Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Hay Holiday Letter of Truth 2016
This is where you hear the truth and nothing but the truth about my messed up year and my embarrassing children, friends, and family. This year there are no ex-wife stories and keeping it fairly clean with only casual references to pegging, cockroaches, bed bugs, syphilis, farts, and fleas.

He Can Make It Anywhere
The year started out with my son Blade, the youngest and mouthiest, moving to New York City to go to school. He loved it at first, but then realized he liked working better than school. I guess that’s because it pays better. He’s now going to school part time and working full time as para-legal for a patent troll. He won’t admit his boss is the absolute lowest form of life on earth. Common criminals steal, but patent trolls do that AND set back progress for all humans. I am so proud of him. Maybe he can move into spamming and malicious software next? He shares an apartment in Manhattan close to Chris Christie’s George Washington Bridge. He pays the exact same rent for his tiny little bedroom as my middle daughter pays for her place in Montana. Damnit I can’t remember her name because of Forgotten Middle Child Syndrome. Of course “she” has a 3000 foot house in Hamilton, Montana with unbelievable character, who-knows-how-many bedrooms, a barn, a big circular driveway, two acre pasture, solar power, big wide front and rear porches and a knockout view of the mountains. And it’s even walkable to town. I visited Blade on his move to New York City and in the spirit of our new president-elect I also did a little grabbing below the belt, before grabbing was cool.

Pew In The Pew
Devon is my eldest. I easily remember her name, although I never call her that. Her boyfriend’s mother is Islamic. So when they visited her in California this year she went to mosque and wore a hijab. I once wore a turban in a Sikh temple and had some amazing food there. Sikhs are all about the food. In fact I may have hidden some food in that turban. After eating all that awesome grub you can fart in a Sikh temple and no one cares who dealt it. Not so in a mosque. You must be “clean” to pray. After you fart you must cleanse yourself. Not sure what the definition of cleansing is exactly, but knowing my flatulent daughter, she would be in a constant state of cleanse and would never be able to pray. Or pray they don’t detect you. And who enforces this anyway? What if it’s just an SBD? These are all questions to which I have no answers. Maybe a Muslim friend can help me here?  In any event, my atheist daughter obviously loves her boyfriend.

Dog Days
So middle daughter what’s-her-face trains dogs for a living. Actually they developed the protocol for training dogs to help manage wildlife (read bears) in urban areas, and now for National Parks to keep wildlife and people separated. I think she should be a professional photographer after sending this picture of her pit bull Lenny (Staffordshire something-or-other actually). Hey Blade, notice the beautiful mountain view and the solar panels. Just like The Bronx huh?

My dad is not even a bad amateur entomologist. What! Is your damn google broken? That is someone who studies insects. Now back to the story. Mom and dad had bad bites and rashes this summer and were convinced their house was infested with bed bugs. Because I am at least a poor amateur entomologist, and can spell it, I know that bed bugs have a natural predator, that being of course the lowly cockroach (bringing it right back to New York City and keeping it relevant for you Blade). Cockroaches naturally were my first treatment suggestion. That went over like a lead cloud. There is no “treatment” for bed bugs, except heating up the entire house to 130 degrees Fahrenheit and leaving it that way for half an hour. That kills them. The typical furnace isn’t going to do that, even aided by electric space heaters, so you must use portable propane heaters. Of course filling the house up with carbon monoxide and intense heat kills cockroaches, bedbugs, humans, and all other living creatures. Well, maybe not the cockroaches come to think of it. We made arrangements to move everything out of the closets, and got the heaters reserved at a rental shop. In thinking through the logistics it became clear that post-treatment it would require a person running into the danger zone to turn off heaters strategically placed throughout. I wasn’t going to do it and my first choice for this job, my sister, wasn’t anywhere to be found of course. In addition to the immediate danger of carbon monoxide and heat in a fully closed house there was the small issue of completely burning down the house. Dad has experience with this burning-down-the-house thing (see “Y2K Generator” HHLOT circa 1999). We decided that we should probably check to see if it was indeed bed bugs. It wasn’t. No evidence whatsoever. That being said, in addition to a poor amateur entomologist, I also am a poor amateur doctor, and went to WEB MD and compared their skin rashes to what was online. They looked exactly like Syphilis rashes. Burning down the house would be a helluva way to cover up getting an STI, and an interesting explanation to the insurance company. So instead they went to a real doctor who immediately proclaimed, ”these are flea rashes”. They have no pets. Our family friend Jami works in a vet’s office and visits every week. That would be the flea source.

Twisted Sister
My sister finalized her divorce recently and went to the judge to change her name. Problem is she changed her last name AND her middle name. She should have left all that alone and just changed her first name, which no one calls her anyway. Well, OK, just me, or sometimes people when they are mad at her, but that’s not the point. She changed her MIDDLE NAME! Who does that anyway? Her middle name at birth was in honor of my now 101 year old grandmother.  She changed it to the same name mom has as her middle name. WTF! I can get over all the rest of this, but here’s the real problem: Security questions on the Internet. Typical security questions on every website known to man are things that are permanent and not subject to the vagaries of memory like your middle child’s name. No, they want permanent easily memorable things, like high school attended, favorite pet’s name, your anniversary, etc. I have big problems with these security questions. My cat died, I never even started high school, and have been divorced twice. It’s an issue with security questions. So my go-to has always been “eldest sibling’s middle name” because I can’t kill it, forget it, divorce it, or lose it. So now like a boss, she changes it.  I’m simply doomed.

Beer Alarm Fire
No forceful evictions yet this year, but I did get a call from a tenant at 2:00 am who said the fire alarm was going off and beer was streaming down the stairs. I assumed the beer probably put the fire out and went back to sleep. I didn’t pay twenty thousand dollars for a new alarm system and fire doors to lose sleep. Of course the fire department called ten minutes later and told me someone got in a fight in the hallway and pulled the alarm, naturally waking everyone in the building and the entire neighborhood when the fire trucks came hammering in. Isn’t this what everyone does when you are drinking beer and happen to get in a fight in the hallway at 2:00 am---pull the fire alarm?

No Happy Ending
I’m sure you all have noticed junk texts are on the rise (growing career field for you Blade). But even better I got a really wrong number text not long ago. I thought it was my friend Rob messing with me under a new phone number, especially when I saw the 253 area code. So I started playing along. He started with this very romantic gesture:
“are you available for bbj and do you swallow”
Smelling blood in the water, and curious what bbj is, I replied
“Oh yeah I totally swallow”
He was definitely interested. Time to close the deal
“damn so what area an how much for a double pop”
Feeling like this wasn’t about a strong sugary drink, I responded thusly
“It’s free if I can peg you dry between pops”
Things just deteriorated from there because he had no idea what pegging is, his grammar was atrocious, and he was quite simply losing me. So I called Rob’s wife Cathy to laugh with her about what Rob was doing. She responded he was dead asleep on the couch and not texting anyone. She was cracking up and wanted to know what the phone number was. Naturally I gave it to her. So Cathy called and started messing with the guy, who of course denied it all. My paramour continued
“where’s your incall an what is peg you dry sexy”
“let me no ID like to hookup”
“Why don’t you google pegging then let me know.”
Our flirtation continued, cut for brevity, until the inevitable breakup:
“Dude, you have the wrong number. I’m just messing with you”.
“well just to let you know your # is on backpage as a fine ass black chic”
“I’m sorry I thought you were a buddy of mine messing with me.”
“I don’t have an ad. I’m a 52 year old white guy.”
“Do you have a link to the ad?”
“no its in backpage under escorts”

So this fine ass black chic(k) wishes you all a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Kwanza, Ramadan, and even a Happy Chinese New Year, whenever that occurs!

Friday, December 26, 2014

2014 Hay Holiday Letter of Truth

2014 Hay Holiday Letter of Truth

This is the holiday letter where it’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about the last year.

Drug Dealin’
I had a very large flatbed trailer that I had converted from a travel trailer. The thing was 26 feet long and 8-1/2 feet wide. I never used it. I got really tired of looking at it, too. Seriously, wouldn't you too? It never had a title or license, but that was fine, let ‘em catch me was my philosophy. That made selling it a bit problematic, however. The Craigslist ads were getting no response at $500.

One day a guy texts me out of nowhere and tells me he wants to trade me weed for my trailer, telling me he is a legal grower. I replied “uh, no, thanks, I’d rather have the money, and I sure don’t want to have more than an ounce hanging around,” (the legal limit). So the trailer still doesn't sell.

A week later he texts back and offers me two ounces plus $300. I call my tenant Gayla in the basement and see if she wants it, or can sell it. She says sure, she can sell it, can get the cash, and meet the guy. I wanted absolutely nothing to do with this---just show me the money and get the trailer the hell out of the yard. At the appointed time, the guy shows up, but mistakenly only brings $200 cash. To make up for it, he gives Gayla four ounces. Gayla immediately sells part of it, making a killing, apparently, and keeps a lot of the cash to herself for the trouble. I arrive home and there’s a wad of cash and a HUGE Ziploc of weed on my counter. So now it looks like I’m a drug dealer. 

Naturally the next step is to employ my kids.

Before you get your panties all in a twist, the kids are all adults! But the point of it is that I am now the head of a family run drug cartel and feeling like a total pimp. Obviously I need a pit bull.

The kids take my stash and sell it to several friends, being somewhat nonchalant about actually collecting payment. Kelsey has a pit bull named Shark—come on, stay with the story people, this is the letter of truth, I don’t make this shit up—and because I am now a drug kingpin, I send threatening texts to the customers threatening to fuck them up and send the pit bull after them.

Everyone laughed. Maybe because they know Shark is a cute puppy and maybe cause they don't believe I'm head of a cartel. In any event not even one person thought I was a badass. And the dog mostly just licks people’s hands. So my drug dealing days are over now. The crux of the story is that I sold my ILLEGAL trailer for LEGAL drugs, and got to talk all gangster and make threats and shit.
Totally worth it.
Then I started thinking about this trailer and they grower guy who bought it.....the amount of product you could haul on a 26 x 8.5 foot dual axle trailer is truly staggering. A month or so after the trailer incident I did an inspection for a guy buying a huge property in Arlington with at least two massive pole building shops, truly one of the largest I had ever seen, and 400 amps of power. He wasn't a welder, didn't drive an electric car, and didn't own a kiln. Welcome to the new economy.

Kelsey's pit bull "Shark" attacking a drug customer. Or maybe getting her tummy rubbed.

Not Texting and Driving
I text while driving. All the time. Prolifically. Without fail. Every single time. For years and years and years. The nanny state says texting and driving is dangerous. True. For people that CAN'T DRIVE! I haven’t been in a serious accident in 35 years. Then one afternoon in March while NOT texting, NOT talking on the phone, and NOT eating a sandwich, I caused a four car pileup on I-90 in Bellevue. I was number three of four cars in a chain reaction. Trashed my beloved truck. Texting saves lives. Pass it on.

The North Koreans Were Right
Seth Rogen you are such a douche. I want my six bucks and two hours back. I thought I was doing the patriotic thing and renting "The Interview" on YouTube. Just another sucker. I'm gonna send Shark after him if he puts out another movie that bad. Seth, weren't you embarrassed?

Mexico With The Exico
So Lisa and I fought for four years until the divorce was final. There was nothing left for her to take anyway, so what's to fight about? In any event, she has a time share in Mexico and couldn't get anyone to go with her. I begged my boss, who is kind of an ass about these things, but he finally agreed to let me go. Lisa made it extra clear that this was going to be two separate rooms and no funny business was going to go on. And I believed her. Because I was previously married to her.

Many other people who were never married to her assumed that despite her words, there were ulterior motives. So naive! I started taking $20 bets. Gayla (mentioned above) wanted in on the action and god knows bitch has the cash. Dale my helper on apartment maintenance and management wanted a piece of that $20 action also. I was either going to get very rich on this trip or get the most expensive piece ever. I won the bets of course. Full disclosure: I did hug her after she barfed on the boat to Cozumel.

Boring. No forceful evictions, no hookers, just the typical Everett White Trash drama. Thanks to 20% rent increases that FINALLY arrived this year I'm actually making beau coup cash. Way more than my drug dealing. Everett Fire Department is doing their best lately to fix that since they are forcing me on the big building to upgrade the alarm system, adding firewalls, self closing doors, etc. Who knew the FD could force a property owner to upgrade an existing building? I didn't. Its almost enough to make me want to vote Republican,.....nah!


Monday, December 16, 2013

Hay Holiday Letter of Truth (2013)
This is the holiday letter where it’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth of the past year.

Panera Not Just Bread
So Blade left last year for Germany for a year to study, uh, German beer, I guess. I went to visit him in Croatia while he was there with his host family on vacation.  We referred to the host family as the replacement family.  Christ on a cracker can those people put down the beer. “Those people” being Germans in general, and that family specifically.  He’s now back home, going to school at Cascadia Community College, and working at Panera Bread. Panera Bread needs to drop the “Bread” from their name. Seriously. It’s not an Oroweat store! The serve soup, make smoothies and can sell you a spinach salad.
That’s about it for him. He’s been the most boring kid by far this last year. Well, other than his girlfriend dumping him two or three times. Yawn.  

Devon graduated from UW this year. Ironically she is working for Department of Child Support in Olympia. Recall a few years back the head of DCS personally told me to NOT pay child support for her due to a procedural/court error. 
Wait, first ex is the gift that keeps on giving, it just keeps getting better:  
I paid a portion of the kids’ education in 2012 and 2013 and was planning to do more in 2014. So when the accountant went to do my 2012 taxes, I had to confirm for him that the X had taken the correct education tax credit (we had been trading exemptions back and forth for fifteen years per the divorce paperwork). Seems she took it all.  I called and said what’s up; you need to file an amended return. Not gonna do it she said. OK, fine, I said, what if you take all of 2012, I’ll take 2013, and you take 2014? Not gonna do it (she files in April, I file in October), she retorted. So I had to write an unexpected $3000 check to the IRS, plus penalties etc. So just a few weeks ago, Blade asks me for money for winter quarter coming up. I tell him fine, I have it, but first maybe he can convince his mother that she should negotiate with me about the tax credit. He gets back a day later and says nope, she’s not gonna do it, but she will pay for school.
OK then, easy come, easy go…I definitely know when to just shut the hell up.

Painter’s Tape
My middle daughter, the one we mostly forget about, Kelsey, turned 21 this year. Her sister and friends were headed to Missoula to throw her a party, starting with bar runs at midnight. Ironically, one of her nicknames is “Puke”----this is the Letter of Truth, I don’t have to make this up!
Naturally this party called for a stripper. Since I wasn’t invited to my own daughter’s surprise party(!!) I lined up a stripper to go to the house about 10pm. He was to be dressed as a cop, tell everyone there was a report of underage drinking, administer a Breathalyzer, then strip. But the damn fool quit on me at the last moment! I worked the phones like crazy and could not find a replacement stripper. I guess there just aren’t many male strippers in Missoula, Montana….
So I jumped on a plane and headed there that night, arriving at 7pm. I got a hotel room, loaded the Bee Gees “Stayin’ Alive” on my phone, and went to The Home Depot to buy blue painter’s tape. While this sounds like a murder plan, and I was planning to kill, technically I don’t think anything illegal took place.
Upon arrival at the house, there were probably 15 friends, plus her sister, her boyfriend, and her evil mother. Kelsey gave me a big hug. She had a drink scoreboard tied around her neck. She wanted to talk, and blah blah blah.
But I didn’t want to talk. I went over to the stereo, plugged in my phone, then got right in her face about an important life lesson she needed to learn. She was wondering why I was so intent, because this was a party, not an inquisition. While trying to grab the attention of the room I loudly proclaimed, “you know Dess (another nickname), sometimes life hands you lemons, and you need to know how to make lemonade”. She looked at me quizzically. “And when you really want something done, sometimes you just have to do it YOURSELF”. At that exact moment I snapped on “Stayin Alive” and reached for my belt. The girls started shrieking, her mother left the room in disgust, and Kelsey cracked up and started dancing and singing with me. “Dad, this is sooo wrong and I’m losing sooo many friends right now!”
aah, aah, aah, aah, stayin alive, stayin alive!!
Despite practicing my routine in the hotel, I forgot to grab and shake my booty, did a fairly reasonable two-foot-distant bump and grind, and of course did the scissors with my shirt around her torso. Next was the zipper tease and that’s when oldest daughter Devon starting half screaming, half laughing “that’s enough, that’s enough”!! Good thing too, cause that’s all I had.  I yelled, “THAT’S how you party naked”, as I got dressed, gave her a big hug, handed her a Breathalyzer as a present, walked out the back door and flew home. Yes, a hit and run birthday strip.
The blue tape was to cover my junk, but during practice I discovered a lot of tape is needed, and it hurt, made me feel like the Michelin Man, and most importantly inhibited my bustin’ dance moves.

Buh bye
After three years of separation Lisa and I finally pulled the trigger on the divorce in 2013.  I got some things, she got some things, but most importantly she got my favorite green step-ladder which she refuses to return!

Flying Turd
My three year ordeal with the FAA over getting my airplane rebuild project certified ended when I sold it for parts. I lost north of $20,000 on that disaster. So in May I found a flying amphibious boat down in Florida I wanted. It was disassembled, so I had it shipped up here. After putting it back together and test flying we found all kinds of little peculiarities, making it the first airplane I have truly been intimidated by. It didn’t help that two of the first five landings were partial power emergencies. I wanted something different from the sexy, fast, responsive, fun RV-6, and I sure got it. Reading pilot reviews from this Brazilian import I see I am not the only person underwhelmed by its characteristics.  I am consoled by Charles Lindbergh because The Spirit of St Louis was apparently a flying turkey. It handled poorly, was fundamentally unstable, and the forward visibility was via a periscope. And he learned to love it. Alright, he tolerated it for 33 hours anyway. I guess I will learn to love it. Hopefully.

No means NO
My “friend” Jessie has chickens. Many chickens. City of Seattle doesn’t allow urban chicken farmers to have roosters. So the roosters must be kept, uh, quietly. Her rooster is named Roo, and he is a fine rooster and a very loud rooster. He has a much quieter son named, fittingly, Mini-Roo. She has pretty well turned the garage into a chicken coop, and been slowly making it soundproof so poor Roo doesn’t have to sleep in the car. Again, I gently remind you this is the letter of TRUTH. That’s not a misprint; the car.
When Roo is taken out of the car he is ready for the morning rape. Standing tall, feathers fully back, he chases each of the ladies around, until, uh, completion. Mini-Roo is not so interested in rape. He believes each hen is worthy of respect as an individual, and believes that no means no. Or he is gay. I personally believe the latter because he makes less noise and provides emotional support instead of torment. Plus he doesn’t rape his sisters, mother, and kids like Roo does.
So despite best efforts to quiet poor Roo, the neighbors complained, the code enforcement officer came, and gave her 48 hours to either make rooster soup or move them out of the city. That’s right, both roosters were then moved to my house. Well, as you know, having two roosters and no hens in one coop is not great, so we had to get a rescue chicken. Rescue chicken was full of fleas, but she was fat and full of personality and lays eggs like crazy. So my one hen was laying eggs all over the place and her EIGHT hens were not doing squat because they didn’t have a rooster. So Mini-Roo was moved back to Seattle in direct violation of municipal code, and the hens started laying because he really communicates and does not objectify the ladies.

Speaking of Animals
Almost-20 year old cat Raffi died in June. But not before quietly shredding six or eight blankets and comforters, pissing all over much of the carpet and pooping on the remaining, in her last days. So I removed the carpet where it was trashed, have crappy 35 year old carpet where it wasn’t, half of a room with new laminate, and particleboard and plywood floors elsewhere. At least the dirty paint matches up well. All this doesn’t matter because I can’t see the floors in a few rooms due to airplane parts and receipts and files and computers. Receipts and files you say? Since I took over the apartments in the divorce, turns out the computer files couldn’t be transferred. Quicken and I have had endless discussions about their older and newer versions of property manager software being completely incompatible. So meanwhile I can’t print, can’t get to the data, and basically look at the bank statements to see who has paid rent. Lisa essentially handed twenty boxes of files over and said see ya! I stand proud, however, in my deep belief that using this obsolete software and allowing it to bottleneck my business is the righteous thing to do. Paying a bookkeeper $250 to get it over with is insanity to me. Then what would I complain about? Ugh, however, starting in 2014 I will be trying to convert to a Mac and fresh software, which will even further complicate things I am sure. Nah, I’ll probably let it ride for another year.

Diesel, I am so sorry

I have a new love. You schlebs all proud with your no-torque, inferior mileage, low longevity, environmentally noxious gas-powered cars simply wouldn’t understand, but I have only had diesel vehicles for many years. They can burn diesel, or bio-diesel, or cooking oil, or motor oil, or whatever you have. And hybrids?  Phh. Shameful compromiser of the worst kind, the entire lot of you. At least have the nerve to pick a method and go with it. And a hybrid SUV is like a compromise upon a compromise. A little bit of everything and good at nothing. Well, Jessie got a Nissan Leaf this year.  And it was love at first drive. Talk about torque. 100% at zero RPM. Just plug it in. It’s almost free to drive. Completely quiet. 100 miles of range. Oh, and did I mention no maintenance? Not LOW maintenance, NO maintenance. How much maintenance do you do to your cordless power drill?  I let my Diesel Power magazine subscription lapse. That’s all you need to know right there. I now see the world in a completely different way.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Do Electronic Pest Repellers Work

You be the judge: It was on and working. The birds were perching and pooping on it....

elektrishins cant spel

Range is spelled correctly! Drier? Drier than what exactly? Heet? Like the name brand muscle cream? Kithen. Quite often I will see electricians spell it Kichen. Badroom! Hahaha. Maykrowave, and mikrowave directly above that?

Thursday, December 16, 2010

2010 Hay Holiday Letter of Truth

2010 Hay Holiday Letter of Truth (R-Rated):
That’s right, the annual Christmas letter where you get nothing but the unvarnished truth about how life totally blows. No boastful seasonal BS, colors, lights, and feel good crap here. In hindsight, 2010 was a year of karmic retribution. Come with me for a tour of the past year…

I seem to be piling them up like cordwood lately, so I will just number the exes for clarity. This first story involves #1. Sorry for the length of this, and the detail, but I intend to send this to my lawyer, disguised as Christmas wishes, because he is less likely to charge me to $275 an hour to read an update that way. Merry Christmas Eric, ya big schmuck! Merry F-ing Christmas to the rest of you too!
2010 began with the ongoing saga of the Child Support Issue From Hell. From June 2009, continuing into 2010, I was paying child support for my oldest, who is 20, due to court and lawyer errors from 2006. The way things were going I expected to be paying child support until my daughter died of old age, since the normal stop-paying-when-kid-turns-18-and-graduates-from-high-school rules did not apply. In case you were wondering, we had what is called an undifferentiated order…..basically an open order to pay child support with no end date specified, and the normal legislative rules thrown out the window. In other words, child support until death.

Washington State Department of Social and Health Services, Department of Child Support (DCS) didn’t have the authority to change the court order, or interpret the intent of the law, or apply their administrative rules, only enforce the order. The court refused to correct its mistake when alerted to the problem, so I appealed to #1 at the suggestion of DCS. DCS has never been married to #1. Had they been, they would have known not to give me that bullshit advice!

I corresponded with the head of DCS and everybody down the line trying to get this mess straightened out. Meanwhile I was getting letters telling me I was a deadbeat dad, threatening to trash my credit, seize bank accounts, tax refunds, take away business, professional, driver, boating, and even the coveted fishing license! The DCS brass pretty much told me that they were feeling me, that they got it, that this was total BS, and if I didn’t pay a dime more they would not pursue me for payment unless and until #1 filed a formal enforcement complaint, which I thought was a somewhat damning illustration of their view of what was happening. I guess this was their “don’t ask don’t tell” policy toward enforcement.

While the governmental agencies involved cannot comment due to confidentiality reasons, I can. Heck, I name names and case numbers. It was King County Superior Court Judge Mary Yu. She is an elected official, which I thought worth mentioning. Case #98-3-00933-4 SEA. Truth is stranger than fiction.

Of course #1 wouldn’t negotiate in good faith, she stalled, and wouldn’t sign an agreed order. She thought she was going to collect child support for our adult offspring forever, so I guess she figured why cooperate when she can do exactly nothing and collect the money? I made her several offers for an agreed order and she refused all of them. So I had to hire a lawyer, serve her, and to go to court to get out of paying child support I should not have been paying in the first place. Guilty until proven innocent. Great system. Thanks for nothing once again Judge Yu. Well guess what? The court (different judge) agreed that I should not be paying child support on a 20 year old!! This new judge retroactively refunded all support back to high school graduation more than a year prior! The new support levels on the younger children were then set at a rate lower than I had offered #1 in negotiations when she had outright refused it. Ha! How’d that taste!!! Oh, and here’s the best part---she had to pay my attorney’s fees for forcing me to bring the court action in the first place. Bahaha!!

It just keeps getting better though. She failed to pay the attorney’s fees directly as ordered, so the judgment went on her credit report. My new buddies at DCS gave me credit for it anyway. Fast forward six months----she was refinancing her house, the mortgage company pulled her credit report, saw the judgment, told her to show proof it was paid. Turns out there were some problems doing that and it took her a long time to get it straightened out. Her refinancing fell through, and I got the last laugh. She paid her lawyer, paid my lawyer, got all the money taken away, then got less in future support than I offered her. Karma is my friend!

After this ongoing legal cluster fuck was finally resolved, hold on to your hats now, #1 and I are taking the kids to Hawaii in January. Hawaii. The five of us. You simply cannot make this stuff up people! And why did that occur? Well read on…..

A Horse Is a Horse Divorce Of Course
It was a fine horse trailer. Nothing was wrong with this particular trailer. But all of #2’s friends had gooseneck trailers. A gooseneck trailer has a fifth wheel that connects in the center of the bed of the truck like a semi, rather than connecting at the rear like a conventional trailer. She had to have a gooseneck trailer because she heard it was easier to back up. She had been talking about getting a gooseneck trailer for about a year, and I kept saying huh? A smaller trailer? Are you high? I would follow that up swiftly and clearly with “no, no, and hell no”. I may have even thrown in a “FUCK NO” or two for good measure.

A little background: The horse ranch was snuck in under the radar, the direct result of emotional blackmail (“I am going to buy it, with you or without you”), at the height of the 2008 financial crisis, and involved the literal pissing away of $300,000 (translated: THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS). Said flushing of money was done in her mental vacuum, with the economy in the dumpster, while simultaneously remodeling 11 apartment units that we had just acquired. After getting in a series of fights with the prime tenant in the barn and having all of the 20 boarding customers bail, while boarding rates were crashing, while still spending money on fancy fencing and paddock panels, and more mini-horses, and who knows what else, and, while struggling to pay the bills, she still wanted a gooseneck trailer. I just kept up my mantra of no, no, and hell no. No, no, and hell no doesn’t work with #2, who gets what she wants, regardless of who is standing in the way, or the actual financial facts.

She bought a gooseneck trailer. I told her simply and clearly, “take it back”. We cannot afford it I explained. She kept it. Of course this meant she now had to buy a truck to pull the gooseneck trailer. So she bought another diesel truck, this one four wheel drive (our fourth vehicle). I ignored the entire situation and kept completely quiet, hoping this would be the last hurrah of the spending and we would get beyond this, dig out, and move on. She brought the truck home. I said OK, I will support this, but for the love of God and all things sacred will you please stop spending money? Please. Just. Stop.

I then personally changed all the fluids and filters in the new truck so she would be good to go, and tried to make peace.

My truck needed to go to the shop for some work a few days later, so I asked if I could use the new truck to get to work. She said, “that’s my truck, you can’t drive it.” We got in a bit of fight over that. And I moved downstairs.

Living in the basement, paying the two mortgages on our house, paying for her gasoline, her car repairs, her land and cell phones, her mother’s cell phone, her satellite television, her internet access, her power, her propane, much of her food, her line of credit that paid for the horse ranch improvements, the mortgage shortfall on a rental house that she had to have four years prior (co-owns with her daughters--yet I paid for), I continued to watch her take the profit from the apartments and spend it on horses. All of her paycheck and the thousands of dollars in apartment profit went either into the horse ranch or “her” retirement. All of it. I became slightly bitter, as you might imagine.

She moved out two months ago. She said she moved out because I yelled at her. That’s what she tells people why we broke up; I yelled at her. Yes, I did. I think she actually needs quite a bit more yelling at, but what is the point?

The irony in all this is that after getting the truck and gooseneck trailer connected she couldn’t back it up any better than the old conventional trailer, and that is because of one thing that simply cannot be bought: She lacks the spatially superior male brain!!

I have learned many things owning a horse ranch. Here are a few of those things, along with some questions:
a) Country music sucks worse than I ever could have imagined. Now I know why they used it as torture at Gitmo.
b) Women cannot back up trailers to save their lives. They simply do not get it.
c) Why do horse people get pissed when you mention that horse meat is leaner, more flavorful, and more tender than bovine? Hypocrites. It’s legal in Canada. One is your best friend in the world and the other is dinner?
d) Horses are actually exceptionally stupid neurotic animals. I really had no idea just how neurotic.
e) An animal that requires a tractor to move its shit simply produces too much shit.
f) Horse show definition: Horses showing their asses to horse's asses showing their horses.
g) There are about a thousand different words for the way horses walk/run, like Eskimos have a thousand words for snow.
h) Why is it that horses literally piss gallons into the paddocks every day (and on the walls of the stall and on the floor, roll in it, and rub it all over themselves), but if I were to whip out my tiny little pecker suddenly “that’s gross, use the bathroom”? WTF!

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Garage door security

Several videos are widely circulating on the net about garage door security. One perp shows how he can break into a garage (with clear windows in the front) within six seconds. He simply slides a coat hangar over the top of the door and pulls the carriage release, thus allowing the door to release. Not having windows, or having obscure windows eliminates this issue, as does wire-tying or zip-tying the release to the carriage as shown in other videos. Interesting stuff: