Penetrating the Bureaucracy

Those of you who have been keeping track of us know about our dealings with the MVA.  Everything progressed uncharacteristically smoothly when we bought the new car, so we dared to hope it would all be smooth sailing from now on.  But apparently there had to be at least one last glitch.

As soon as we secured a loan for the new car, we were sent the blue title listing PNC Bank as the lien holder.  When we paid them off eight months later, PNC sent us something which looked like a pink version of the same title (though it clearly insisted that it was NOT in fact a title) stating that PNC no longer held any claim to the car.  The cover letter told us the real title would be sent to us directly from the MVA, allowing ten days for delivery.

After waiting sixty days without hearing a word, I finally trudged out to the local MVA Express in hopes of finding a real person who could tell me what the heck was going on.  I took the kiosk ticket for "Miscellaneous" problems, because none of the other categories seemed appropriate.

After standing in the proverbial DMV line, I told the nice man what the problem was.  The way he rolled his eyes made it immediately clear that PNC had told us a lie.  Apparently this happens a lot.  The upshot of it was that I could take the blue title and the pink un-title all the way back to Annapolis to have a "clear title" printed free of charge (how nice), or I could just staple the two together and call it good.

At present I'm opting for the stapler.

As You Were

Despite all the headaches it entails, I have complained my last about TriCare. We did well over $10,000 of damage in the hospital alone, not including the OB and the primary provider. It was a rough few months, and apparently all we have to show for it are bills and an enormous bruise on my arm.

At least we could enjoy our four-day weekend for Independence Day. On Tuesday we wandered around the farmer's market in town and ended up with an apple from the representatives of the DeBrito Chocolate Factory. It wasn't just a caramel apple, it was an "Outrageous Caramel Apple," more specifically a "Snicker Wrapple" with crushed Snickers bars and extra chocolate. Eventually you found the apple in the middle. Pretty darn good, but not something you would want to bite into every day, particularly since we keep forgetting to sign me up for dental insurance.

Apparently my tax return (outstanding since March) has finally vanished between the IRS and the bank. I'm waiting another week for it to turn up before I start filing claims. I've already called the people and the people are useless on both ends. None of them know any more than I do. We've also started the driver's license song and dance one more time; I was a few weeks too early to renew it when I actually took the trouble to FLY back home to the DMV, so now I'm trying to resolve that issue before it expires in October. The process online was surprisingly uncomplicated, but they warned me it may very well get lost in the mail.

No kidding this time, my last OB appointment is tomorrow. Hopefully there won't be any other emergencies to reschedule me. Then maybe we can resume life as normal.

Back to the Front

So ends my short trip home. Now I get to climb back on a plane and head for the other coast. The good news is that I accomplished all of my objectives, insofar as they could be completed. My taxes are filed. I have new stickers for the car. The info on my driver's license is officially changed, but now I have to wait for it to find me via snail mail. I pray it has a safe and direct journey.

It's been a little strange behind home again, actually. It's almost like nothing ever happened, and we were just picking up where we left off in November. It was good to see the family, though.

Whatever

I tried calling the DMV again, this time by a different number, actually got hold of a real person after holding for a half hour (a half hour of Tracfone minutes) and got the same trained monkey answer about how they can't help me unless I hop on a plane and visit them in person. I was just about ready to give up on the whole thing, but David's chain of command is baffled by the problem and determined to look into it themselves. I would dearly love to know what they turn up.

We were also supposed to obtain the last bit of official paperwork for his BAH yesterday, but when we turned up for our appointment at Fleet and Family, the guy we were supposed to see had already gone home sick some time ago. Nobody thought to call us. Apparently they're going to try working us into the schedule today. We shall see.

We're debating whether or not to bother moving our stuff at all. We're so tired of arranging things that it just seems easier to extend our domestic survival camp for the next eight months. It would certainly save us the trouble of moving away from here. It shouldn't be too bad, but I don't feel like much of a homemaker.

Crisis Recovery

Okay. Apparently the powers to which we had recourse failed to accurately inform the husband of the proper protocols by which to "move ashore." Apparently we'd been doing everything out of order, and there were several other errands and documents to be taken care of. Belatedly, a checklist was provided, a deadline was established, and the mad scramble began.

Fortunately, the majority of it has been taken care of, courtesy of overnight mail. I love overnight mail. Everything that remains to be done should be done within the week.

That just leaves my crisis of identity. No one will tell me what to do with my driver's license. This is of course all tied up with my state of residence and all those bothersome details. I wanted to get a new one in Georgia, but there wasn't time. I need to renew mine in Virginia before it expires this year (when we're supposed to be moving), but I can't change my name on it unless I come in person. The Virginia DMV hung up on me twice rather than let me talk to a real person. They couldn't give my mother a straight answer when she went to ask on my behalf, except that I should have done it "within thirty days" and that it's already too late. We're going to ask the ID card people on base when we go to get that changed (if we can get it changed), and if they don't know, we'll take a trip down to the legal office. I really don't want to bother getting licensed in California just to ditch it nine months from now, but there may be no better option.

Give me a paper-pusher. I need to strangle one. I beat a fly to death this afternoon, but that wasn't quite good enough.