Saturday, November 24, 2012

In which I get saucy in my sleep

I don't know about you, but Winter wreaks havoc on my sleep. I know that you are just dying to know what I'm talking about because you are here on this blog that clearly never goes anywhere and is simply a product of my over active imagination.


In the Winter, the heat is on (because The Mr. is a delicate flower and gets cold...big baby), since the heat is on, I get parched in my sleep. Yes, parched! I use big words now, big words are cool. When I get parched, I get thirsty and when I get thirsty, I cough. And this wakes me up. Still with me?


Last night, I woke up coughing and so I got up and went to the kitchen for a drink of water. Now, here is where the story gets fuzzy. I was sure that I went right back to bed and fell asleep. Sounds legit, right? According to The Mr, this was not the case. His version of the story goes like this...

I came back to bed and sat down on the edge. And didn't take that next critical step, the lying down step. Never one to miss an opportunity, The Mr reached over and, um...placed his hand on my northern regions. My response to this? "Why, hello there!".

Now, I can't testify to the validity of this event but in all honesty, it sounds about right according to the recent night time antics my brain has been playing on me. Greeting my husband's wandering hand with a suggestive and slightly shady, "Why, hello there!" pales in comparison to my recent dream in which I was in a McDonald's bathroom and the toilets where so high up off the floor, that I had to leap up onto it and then, when I managed to get up there, the toilet became a swing toilet and there was some sort of circus happening under me.

See? Winter + heat = havoc.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Dishes, men and be kind to your nurse

I think The Mr. might be losing his eyesight. True story. Last night, I had the pleasure of having a celebratory glass of wine (okay, maybe several glasses of celebratory wine) with my very best friend, Tracy. We were toasting to the news that she was accepted into the nursing program. Not only am I excited because she's my bestie and this is her life's dream but because she will be an amazing nurse. Also, she might one day be the one to stick me with a needle and I don't know about you, but I prefer people with that kind of power to be on my side! Seriously folks, be kind to your nurses.

Anyway, before I left for her house, I made dinner, supervised homework and gave out instructions regarding showers and bedtimes. When I left, there were a few dishes in the sink, but not many. When I arrived home, about 3 hours later, it looked as if every cabinet in the kitchen had exploded and there was a pile of dishes a mile high. Not only were there dishes everywhere, but there were dishes with FOOD still on them. Really? You can't even rinse your dish off? Now, I get that men are completely unaware of where things are in the kitchen (as well as the rest of the house, apparently), but the sink is literally right next to the dishwasher. It's a one stop shop. Sink, soap, sponge, dishwasher. It's not rocket science. I know that it's not rocket science because I am not a rocket scientist and manage to do the dishes EVERY DAMN DAY.

I also know that my husband is not a completely incompetent person who would ignore the mess and go to bed and lie there with his laptop on his chest watching YouTube videos until he falls asleep. Riiiiiggghhhttt...

Therefore, the only explanation I can come to that would justify this behavior is that he's going blind. And because he's going blind, he couldn't SEE the dishes piled in the sink. And because he couldn't see them, he couldn't wash them.


Wednesday, November 7, 2012

In which parents do the stupidest things

My 10 year old came home yesterday talking about the election. They voted in their classroom and talked about the election process. Good stuff.


She also reported that she heard the following:

Some kids said they didn't want Mitt Romney to win because he is LDS. Because he is LDS, if elected, he might "do" one or more (Please note that I have added my very own commentary. You're welcome):

  • Ban all coffee and caffeinated drinks. Because you know, caffeine is such a hot button issue and presidents are SUPER concerned with what you drink.
  • Ban the wearing of tank tops. This one was my favorite. Every president that has ever been in office has been asked the question, "Women wear too many tank tops, how are you going to use your term in office to solve this heinous and rampant crime?"
I was actually too stunned to speak after hearing this blatant ignorance. Really people? You're just that stupid to be teaching your kids this kind of idiocy? Now, don't try to say, "Kids say the darndest things!" and give a little sheepish shrug (you know who you are). You and I both know that ignorance doesn't fall far from the tree. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a huge fan or either candidate. In fact, I've never voted in an election where I actually liked a candidate, I always feel that I'm choosing the lesser of several evils. But seriously folks. How about this...if you don't have something smart to say or at the very least, something not poisoned with bigotry that makes you sound like a complete ass, shut your fucking mouth. You are teaching future voters and if you insist on breeding stupidity and ignorance, don't be surprised when they spew stupidity and ignorance at the polls. And the last time checked, there's no cure for stupid.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

An open letter to Bank of America

Dear Bank of America,

How are you? Good? That's nice. Let me tell you how I am. Better yet, let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time, a family bought their first home and they said, "It's good." The years went by and America began to fail. The jobs went away, the money went away and the government turned a blind eye. Then, in what seemed like a miracle, the government said, "We'll help you, Americans!" We thought, "Finally!". Sadly, the government only had eyes for you, the Big Bank. You got your bailout and we got...nothing. No jobs, no money, no bacon. Then, the government said, "The banks will help you, Americans!". You were supposed to help us keep our homes. You were supposed to do the right thing and help our economy get back on its feet.

But you didn't. Shame on you.

The government enacted programs like, Making Homes Affordable and The Hardest Hit Fund. Your job was to work with homeowners that wanted to keep their homes. But you know what? You suck at your job. As it turns out, you were only interested in "helping" homeowners who had crazy interest rates or adjustable rates or balloon payments or in other words, homeowners with bad loans that banks like YOU gave them in the first place. Your plan of action? Foreclose on the house and write it off for your own benefit. It's a win-win for you, isn't it? You write off the loss and then sell the house at a ridiculous price.

Shame on you.

My family wasn't one of the favored ones. Our loan was a good loan. A fixed loan with a low interest rate. Seems pretty great, right? Not so much. Remember the part about no jobs? My husband was in danger of losing his job, so we took a huge risk and opened our own business. By the grace of God, our business was successful. I can feed my kids and pay our bills but there's a little, tiny problem. It's a stretch every month to do so. We looked at our finances and thought, "This is not good.", so we asked for help. For the next 2 years, we "worked" with a Bank of America agent. And by "work", I mean submitting our paperwork and then waiting for an answer. Guess what our answer was? "Your paperwork has expired, you need to resubmit it." For 2 years we did this, because your agent would wait for the paperwork to expire and then ask for it again. In the meantime, we were getting phone calls, 4 or 5 of them a day asking when we were going to make a payment. It's kind of hard to make a payment with no money. As our business improved, we were able to catch up on payments until we were again current. Then, one day, our credit companies started sending us ominous letters in the mail. Things like, "Your credit limit has been reduced" and "We are closing your account". Once we got over our shock, we discovered that Bank of America was accepting our checks every month, cashing them and sending us new statements, but were not applying them to our account. The result? Our credit score showed that we were 5 months behind on our mortgage payments. 5 months! In the meantime, your agent still hadn't gotten our paperwork together enough to be reviewed.

Shame on you.

After many phone calls, our credit was repaired but we were removed from the modification program, ironically called, "The Hope Team" or some such nonsense. But guess what? We still couldn't afford the house. About 6 months ago, we decided to try again, but this time, we hired someone to work on our behalf. We experienced an all too familiar process. Submit, re-submit, re-submit. Wait. Re-submit. Until we finally received our modification letter in the mail. Hallelujah! Let me share with you what I opened...

"We are pleased to tell you that you are approved to enter into a Trial Period Plan under the federal government's Home Affordable Modification Program." Phew! I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe we can finally get some help! Well, guess what? Bank of America is nothing if not predictable. Want to know how much you are willing to "help" us with?


Yep, your grand gesture is $30.00 a month less than what we currently pay. I'm feeling overwhelmed by your generosity. How could we ever repay you?

Shame on you.

And as an added bonus, if we decide to make these super affordable "trial payments", you are going to be reporting to the credit bureau that we are only making partial payments. So, not only have you slapped us in the face with your ever so generous $30.00 savings, you are going to spank our credit in the process.

So thanks, Bank of America. Thanks for proving once again that Middle Class America will always get shanked and that your Big Bank and all it's executives will continue to profit from our loss. I hope you enjoy your dirty money, you earned it.

Very Truly Yours,

Middle Class America