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For the love of Peter Bailey, the onslaught of paperwork has begun, and we haven’t even applied for a home loan yet! Tina and I attended a home buyers education seminar Saturday. We walked out of there five and a half hours later with literally five pounds of paper in tow. My head was swimming with far too much data for my cerebral cortex to process on a weekend.
It was like being in high school again. Everyone was taking notes. The instructor would hand a stack of forms or handouts to the closest “student” who would take one and pass the stack back. Hell, we even completed a form which required a #2 pencil and filling in little boxes. It was like taking the SATs again.
A couple of times, I thought I’d get in trouble for talking in class, and I found a pimple under my chin last night. Forty years old, and I have a pimple. No prom for me. We even got a certificate of achievement (diploma?) at end of the seminar. How special.
The conference room the seminar was held in was too small for 8 people. There wasn’t much room to spread out. I found myself stacking papers skyward and folding booklets over so I wasn’t encroaching on my neighbor’s desk space. Add cans of pop, coffee cups, paper plates with mini muffins, and an autumn-themed “pumpkin and gourd” centerpiece, and space on the conference table was at a premium. Anyway, guest speakers — an insurance agent risk assessment manager (whatever), and a home inspector — had to shimmy past the attendees’ chairs and the wall because of the lack of space. (On a side note, I had to ask Tina about the centerpiece being called a cornucopia. Such information is not in my vernacular, because I have a penis).
In all, it was a good seminar and we learned quite a bit. Of course, the seminar was a required step in the process of applying for state programs for first-time home buyers.
As I mentioned, we’ve begun the paperwork gathering process. Jebus H. McChrist, man. Pay stubs for the past 30 days, W-2 forms and tax returns for the past two years, bank statements for the past 60 days, investment statements for the past two quarters, plus any other alternate credit sources, like IRAs, 401(k)s, savings, etc. Fuck. I’m so unorganized. It’ll take a miracle for me to gather up all this shit. I guess I should be happy they don’t want a semen sample, blood work, and a genetic fingerprint… yet.
This financial easter egg hunt got me thinking. About eight years ago, I lived on a cash-only basis. I was paid weekly, and I’d cash my paycheck for greenbacks. If I ran out of cash, I didn’t buy shit. I didn’t have credit cards, I didn’t even have a bank account. I owned my 1968 Mustang outright, and paid my bills and rent either by money order or by going to the local utility office and paying with cash. Financially, I probably looked like a mobster or a drug dealer, but it was a good system for me, and kept me out of trouble.
But, hooking up with a woman changes one’s behaviors, goddammit. Now, I hardly use cash at all. My paychecks automatically go to my checking account via direct deposit. I’ve got a debit card, a credit card, and a reserve line. I pay ALL my bills (including rent) electronically; either by automatic payment, Visa debit card, or Bill Pay through my bank. I buy groceries, clothes, lunch, gasoline, bird seed… basically everything, with my debit card or credit card. The last time I registered the Mustang with the State, I paid online, and my tabs arrived in the mail. It’s quite frightening how we don’t really need cash any longer. Our society has fully embraced electronic payments, and that’s a scary prospect. One good computer virus could cause all kinds of fucked upness. Hell, even our government could freeze your finances with a few clicks of a mouse. I just know that somewhere deep in the basement of The Pentagon, there’s a Blue Gene running some profiling program that tracks our spending habits. It knows what I like to eat, the octane of gas I put in my truck, and the brand of toilet paper I use to wipe my ass. Fuckers. Cash is a good thing, too bad it’s so inconvenient and inefficient.
Shit, I’m such an American.
It’s true that “hooking up with a woman changes one’s behaviors”…No more buying an excess of lotion, diminished soreness of hand, limited typing with one hand only and ya get those toilet paper rolls changed AND the empty ones thrown away!
Course, ya gotta ‘put up’ with the PMS, the questions men just “love” to hear (“What are you thinking?” for example) and you get her entire nut-job family in the bargain.
There are many other perks that go with “Hooking up”, and I could list a few, but won’t:)
Nah… I never went with the lotion. Too smelly, and ya stunk all flowery afterwards. Spit or soap works much better… and building stregth in the hand (and arm, hello!) was a good thing. It prepared ya for back-handing bitches when they stepped outta line. (“Get your bitch-ass back in the kitchen, and bake me a pie!”)
As for the (imagine me imitating some chick, with a high, nasaly, almost screechy voice) “what are you thinking” question… my standard reply is “nuthin.”
The nut-job family is easily escaped with phone number provided by Vonage. The street address may change, but the phone number doesn’t. Of course, a menacing stance and glare goes a lonnng, looonnnnng way.
If I don’t go to hell for this comment, I’m sure to be in the dog house. heh.
Many times, the lack of additionial lubricant costs are offset by the numerous 5-lb bags of butterscotch candy and crates of Twinkies consumed once they have a ring on their finger and a PIN number.
Fortunately, some guys are lucky and aren’t afflicted thusly.
Building strength? Try to have sex with a woman who now weighs 80+ lbs more than you. *AND* has your PIN. And isn’t half as kinky as she was while you were dating.
A bottle of ID Glide and a 100W bulb in the dog house will keep you sleepy and warm during the cold seasons. Cleanup can be problematical, unless you wait until everyone’s asleep and do it standing in the yard after dark.
Better yet, drag the doghouse inside and, after all are asleep, sneak inside the bedroom and do it there. Watch the fun in the morning when they get their socks wet on the way to the bathroom!!!! Snicker wheezingly like Muttley when you hear the cries of “What the FUCK!!! Ewwwww!!” Rubbed one out, got revenge, and had a great laugh all in one – hopefully numerous – strokes!
Better than rubbing cracker crumbs on their kotex!
Just make sure the lightbulbs gets plugged back in right away when you’re back in the yard.
Heheheheheheheheheh!
– Art
Cracker crumbs on the kotex? That’s fucking funny…
But a better way is vicks/ben gay or apercreme on a tampon (and yes there are ways to get them in and out of the tube without notice.)
As fer those affected with an adverse ‘net-gain’ when they put that ring on her/his finger, I feel for ya – ending up with a 4 ton fat receptacle that gets less interested in sex with each pound added to her/his mass..The PIN number, well that’s just stupidity. Seperate accounts, and one joint, if ya choose that route, that you stick just enough $ in to cover the household supplies and a decent amount of ‘fun’ money is enough… if it’s not enough for’em, better start socking away money for a lawyer. Course it’s mostly Fem-Nazi broads that are that way. (Or Good-For-Nothing Deadbeat “men”.) Just having indoor plumbing doesn’t mean you’re a greedy non-cock gobbling, 4 ton shrew of bitch. I pity the fool that ends up with twats like those.
As for the “Nuthin” reply, that will never put an end the question about what you are thinking…women are by nature curious, a better reply would be, “Oh, just imagining a threesome.” Who knows ya might get lucky more than once in your life…