The fustercluck continues

Bugshit crazy

I’m so happy to report that the current apartment management is planning to exterminate my place on my official moving day. Blah blah blah “you will be fined $50 if you do not permit the exterminators to do their job.” I’ve tried this before — they bring in the bug boys to do a shitload of apartments in one day; no special considerations for anyone, circumstances be damned.

Seriously, they’ve had my notice for weeks — gee thanks. Ya couldn’t wait an extra, oh, DAY could’ja now? Seriously. Ya already inspected this dump today — hope you liked tripping on the vacuum cleaner cord and piles of newspapers, as I didn’t exactly clear a pathway for my guests.

‘Scuse me while I hang myself with that ethernet cord

Meanwhile back at the new ranch, I tried to schedule cable/Internet hookups at the new bachelorette pad. But I can’t because somebody, somewhere fucked something up and Crazy-Ass Cable Conglomerate have somebody else scheduled for an install at MY ADDRESS. Three phone calls later (and phone monkeys referring to me by a man’s name when I give them the address — the HELL?!?! As I asked one poor rep, “Do I SOUND like I just sprouted a third leg? You were calling me Dawn a minute ago, you know, when I gave you my cell phone number and my name popped up on your screen!”

Actually, I found it funny. I had no choice. 😉

Replace that zero with a hero … zero?

So anyway, the phone number. I started off with my area code. I said “Seven, Zero, Three. …” and the girl interrupts me to say, “You mean Seven, OH, Three?” I laughed and said yeah. Good on ya for translating that Zero into an Oh. Can’t put anything past YOU!!!!

The punchline

After I offered to fax my lease to prove that I am in fact the rightful tenant of said apartment unit and volunteered to submit to a medical exam to prove I was not the man whose name they called me by, I learned that I could not get the hookups and was thus regaled to living without cable and Internet until they could get hold of this mystery person who I am clearly NOT. Whee.

In any event, I suggested ever-so-helpfully that, since I had switched apartments at the last minute, perhaps the guy had done the same thing — only he’d gone so far as to schedule cable installation?

And the angels sang alleluia

I was put on hold and later told that — guess what? — the guy lives one floor above me. Hah. Somebody made a boo-boo when inputting the data. And apparently he has no idea, and if not for me, the boy would probably never get the cable.

The only reason I even threw the fit was because his install date that they’d mentioned in the first place (for the guy, which I didn’t realize at the time) was inconvenient to me, and I need mine way sooner. Heh — it would’ve been nice to have somebody else responsible for that triple-digit mess of a bill every month for practically nothing!

Let’s not talk about the mess over ordering checks.

Long story short, my bank has two addresses on file for me. I ordered checks using the mailing address I designated but with the new address to be printed on the checks I ordered from an independent company. Bank says the mailing address isn’t my address. Thus, no soup for you. So I updated my mailing address at the bank and now I see an e-mail that until my bank provides written verification (which is never going to happen) I am screwed and my money will be refunded in 45 days.

Because, you know, who really needs real, numbered checks? I hope I can pay my rent in navel fuzz, since they don’t accept starter checks.

More moving fun

I am terrified to call back my insurance agent to find out how much my already-astounding car/renter’s insurance is going to skyrocket with the move. Really — a girl can only handle so much in one day!

It’s all good, though. I’m moving forward. That’s all there is to it. I’m leaving behind a lot of posssessions, but that’s all they are — things. Stuff. Sentimental items. Tattered crap, basically.

I’m also leaving behind the tears, the frustration and sadness and fear and despair. It’s like getting a haircut and snipping off the split ends — they’ve incurred enough damage. Time to let them go into that gentle good night. It’s an opportunity to take with me what I want and not leave a forwarding address for what isn’t working for me.

I’ve wasted too much time being unhappy — and while I know I can’t abolish bad feelings, I can change the scenery and not be reminded of the old stuff that weighed me down. Four walls can only hold so many tears — these have hit their capacity. My new place is untainted, untouched. It’s full of sunshine and space and possibility. And, thus, so am I. And I feel healthier already, just thinking about the laughter and joy I’m going to experience anywhere but here. …

One Lonely Response to The fustercluck continues

  1. karmajenn :

    Ah, the f*ck-upedness that is DC business. Oh, the memories. Hang in there, girlie. It’s got to get better, it will! Also, if I remember correctly, my DC car insurance wasn’t TOO much different than when I lived in Northern Virginia (moved from Van Ness to Shirlington.)