more effort into protecting children from their own bi-polar parents.

My apologies for the extraneous introduction to this subject but I didn't think I could really get started on it without first giving some background. Now, which Ex-Wife-in-Law Psycho Episode to kick it off:

1. How about the time we were supposed to have Daughter for a 7 week summer visit but Ex-Wife-in-Law called EVERY DAY to talk to Daughter after which every call Daughter was sullen and/or crying but would not tell us what was wrong? (By the by, Daughter returned home to Psycho Momma after only 2 weeks.)

2. How about the time we picked up Daughter for dinner (our Wednesday night rights) and we had no sooner sat down at Appleby's than Hubby's cell phone was ringing - Ex-Wife-in-Law was SCREAMING into the phone, "WHAT TIME ARE YOU BRINGING HER BACK?! IT'S A SCHOOL NIGHT!!!" ? (It was literally 5:45 p.m. when this call happened.)

3. Or how about the time Daughter was asking about Hubby's new co-worker (a very sweet but plain-looking young lady that Daughter had not met) and wanted to know if she was pretty because, "You know, my Dad likes pretty girls." As if? Totally her mother coming out of her.

4. No, wait, what about the time Daughter was at the lake with her cousins (Hubby's nieces and nephew) and Ex-Wife-in-Law called her and said who-knows-what so that Daughter, who was having a perfectly fun summer time at the lake, told Hubby that she wanted to go home to "her family"? Apparently Ex-Wife-in-Law has informed Daughter that we are "not her family."

I know I said I had made the decision to not spend additional time/energy on the Ex-Wife-in-Law but believe me, the whole situation has become a source of amusement for me. I am continually amazed at the depth of the woman's misery - she just exudes it. Despite tragedy and set backs in my life, I am still a relatively happy person. I definitely don't give any thought whatsoever to my ex-husband. Ancient history, I say.

The one question I would really like to ask would be of Ex-Wife-in-Law's current husband: "Is your self-esteem completely non-existent or are you totally without intelligence? If I were you I would be pretty hacked off that my wife puts so much energy into someone else's husband."

But that's just me.

Wednesday, March 29

Car Salesman or Dried Up Dog Turd . . . eh, Same Thing

The new car, or rather, new truck bug bit Hubby about a week ago. Apparently it is contagious because I came down with it bad this past Friday.

As luck would have it we were going to Dallas/Fort Worth to visit family anyway so hey! the metroplex is a veritable cornucopia for the new car buyer. Like the saying goes, "Swing a dead cat in Dallas and you're gonna hit a lawyer or a car salesman."

I won't go into all the impractical reasons for my choice but I decided that I needed, yes needed, a heavy duty 4 wheel drive truck. And not just any truck, mind you. I wanted the big bad boy with the alloy wheels and leather interior. Have I mentioned Hubby is in law enforcement, as in bottom of the food chain paychecks? Anyhoo, while I had my little country gal heart set on a truck that cost (literally) more than our house, Hubby had to swing his skills of diplomacy into high gear. Once all the hair pulling, eye scratching and high pitched crying had stopped and I was able to settle him down, Hubby talked me into a new truck with somewhat less testosterone than I was initially going for.

Then it was time to make the deal. I am not s****ing you when I say I would rather have my nose hairs plucked ONE AT A TIME than deal with a car salesman, and his manager, and his manager's manager, et al. (Ever notice how no matter who you're talking to, they always say - "Let me get my manager." What up wid dat?)

I guess what made me such a high-strung buyer this time was that we had lined up our financing last week. We applied for a low interest loan for the specific amount we were willing to spend and were approved. That means we were essentially paying cash for the new truck since our trade in was (almost) a wash with its current payoff and current trade in value. You would think that it would be pretty simple:

Me: I want that one!
Hubby: It's yours. (to saleman) How much?
Salesman: How much you willing to pay?
Me: Just the price, a**hole!
Salesman: Let me get my manager.
Hubby: (to me) Let me handle this.
Me: I want THAT one!
Manager: Find one you liked, huh? Well, we've got some incentives and rebates and discounts so you're probably looking at about X dollars for this one.
Me: Fine, then we'll take X dollars on our trade-in.
Hubby: (to me) I'll handle this. (to manager) We'll take X dollars on our trade-in.
Manager: Well, I don't know if we'll be able to give you that much but we can try to come close.
Hubby: N.A.D.A. says ours is worth X dollars.
Manager: Well, we go by the dealer NADA book.
Hubby: As opposed to the FAKE one I looked at?
Manager: Well, no, er, let me get my manager.
Me: I want THAT one!
Manager #2: Hi folks! Find one you like? Let's make a deal!
Me: Hey, Monty Hall, just give us our trade value and we'll write a check for this one right now and be outta here.
Hubby: (to me) I'll handle this. (to Manager #2) Yeah, we'll write a check.
Manager #2: Well, folks, I don't know, y'know. I mean, what with all the rebates and discounts and incentives and the moon being in Aquarius . . .
Me: . . . and you being full of bull--
Hubby: (to me) I'll handle this. (to Manager #2) Enough of the bulls***. Do you want to sell this truck or not?!

(I could go on and on paraphrasing the conversation with the various and sundry salesmen and their various and sundry managers which took - I am not kidding you - about 3 hours. But I wager you get the gist of it.)

We pulled into the dealership at 9:15 a.m. We left the dealership at 12:45 p.m.

Salesmen, Managers, et al: (watching me drive off the lot in my new truck with Hubby in the passenger seat) Poor bastard, he's definitely taking one for the team. Better him than one of us. I'd rather be a car salesman than have to put up with that bitch! HAR HAR HAR HAR

Wednesday, March 22


Okay, I know the IRS is a very old topic for complaining but I have got to vent about this one. Because, in the end, isn't that really the only option left for us working stiffs? Who can actually do something about the IRS when they (again) screw someone out of grocery money?

Here's the deal - - in 2002 I quit a relatively high paying job in Dallas to move to the country with my husband. We chose to forego decent pay for hopefully a decent lifestyle for our future kids. We moved to his home county where he is now Sheriff. Trust me, there are no big bucks in law enforcement. But we figured the lack of money would be outweighed by our ability to know everyone in our community and be a bigger influence in our kids' lives.

Back to 2002 - when we quit our high paying jobs we cashed out our retirements. Apparently my husband's account manager did better in the "tax" course than mine did. While his distribution included the appropriate amount of federal taxes withheld, mine did not. I did not know this at the time because I instructed the investment firm which managed my account to "withhold ALL necessary taxes and penalties because I will be unemployed for an unforeseeable amount of time and I will not be able to pay anybody anything." We sold a bunch of stuff, packed what was left, and headed for the country. I scrupulously managed our money since Hubby took about a 63% cut in pay and I took a 100% cut in pay.

Here comes the summer of 2004, we have a 3 month old baby, I'm unemployed, and the IRS sends me a lovely little missive in the mail: "You owe us $4,000. Send payment now." Needless to say, I did not send the graciously requested payment. For the next 18 months I correspond back and forth with the IRS regarding the distribution from my 401k and that all taxes were withheld pursuant to my instructions to the account manager. Said correspondence went something like this:

Me: September 2004 "The taxes were paid when the account was liquidated."
IRS: October 2004 "You owe us $4,100. Send payment now."
Me: December 2004 "I have documentation to show that the taxes were paid in full."
IRS: February 2005 "You owe us $4,300. Send payment now."
Me: April 2005 "I have filed with the Tax Payer Advocacy Dept."
IRS: July 2005 "You owe us $4,500. Send payment now."
Me: August 2005 "I'm not paying money I don't owe!"
IRS: December 2005 "You owe us $4,700. Send payment now."
Me: January 2006 "Screw you! You can't get blood from a turnip!"
IRS: February 2006 "You owe us $4,800. Wages are being garnished."
Me: February 10, 2006 "Enclosed please find my check in the amount of $4,800."

So anyways, we file our 2005 income tax and it shows that we have $475 coming back to us. Woo-hoooooo! Okay, today is March 22, 2006 and we have yet to receive the check. Every time I call to find out the status of our refund, the IRS agent wants to start back at point A where I owed them money. Then after 15 minutes of me regurgitating all the specifics of what I owed, when I paid, how much I paid, the date the check cleared my bank, YADA YADA YADA - - the agent finally says to me, "Yeah, you should receive your check within the next two weeks." I have been told that same exact thing from FIVE different IRS agents since February 12th.


Monday, March 20

Minimum Wage at 27 for a Reason

Pursuant to my previous post, a couple of friends and I headed into the city to do some shopping this weekend. We were all looking forward to the day out with no hubbies and no bubbies (kids). It's not that we don't enjoy our time with the families but an occasional Mommie's Day Out is much less expensive than a therapist.

Anyhoo, we headed out at daybreak and made for the wholesale bead show. (For those of you wondering what in the hell I'm talking about, the bead show is where costume and decorative jewelry makers/designers get all their stuff. I like to spend about $50 on beads to end up with about $300 worth of accoutrements, er, necklaces, earrings and bracelets.) I would like to say that the vendors were a bunch of rude, toe-smashing, pushy blowhards - - but that's just the other buyers. The vendors were are all very gracious and helpful and friendly even when we didn't buy anything.

So the real fun started when we went to Old Navy. Now, don't get me wrong, I love most of the clothes at ON, especially those for my lil pardner (size 2T). But why is it that I always end up with the one sales associate who acts as though the biggest pain in the ass just walked in the door and it's me. I'm a good customer, really I am. I'm a browser, I make note of who approaches me in case I need help or when I get ready to purchase so they get the sale. I don't get hateful or rude with them because, let's face it, their job sucks. You couldn't get me to do it. Anyways, I spent about 20 minutes or so getting a couple armloads of tees and shorts for my 2T fella and then I kind of meandered around looking at some stuff but mainly waited on my buddies to finish their shopping. I wandered over by the BBT (big blue truck) with all the tees draped on it and the cute stuffed dog in the front seat when some smarmy ON associate walked up to me (I had noticed him looking at me a couple of times although he never approached me nor said hello). He walked right up to me and, not too friendly, asked, "Are you going to check out?" Okay, correct me if I'm wrong but most folks hang out at the register when they are ready to check out. I was hanging out at the BBT (big blue truck) so, No, I wasn't ready to check out. I was surprised, at the least, that the ON associate would accost me in such a manner. "What the hell is HIS deal?" was the first thought that came into my mind but even so I just said, "No thank you, I'm actually waiting on someone before I check out. Thanks." So then the grungy stringy haired pissy attitude ON associate actually ROLLED HIS EYES at me (what the *#%@*#!!???!?). Someone enlighten me, please. I was requiring NOTHING of this twerp yet he copped an attitude with me. And in case you are wondering, I was well inside (30 or 40 feet) the front doors so it wasn't like I was trying to make a break for it with $45 worth of toddler togs. Once ONA (Old Navy Asshole) spun on his toe and stomped off, I did what any offended customer would do - - I flipped him the bird and continued loitering until my friends were ready to check out and leave.

I wish I had more entertaining sales clerk anecdotes to share but, unfortunately for my blogging purposes, the rest of our shopping day included only friendly perky proprietors. Dangit.

Friday, March 17

There's Still the Weekend

Don't have any bitchin' or moanin' for today (didn't go anywhere or talk to anybody - might have something to do with it) but I'm going to the city tomorrow to do some shopping with the girls and you KNOW we will inevitably encounter at least one surly sales clerk.

So many dimwits, so little time.

Thursday, March 16

and the purpose would be . . . ???

Okay, so I'm gleefully blog-jogging along earlier today, enjoying the creative (and not so creative) writings and musings of my FBs (Fellow Bloggers) when ERRRRK! I come to one of those irritating-as-crap blogs that has removed the little ">>>Next Blog" button from the top right corner. If you're a blog-jogger like myself, you don't want to search for interesting blogs, you just want to click around and stop at the ones that catch your eye, you bookmark the ones that you feel worthy of the designation, and continue on your blogging journey for even more stimulating blogs (that you even share with family and friends). (By the by, the ERRRRK! above is representative of screeching tires coming to a stop. Hubby and I, in the distant past, engaged in a very heated debate over whether it was ERRRRRK or ERRRRRT. Y'know, come to think of it, I don't think we ever resolve that one. Hmmm, maybe topic for dinner conversation this evening?)

Oh whatever . . . . I digress.

So I was becoming more and more frustrated with these inconsiderate blog hogs who remove the ">>Next Blog" button from their blog pages when, viola! I inadvertently stumbled across a very helpful FB's blog that told me exactly how to "Flag" (report 'em to the Blog Authorities) blogs that remove the navigation bar. Yeeeeee-HAW! So far this afternoon I have reported no less than 17 blogs for said violation.

Take DAT!

Tuesday, March 14

Crappy Cap Company

So Hubby ordered me a pink (my very girly signature color!) #99 Carl Edwards cap. For those of you not of the redneck persuasion, Carl is a very young, very delicious NASCAR driver (my apologies to his mom since I am the mother of a 2 year-old son and old enough to be Carl's, er, big sister).

Ahem, back to the cap - so Hubby placed the online order about 2 months ago. As of last week, we still had not received it. Hubby shot off an e-mail to Customer Service re: where's my wife's friggin' pink cap? Immediately, within the space of 2 days we received no less than 4 "confirmatory" e-mails stating that the order has 1) been received; 2) been processed; 3) been received for processing to be shipped; and flippin' finally 4) been shipped. Wait, it gets better.

Hubby got the much-anticipated cap package at his office yesterday. Thankfully UPS Man Charlie (honest, that's his name) had already left the building by the time Hubby opened the package. (By the by, Hubby is a big guy who carries a rather large gun; I know - I am a lucky, lucky lady.) Much to Hubby(with the Big Gun)'s chagrin, the package did not only NOT contain the aforementioned highly anticipated pink Carl Edwards cap, it contained some piece of crappola plastic red white and blue visor. Which, if I am not mistaken, had previously been seen on the shelf of the local Super Wally World and it's appearance actually elicited an "Eeeewwwww, so sorry for Carl. That's just nasty ugly!" from myself. And so began Hubby's electronic efforts to GET THAT FRIGGIN' PINK CAP for me.

Upon receipt of the offensive plastic visor, Hubby e-contacted the company (whose name and URL I will be posting post-haste if satisfaction is not completely effected) and proceeded to inquire as to "what the **** ?" After no response to his e-effort at communication (I'm betting a whole 3, ummm, make that 2 minutes), Hubby called said company on the telephone. You know it's bad when in this day and age of e-commerce and the rarity of a human voice on a business telephone that Hubby has to resort to actually dialing the phone to chew on some hapless e-store flunky hiney. I'm really at a loss as to how to convey the absurdity of said telephone conversation except to paraphrase as best I can. Here goes:

Hapless E-store Flunky: Good afternoon, Crappy Cap Company.
Hubby with Big Gun: Yeah, I ordered my wife a pink Carl Edwards cap and today I get a box from you people that has a plastic visor in it. Where's the friggin' pink cap I ordered?
HEF: Well, sir, lemme see, sir. It looks like you ordered a ladies' pink Carl Edwards cap.
HwBG: No s***! Then why'd you send me a piece of crap plastic visor?
HEF: Well, the item number listed on the invoice is for a pink Carl Edwards cap. Why'd you get a plastic visor?
HwBG: That's WHAT I'm callin' about!!! If I wanted a piece of crap plastic visor, I would've ordered one! What I DID order was a pink Carl Edwards cap two months ago!
HEF: Well, sir, if you will just give me your credit card number I will be happy to get that pink Carl Edwards cap out to you ASAP.
HwBG: WHAT?!?!?!!! Are you seriously s***ing me??!?!!!!?? I'm not giving you my credit card number again! Send me the ***ing cap I ordered in the first place and I'll send this crappy visor back to you!
HEF: Well, sir, we have no way of knowing that you will in fact return the visor to us so we will need to charge you for the pink Carl Edwards cap you are ordering today and then once we receive the visor in return, we will credit your credit card for the visor cost after we have deducted the cost of shipping the pink Carl Edwards cap to you for a second time.
(Seriously, I am NOT making this up.)
HwBG: (several, several, SEVERAL deep breaths) Okay, let me get this straight. First, you wait almost two months before completing an order that was charged to my credit card THE day I placed the order online, then you screw up the order by sending me a piece of s*** plastic visor that I wouldn't use to scoop up dog turds, then you tell me that you won't send me the cap I ordered IN THE FIRST ****ING PLACE until I give you my credit card number again so you can charge me twice for the cap I still haven't received ONCE???? Is THAT what you are saying to me?
HEF: Er, yes.
(I'm assuming that this is where Hubby's blood pressure meds are kicking in and earning their keep.)
HwBG: Let me talk to a supervisor.
HEF: There aren't any supervisors here today.
(COWARD! COWARD! You KNOW you are part owner in Crappy Cap Company yet you lack even the tiniest of gonads to own up to it and take the hit for screwin' the pooch on this one!)
HwBG: Thank you. Ker-BLAM!!!! (telephone slamming - not being blown to smithereens.)

So, Hubby gets home last night and regurgitates the Pink Cap Calamity to me. I felt so bad for him because, without my knowledge or request, he set out his sweet self to get me a pink Carl Edwards cap, so while softly patting his back and nodding understandingly I said:

"WAHHHH! I want my pink cap!!"