Starting a Business - Twice

Guess what.  I went to go search for my new L number on the Department of Assessments and Taxation's website.  I found I had not one number, but TWO.  Apparently they actually did process that application I sent four months ago.  They just never told me they did.

Now I have to look into getting the superfluous number "terminated."  Communication is a life skill, people.

Car Troubles

This is the Old Car, a 2002 Buick Century.

It was very used when David acquired it as a job-hunting college graduate.  It stayed with his family at home for quite some time after he joined the Navy, and due to the impossibility of shipping more than one car to join us on the other side of the country after the wedding, it was passed over in favor of the newer car provided by my family.  It was suspected that Old Car might have a bit of trouble if ever forced to take a California emissions test.

This is the Newer Car, a 2009 Hyundai Elantra.  It has served us well for several years now, including driving us back to the east coast from California last April.  As the one family car for a year and a bit, it behaved very well, and still hasn't had any major mechanical problems.  Getting it's paperwork straightened out was quite another story, but that wasn't it's fault.  It passed it's emissions test with flying colors, and is still running strong.

When we moved back from California, we picked up the Old Car at Dave's parents' house and brought it up here with us.  There were a few interesting things wrong with it, notably the broken knob on the defroster control, and the fact that the actual key which unlocked the door (different from the key for the ignition) was missing.  I never did like using the remote to lock and unlock the car, but Dave loves it, so it didn't seem like an urgent problem.

We were busy enough with the Elantra's paperwork without worrying right away about the Buick, but eventually it was time to regularize it's status as well.  It was still registered in another state, but we had just been given the title by Dave's family.  Before we could get it registered, we would need a license plate mount on the front to comply with state law.  Apparently that is a big job on that particular model, and we had to get it to a dealership for that.  I don't even remember what it cost.  $$$  At some point it was discovered that it needed a new tire, and we thought it best to replace all four.  $$$  While at Firestone, the mechanics made a list of things about the Old Car which would not pass the state inspection required for registration.  We eventually got all of those fixed.  $700.  Finally we had a free day to take it for its state inspection.  $70.  Unfortunately it failed, and another list of nitpicky things was drawn up for repair.  This would allegedly cost at least another $700 plus another $70 inspection.  In the meantime, we took it for a routine oil change, and it's power steering fluid turned up very low.  $220.

At this point I was ready to dump it.  We've been here eight months and we haven't managed to get it registered yet, and it allegedly only has two years before we start having transmission problems anyway.  After some discussion and window shopping, we decided to shop for a Hyundai Accent ASAP and not bother repairing or registering the Old Car.

Old Car apparently took offense.  A few days later, Dave had to take my car, the Elantra, to work because the remote which unlocked the door was apparently no longer working.  I spent the rest of the day finding out what it would cost to get that fixed.  It would involve at least a locksmith ($60) and parts and labor at the dealership ($200).  We called his family and began making inquiries about that missing door key.

The locksmith came and popped the door, the second remote was acquired from the glovebox, and we thought we were back in business.  We were planning to go car shopping within the week, anyway.  The only question was whether we were going to donate Old Car or trade it in.  But another attempt to take Old Car to work revealed that it wasn't the key remote that was at fault.  Apparently the whole car is dead.  It's probably the battery, and neither of us has the first idea how to jump start it properly.  In the meantime, the key was found a few states away in an old coat pocket, and is allegedly in the mail to us now.  Rather than mess with mechanics or tow trucks or any repair fees, we opted for the donation route.  The dead car is still sitting in the parking lot, waiting to be rejoined by its door key and towed away for charity.

This is our Newest Car, a 2012 Hyundai Elantra.  The dealership was unfortunately all sold out of Accents, so we got an upgrade.  Fortunately, this particular car had been their demo model, and we got a $2000 discount because of it's 3000 miles of test drives.  We'll have to live by a stricter budget for a while, but at this particular point in our lives, with no kids or pets, it seemed like the best time to get a more reliable car.

Dave, ever the gentleman, was kind enough to let me have the new car, and to accept the old trusty Elantra as Old Car's replacement.  :)

P.S.  We usually give our belongings nicknames, sometimes more flattering than others.  The old Elantra was generally dubbed "Little Car" since all the others seemed to be bigger.  My sister, quite the character, called it "Squatty Body," because she hates riding so close to the ground.  For a day we called the new car "Squatty Body 2.0", but I'll probably call it the "Snowmobile," not just because of the color, but because we had it thoroughly rust and corrosion-proofed in anticipation of the winter weather and salted roads we're supposed to have up here.

MVA Madness: Take Eight

We have finally acquired new tags and a proper registration!  Apparently there's still an emission test in our future, but we'll cross that bridge when they bother to mail us the information.  It's like an ongoing ransom negotiation for the right to drive, but we've made a major step forward.

And the best news is that we can make our drive to Virginia this weekend in the younger, fitter car without hiding from the state troopers. :)

MVA Madness: Take Seven

We have successfully acquired a driver's license for David.  Finally.   Now we have to fill out the rest of the appropriate paperwork for the car registration so I can bring it back Monday and try my luck once again.  Hopefully we can lay this whole issue to rest, and my car will no longer be a fugitive from Virginia.

MVA Madness: Take Six

My latest trip to Annapolis once again ends in abject failure.  Seriously, the only people benefiting from all this driving around is the oil company.  I had our bill of sale covered with more stamps and signatures than a Nazi passport, but they barely looked at it because they were busily inventing other reasons to turn me away.  We'll have to wait yet another week before we can make our next attempt.

Now we suddenly find our our credit score is abysmal, apparently for no other reason than we're young, don't have enough debt, and have been financially responsible enough to live without a credit card.  Now our number is so low we can't even get cell phones.  We pay all our f*&@#ing bills every month, on time or earlier.   I am sick and tired of being penalized for attempting to be a respectable citizen.  The message I seem to be getting from all these obstacles is that the ideal American will not move from state to state, will have at least five credit cards, run up enough debt to leave his grandchildren destitute, not integrate any of his affairs with those of his spouse, and not leave his parents until the age of thirty-five.  While perhaps typical, I didn't suppose it was desirable.

Our entire family has been diagnosed with acute cases of compliance fatigue in the past.  I think I'm having a flare up.

MVA Madness: Take Five

This was my bureaucratic failure du jour.  Drove back down to Annapolis today during rush hour to get to the DMV once again, hoping to finally register the car in our names.  Apparently that was too much to hope for, because we did not possess a doubly notarized bill of sale.  I swear, I wasn't in that building sixty seconds before I was tossed out again.

I feel like I'm trying to sneak into some exclusive club with enormous bouncers.  It may not technically be the city's fault, but the name is becoming synonymous with helplessness and frustration.

Oh, the Rejection

We've been trying to become bona fide citizens of this state for some time now.  Technically David doesn't have to, being active duty, but apparently I have to, and we decided to both go for it just to simplify matters.  Just imagine being able to actually have the same legal address, vote where you live, and not have so much explaining to do when tax season comes around.  We felt like we should regularize the situation in a timely manner.  We have also recently been gifted with the ownership of our primary vehicle, so we had a title to file and new registration to acquire.

As soon as we had our signed lease for our apartment, we went in search of the local DMV.  With the sketchy internet service we had at the time, we were able to generate one address on the Google page, and thankfully it wasn't far away.  We headed down there with our folder of official paperwork, only to discover that it is an "express" location which doesn't offer any of the many services we require.  There was no indication of an alternative location to which to take ourselves.  We decided to go ahead inside and ask someone where we were actually supposed to go, but apparently we would be expected to take a number from the kiosk and wait an hour to be seen.  We weren't about to wait an hour just to ask for directions, so we stomped out and called my parents, asking them to conduct an internet search on our behalf.

The location of a full service DMV was discovered, but it was in the next county, a good half hour drive from home.  We drove away in the hope of having better luck there.

Long story short, when we finally reached the front desk, the lady explained to us that we needed TWO proofs of legal residence, not just the lease.  We didn't have any gas or electric bill yet, and we hadn't changed our address with the bank.  Apparently a vehicle registration would work, and since we were there to do that anyway, we asked if we could possibly register the car first and use the registration to acquire driver's licenses.  Apparently we could.  We stood in line at the other desk and attempted to fill out the forms.  Every question was ambiguous, and we stood in line a few more times just to clarify some things.  For instance, there was a blank for a "Maryland driver's license #."  We didn't have Maryland licenses and anything we put down would be misleading because they would be Georgia and Virginia numbers.  And did they want the address we currently called home, or one of the two legal addresses that appeared on the licenses we did have?  It was such a mess, we walked out and decided to go back when we had a bank statement for our second proof of residence.

We went by the bank on our way home and changed our billing address.

Apparently since I am only the co-owner of our bank account, I cannot access the statements when I log into the website.  We went paperless a while ago, mostly because we didn't want bank statements bouncing between addresses while the move was going on.  So, a week after we had changed our billing address, I simply walked into the bank and asked for a statement.

They looked at me like I was crazy.  Apparently nobody asks for a statement anymore.  I explained that it was for the DMV, and then it seemed to make sense to them.  They printed a summary of our account with the new address, and had a few bank representatives sign and date it.

That Friday (a week after the first endeavor) we make the drive back to the DMV, feeling very prepared.  Who gets anything done on their first trip to the DMV, anyway?  We spread everything out for the lady at the front desk, and she promptly dismissed my paper from the bank, saying it needed to be an actual statement, not just a summary.  I explained that it was the only thing they would give me.  "Oh, well have you been a resident for at least 30 days?  Well, that's why they can't print you a statement yet."

Everywhere we seem to be meeting a new glorification of procrastination.  We went home once again, having accomplished nothing.  When we did get home, we found our first gas/electric bill in the mailbox, but we were too tired to go back.

We planned to go back the following Friday with this gas bill, but I noticed that my name did not appear on it, and apparently being married to the party named on the gas bill is not legal proof that I live with him.  Strike out once again.  We didn't even both driving down there.

At long last, thirty days passed in our new home, and I logged into the bank website as David and printed our %@#$ bank statement.  We had one Friday left before he would no longer be able to leave work early enough to make the trip, the Friday before Memorial Day.  We planned our day around it, and got there early enough to have several hours to navigate the bureaucracy.

But, unbeknownst to us, everybody at the DMV decided they wanted a long weekend, and the place was locked up and deserted when we got there.  Our bank statement wasn't going to do us any good that day.

I can't help but get the feeling that Maryland doesn't really want us.  They sure aren't in a hurry to help us get this worked out.  We don't take our social security cards for joyrides every weekend just for the fun of it.

I'm going down there again today, alone, just to see if I can accomplish anything.  The worst they can say is that our bank statement is no good because a mailman didn't deliver it by hand to our address, and that I can't register the car by myself because I'm just the co-owner.  In that case, David will have to take time off work just to visit the DMV, and I may be arrested for throttling someone.


(Several hours later . . . .)

Thank God, they accepted the bank statement.  It took all morning, but I now have a garish new Maryland driver's license.  I stood in the vehicle registration line for two minutes before I decided I would have better luck first thing in the morning on some other day.  The last time I saw a line like that was at Six Flags.  My afternoon would be better spent at the gym, which is where I'm off to now.

General Delays

Sorry the promised "before and after" pictures are taking so long.  If it's not one thing, it really is another.  We're coming down to the wire before Bev has to leave in a few weeks, and we haven't quite managed to reach that moved-in equilibrium that makes the house picture-worthy.

First it was just the crazy cold that put everybody out for several weeks.  We heard later that there's a whooping cough epidemic in California at the moment.  I don't know if that's what we had, but it was pretty bad.  Everybody seemed to catch the bug in waves; first Dave caught it, then I caught it, then Bev caught it, so altogether we were probably unable to go anywhere or plan anything for almost a month.  We certainly couldn't use Bev's awesome gift certificates to the Whaling Station while we all sounded like we had the plague and were too sniffly to taste anything.

When the cough was gone, we were able to unpack, but we were distracted by the saga of the car repairs.  Our cute little car had a minor bang-up the first day Bev was here, and we've been all this time trying to schedule a rental car and a body shop appointment around a move and being sick.  We finally accomplished that objective last week, and of course it's a story all it's own.

Despite the many times I explained to Allstate that we were located in California at the moment, they made our rental reservation in Virginia, so our reservation number came up invalid.  The Enterprise guy spent much time on the phone working that out and making a new reservation.  Unfortunately they had no cars on site at the time.  They found a little VW beetle at the airport, but unfortunately the previous renters had trashed it, and it was in need of much detail work.  All they could drum up for us was an outsized pickup truck, probably the last thing I really wanted to drive.  Bev had a good laugh; the irony was unmistakable.  See pictures at Banana Bum.  But wait -- there's more.  This brand new, dark grey Chevy Silverado had no license plates, no tags, no stickers or markings of any kind.  The best they could do was put the VIN number on the paperwork.  The only thing that would make it look more suspicious would be extra tint on the windows, or maybe an Iraqi flag.  We imagined being pulled over several times a day by police, denied access to the Presidio, and all manner of other headaches.  Fortunately nobody gave us any trouble, but it was still quite the anomaly.

On a sudden impulse, I bought a couch.  The living room looks much better with something between the bookshelves besides a rug.  We had to wait four days for it to be delivered, but it was well worth it.  We were just putting what passed for finishing touches on our space, and almost ready to call it done.

Now that all the backed up chores are taken care of, Bev made our Whaling Station reservations for Saturday evening.  But as our luck would have it, Dave crawls into the car Wednesday afternoon and says, "Ugh, my throat feels like crap."  He's sick again with the same thing that started this whole mess.  The bedroom is a quarantined disaster area, and I'm using our new couch for temporary sleeping quarters since I have no desire to share the love this time around.  Our dinner reservations are in question, but I'd rather two of us go than none of us, and the worst case scenario is that we're all at home next week in our pajamas playing "99 Bottles of DayQuil on the Wall."  Basically, Dave has until Saturday evening to get healthy, or he gets his food in a doggie bag.

Curse of the Airbed

Tonight we have purchased what I hope will be our last Coleman Comfortsmart Queen Airbed. That brings us to a final tally of seven, an average of one a month, and a total of $220.00. Obviously their "Air Tight" guarantee isn't all it's cracked up to be. By this point I really hate the happy family on the box in their happy little tent at their happy little campsite.

"No, we're not CAMPING; we're just trying to live like civilized HUMAN BEINGS despite formidable and unreasonable obstacles!"

Right now it's anyone's guess when exactly the truck will arrive with the innards of our household, including a real mattress, but we had high hopes that it would be tomorrow or Saturday. Naturally our current air mattress, the sixth, decided to go flat last night. Really? It couldn't even manage to last another TWO NIGHTS. After that I could have chucked that piece of crap into the garbage with no regret. If it were a slow leak I'd just tough it out for a while, but it's a flat-in-five-minutes kind of leak. I really didn't want to shell out another $30+ now that we're so close, but what else could we really do? Just to make matters worse, Dave turned up sick this morning and could really use a good night's sleep. I briefly considered going ape again with the super glue and gorilla tape just to patch it up, but that didn't seem to have any effect the first four times I tried it.

The moral of the story is that you can never depend on an air mattress. My father once said that he'd never known one that could hold air, and now I'm not surprised. They're all crap! Save your money and buy a real mattress once and for all. And if the military hems and haws at you about maybe or maybe not moving your stuff, move it yourself! Just be done with it! So we shot $1300 into the wind; what of it?! It's done. Now we don't have to live like hobos under the assumption that we'll have to fit our entire household into the truck of one car! Now we can buy whatever the heck we want!!!

Excuse me, I don't know where that came from. Resume quiet dignity and grace . . .

More on the Move

We have received yet another demand from the movers, namely that I suddenly appear in Georgia to sign on the dotted line when they pick up our stuff, and then return to California to sign the other dotted line when they arrive. Since I have not yet mastered bilocation, I'll just have to call them once again and beg for some reconsideration on their part.

I really hate doing things from a distance.


Follow-up: Efforts to raise them on the phone were unsuccessful at the house because there are clouds and therefore not even the slightest cell signal. Driving away to the commissary parking lot in my pajamas produced no better results, because Cliff would not answer his extension and nobody else was interested in hearing about my problems or answering my questions.

This move is supposed to be happening in two days, and could still be a huge bust with a nonrefundable deposit. I'm starting to consider the possibility of living in unfurnished homes for the duration of our military misadventure. It seems easier somehow.

Dogs and Moths

The move had finally been arranged, meaning we've actually spent money on it and set a pickup date. We're not really sure what the delivery date will be, since the movers gave us a ten day window. The bank will suffer a rather severe bloodletting on Friday when we settle the balance, but fortunately that is also payday, so recovery should be relatively swift.

So far it seems like we have a pretty good deal, but I'll believe it when I see it. There were still a few hiccups along the way, things I wouldn't have even thought about. So many difficulties arise out of not being physically present with the items we're attempting to move. After the contract was signed and the deposit was paid, we were sent an extensive form regarding the Gypsy Moth Inspection we were supposed to conduct before shipping our goods across the sacrosanct California state line. We were informed that if we did not complete the form - in duplicate - with an itemized list of what we were shipping and the appropriate signatures certifying that we have inspected all our worldly possessions and destroyed all the gypsy moths, the Department of Agriculture would quarantine our things at the border. I didn't see any moths eight months ago when I last saw my things, but I don't think that would satisfy the angry farmers. Besides, we don't have anything as extravagant as a printer yet, the neighbors' printer didn't work, and the computers David has access to at work are all property of the US government and don't allow anyone to open attachments. Apparently there's a computer lab at the library here on base, but I've looked for it several times and I'm convinced it doesn't still exist. Fortunately, when I finally got the movers on the phone again, they said it actually wasn't a big deal and nobody really cared who filled out the paperwork, so I just sent the whole email to the in-laws. Movers are supposed to call me on Friday to tell us when the truck will be coming on Saturday.

By this point, I feel like we're trying to ransom our stuff back, just waiting for the next phone call, the next set of instructions, the next pay out.

"IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE YOUR HOUSEHOLD GOODS AGAIN, PAY $1,295 BY CHECK OR CREDIT CARD, AND SUBMIT TEN PAGES OF CERTIFIED PROOF OF THE DEMISE OF ALL GYPSY MOTHS . . ."

All this happened while we were babysitting our neighbors' dogs, the rat terrier and the dachshund. Just to make matters more interesting, that afternoon we discovered a quivering mass of helplessness hiding under the car; another dachshund, chocolate brown, lost and alone in the world. So, for the moment we have a dog, and her name is Tootsie. She had no collar, no tags, and every indication of having been dumped. Apparently she has expensive tastes, and won't touch dry dog food. After being with us for a few days she's finally started to act normal again, and despite her undeniable cuteness she's off to the shelter tomorrow.

Elusive Sleep

Good sleep is not hard to get on an air mattress. Honestly, after seven months on one, I have no complaints about the way a good air mattress feels. The problem arises when the air bed decides it will no longer hold air, because the floor isn't such a great place for good sleep. I found that out the first night I stayed in the house with an air pump and a dead battery. We woke up this morning with that familiar sagging feeling, bringing our total up to three casualties. That's an average of one every two months or so, which is still cheaper than renting a clothes washer and dryer, but is still frustrating since each air mattress allegedly comes with a one year warranty.

I bothered to read the fine print the second time it happened, and of course it's not as easy as returning the flat air bed to the retailer; you have to have the original packaging and the original receipt and drive it down to the manufacturer's warehouse (or mail it at your own expense if you don't live close to such a warehouse) and then they will decide whether or not the item was in fact defective. Even flat, these things are so heavy and hard to pack up again that it seems easier to just buy a new one than to try cashing in on the warranty. Maybe they only expect these air beds to be used for camping five times a year. Maybe 375 pounds of people is exceeding some intrinsic weight limit. Maybe we can get them on some kind of rotation schedule, so that when the new one poops out, another will be on its way back from the warehouse.

I wish we could just buy a real mattress and be done, but that would be better than twenty times the price and until the move happens we have no means by which to integrate a new mattress into the rest of our possessions or transport it from here to Point B. Even if the price tag was our only concern, I never have liked the idea of a used mattress, especially now that the new age of the bedbug is dawning.

Just to shake things up a little more, there's a strange wrong number that keeps calling David's cell phone at 4 AM. Nothing quite gets the adrenaline flowing like the phone ringing in the dead of night, especially when the only people who call that early are naval authority figures who want your @$$ out of bed. If Mr. Nobody calls again tonight, so help me, somebody is going to answer or call him back.

Red Tape

I know I'm still new to this lifestyle of the military dependent, but I can't help but wonder whether I'm not alone in feeling something like a paroled felon. Rules, regulations, addenda, fine print. I'm not an anarchist, I believe in maintaining order in the community, and I understand that the need to manage a standing military force of hundreds of thousands of individuals and their families will require certain additional constraints. I suppose the problem arises with those of us who are not active duty and still feel like "normal people," but who are no longer allowed to be normal people.

"You can help watch your friends' children, but not for more than X hours a week. You can have visitors, but not for more than X days each month. If you're pregnant, sick and need help, go home or learn to take care of yourself by yourself." I had more freedom of movement when I was living with my parents.

I can't help but think my particular military experience has been soured by other extenuating circumstances. The botched move which never happened, and being so far away from the majority of my family and friends, certainly hasn't helped give me a favorable impression so far. But I can't complain too much, because I know many military families have endured more frustrating arrangements than this. At least we're not overseas and dealing with a language barrier. Still, sometimes it's hard to get far enough away from the problem to put it in perspective.

The facts of the matter are that my husband is awesome, and I'm not sorry I married him. I don't hate the military, I'm not sorry he joined, and I wouldn't dissuade him from making it a career if he so chooses. I'm not even begging to move out of this state, although it's an attractive prospect. I don't care that our new hometown is a dump, or that our house is crap from the seventies that smells damp, grows mold, has warped walls, asbestos in the ceiling, lead in the water, and skunks in the ventilation. We knew it would be a difficult situation when we signed up for it, but we were determined to work the problems as they arose. Ultimately, the real frustrations come of not being able or allowed to work those problems, and they just stack up to taunt us. "Sorry, deal with it." "That's life." "Who told you that?" "Welcome to the real world." "What mold?"

I was prepared for reasonable difficulties (straightforward waiting periods, deployments, frequent moves, acquisition of copious paperwork, etc.); at least I could have entertained some measure of martyr's nobility for all the hardships we had to endure. Apparently I need to recalibrate my tolerance levels for unreasonable and/or petty difficulties like misdirection, the "merry-go-round" of misinformation, chronically poor cell phone signal, cancelled appointments, sneaky fine print on lease agreements, directories full of disconnected phone numbers, inability to qualify for any sort of moving plan, and all the issues that arise out of having two legal addresses. Those sorts of things just make us feel like we've been had.

Maybe it's because this base is so small and everyone is so temporary that we're not seeing the close-knit community we were told we could expect. There isn't even the level of accountability and personal responsibility we assumed would exist among servicemen behind all the fences and wire and ID checkpoints. Last weekend we had a small disaster to deal with because David's debit card was stolen - on base, mind you - and also fraudulently used on base. Human nature never ceases to disappoint.

My issues with the slow-pokes at the IRS have nothing whatsoever to do with our military situation, but it's just another one of those little things that get under my skin. It's always about the little things. At least my check finally came. The miscarriage had nothing to do with the military, but it certainly didn't help our outlook. The fact that we have no idea how long we'll be here isn't so much the military's fault as it is the nature of this place; we're here until the job is done. Everything else is essentially fallout.

Despite all that, I have to say there isn't anything I would have changed that was within our power to change. Most of what I would like to change would require an act of God, or congress. Nor is there anyone else I'd rather tough it out with. I'm guessing that if we can make it through this first year or so, our marriage will be practically indestructible. After all, adversity builds character, right? (Don't we have enough yet?) I often wish we had fewer crises that demanded our attention, but we seem to work well together when we do resolve them.

We had another of our timeless moments at the WiFi hotspot yesterday, endeavoring with much teamwork to cancel the missing debit card. I must have had a look that would have melted glass, navigating the website and automated phone menu multiple times in search of a real person. Once the issue was resolved, he told me I was beautiful. "It must be the Spaniard in you. They always look so regal when they're p*ssed as hell." Reminds me why I married him in the first place. ^_^

Getting Some Traction

I think I've finally made a full phycological recovery. I can actually get up and make a dent in the list of long overdue house chores, scrub the bathroom, clean the kitchen, sweep and mop the floor and keep the dishes done, all instead of lying around in a sweatshirt with my hair in a knot watching crap on YouTube. I can look at Gerber commercials without going to pieces, and I don't hate the sight of mothers walking through the neighborhood with strollers. I can even visit Facebook once in a while to read about my friends and their new kids.

Meredith came down for a visit yesterday while she was still in town. We went out for lunch and spent the rest of the afternoon on the beach and rocks at Lover's Point having long overdue candid conversation. We even spotted a few whales in the bay. I'll have to take my sister out there when she comes; she'll love the squirrels everywhere. But next time I'll actually remember to bring some sunscreen. Ouch.

David is taking his mock finals this week, and it's looking more and more like he'll actually get the rollback we've been waiting for. The paperwork in question seems to be making good time through the proper channels. We're not sure exactly how long that will extend our stay out here, but we should know more in a week or two.

Once he actually joins his new class, we'll move our things out here and make this house some semblance of a home. Just cleaning the floor and picking up all the crap that was piled in the corners made it feel less like living in a garage. I put the guest bedroom together for Bev, and it already looks cozy, or as much as it can with just the "bed" (air mattress) and three small pictures from the dollar store. It would be nice to just have a few posters in poster frames to lighten the monotony, but nobody sells posters of anything we'd bother to hang on our walls. I used to swear by Allposters.com, but now they're more about pricy art prints.

The IRS is still mucking around with my tax return, which I filed 16 weeks ago. The first time I called them they gave me some line about it taking eight weeks to process a paper return, which wasn't really relevant, because I filed electronically. The website told me they had deposited it a few weeks ago, but now they've changed their minds and say they might possibly mail it by Friday. I will believe it when I see $705.70 appear in the bank. Maybe this was an act of God, making sure we didn't spend it before we could put it toward hiring a moving truck.

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.

Spinning Wheels

Apparently we're not moving at all, at least not until October. There's no way the military will help pay for any of it, and we don't have the resources right now to do it ourselves. The last thing I want to do is beg the family for more money, so we'll just tough it out. Besides, now that we've lost the baby, the issue of general comfort isn't so pressing.

We had considered renting until October, or at least until we knew whether or not he was getting a rollback or some other extended assignment that would keep us here. But the more research I do on the rental companies and how they work, I'm more reluctant to even open that can of worms. Air mattresses are cheaper in the long run, easily disposed of, and they don't have bedbugs.

I have my last appointment with my OB tomorrow. I have a host of questions, particularly whether we should continue trying to have children or I should look into expensive corrective surgery first. I have my doubts about whether Tricare would help us with that sort of thing.

We just can't seem to catch a break out here. :'(

Moving Once, Moving Twice . . . ?

We have officially had enough of our empty house. We have decided to DITY move out here regardless of whether we might be packing up again four months, which is by no means set in stone. We spent last week at the neighbor's house watching their dogs while they were gone over their class break, and it was amazing to sit on a couch again. Dave's class break is next week, so we're hoping to get all the required paperwork and arrangements taken care of during our free time. So much for a real vacation, but when else are we supposed to go visit these offices which are only open during class hours?

It would also be nice to have a real bed on legs, and some pictures to hang. Morning sickness has stricken with a vengeance, so I spend most of my days flat on my back anyway, staring at two pasty off-white walls and a belching closet (when I don't have my face in the toilet). Crawling up off the floor to make a stumbling dash for the facilities is getting more odious every day, particularly when the air mattress doesn't hold air like it's supposed to. It also has a habit of slowly migrating away from the wall when I try to sit up to eat or watch movies, which eventually creates a gap wide enough to swallow my pillows.

While we're on the subject, food aversions are an interesting phenomenon, but aren't there supposed to be one or two foods left that aren't repulsive? I have to eat sometime, right? I've had very little luck so far finding a healthy menu to get me through the rough patches. The stuff that stays down best is always salty, soggy, floppy, limp, chewed and swallowed with minimal effort. Thank God for Taco Bell; their regular soft tacos fit the bill perfectly, and always look like they've spent the entirety of their short wilted lives next to a humidifier. For the especially sensitive days, I still resort to french fries.

Quite another story altogether, but one worth telling, is the saga of the Vanishing Rollback. A while ago, a spot opened up in another class and it was offered to Dave. It would give him a chance to backtrack a few months and get a running start at the more advanced material. It would also move his graduation date from October to March. He accepted it, and we were told the finalization process would take about a week or two. A month and several inquiries later, we were informed that the open seat had defaulted to the Army because the paperwork had been snagged up too long. Do not pass Go; do not collect $200. Fortunately, his chain of command was as frustrated as we were, and apparently they are determined to find something else for him. Whenever the next guy drops, hopefully Dave will get his spot. Or they may try him in a different language altogether, and we might never leave. One way or another, we really don't know when we'll be moving away, and we're tired of waiting to find out.

The Miseries of TRICARE

How hard could it be? Go see the doctor you were assigned, get a pregnancy test, be referred to an OB/GYN. Everybody's happy.

IN REALITY:

1. Drive away from house to find phone reception. Ask assigned doctor if she will see you even if you have been unable to change your legal name with TRICARE. Be reassured and invited to visit.

2. Visit doctor, wait for an hour, and submit requested specimens.

3. Wait two days for authorized referral from TRICARE. Not too bad. Be advised by friends that there are certain OB/GYNs in the area you ought not visit on peril of your life.

4. Wait a full week for a phone call from Dr. Unintelligible-Over-Your-Voicemail.

5. Receive a letter from TRICARE with the name and number of the OB/BYN you were assigned. Be informed that you must call them (they won't actually call you like they said they would), make an appointment, call your regular doctor to inform them of the appointment, and visit TRICARE's website and log the appointment so everyone can get paid. Apparently they can't communicate amongst themselves.

6. Wait until the next day's business hours to attempt to make an appointment.

7. Drive away from house to find phone reception. Call the OB/GYN with paperwork in hand.

8. Be rebuffed by OB/GYN, who apparently isn't accepting any new patients and has no idea why you were referred to her.

9. Drive back home, nick a quick internet connection from the neighbors to look up TRICARE online.

10. Drop-down menu fails to function properly, rendering a search of the site impossible.

11. Dump Safari for Firefox and attempt search again.

12. Discover there are only two OB/GYNs in the area accepting new patients. Write down contact info.

13. Drive away from house to find phone reception. Realize you left your pen at home and have nothing to write with.

14. Drive to PX and buy a bag of cheap pens. Finally make call to new OB/GYN from PX parking lot.

15. Sit on hold for ten expensive minutes, with no music.

16. Receptionist can still barely hear you and is incapable of spelling your name correctly despite numerous attempts. She cannot promise OB/GYN will accept you without changing the referral/authorization from TRICARE. The paper from TRICARE seems to indicate that such a change would be unnecessary, but she isn't interested in an explanation.

17. Discover that the office will be closed for lunch practically all day long, and the best they can do is invite you to visit and fill out "extensive paperwork" in the hope that you will be approved upon review.

18. Drive back home and kill time writing a fuming blog post while you wait a few hours for their lunch break to end.

In conclusion, after almost two weeks, I'm still basically nowhere. No one wants to see me, no one cares a rat's hindparts about my problems, and no one anywhere really knows what TRICARE is all about. Apparently everyone has to become his own expert, because there is never anyone you can trust to give you a straight (or accurate) answer.

Is this normal? Does this happen to everyone? No wonder the world is angry.

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.

Nutrition Nazi

I have successfully converted my husband to lemon pepper and turkey burgers. Wonders will never cease. ;)

There is an ongoing war war with the air mattress as we attempt to keep air inside it. After waking up on the floor a few times, we found the leak and attacked it with superglue and Gorilla tape. It seems to be leaking again, but we have enough tape to fight the good fight for a while yet. It apparently comes with a year warranty, but only if you kept the original sales receipt and if you spend a small fortune shipping it back to the factory.