Fuck You MCM- A FOAD Special

Okay... follow along close. You may need a piece of graph paper and a slide rule to keep up, but here goes.

In the beginning stages of this mnd screw of house buying, I went and pulled our credit report. Looked it over, and found something weird. A company called Midland Credit had us owing them $1250.00... okay... what the fuck? So I call them.

Call 1- After getting disconnected 3 times, I finally get a talking head on the other end of the line asking for an account number. Well, I don't have one of those- so I give the social security number and she pulls it up. Apparently this is a collection account for Providian. A credit card we had years and years ago. I am pretty sure that was paid off a long time ago, I told her. Shit, fire and save matches. Now, we HAD a Providian account when we moved here. We closed it and paid it off. We paid it off in October of '04. Of course in my fluster of what the fuck, I am told "If you paid it off, no big deal, just fax us proof that it was paid off." ?!?! Okay, fine. Hang up the phone, throw a fit, and start digging through records and papers.

Call 2- Say fuck it and call Providian for information on the original account. Once we did the round about of confirming identity she tries to pull up an account that has been closed for 4 years. She gives me another company to call to trace it to- Oddly enough it is NOT Midland.

Phone call 3, I call the next company. A nice guy named Guy checks the account and confirms it indeed was paid off in October of 2004. I ask him how this account got sent to a collection agency in San Diego if it was paid off 4 years ago. He's stumped too, by the way, just as I am. I was able to get the original account number tacked to the account from him. It was a Visa- I know that because it started with a 4.

Call 4- Back to Midland to ask them where did they get the account? When? Account Number? All that happy shit. Midland gives me a Mastercard account number (Started with a 5), said they got it from some company name Presidio... Never heard of these dirtbags, btw, and Forest Gumped me saying they couldn't tell me anymore about that, because they had no contact information for Presidio. Hmmm... okay...

Call 5- To Providian, who as luck would have it, had to be routed through Washington Mutual Bank because I had no card number to give the auto-answer machine... I talked again to a nicely employed off-shore rep and asked her to grab old information. After once again talking to my husband to confirm that he was here- she said we had one account with them. Ever. A Visa account- that's right- starting with a 4. I confirmed the Visa number with her, and yep- the was the only one she had for us. Fuck a duck. Okay...

Call 6- Extensive forum digging on Google provides me with contact information to a company named Presidio, who apparently sold Midland this account of ours from Providian... I get a really nice lady there. I give her the mastercard account number that Midland says we owe for- and for the account they claim Presidio sold them with our name on it. She doesn't have it in her system. I give her our names. Nothing. Our SSNs- nope. Presidio has no fuckin idea who we are- never heard of us, have no card or account in our name, not even a single address linked to our zip code.

So to sum up thus far- Midland Credit has us on file for owing $1250 on a Providian mastercard account that Providian doesn't have in our name, that was sold to them by a collections company that has never heard of us, and are telling us we carry the burden of proving that we paid it off in 2004, even though the one we paid off was attached to a different Providian account number and was paid off to a company called Palisades.

Call 7- Back to Midland to inform them that Presidio has no record of this account, us or this ghost balance. Also tell them that Providian has no records of this account belonging to us- as all we had with them was a Visa account. She tells me to file a Police Report. (What the mother fuck??) And to contact the FTC about Identity theft.
Now I am quite sure this is not ID Theft as further down my credit report I show a soft hit in May from a skip trace, and oddly that's when this ghost account shit got added to my report. Some prick in a cube farm somewhere found a name match and tacked this shit on to our experian and transunion report, because he saw a previous account with Providian.

In any case- Call 8- The feds. Called the FTC, filed a complaint... and then asked, "Okay, now what?" The Federal Government said to inform the company that there has been a mistake- and said if they will not fix it, ultimately I am within my rights to contact an attorney and sue them.. As I never received a bill, they have provided no proof of the debt, etc. The FTC said that whether it is due to theft or not, it is still fraud.. Fraud is a felony. :) I asked her how likely it was that a thief would steal our numbers in order to open ONE card account for $1200. She kind of laughed- not really the way it usually happens... and more often than not the credit card company that originated the account would still have it tied to your name.

Call 9- Shit, It's now 10:30 p.m., I am pissed off and frustrated, and I get back with Midland to inform them that I have filed a complaint with the FTC. She says I need to get a police report. Wait, what? Yes, see because she says it is Identity theft... I say, one, I am in Europe, so what police do I call? Second, I am quite sure no one stole my information in this matter, just someone in skip tracing fucked up. Now these sonsabitches want me to fax them an affidavit stating the account is not ours in order for them to do the research and take it off our credit report. Gee, just an affidavit? It's that simple, huh, bitch? Well, of course if I send it with a police report... basically- they don't acknowledge that it was a mistake, it must be theft. You fuckweed.
She says an affidavit is all that is needed, and if I send it to them with any "supporting paperwork", they will expunge my credit of this debt. Some little minimum wage prick fucks up a skip trace, and leaves me to try to prove a negative.

Midland is unwilling to do any of this research themselves- I have to get legal papers, and "supporting documentation". The burden of proof somehow does not lie on their shoulders, but the consumer's. In the mean time I get to write and retell this story to every bank we want to shop with for a mortgage until Midland stops jerking off into the cereal bowl of my life.

I have a complaint on file with the FTC. I also filed a complaint with the BBB. I am seriously considering hiring an attorney... especially if this shit delays us buying a house, or costs us massive amount of points in interest in trying to get a mortgage from some over zealous little bastard in his cubicle not verifying the validity of a debt and identification associated with it.

Calls 10, 11, 12 will be to Providian, and the other companies involved to try and sweet talk them into helping me prove my negative to these cockbites at Midland. Why should it be my job to prove THEY fucked up?! OMG I am SO fucking pissed off. I may make calls 13, 14 and 15 to stars and stripes, and consumer groups to besmirch these fucktards in every public forum I can find.
So MCM, Midland Credit Management you can FUCK OFF AND DIE for adding this much more bullshit to the stress of moving and house hunting. Your company sucks big fat dick, and I hope you get put out of business by the federal government, with your managers led away in chains. Your company is unethical and I would be surprised if you make any money at all with your business practices. FOAD. You suck something fierce.

THAT is the question

So, in getting real about where we are going to live in BFE North Dakota, I have been weighing options. Being that the waiting list for base housing is 6-12 months, we are going to have to find someplace to live, even if it is temporary... and hey, I just happened to notice the economy is in the shitter! Not so good news for most- but with a stable job and income... it's a good time to consider buying a house. Prices are down, people are desperate to sell, etc.

We could rent. Find a place that is not the size of a refrigerator box with a washer and dryer, and who allow a cat... and looks like rent on such a place will run about $800+ a month. Now- even given a pretty shitty interest rate to account for us not owing anyone money... A pretty nice set up- like 2200 sq ft and a yard, etc will run $700 PITI... so... You can see why I am sticking on the idea of buying. We will be there for at least 5 years. Usually more than enough time for a recession to turn around, and fuck all, owning something there might make me like it a little. (Yes, I realize this is before spending my first winter in the middle of an iceberg landscape.)

But do I want to invest a substantial part of our life and heart into something? I can rip out the bathroom if I hate it... re do the floors... paint my fucking walls any god damned color I like!! Now I have noticed North Dakotan's like of painting walls red and putting up really ugly fucking wallpaper full of flowers and stripes... but I can rip that shit off and do my own thing if I own the place. On the other hand- if the toilet falls apart, or the outside paint looks like shit, I have to pay for it.

See, even thinking about it has my asshole all puckered up tight. This may be worse than wedding jitters... No.. yes...no... yes... Fuck it. I need a beer.

Racing

Holy sheep shit... 8 days until they come pack up the majority of our crap! Mind is racing, so instead of a big bitch fest about the move and my lack of preparedness... I have this laundry list of shit that I am happy about.

~No more AFN commercials. If you had ever seen a day's worth of this shit, you'd understand. The saddest part is when you realize that they pay people to write, record, edit and publish this retarded shit... It's positively depressing. My brain may never recover from 6 years of OPSEC, AAFES, depression awareness, suicide prevention, sexual assault, stress relief and commissary TV spots; oh- how about the "god" commercials-truly stupid shit; like they took those funny billboards about how he'll make rush hour longer, and twisted them into this pseudo religion ad- and forgot to make it funny.
Holy shit! I'll get to see a superbowl WITH commercials. On that note- more than 12 TV Channels. Now I'll have at least 150 to go around with and see that there is fucking nothing on. How glorious.

~The exchange rate will no longer be a spectator sport equally brutal as watching a rugby match. No more having to budget an extra 45-50% in order to eat out, fix the car, or buy something in town.,, and no more VAT forms. I will happily now fork over my 7% in sales tax dollars versus the paperwork and errand running for a 19% euro reduction in taxes.

~American doctors available off base. I can get a referral off base without fear of my lack of communication skills causing a rift in my medical care. I can go see a GYN- a female one even without being creeped out, and I bet I can get in without a 45 day wait. I might even have a choice of psychiatrists that don't sound and LOOK like Sigmund Freud giving me the brush off the the wiggins all at the same time... and I can call and change providers if I think my kid's doctor is an asshole for always being late without a bunch of bullshit, or being sent to another doc in the same office.

~I will no longer hate and dread grocery days because of the four story climb with 50 pounds of bags cutting the circulation off from my fingers, my legs shaking after trip three, and feeling wiped out by the whole ordeal.

~No more Sunday afternoons spent smelling the people downstairs... They like to grill on Sundays. They don't have a gas grill, and they are VERY fond of charcoal lighter fluid. Two hours every weekend, I teeter between retching and getting high off fumes. Perhaps I will give them our gas grill when we move... Cause they way they cook- can't taste very good- nothing hitting the tongue but flammable liquids.

~Should something break, need repair or need replaced- I bet I can find it in a store. Grill parts, furniture repairs, computer peripherals. I will be able to go out and buy printer ink- any time. Or fabric for sewing, and have it that day. No more waiting for shit to be shipped... OH- and we can have Dunkin Donuts coffee beans delivered, because there is no customs shitting on us. Oh, the glory of immediate satisfaction for a $2 part being there when you want to buy it. Need brake pads? How bout an alternator? Pep boys has it in stock- and they take core charges. Real acrylic nails, and Matrix hair care. Woot.

Shit... dryer is done. Must. Wash. Everything. 8 days. *8* fucking days.

Weeeee... I'm gonna throw up!

And... here we go!
On July 30th, we will take a shuttle to Frankfurt and check into a hotel. At our backs will be the KMC, our home for the last 6 years. The morning of July 31st we will board a plane for the States, leaving Europe, likely for the rest of our lives.

SO now all those in my life most concerned with dates, (besides myself,) can stop freaking the fuck out. We arrive in Baltimore (after a layover in O'Hare, the airport from depths of HELL) on July 31st. We'll be spending the night there near BWI in a Sheraton. Bright and early we'll be getting the car and beginning the long ass haul to BFE North Dakota. Still working out the stops along the way for that torturous long ride, but we'll get there, kids and cat in tow. Google maps estimates about 25 hours of actual driving time. That's a really long time to spend in a fucking car, eating from plastic wrappers, drinking from pop bottles and dealing with, a backseat monkey shit fight, and "I have too pee" every 2 hours. Even if we are stopping every night to sleep, shower and make phone calls, it is going to be a stressing few days.

In any case, there is a light at the end of the tunnel- although I get the feeling it is more like a light at the end of of roller coaster climb though a dark cave, and on the other side is a series of really steep drops and hard fucking turns... but it's a light, no doubt.

3 Ring Circus

What was that old joke? I'm a frayed knot? Ever true to Murphy and Mistress fate, on the first day of summer vacation my car is dead. Now, no big deal as it is just the the battery, and is easily remedied. The reason the car battery is dead? My son went to my car last night to get something and left the passenger side door open... so... The kid is upset- because we can't go do our "first day of summer" celebratory lunch we had planned. The husband is upset, because he has no car, and has to find someone at work to come jump the piece of shit. Both children are upset because daddy is most unthrilled, and they know he will likely remain that way for the rest of the day. Needless to say, this is not the first time it has happened, so there is frustration all around. This is, in fact, the fifth time they have killed my car... last time was 2 weeks ago, so, not cool.

Yep- I'm upset too. Not just at the lack of a car, and my plans being fucked, but at the fact that everyone around me is in a state of agitation and turmoil. See, I had plans for today. Sort through the upstairs store room, go through our closet and arrange it into pack and carry shit, then head out for a late lunch with the kids. Now I have a pissed off man, upset boy and confused girl, (because at her age, everything is the end of the world). In the grand scheme it is a hiccup, a bump in the road, no big deal... but when my nerves are frayed at a fine thread it's little shit like this that makes me want to start pulling my hair out in great gobs.

I want to be concentrating on my shit-to-do list, and instead I feel the compulsive urge to play peacemaker... not for their sakes so much as my own. I can't make anyone unpissy, though, can I? It's dumb. I shouldn't try. I can't effect anyone else... seriously though- I just want everyone to shut the fuck up, have a coke and a smile. Pull into line with my thoughts and start running towards a common goal... together. In so much as I am not the first to go through it, and I know it is irrational, but I feel like I am going to be doing the majority of this shit alone.... Like- he is doing the paperwork, (most of it), and everything else- the meat of the move- is up to me, and me alone. Medical records, transcripts, sorting absolutely everything and making sure everything is ready. That's alot of shit for one person- well, at least for me.

I may look like I am flying through it all with grace, style and agility- let's just hope when this three ring circus is done, the lions are back in their cages, the clowns are not wearing the dancer's costumes, and I remember to pack the tent poles for the new town's show.

Tick Tock Bitches

July 2... that's 21 days from today, a handful of hard working, (and likely not so good smelling), Germans will come into my house and begin wrapping and packing my shit into boxes. On the 3rd, they'll be back to put all those boxes on a truck on it's way to North Dakota. Once more, on July 8th, a moving company will come to pack up the "have to shipped quickly" shit-like pots, pans, vacuum cleaner and toys- to cart them off to the new world by air freight. As of now, I have fed 11 bags of clothes to the recycle monster, and sorted the store room into one stack of stuff to keep, and a much larger pile of shit to get rid of. Many of the cabinets in the kitchen have a few less redundant dishes. All my fabrics and crafts have been binned, as well as all holiday decor.

Today, I will scramble to get much done in the house, while trying to find a little time to relax and enjoy the awesome quiet. Tomorrow, the children will be released early and set loose upon the neighborhood (and my nerves) for the summer.... Then the quiet ends. Not only will we be running to get all the paperwork and errands for the move done with one car, (we shipped one already), but I'll be having the divine pleasure of doing so with the kids in tow, bitching for ice cream and going home.

All this lovely running about like a crazy bitch has been the cause of my lack of posting and ranting here. I would love to have a temper tantrum and the nervous breakdown I desperately deserve, but I just haven't the time these days. I will write when I have the time... as it is, the precious few quiet moments I get are split between jotting notes, making plans, thinking entirely too much, and oh, yeah- trying to have fun with my family. God forbid I try to find not only the time, but the ambition for the simple carnal pleasures of marriage.

Seriously- this is the time when those who care for me should hit their knees and thank god for the miracles of modern chemistry and mood stabilizing meds. The chores call... I think today is linen sorting and trashing (bags 12 and 13). I'll get back here when I can.

Keeping a good attitude...?

I would like to put this up- more as a reminder to me. In the next weeks, when I know things are inevitably going to piss me off... There will be days when I want to climb walls, phone calls that will make it hard not to hurl the handset into the wall, and people I will want to punch square in the face when they just can't give me a straight or consistent answer... I will think fondly on this video. I passed coffee thru my nose watching it, and it wil no doubt give me a little smile, while I grit my teeth. I may be saying "Thank you, have a nice day", to their face- but just behind my lips I am telling them, "Go FUCK YOURSELF!"

Introspective

It's coming... Like a freight train in a tunnel. We are official now, as we got our orders on Thursday. We'll have a moving date Monday, which will basically set the dates for everything else- car shipping, vet appointments, packers, etc. It's been six years. Time to think back in the last few days of quiet... at lest that is what I have found myself doing... and looking forward to what's next. In six years, so much changed at home.

After fighting the good fight, post-op, my Grandfather left us. He left behind his memory of laughter and kindness, and a great gap of his presence. I remember the last time I talked to him- the night of December 19th. We were getting ready to go to the obligatory Christmas party for my husband's work. He was in great spirits and told me a dirty joke... we laughed our asses off, and I told him to take care of himself. I know most people have those postmortem regrets of "I never told him this or that.. He never knew..." I don't have those. He knew how much he was loved. He always knew how special he was to me, and I am sure he knows how much he is missed- I am certain when I crack myself up in an empty house thinking about one of his obscene songs, (I wish I had the prick of a stallion...) that he is laughing right along with me. The only thing I wish is that I could thank him, for everything. But then, I am sure he wouldn't go for all that mushy boo-hoo shit.

In September of 2004 I got news that one of my closest friends had killed himself. That last conversation with him is also stuck in my memory... because before I hung up, I had told him "I love you, and please don't do anything stupid." Guess he made an empty promise when he agreed. I miss him so badly and it is a hole in my heart that will never heal. Being in Europe, no one in his family knew where to find me or contact me to let me know when it had happened in August.. and I spent the better part of September, after I found out, crying every day. It still tears me up that I haven't been back to Vegas in over 6 years, to see him parents, or pay my respects at his grave. I am not sure that I have any regrets about what I said or did not say to him either... We were so close that I never pulled my punches, always spoke my mind, and always let him know how I felt... Although I wish I could have been there, that maybe if he had me to come to he'd still be around, I can't regret any of that.... Just wistfully want it to have been different.

So much... Mom got married, Dad is getting married, my best bud from High school had a baby, my grandmother's health is failing. We've made friends who have left, made more, got close, and they left too. My son is nine, and when we got here he was three.... so he has spent more of his life in another country than his own. We came here with furniture that looked like it belonged in a newlywed flat, and now have a houseful of stuff we can be proud of. I have added 3 more cars to the very long list of vehicles come and gone. We've been the victims of check fraud, and changed bank accounts. We've seen the Eiffel Tower, walked through Notre Dame and been to Disneyland Paris. My kids got to put their feet into the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans within 2 weeks of each other. I tended bar at two different clubs, worked at the commissary, broken my ankle, had a hysterectomy and ortho surgery. It's been a busy six years...

Yet, I don't feel any different really. Not much has changed. The daily grind, the bills, helping with homework. A roller coaster of belly laughs and sobbing in tears... and now with so much getting ready to change around here- I wonder- how much will change really?

Classics and Explicatives

There are some jokes that just never stop being funny. I think people are too uptight about the use of explicatives in everyday language. Yes, yes, there are times when it is not appropriate, but in everyday conversations between adults, the proper insertion of a colorful word can have great impact. Anyway- two of my favorite jokes. They never fail to make me laugh, and they are just never unfunny.

This being one of my favorites- as it includes FTFF- Fuck the Fuckin' Fuckers- and, "Why don't you go outside and play hide-and-go-fuck-yourself?!"

Then there is another of my favorites:

There are many words in the English language that can have multiple meanings, but none are more versatile than that little four letter word, SHIT.
Consider the following:
* You can get shit-faced, Be shit-out-of-luck, Or have shit for brains.
* With a little effort, you can get your shit together, find a place for your shit, or be asked to shit or get off the pot.
* You can smoke shit, buy shit, sell shit, lose shit, find shit, forget shit, and tell others to eat shit.
* Some people know their shit, while others can't tell the difference between shit and shineola.
* There are lucky shits, dumb shits, and crazy shits. There is bull shit, horse shit, and chicken shit.
* You can throw shit, sling shit, catch shit, shoot the shit, or duck when the shit hits the fan.
* You can give a shit or serve shit on a shingle.
* You can find yourself in deep shit or be happier than a pig in shit.
* Some days are colder than shit, some days are hotter than shit, and some days are just plain shitty.
* When you're sick, you can feel like shit, look like shit, smell like shit, and sound like shit.
* You can also sound like you're full of shit.
* You can have too much shit, not enough shit, the right shit, the wrong shit or a lot of weird shit.
* You can carry shit, have a mountain of shit, or find yourself up shit creek without a paddle.
* Sometimes everything you touch turns to shit and other times you fall in a bucket of shit and come out smelling like a rose.
When you stop to consider all the facts, it's the basic building block of the English language.
And remember, once you know your shit, you don't need to know anything else!!

So, have a nice day. Or go fuck yourself- I don't give a shit! ;)

Epitome of...

Main Entry:
epit·o·me\
Pronunciation:
\i-ˈpi-tə-mē\
1 a: a summary of a written work b: a brief presentation or statement of something2: a typical or ideal example : embodiment 3: brief or miniature form

Epitome of Bad Cook: Was in the commissary and was looking through the quick fix meal kits... as there are just those days that cooking a full dinner is more than I an bear. I grabbed some Supper Bake kits, and looked up to see the most horrid thing I could imagine- "Microwave Hamburger Helper". Now you have to be having a bad day, in a mood for bachelor food, or hard up for choices to make Hamburger Helper at all, but who the fuck is so bad a cook that they can't use a frickon skillet? Hamburger? In the Microwave? Fuck-ing-gross.

Epitome of Asshole Driver: Passes you on the road- with a dirty look- as if he ass was on fire, only to end up right in front of you at the gate, go into the same parking lot, and circle. Once, Twice, Three times... by third trip around, I stopped for a spot opening up behind him, turned on my blinker and waited. The prick tries to put his piece of shit Audi into reverse, and acts as if he is expecting me to back up. I made sure to smile at the son of a bitch on the way into the clinic while he continued sharking the parking lot.

Epitome of Bad Taste: Now we've all heard the horror stories of old men wearing black socks with sandals. Let me refresh you with a new visual. Large older woman in a tank top t-shirt, and shorts. Not so bad, you say? Well, take away the bra under that tank top, and add to it the age of about 50ish, and all the saggin' that goes with it. Now picture it in a grocery store reaching for produce.*shudder* Run. Run Away.

Epitome of Pussification: It's called the "Military Honor and Decency Act". Some loud mouthed asshole in the south is trying to get Playboys and Penthouses banned from being sold in military stores. He thinks his tax dollars are paying for Porn. Being the fact that the military supports AAFES (as much as they suck ass), I think someone needs to roll up a Playboy and smack him across the nose with it like a dog. The son of a bitch doesn't live on base, work on base, go on base... But some bible thumpin zealot- likely some plasticized rich bitch soccer mom- got some politician's panties in a roar to champion a cause that needs have no voice. "It's all about the kids." Fuck you. It's the military, not romper room. Stop trying to pussify the few little bits of adult entertainment these guys get. I am not saying put Debbie Does Dallas on the shelf- but Playboy? Seriously? I see more graphic shit on BBC Television.

Epitome of Stupid Parent: My son came home the other day and left his pants in the laundr... well, on the floor of the laundry room. When I picked them up to wash them, a bunch of little neon yellow pellets fell out of the pockets. I asked him where they came from- he said they were laying around at the park on the ground. So, some twat has seen fit to give their kid a frickon pellet gun to take the the park where little kids play. My son swears he doesn't know where they came from, and none of his friends have a BB gun... Great job there Dad. If for no other reason than to litter a play place with choking hazards for toddlers- God help those asshats if I find out someone brings a pellet gun anywhere near my kids. Stellar parenting there.

Epitome of Bad TV: I thought Eurosport showing snooker and curling sucked. I have seen a whole new low in entertainment. The AXN network here has a program of backgammon. Like watching paint dry... But the crux of it is, they try to play it up to be all exciting, with some tard narrating it like it's a sporting event of Olympic scale. Gets all dramatic and shit as if it is going to come to blows any second- this dorky looking peck with a cane and a cheap suit flashing in to talk and add that special flair of... ugh.... They set it in a warehouse- on a $10 card table and folding chairs... I'd rather have a fucking mammogram... and my husband watches it. I should deprogram the channel from the TV.

Epitome of Stress: Two months until moving, only half of half of the shit done to organize, and every time I seem to get one thing done, I find 2 more projects that need done. Finding many jobs in the ND paper in the exciting and fast growing industry of food service, but not much else. Trying to figure out how long we'll have to rent a POS apartment until we can get housing there... and what all is entailed in shipping cats with the family.