And Then I Stepped in Gum . . .

Monday, June 28, 2004

And Then I Stepped in Gum . . .

It's been a hell of a day, but on the bright side, I have finally come up with a good new name for the blog.

Yesterday, as I believe I posted, the car wouldn't start when Dave stopped at McDonald's (picking up french fries for me on an errand of mercy). He walked the 15 minutes home, then I walked back with the other key to see if that was the problem. It wasn't. I called Saturn Roadside Assistance (we're still under our extended warranty by *thaaaaat* much) and waited. And waited. And waited. Three hours later, the tow truck arrived. (At one point they thought I was in Shelby, NY -- upstate somewhere -- despite the fact that I had spelled Shirley for the incomprehensible guy on the phone.) OK, not too big a deal, except that left us with no car at all, as Dave's is being driven South by my sister. Today, we find out that it can be fixed before we leave on Wed., but they have to order a part, so it wasn't done by today. I fought for -- and won -- reimbursement for a rental car. We got a cool PT Cruiser.

Which I'll get to tool around in tomorrow, because I have to go to the DMV to get a new license, because somewhere in walking around dealing with the car yesterday, I lost mine, and though I only have 2 more days in NY, I don't think it's wise to drive across the country without a physical license in my possession. So to the DMV I go, as well as to the library to return overdue books and to Goodwill to get rid of more stuff.

Amid calling and cancelling oil, water, power, phone, etc., I got a call from our lawyer's assistant. The one I've been calling every other day for the past two weeks, reminding her that we need to close on Wed. She was calling to tell us the closing was set for Friday. I flipped. Told her it was unacceptable. Said if it couldn't be Wed., they'd have to hold it without us, because we needed to get our butts down to Alabama. She said she'd have the lawyer call me in the morning. She'd damn well better. We're paying this guy $700 for almost exactly nothing, as far as I can tell. And she's lied to me in the past, trying to placate me. I am beyond ticked off.

Then I call the realtor to tell him what's up. He doesn't understand why we "set our plans in stone based on an 'on or about date'" (i.e., the closing was supposed to be "on or about June 30," and try as we might, we couldn't get anyone to pin anything else down). Sorry, buddy, but when you're juggling the closing of another house (which date we've had for a month now), moving vans that will only hold your stuff without charge for so long, traveling 20 hours in the car with 2 small children, and cat travel logistics, you've got to hook a plan to something. I ranted, he placated, I think he's full of it.

So I go to the kitchen to get something to eat from our meager stores. I know, I think to myself, I'll finish up the frozen waffles. I get them out, imagining what great comfort food they'll make -- warm and crispy and chocolatey (they're chocolate chip waffles -- mmm-mmm healthy). And I turn to the toaster . . . and there's no toaster. Because it's packed. Of course.


I microwaved them and they tasted like warm sponges. Oh well.

So after ranting about all this to my mom, my friend, and anyone who would listen, I decided to pop by the grocery store in the PT Cruiser to pick up snacks for the trip and some indulgent ice cream to make me feel better. I park the car, open the door, get out . . .

and then I stepped in gum.