Protected: The one where I let it all out

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Today is Random Act of Kindness day. The lame thing is, it turned out to be one of the worst mornings I’ve had in a while.

I was in a bit of a car accident this morning. A friend picked me up, we went through the roundabout around the corner from my place, noticed the car in the next lane veering EXTREMELY close to us, and she braked, coming to a complete stop. (There are two lanes, both somewhat narrow, but wide enough for both as long as drivers actually STAY inside their lane.)

Not so the other driver! Completely oblivious, without even glancing in our direction, she carried on her path, swiping us and scraping all along the front side of the car. It was so loud, I thought it had taken off the driver’s mirror.

There we were, sitting in the roundabout, shell-shocked, and wondering if they were going to pull over and stop.

They did. Two old ladies got out – “What have you done to my car???? We’ve been driving this road for fifty years! We always go in that lane!!! Who do you think they’ll believe?” They were incredibly rude, refused to take responsibility, and blamed us, saying “you swung around too fast.”

We called the cops to ask them to come out and hopefully resolve the dispute. It took two hours. We sat on the side of the road, waiting, waiting and waiting some more. Just as we gave up and started driving to the police station, the patrol car arrived. Going the other way, of course. We had to flag it down.

They took statements but said odds were they wouldn’t be able to settle on whose fault it was and it should be left to insurance to deal with. On the bright side, “if she can’t get money out of you, you can’t get money out of her.” They’re both represented by the same insurer, which should be interesting.

Just like that, an entire morning wasted and appointment missed. The front right corner of my friend’s car is scratched (it’s their white paint, so hopefully that will flake off) and there are grazes all along the left side of the old biddy’s car. It’s patently obvious to both of us who’s at fault, but the old women were so adamant, I believe they really were convinced of their innocence. No wonder, given the fact that THEY DIDN’T EVEN LOOK OVER and I doubt they noticed we were even there. And of course, as they so kindly pointed out, who are authorities more inclined to believe? The little old ladies or the two young girls?

We really didn’t need a random act of kindness today – just for two old ladies to do the right thing and admit culpability.

quarterlife crisis

Sometimes you just need to have a bit of a breakdown. Or a fullblown one, for that matter.

I’m months away from graduation and don’t know what the hell I want to do.

This also means there’s no point in moving, yet, no matter how desperately I want out.

T doesn’t really know what he wants to do, either. I guess in that respect, I’m lucky because I at least will have a degree behind me. I can’t force it on him, and I can’t resent him, because not everyone KNOWS where they want to be or what they want to do. (I did….up until now). Some people float, and drift for a while. I just wish he had some direction that we could work towards.

I’m a worrier by nature and I don’t do stress well. It’s been the cause of two huge blowups for us this year. Although this has been a tough year for him, I would argue it’s been harder for me. Being the main income earner, taking a full courseload, working,and still doing the majority of chores in this household.

I know he would do the same for me, and he did for a short while, supporting both of us while I wasn’t working, so I really shouldn’t complain.

What little time I have I want to spend winding down, reading, watching TV….and sleeping. And baking – I find baking immensely calming, though I’m not very good at it. And thus he feels I’m neglecting him, but I just don’t have enough time and energy to devote to everything. It’s the most logical time for him to feel needy, yet the worst.

We discussed maybe living apart. But that’s not what either of us wants, and like I told him, if he moved back home, I really don’t know what would happen. He’d be their errand runner; their one car, their chauffeur, handyman, and he’d probably get sucked into a life of drinking, smoking and mooching.

I hate uncertainty. I hate not knowing, I hate waiting. I’m just in a holding pattern,struggling through this last semester, through living in this damp hellhole, trying to support T along the way, point him in the right way so he can (hopefully) make some decisions, and not go insane.

(There they go again. I really, really HATE my flatmates. There is no peace. There is wrestling, fighting, swearing, mess, loud squawking outbursts, injuries. But then again, in a sense, I can’t help but feel better the devil you know…)

I feel like I have no control over anything, and I wish I had a crystal ball. I want to know everything is going to be okay, that it will work out. I want someone to make decisions for me. To tell me what to do next. To move, or not to move. Where to move. Whether to work. Or travel. Whatever.

Open letter to Work and Income

I’ve had it up to here.

I simply don’t understand WHY it is you continue to make life so damn complicated for us. Yet, you seem perfectly content to keep doling out money to people (including members of BF’s family) who, frankly, do nothing productive with their lives, apart from occasionally pop out another child.

From the beginning to now, dealing with you has been nothing but a headache. First you refused to even see BF. You fobbed him off with excuses, like how backlogged you were and how long it would be before there were any free appointments.

There was a whole brouhaha about the fact that I study and work, and should therefore be able to support the both of us singlehandedly.

Then came the letter stating that we had failed to comply with their request for further information and his claim was denied. Only, you had never even SENT a request for any information. That was just a lie, an attempt to deny him any help he might have been entitled to. And of course, it took another couple of weeks to straighten that one out too, because you can’t just call up to make an appoitment to sort out misunderstandings. It always takes about a week before you can get in to see a case worker.

Then it finally all seemed to come together. You gave a little, we gave a little, you were impressed with his ethic, and wanted to help him as much as possible because he wasn’t like the other lazy bludgers on your books.

And then came a letter saying that BF had failed to attend an appointment for LSV (whatever that might be) on Monday the 22nd, and a letter had been sent to inform him about this appointment on Monday the 8th.

Again, lies. No such letter was ever received. Nothing of the kind was even mentioned to him at his appointment on Thursday the 11th of June, when he went in to discuss his enrolment in the New Start programme at Auckland Uni.

Now you say a “work test” has been issued for him and his entitlement will be compromised if he does not contact his case manager with a “fair and sufficient” reason for not attending.

A reason, like…. No such appointment was ever relayed to me?

And anyone who’s ever dealt with WINZ knows they shunt you around case managers; he’s never seen the same person more than once. Who knows who his supposed case manager is at this point.

I can only assume they will now take it upon themselves to suspend his payments, and add to my stress.

Work and Income, it’s time to start playing fair.

Being the unpaid chauffeur

I was afraid this would happen – CORRECTION – I knew it would happen.

We have a car again, which puts us at the mercy of the many, many people we know WITHOUT one, who then want BF to take them places and drive them all around.

Let’s put it this way. BF has two main categories of friends. The ones who work/are doing apprenticeships, have steady jobs and cars. And the losers who have lost their licences for speeding/drink driving etc.

Unfortunately, the latter kind are the one he sees more often. One of them lives with us, so …. yeah.

Sigh.

And with him not having work, it just means they have all the more opportunity to rope him into chauffeuring them around.

Even if they pay for gas, it’s still unnecessary wear and tear on our car, and until he gets his full, I’m the only other person he can legally drive around. It’s completely unfair to put him at risk of losing HIS licence too just so they can get a ride somewhere.

He’s just left the house after getting a hysterical call from his sister. She needed a lift from her house WAY out west, to their mum’s. Her and her partner were having a huge fight and she was leaving and going to stay at their mum’s overnight…or possibly longer, in fact.

FFS! They are both WAYYY too old for this! He’s 30plus, she’s 25, they have a fourth kid on the way. Every few months they do this – have a huge domestic, live apart, then somehow reconciliate. But they NEED to get past this. Not only should they have outgrown that stage, it’s really not on given there are kids involved. Sigh.

Weekend wrapup

It’s been a hell of a week.

Sunday: Plumber was meant to come, according to LL. Never showed. Man, am I sick of being fucked around.

Monday: Up at 6, went with BF to sit his full licence. His friend N turns up to pick us up (he was sitting his too, straight before BF, and lending BF the car for his)…only to inform us his registration had run out two days ago and he’d only just realised. But at 6.30am, there ain’t nowhere to buy a new rego. NOWHERE.

Instructor tells friend he can fit him in at 3.30. BF rings around to see who he can borrow a car off. My friend M obliges, but turning up with one headlight out. It’s the instructor’s last day, and he says he’ll let it slide. Off they go. But they’re back in five minutes, because there’s a bit of fog and they need both headlights. In the meantime N has hurried off to VTNZ to renew his reg, and has returned. Instructor sets off with him to take his test. BF, me and M gun it to Repco to buy a new headlight. By the time N returns, it’s time for the instructor’s next test and BF has to wait half an hour.

Halfway through BF’s test, he pulls back into the carpark. He comes over to me and M, stony faced, and informs us that the instructor pulled him over halfway through because of a scratching sound on the left side of the car, got out, KICKED both sides of the bumper, and caused it to fall off. (M’s car is a junker. But it is warranted, roadworthy, and has never had the bumper come off, that is, until this instructor saw fit to assault it). He then declared the car unfit to finish the test in.

We ask the AA for a complaint form, which we fill out and return to the counter staff. Counter staff flat out REFUSE to fax it off to Christchurch HQ, despite not being busy and having a fax machine right behind them. No, we have to waste more of our morning, after that appalling experience, and invest more of our time and money into following this up. BF is fairly controlled, all things considered, and simply spits out “You make it impossible to complain” and we stalk out. You would think they would appreciate feedback and the opportunity to improve, but clearly their policy is to make it difficult to complain and hope that puts people off.

BF calls up the LTNZ call centre, has a girl take down all the details, and she says he’ll get a response within three days. She says he may get a full refund. Which would be nice, even if it doesn’t make up for the time wasted. It’ll be weeks before he can get a resit. That’s how backlogged the AA are. Pity we can’t even boycott them, because nobody else does driver testing.

Tuesday: Lugged BF’s crutches to town and around uni (well, to one lecture). Fax off complaint form to LTNZ for verification purposes (costs me a dollar and ten minutes waiting time). Bussed up to Grafton, walked across the bridge and to Auckland Hospital to return them. Lady at reception told me to leave them “by the doors where the lino starts”. Well, where the said lino started was by the lifts, and a corridor which clearly stated “staff only”. I wandered further down the wing and took a look all around to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. I also stuck my head into the “admin reception” to check there, and the receptionist told me there would be an “equipment pool” at the main reception. Trudged back there.

Out of all the three staff, I HAD to be served by the same first lady. She snapped at me and insisted there were double doors there and I had gone “way too far”. I went back to the “start of the lino”, saw no doors, and promptly started crying. Stress, tiredness, and tiredness of everything in my life having to be so goddamn complicated. Even returning one pair of crutches.

Thankfully, a security guard and a female volunteer took pity on me. The guard told me to leave the crutches by the lifts, and the woman had a little chat to me as I blew my nose, tried to dry my eyes and straighten my skirt. Then back to the reception with my receipt for my $35 refund. GOT THE SAME GODDAMN LADY again. She directed me round to the cashier around the corner….who refused to help me and insisted I had to go back to ED and fill out some sort of form there. Seriously. No wonder people go on shooting sprees for less. (Jokes. Sort of)

Trudged down to ED, on the verge of more angry tears. Amazingly, the staff there were really nice. I filled out a form, and after a brief explanation of the situation to the puzzled girl I offered to go and try retrieve the crutches from where they were. Luckily, they were where I’d left them, and I signed that form and was told to expect a check in the mail. Well, all right then.

After a full day, went to a pub quiz at the Horse and Trap (great atmosphere, pity the place is always packed, but we’ve been lucky enough to get a table every time as someone leaves right before the quiz starts). Started feeling weird aches in my neck, but tried to ignore them all night.

Wednesday: Woke up feeling like the behind of a donkey. Except I had six straight hours of class starting at 8, and a test I had to sit and pass. (I aced it, BTW, 100%). I struggled through the day, feeling strange aches and pains in my neck, shoulders and back, alternate chills and flushes, whole-body numbness and that awful burning mouth feeling you get when you’re coming down with the flu. I made sure to hand in the two assignments I had due the next day, texted to say I had the death flu and wouldn’t be coming in to work, and left at 1pm to go home and pass out.

Thursday: Awoke around 9, with the aches and pains gone, but a huge lump in my throat. Went back to sleep. Up at noon, sore throat staved off and feeling well enough to email my tutors to explain my absence. BF got the car towed to the workshop which did his clutch in December, where they said they’d have a look tomorrow and if it was in fact the clutch, then it would be under warranty still and all we’d have to pay is labour.

Friday: No word back from the mechanics. Struggle through morning class, six hours of work, and home to dinner and bed.

No joke….this is my life

And then came more.

Last night I heard something breaking, like glass smashing outside. And a shout. I rushed outside, with BF and some of our friends who were over.

Three little gangster lowlifes had just put a brick through our flatmate’s back windscreen. They took off down the street. BF yelled at them/after them. They came back. Started fronting up and acting all hard and tough and trying to pick a fight. They threw our rubbish bin at our cars. They threw probably five or six bottles at the house and cars. Talking absolute shit and saying “we know where you live” and they knew BF’s name (apparently they went to our school). All kinds of crap and trying to stir up trouble. As if the yelling and bottling wasn’t enough, they started shaking and kicking the neighbour’s fence (they luckily have abig wooden gate and nobody can get in at all).

Throwing bottles is CHEAP. I do not believe in fighting. But if you’re going to fight, fight fair.

Anyway, we stayed fairly calm and even though one of them hit one of my mates in the chin, nothing happened. We stayed on our property, called the cops, stayed put. They eventually retreated. The cops never came.

Same thing happened maybe an hour later; they came back, started shouting and swearing etc again. They took off after the LL and his mates pulled into the driveway – apparently they started hassling them too and stepping to them. Called the cops. The cop car came forever later, simply drove down the street, then zoomed off like a shot when they saw nobody on the roads. It was pissing down, it was FREEZING, and we had given up on standing, waiting outside. BF tried to sprint out and flag the car down, to no avail.

How is it that the police don’t give a shit about these things? And how is it that we have no means of recourse and no way of protecting ourselves? I am not going to face down people trying to throw bottles at me. There is no reason or rhyme with people like that. I asked, SEVERAL times, “WHAT IS THE PROBLEM?” You know, like, why are you doing this and what is your beef?

I felt so utterly helpless then, I cannot describe how frustrating that was.

And again maybe half an hour later. Called the cops. We just stayed inside, and I swear this time those hoodrats started actually coming on to our property. I was so worried they were going to do damage to the house, and put me out of pocket. The cops came an age later and actually came to the door. I jumped out of my skin thinking it was those boneheads actually knocking on our front door.

And then I realised how badly I handled the whole situation. I should have been scrutinising their faces and noting down their attire. The cops wanted to know if we could identify them. I couldn’t have told you one single thing about them, let alone the colour of their hoodie! I was just so freaked out by the entire situation. BF is hyper observant thank God, because I am not, and I didn’t even THINK to try and observe.

BTW, at least one of them was the same one involved with the burglary of our house back  in the summer. And probably all of them were to some extent, because that’s how these groups roll.

And it’s not fucking good enough.

Seriously, I don’t care HOW bad your life is or what a crap upbringing you had or how bored you are or how drunk you are.

IT’S NOT ON.

This morning I went and swept up all the glass that I could. There are so many minuscule little shards that I doubt I’ll ever be able to get them all. But they are probably enough to cause some serious pain – so no more barefooting it around outside. There’s also tons of little broken bits sort of below our immobile car, and in the hollow of the tyres and the spokes of the mags that I couldn’t get to. That’s gonna be a bitch to clean up.

Oh yeah, and BF ended up in the emergency department till 4am. But that’s a post for tomorrow.

It’s easy to be a bleeding heart liberal and go on about rehabilitation when you’re comfortably ensconced in your middle class existence in Mt Eden.

Not so much when you’re holed up in your house afraid to go outside, expecting a rock through your window at any moment.

I would have loved to have pulled a Denny Crane right then and pulled off a round of shots at those little shits.

What are you supposed to do in that situation? What CAN you do? How is it that we can’t protect ourselves from (insert choice word here) like that? BF called our cop friend, who merely confirmed how powerless and uncaring police are in such matters.

I kind of wish I’d just booted those f***wits in the nuts, although that would’ve just enraged them and set them off at our guys. Or possibly even retaliate on me, in which case GOOD because that might have got the cops out here, but then set our guys on them to protect my dignity etcetc. URGH.

And no, I do not believe the right to bear arms would have solved this. Guns are too easily turned back on you. And if it’s easy for people like myself to get a gun, imagine how much easier it will be for guys like those.

Four months left on this lease.

That’s a long time.

I do NOT like

- People who use “rape” and “raping” as a verb to refer to something other than the actual act. IE, “raping your car”. Especially when it comes from a girl. Yeah, double standards at play, but when females throw “rape” around, well, it just seems wrong. If we can’t take rape seriously, how can anyone?

- Chicks who get drunk and come on to your BF. Once, okay. Twice or more….. well, I’ve tried, and I really want to like you, but this ain’t a friendship and it’s not gonna work. Keep it in your pants.

- People who lash out and blame others for their own fuckups, and get abusive. Take some responsibility for yourself.

Car troubles and badly cut pizza

Just because I use a coupon……doesn’t mean it’s cool to slack off on cutting up my pizza giving me 5 massive slices and 3 minuscule ones!

I’m sure pizza places have a secret policy for coupon users – be as sloppy as possible, and make their pizzas smaller than they should be.

Not that I can complain, seeing as I got a free pizza, and pizza is pizza.

What did freak me out a little was when I gave my order over the phone, and my contact number. And somehow the girl on the other end of the phone knew my name! They must keep all customers’ details on file, like, FOREVER, because the last time I phoned to order pizza was probably over a year ago.

BF isn’t a big pizza fan, so we hardly ever go to Pizza Hut or Dominos. He likes making his own at home.

So we went to get in the car to pick them up (yes, I’m too cheap to get food delivered. Done it ONCE, was horrified at the surcharge and refused to ever do it again), and didn’t get out of the driveway.

BLOODY EFFING CARS.

Either the clutch or transmission is out. And obviously we can’t even take it to a mechanic, even if it was in the budget.

This comes as we have about four loads of washing to do, no food in the house, and I have several things to do out and about. Not to mention that we put in $45 of gas, which would have lasted 2, maybe 3 weeks.

Deja vu…..the last 2-3 times our car’s conked out, it’s done so with a lot of gas in it.

FML.

Lawn dramas

Our lawn guy is a total freak. He showed up one December day, offering to mow our lawn, sat outside in our chair and smoked, then took off. He came back hours later, cut our grass and tidied up the edges. We paid him. He said he’d return in three weeks.

And he did. One weekday at around six thirty in the morning. I couldn’t think what on earth it could be, and it must be vitally urgent – who comes calling at six thirty AM??? Grumpy BF got rid of him and told him to come back on the weekend at a more godly hour.

He didn’t. same thing happened three weeks later. We ignored him and stayed in bed. Heard him rustling around in our recycling bin and poking around the side of the house. Honestly, he just didn’t give up – he called out, rapped loudly on front and back doors, yelled out again. And again, today. Thankfully, this time he didn’t hang out harassing us.

Then, just as we were leaving the house around 5 this afternoon, he turned up again.

Finally. Some people just have no common sense.

So he’s doing the lawns tomorrow, and hopefully he knows now NOT to come at dawn in the middle of the week. And if he hasn’t learned, well, I think our relationship is well and truly doomed.