Southern Hospitality... Huh?

Hello my lovelies,

We had a fabulous time in New Orleans.  We gorged ourselves on the amazing food, imbibed on a variety of adult beverages, perhaps a few too many of them, (I'm looking at you Beasley) and enjoyed the general sites and sounds, but not necessarily the smells, of the city.  Saturday took us on a bus tour of the city, an afternoon at the WWII museum and a evening of food, fun and piano bar silliness.  Sunday, Joie and I decided to get steppy and enter a 5K, sadly, they were sold out and wouldn't let us enter the actual race, so we just bought the shirts (they have a cute little sugar skulls on them) and created our own 5K course along the river, which included a stop for beignets.  (FWIW I'm pretty sure our 5K course was way better than the one those fools paid $35 for.)  The weather Saturday morning was beautiful, but an afternoon deluge made for a very hot, very humid Sunday.  Meh, whatever, bitching about it won't change the weather.  

An interesting observation about New Orleans relates to that whole concept of Southern hospitality.  Interesting thing about said hospitality is that it isn't actually very hospitable....  Our first day in NOLA we were waiting in line to go to Felix's for Oysters (Acme is across the street, but several people told us Felix was better, cheaper and less crowded) when some southern twang spewing assclown made a wisecrack that he bet I could eat 3-dozen oysters.  Huh?  Did this mother-Fer just make a fat joke about me?   In New Orleans?  I realize that I am not a petite little wallflower, but have you seen the size of the women in New Orleans?  We saw a woman in a very tight dress that was so huge I thought she had three asses and this dickwad is making a fat joke about me?  I didn't punch him in the throat, but the thought did cross my mind.  

There were a few other less than hospitable events, but rather than rant about each individual discretion I will categorize them according to the nature of the crime.  

Hospitality indiscretion # 1 -- use your words!

The WWII Museum is a really amazing museum.  Ray and I visited there on our previous trip to NOLA in 2011, but we were fortunate enough to visit the museum during the middle of the week.  On Saturday, while (likely because) it was pouring rain outside the museum was very busy.  Several of the exhibits were wall to wall people and strollers and wheelchairs and texting jackasses and facebooking hipsters and foreigners with no concept of personal space and selfies taking shitbags and......  ok you get the picture, it was a lot of people, many of them behaving badly.  In this mass of humanity, somehow rather than politely tapping someone on the shoulder and saying excuse me, this crowd employed a strategy that I will call the "bump and grunt."  In the ole b&g you just invade someone's personal space and rather than being polite and courteous you just sigh loudly or utter a guttural grunt until the offending body in front of you moves, or, you just push your way through.  On top of that, there were a number of stroller welding mommies that try to play it off that the baby is the offending party. They run into your legs then in a ridiculous baby talk voice say "oh, tell the nice lady you're sorry."  Bitch please!  That kid is just sitting in the stroller and you've just managed to confirm that your stroller pushing skills are as bad or worse than your driving skills. Do not blame that on the baby!  In a nutshell what I'm saying is Use your words, people!  EXCUSE ME is NOT actually a difficult phrase to say.

Hospitality indiscretion #2 -- we can see you.... tooooooo much of you!

This is a bit of a rant about fashion in general because, seriously, short shorts are really a very bad idea for almost everyone.  In my not so humble opinion there is about 7% of the female population that has legs conducive to actually wearing short shorts.  Sadly the percentage of the population that wears them is much, much higher.  Worse yet, there appears to be an even greater percentage of women who, when visiting another time zone mistakenly, VERY mistakenly, are under the illusion that air travel miraculously makes you appear significantly taller, thinner and generally more attractive.  (OK, so I don't have any proof that these women actually think this I just hope that they have enough decency, and access to mirrors, to refrain from wearing these clothes around people they actually know.)  There are far too many horrific tales to detail here, but just know that we saw butt cheeks, cellulite, oh, so much cellulite, tattoos, lumps, bumps and bulges (see three asses reference above) that sadly, cannot be unseen.  I wish they could, but alas they cannot.   Now before you get all judgy and begin reminding me that the sight of my unclothed flesh could precipitate another ice age as my nakedness would frighten the sun into a permanent eclipse, please know that my cellulite, lumps, bumps and bulges (still 100% tattoo free) were all adequately covered as to camouflage the horror that exists at the site of too much Ronda.  I would appreciate if the women in New Orleans (and frankly every other city on the planet) would afford me and my incredibly terrified eyeballs the same courtesy.  

To help the women in New Orleans and frankly everywhere, I thought I'd help out by breaking this down into a few bite-sized fashion rules:  

• One size does NOT fit all!  Do not try it, the public at large does not want, nor do they deserve to see that.
• Spandex is stretchy, but even it has it's limitations - For the comfort and consideration of those around you DO NOT test those limitations.  
• White and stretchy are a VERY bad combination, ALWAYS!
• Kate Hudson looks HOT in those Fabletics pants - Sorry to be the one to break it to you sweetheart, but YOU are NOT Kate Hudson!  Furthermore, if you are not on your way to yoga, please put on some damn pants, real pants the kind made of denim or cotton, hell I'll even allow a cotton, spandex blend for added stretch and comfort provided that they have a waistband with a closure, but can we please stop with the damn yoga pants everywhere.  AND don't even get me started about wordy-ass pants.  
• DO NOT wear any type of pant that has words on the ass, EVER!!!!  No one wants to read your ass!  
• Wife-beater shirts should be banned, always, EVERYWHERE!
• Tank tops on men are reserved for meatheads with gigantic muscles only and even those typically look douchy, so remember to check your DBag quotient before you leave the store.  

Hospitality indiscretion #3 -- service, schmervice

The service we received in NOLA was pretty much abysmal.  My traveling companions and I were talking about this just prior to heading to the airport and came to the consensus that the lack of service and etiquette is a direct result of the deplorable, asshat tourists that these people have to deal with on a regular basis.  My theory is that if the visitors to New Orleans would observe the suggestion posed in #1 and refrain from the hideous, ill-fitting, grotesque looking clothing discussed in #2 a group a three, fun, friendly visitors from Colorado would receive a level of service commensurate to that of their local communities.  Long story short, don't act like a tourist when you are visiting a different city.  Engage some locals, ask where they like to eat and what they like to do, but most of all just BE NICE!  If you act like an asshole, the world is going to treat you like the asshole you are!

Indiscretion #4 -- Just because you can, doesn't mean you should!

Finally, this one isn't necessarily related to the hospitality, rather it's a statement about the law in New Orleans.  The allowance of drinks on the street, while a fun idea in concept, rarely ends well.  Watching drunk bimbos teeter around on high heels, clutching a fishbowl of some sugary, boozy concoction is a really vile thing.  Furthermore, bars being open 24-hours is actually pretty deplorable.  Observing cute, young girls in party dresses stumbling out of bars at 6:30AM made me sad.  You may be asking what exactly I was doing that I was out to observe this act of indiscretion.  I am happy to report that after 7-hours of sleep Joie and I were out because we were heading to the park for the 5K noted above.

I realize the Nawlins tourism board is probably not gonna be knocking down my door to write a piece for them anytime soon.  

Until next time....

XOXO

PS - here's the photo of us enjoying a breakfast cocktail before embarking on our Nawlins Adventure

My morning coffee - what happens on the way to New Orleans....

Hello my darlings,

What a week... I officially sold my house, I am perilously close to getting a job (I think) I organized (ok mostly organized... it's much better than it was) the closet in my second bedroom and I succeeded in getting Ray's airline miles transferred to me.  Now, as I write this I am en route to New Orleans to celebrate my friend Joie's birthday.   There are three of us doing a quick weekend getaway, Joie, me and our friend James Beasley.  Poor James is already wondering what the hell he signed up for, but he's a seasoned traveler and New Orleans has vodka, so I think we will be just fine.   I plan to chronicle much of this trip for all of you, so I thought it would only be appropriate that I start this journey at the airport.

I booked us on a 9:45am flight.  Joie and James stayed with me in Denver last night and we were at the airport in plenty of time to take advantage of James status and enjoy a couple of breakfast cocktails.  However, the real fun began when we got to our gate.  Lucky for us, Joie and I, got to board the plane behind a family.  Moreover, it was one of those families that want to make every fucking thing a lesson.  Let's call this family the Dumdums.  Daddy Dum asks his son, I'm guessing this kid was probably 8-9 years old, to read the group number on the boarding pass, then reassures him that "very good!  yes it's group 3."   Seriously, if this kid, at this age, can only now read the number 3 I don't think papa dumschitz has much cause for reassurance.   Daughter Dumdum was a waif, feeble little creature, lucky for all of us mama McDummuns confirmed that she was teetering on the edge of certifiable when she snatched the rolling suitcase was the clueless waif while exasperatedly sighing that her hands are already full.   We follow them onto the plane and as luck would have it they were seated in the row ahead of us.  F*mylife. 

Since I know you are all very astute readers, boarding in Group 3 means there are more groups behind us.  Joie and I take our seats (James was nestled comfortably away in his first class seat, probably sipping a cocktail or flirting with the cute, young flight attendant.  FWIW Joie and I disagreed which team this cute, young thing was batting for, but I'm confident I am right) and watch disheveled travelers bump and smash suitcases, backpacks and laptop bags down the aisle toward us.  A woman in a row behind us shuffles down the row and attempts to heave her giant, over stuffed suitcase into the overhead bin.  Surprising to exactly no one, it doesn't fit!  You should be very proud that I rolled my eyes, I made faces at Joie and I signed rather peevishly, but I did not stand up, tear the bag from her hands and tell her to measure her f*ing bag before she attempts to carry it on.  Finally, after rearranging nearly all of the items in the overhead bin, her airplane Tetris game was complete and by some miracle the door closed.  

Next comes a slovenly, bearded man with a gigantic duffle bag.  Cleary, the airlines don't actually care about the size or shape of these bags, because once again there is no way this bag even matches one of the posted dimensions, but as per usual, through determination, perseverance, a complete disregard to the belongings of any fellow traveler and brute force the bag is successfully smashed into the overhead bin.  Behind the sloth was a small child, with her little, purple, star-emblazoned child-size suitcase in tow.  They move into the row behind me and suddenly I am pierced with a sharp pain as the child-size suitcase is crammed into the compartment under the seat and the foot of the suitcase is rammed into one very sensitive Achilles' tendon scar on my right heel.  Yeah, the one that didn't really heal well and hurts frequently.  Damn you United Airlines!

The final joy of flying that I will regale you with today is the vantage point that a seated passenger has when watching fellow travelers heave luggage into the overhead bins.  On this flight I was both graced with a face full of tatas as the woman with the giant suitcase struggled to reposition every item in the bin to make hers fit and a close up and personal view of daddy mcdumdums derrière as he got up a dozen or so times to retrieve electronic devices for his little dummuns.  Hands down the most amazingly terrifying site was the black girl bootie that almost knocked me out.  Not kidding I felt like I was momentarily transported back into a 90's song about a "round thing in my face...."  Seriously, airplanes are amazing!  Name one other place on the planet where you can shove your boobs in someone's face without receiving either a reprimand or perhaps a tip.... 

Oh, the joys of flying coach.  As a consultant who travels every week, I know that James has earned his status and deserve the opulent service he is experiencing in First Class, but I also know that he will pay for that over the next few days while Joie and I continue to torture him with tales of flying coach....

Until next time....
XOXO

PS.  Joie demanded that I inform all of you that I had a full-blown temper tantrum, foot stomping included when Daddy McDumbass sitting in front of me reclined his seat.  I am adamant that these seats should not move.  With his seat now reclined I was forced to use my boobs as a laptop table!  Frankly, I was closer to this man than I ever wanted to be and with a birds eye view of his expanding bald spot I was even less happy.  

PPS, I think I might write a letter to the CEO to have him work on ensuring that coach seats always remain in the full upright and locked position.    You're welcome!

R

Desperately seeking... coffee tables?

Hello my lovelies,

Happy St. Patrick's Day!  

Once again I've been regaled with stories about women that are afraid to look at their phones because some guy has decided to send pictures of his, ahem... member!  GAH!  Seriously, why does anyone want to send or receive a dick pic?  This is ridiculous!  In support of my babes that are subjected to these unsolicited (FWIW - if anyone is actually "soliciting" a dick pic, let's just say that bitch needs some help!) snaps and in response to my therapist's suggestion that I write letters I've decided to write an open letter to anyone who has ever sent a dick pic.

Dear Mr. Male Member Photog,

I am writing to ensure that we are all on the same page about the photo-worthiness of the male sex organ.  Please understand this is not an attack on the penis itself, rather it is merely intended to address the questionable beauty of said appendage.  Here are just a few things I hope you will consider the next time you have your cell phone in one hand and your cock in the other.  

First, thank you for choosing to send these pictures via Snapchat.  The functionality of the platform making the foul phallus actually disappear is truly invaluable.  More importantly, however, the recipient is afforded a much-appreciated purview into the sort of stamina you would offer, should the snap actually move her to respond, which it won't! EVER!

I would like to understand what your expectation is regarding what a woman would do with these pictures when she receives them.  Are you hoping that she can use her crafting skills to create a fun photo-collage?  If so, please ensure that the recipient has your mother's email address, so the crafty female can share the "art-project" with her!  Mom will be so proud, seriously, sooooo proud.....  Perhaps you, like me, are a Seinfeld fan and you want to create the book that is a coffee table.  Sadly, with the subject matter we all know that's going to go limp and fall over and clearly, for any red wine drinker that would be a very disastrous furniture option.  Maybe you recognize your limitations and you are affording the lucky recipient the opportunity to enhance your manhood with a flick of her fingers.  Regardless of what you are thinking or hoping will happen as a result of this demonstration of photographic prowess, I think it's only fair that you know that with any self-respecting woman there is probably a fairly significant disconnect between the sender and the receiver.

Finally, I feel it is critically important that you understand that the law of reciprocity does not apply to phallic photos.  It is unrealistic, and frankly desperate, for you to request that the recipient send a return photo.  While I certainly cannot speak for all women, I assure you any reciprocal photo that I send will be a picture of batteries, because in my not-so-humble opinion, a couple of Duracell's are far prettier and, in all likelihood, offer a much more satisfying adventure.  

Thank you for your careful consideration of this delicate matter.

R 

I am delighted to report that the only dick pics I've received have been from Joie and she's a girl, furthermore, there were no people in the photo.  OK, there is one with a person, but it's certainly NOT your typical dick pic.  

Until next time.....

XOXO

Captain Chaos strikes again...

Hello my darlings,

I know it's been a while, but I am delighted to say that this is my first post from my new apartment!  The yard sale is done, the furniture and boxes moved (and most of the boxes unpacked) the new furniture delivered and the majority of crap is out of my old house.  WAHOO!  I have been incredibly busy trying to find place to cram all of the crap I moved into this tiny little apartment, but I've been able to venture out a few times to get the lay of the land.  I went out for dinner, by myself, (that is still a tough thing for me to get used to) on Monday night.  As per usual I met some very interesting people and am scheduled to meet them for brunch later this morning.  I also walked the two blocks to King Soopers to buy some groceries.  Overall, I am very pleased with my new location.  Now before you begin to think that moving to the land of hipsters made me soft let me assure you this location is definitely going to provide me a significant amount of coffee fodder.  While the average age of the residents here is likely a bit older than the apartment in RiNo, I am still quite certain that I am most likely closer to the age of the parents (some of whom I assume are actually footing the bill for the rent) of these kids.  Now I have to confess the couple of days that I've spent here have been very busy moving and unpacking, so I am unable to regale you with hipster theatrics, instead today we are going back to the past for an installment with Hurricane Grace.  

Last week was insane for me.  I was trying to finish packing, organize everything for the stupid yard sale and prepare to move.  Needless to say I didn't have time for a lot of nonsense.  Lucky for me, the clueless halfwit at Verizon who processed my account transferred didn't do it correctly, so my service was terminated.  Since Joyce is on my plan, this means that her service was also terminated.  Rather than heading to the U-Haul store to buy the additional boxes I needed to pack I had to proceed immediately to the Verizon store.  Fortunately, this visit I finally I didn't have to deal with Rupunzel, the meat-head or the dingbat that f*d it up the last time I tried to get the account changed.  This time I got a manager who actually knew what he was doing and about an hour later I once again had a fully functioning cell phone.  Later that same night I got a frantic 8PM call from Grace where she reported that the old man was not doing well, so they were coming up and wanted to stay with me.  I had already packed the bedding, so I said they could come stay, but they would need to bring their own bedding.   They arrived around 10PM with a pile of sheets, pillows and comforters.  Hooray!

Grace was very emotional, which is not really much different than most days, and overall the visit was fine.  It was actually very helpful to have Al there to help me schlep crap up from the basement and organize the garage.  Thursday afternoon, just before they left, Al brought me a check from Joyce to pay for the phone service for the next 12-months.  (I told her that I was not worried about the money, but for her own edification, she felt like she needed to pay me.  Fine I will take the money!)  At this point it seems like all is good in the world, right?  Right?   WRONG!  

Friday morning, I drove down to Denver to get my keys and move a few things into my apartment, I then ran a couple of errands (turns out shower curtains are kind of a day one requirement) and went back home to prepare for that damn yard sale.  As I was working, my cell phone rang, it was Verizon.  Grace called Verizon to report that texting was not working on Joyce's phone, she also asked to have the service transferred to her plan, so she could manage it.  WTF!  She had just been in my house, with me, for two days, they just got a check to pay me for the service and NOW, the day after they leave, two days before I have movers coming to haul my shit to Denver, is the day she decides she needs to change the plan?   Why does this shit always happen with her?  Not surprisingly, Verizon told her they cannot do anything to change the account without talking to me.  Furthermore, the Verizon security policy requires that any time there is an inquiry about an account by someone other that the account owner, and since Grace neglected to inform me about her grandiose plan, Verizon had to call me.  FANTASTIC!!!!  Now in the midst of everything else I need to do Grace expected me to drop everything and waste a couple more hours of my time trying to change the Verizon plan that I'd just, finally gotten updated four days prior.   Not happening!

I was busy, but I'm not heartless and since Joyce's phone wasn't working properly I made that the top priority.  The dude on the phone couldn't do anything because I didn't physically have the phone, so I called Joyce and asked her if I could come get her phone, so I could take it to Verizon and get it fixed.  (more about that conversation in a bit)  She said they were both sick and she was worried that they might be contagious, so she put the phone on the front step, I drove over and picked it up, went to Verizon, hung out in the Friday afternoon queue for 20-minutes, explained this phone issue and voila, 15-minutes, three reboots and a battery removal later the phone was fixed.  A little more than an hour gone from my day, I then returned her full functional phone to the front porch, called Joyce (home phone) and went back home to continue doing the shit I needed to get done.   In the meantime I also left a terse (HA! Understatement of the century) voicemail for Grace.  She called me back, hung up in tears and we have not spoken since.  I will call her eventually, but I needed a few days to get my shit done and my blood pressure back in check after this encounter.   I know it's not malicious, but seriously this woman is the MASTER of starting shit at the worst possible time!

As I'm getting the final crap out of my house I provided the lockbox code to a friend, so she could retrieve some of the stuff that she bought from me.  Since we put the lockbox on the door for the appraiser to use I had to chuckle about the description that was provided and thought I'd use this opportunity to compare and contrast where I am now.

Property description

• This 2 story home with a walkout basement is in excellent condition and boast many exceptional features. - New digs are in a five-story building that has a pool and free starbucks coffee!
• ·         4896 total square feet and 3262 finished - The new apartment is 1242 sq ft!
• ·         4 bedrooms, 3.5 baths + a study - 2 bedrooms which are about the same size as the smallest bedroom in my old house.  In fact, I think the entire living room/kitchen area is smaller than that massive master bedroom was.
• ·         Never-ending views of the front range.  The space behind the property up to the crest of the hill is owned by the HOA and will not be developed. - Cool City view and construction zone where new development is happening 7:30-4:30 Monday-Friday
• ·         Massive master bedroom with en-suite 5 piece bath and huge walk-in closet with natural light - Um, yeah, I was a spoiled brat and that massive closet was roughly the size of my new bedroom and my new walk-in closets (plural because once I unpack all of my clothes and shoes I will have filled both closets.  Sorry Joie and any other guest who wants to come stay with me, you will have to live out of a suitcase while you are here because this girl has too much shit!
• ·         Gas stove, granite tile counters, and double ovens - WAH! I am back to an electric range.  Luckily I am not cooking much these days, so it's not a huge issue.
• ·         Slate tile flooring in the laundry -  Washer and dryer are in a closet (all available space above and around them is quickly filling with other crap)
• ·         Gas fireplace - No fireplace, but tons of windows.  The natural light in this place is amazing!
• ·         A full unfinished walkout basement with expansive deck and stamped concrete patio with built in fire pit - There is a rooftop deck (I haven't been up there yet) and a pool (I've seen it, but won't likely be hanging out there other than to gather coffee fodder to keep all of you entertained.)
• ·         Water feature at front entry - Um, yeah the washer and dryer closet is near the entry, but that's not quite as cool as those bubbling boulders were.
• ·         Attached 3 car - Pfft 3-car?  This has a huge parking structure, sadly it's about a mile away from my apartment.  (full disclosure it's not a mile, but it is on the opposite side of the building, so it is a long trek through a maze of hallways.  The AFW delivery guy actually wandered around the floor for 10-minutes before knocking on my door and asking if I could help him get back to the freight elevator.  Or maybe that was just an affront to make the other guy unload all of the heavy shit from the truck)
• ·         All appliances are included, including washer/dryer, and refrigerator - YEP I still gots me some appliances!
• ·         Mineral rights included; there is a current oil lease - No mineral rights here, but I can watch construction workers out one side and punks at the skatepark out the front and in all fairness those mineral rights paid less than $100 per year.
• ·         Two furnaces, two AC units, and a whole house humidifier - It's 1200 sq ft - One furnace/AC is plenty!

My new digs are a huge change from the massive house I previously occupied, but it's cute and functional and it feels like me!  I have eight boxes left to unpack, (four of them are clothes and shoes, two are general decor that will get unpacked today after Comcast gets the jack activated on the wall behind the TV and the others are boxes of office stuff (checks and envelopes and surge protectors, etc.) that I can't figure out what to do with - there's a significant probability that I will keep a few "essential" things and schlep the rest of the box back north to my storage unit, where it will undoubtedly get thrown in the garbage a year from now)  but I am ready for guests any time, so please let me know when you want to come spend a night or a weekend in Denver with me!!!

Finally, an update on the old people!  I've heard from a number of you that you want to hear what's happening with the olds.  Sadly, nothing fun or entertaining here.  The old man is about to be older.  He turns 99-years old on Tuesday, March 14!  His memory is completely gone and getting back and forth from his chair to the bathroom twice a day (seriously, he only gets out of his chair twice a day) is becoming an increasing challenge.  These people NEED to be in an assisted living facility, but Joyce will not concede.  I haven't seen them since prior to Ray's memorial service, but after the phone debacle last week we did have a very nice phone conversation.   Joyce actually confessed when we talked that she is not emotionally ready to see or be around me, because she is still very much a wreck over the death of her son.  She is physically and emotionally exhausted, but has committed to staying by the old man's side to the end.  I think she even realizes that they should be in an assisted living facility, but she also knows that in his current mental state a move to assisted living, or anywhere,  would be a huge setback for him because he will have to figure out where he is and what is going on and she would be the one to have to help get him through that.  Being trapped in a physical body, without the memory of who you are or what you've done has to be the most cruel way to live, or more accurately, the most cruel way to wait to die.  

Remember that whole airline miles challenge from a few weeks ago.  Yeah, so I never got the form, you know the one that had to be sent via USPS and that has to be notarized.  I tried to call yesterday, but after 30-minutes on hold I got disconnected....  Additionally, on Tuesday I got a call from Fidelity.  They are now questioning my "status" because I officially declared that we were "common law" but the death certificate says "married" if they can't resolve this internally, they may require that I get an amended death certificate to claim Ray's 401K and pension.  Nevermind the fact that Ray's paperwork stated that we were married, I'm named on the paperwork and by a probate court as the sole beneficiary and the State of Colorado recognizes Common Law as an official marital status.  For some reason beyond all of that proof, the deceased benefit gods at Fidelity need to determine if I am really worthy of receiving the funds that Ray indicated (he named me as the f*ing beneficiary for crying out loud) were for me.  GAH!!!!!!  These assclowns are pissing me off!   There may be letters about this in the near future.

Until next time....

XOXO

R

PS - Since I slacked off on sending coffees this week there will likely be another tomorrow....  Spoiler alert it will include dick pics, not actual pics, but stories about dick pics.  It's been awhile since we talked about dick pics, so this should be a whole lot of fun, probably not for the faint of heart, but fun!  XOXO

Can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street?

Hello my lovelies,

I've signed the lease, scheduled the movers, purchased the new furniture and had that scheduled for delivery, the utilities have been transferred (and the request to shut them off at my current house submitted) and internet/cable access has been initiated.  I am checking items off my checklist and I am ready to go, right?  WRONG!  One critical little piece is missing.  The apartment complex requires that I have renters insurance.  OK, that should be easy.  I call, I get a quote, I select the level of coverage, I even gave the agent my debit card number pay the bill up front to avoid delays.  Now I have renters insurance, right?  Nope!  I logged in this morning "e-sign" my policy and I can't, because it was setup for Rhonda Chadwick.  F*mylife!  Once again I've been foiled by the damn letter H.  This one is particularly irritating because in three places on the policy document my name is spelled correctly, but the one key place, where it states the policy owner, it is assigned to my damn alter-ego.  I hate that bitch!

I'm sure this one will be easy to fix, but I also recently discovered that a couple of Ray's accounts that I cancelled in early February are scheduled to bill once again in early March.  Again, not insurmountable, but I have to dig out my old notes and spend the hours on the phone to once again get them cancelled, for realsies this time.

This morning I fired my CPA!  I've gotten a couple of recommendations from friends, but rather than waiting until early April to deal with the taxes part of my death and taxes saga, I opted to engage a semi-retired CPA that we worked with previously.  We were supposed to meet this morning, but after three calls in the last hour I asked her to send me a bill for any time that she's spent, but that I would engage someone else to prepare my taxes.  Call number one was to remind me to bring paperwork including last year's taxes. (um, yeah, I'm really organized and not an idiot, don't need that reminder call) The second call was to register her concern about our "marital status" and how that is going to impact the filing.  I reminded her that I have a probate letter declaring me the personal representative AND rightful heir for all matters of the estate.  Additionally, I have bank accounts specifically designated for the estate, so any monies that are paid to the estate are deposited into that account and I as the personal representative of the estate can designate how they are spent.  (see furniture purchase above ) The third call was the straw that broke the camel's back. She called to ask me to bring taxes records back at least seven years because we might have to file amended returns for all of those years because we filed as Single, but now are claiming common law status and that it wrong and possibly illegal.  She also told me to bring all of the life insurance and 401K paperwork because we probably need to change how I was "declared" for those monies since we were, in fact, not married and that I would subsequently be taxed more harshly because of that.   Bitch Please!  Needless to say this is the point in the conversation that I told her I would not be using her services.   Clearly, she's a terrible CPA and she has some significant issues with the whole notion of common law marriage.  I'm sure it will all be fine, but I have to say it adds a whole lot of additional stress and worry that I frankly don't need!

I am beginning to think that the universe is telling me something about Tuesdays.  For some reason I keep encountering all of these ridiculous issues on Tuesday, which is also the day I see my therapist.  Maybe it's a karmic way of telling me to figure out that mindfulness and meditation stuff, or maybe the gods just like to use Tuesday to remind me that I am a shitbag.  Either way, I am once again wound up on a Tuesday just in time to show my therapist that I am still a mess!  Golly gee I hope she has some other book recommendations my eyeballs have nearly stopped bleeding from the last one.  

I guess now I need to call the other CPAs back to try to schedule a time in early April.  Oh and I should probably check on my Craigslist postings, so I can dicker with idiots.  That will do wonders for my blood pressure....The thing about Craigslist that amazes me is that people are looking to buy used furniture, but then they seem to expect that it is going to be in showroom condition.   I have been amazed at some of the requests and questions that I've gotten.  I am trying to keep the snark factor under control.  I'm sort of succeeding, at least a little bit, some of the time.....  Here is just a sampling of the requests/questions I've gotten.

In response to a King-size 4-piece Lodgepole pine bedroom set I had one woman ask me if I would be willing to donate the bed to her because she has a back injury.  WTF!   Does this woman realize that the critical component for a back injury is the mattress not the appearance of the bedroom set.  Furthermore, I was asking $1100.  Can this woman actually think that I would donate something of that value, without a tax write-off because she says she has a back injury?  Probably just one more sign that I am an asshole, but I just responded by saying "No, I would not consider donating this to you"

Second person, offered me $500, which, fine, I will haggle on price, but then when I informed her that I was planning to have the mattress recycled, so she's just getting the frame, dresser and two night stands.  She then chastised me that my post was false advertising and that I should buy her a mattress for that bed.  I simply replied that she could have the 15-year old mattress if she really wanted it whether she bought the bed or not.  Shocking, but I did not hear back from her.   Weird!

Another post, regarding the leather sectional I had a woman ask me if this furniture is in a non-smoking home and if it has always been in a non-smoking home.  If there are currently pets in the home, or if there were pets previously in the home.  She then went on to ask if the sectional had been disinfected or if it would be disinfected before it was delivered.  I wanted to just reply with "No!" and tell her she could just apply that to any of the questions she posed.  Instead I said that it was a non-smoking home, that there had been pets previously, but that I didn't believe the furniture was "infected" so it most certainly would not be disinfected.  Hmmmm - once again I didn't hear back from her.  Can't imagine why....

By far my most favorite question posed regarding any Craigslist posting was a response to the yard sale posting.  Someone asked I I would be selling any bourbon or whiskey in my yard sale.  I am stumped as to who the requestor was, but I couldn't resist making my response a little snarktastic.   I replied by reminding them that any bourbon or whiskey that I would part with in a yard sale would likely be some pretty terrifying hooch.  That is true.  If I need to resort to a yard sale to rid myself of whiskey that's got to be some pretty gut rot shit that will probably make you grow horns, out your ass.  HEY!  Maybe I will update my posting to inform people that I will be selling some ass-horn whiskey on Saturday, I Johnstown, that might actually attract some buyers.  
 

I'm going to Denver on Friday morning to get my keys and sign the final paperwork.  I am slowly but surely getting rid of stuff and getting the remaining bits packed to move on Sunday afternoon.  Last Sunday we went furniture shopping and my friend Joie kept calling things my "big girl decisions" if she's right I might actually become a real grown-up at some point.  Ha!  Just kidding!  Everyone knows that it NOT going to happen, but it is pretty liberating to finally be making some decisions.  

Until next time....

XOXO

What does my spleen do?

Hello my darlings,

In response to my therapist's request that I write letters as a way to vent my frustration I thought this was a worthy starting point.....

Dear Gigantic Heartless, Soulless Airline,

Rest assured I do not think it is at all invasive that in order to transfer the travel benefits from my late husbands account, you require that a form be mailed to me (electronic communication is, after all, so blase') completed, notarized and sent back with a "CLEAR, color copy" of my valid US passport and a certified copy of the death certificate.   I understand that you are dealing with critical matters of travel comfort and all I am doing is packing up the life we shared, moving to a new city and starting the next chapter of my life's journey.  Truly, I want to make sure you have everything you need and I am concerned that merely requiring a notary signature on a critical form delivered by the incredibly efficient USPS, a color copy of my passport (must be valid) and the $20/per copy certified death certificate may not be sufficient to complete the transfer of miles that my husband accrued by squeezing his very significant 6'5" frame into your economy plus seats while enduring 11 international flights in the past six years.  Furthermore, I know that you take customer satisfaction very seriously, as evidenced by the not one, but two satisfaction survey calls I've received in response to my inquiry, so in order to ensure you are truly satisfied with our interaction I thought I would take it upon myself to go above and beyond.  (Lord knows I love to be seen as an overachiever!)  Here are a few things I thought I might be able to offer to "sweeten the deal" a bit for you to ensure my request is processed with the utmost urgency.  

Option #1 - one fully functioning kidney - preferably the left one, because I am VERY right dominant, so I'm sure that bad boy is shouldering more than his fair share of the load.  Please know that based on my love of coffee and beer these kidneys are certainly getting sufficient exercise.  Perhaps, I should drink more water, but there are those horror stories about water being contaminated and since alcohol kills those contaminates I truly feel that beer is a much more healthful (and delicious) option. 

Additional bonus #2 - one spleen -- Now I realize, there are probably a lot of people that offer you a kidney, you know since most people have two of them, so I thought I would step up my game and offer you my spleen.  I'm not really sure what it does, but I think I heard somewhere that is helps process contaminated water and since I've already clarified my position on that it is yours for the taking.  (NOTE - If I find out the spleen is actually doing something vital and/or that removal of said spleen will reduce my bodies ability to process beer, wine or spirits, this offer will immediately be rescinded)

Optional other enticements to expeditiously complete the transfer of the above referenced travel benefits:

• Tonsils - I'm 43 and I still have those.  I'm not in any hurry to get rid of them, but if doing so will get me a first class ticket to Barcelona in early April, then I am willing to part with them.
• A bunch of cans of dehydrated food and a giant bucket of dehydrated whole eggs.  Seriously, I've had airline food - it's not going to be worse that what you already serve.
• One boob kitty kitty.  I will even give up the rights if you want to make boob kitty the official mascot of your airline.  Meow!

Thank you for your consideration of this request.  Unfortunately, I am unable to provide clear, color copies of any of the internal organs, because, well, they are internal organs and they are all still working away, except for possibly that spleen, I don't really think that guys doing a whole heck of a lot.  However, if you provide a postage-paid fedex mailer and a cashier's check for $7,000 I will immediately send either the dehydrated food OR Boob Kitty Kitty to you.   Please do not hesitate to reach out if there are any other insignificant organs that I can offer up to ensure my request is processed promptly.

Signed, Spleen free in CO

FWIW - I'm not actually kidding.  To transfer the airline miles from my dead husbands account to my account I really do have to have a form completed and notarized, send a CLEAR color copy of my VALID  US passport and provide a certified copy of the death certificate.  (The agent I spoke with was very careful to emphasize the the passport copy must be clear and legible and that the passport must be valid for at least 6 months.)  In contrast to sell Ray's guns and ammo, I didn't actually have to provide anything!   Thanks Kent and Larry!

Until next time.....

XOXO

R