One year ago today: December 3, 2014, alien dog.
Five years ago today: December 3, 2010.
Nine years ago today: December 3, 2006, no battery vending machines . . .
Random years ago today: December 3, 2009, southeastern Venezuela.
Yes, I saw silver drop to $13.90 but there is no silver to be had. It looks like all the weak-kneed have sold at a loss and those with the real thing are not selling at any price right now. Remember, you saw it here. Silver is going to explode, Canadian real estate is going to implode, and the most successful attack on American soil was never Pearl Harbor, or 9/11, but the internal treachery of Liberals.
Liberals do not care about the plight of the Americans already here. Liberals will tax you to death to prove how “tolerant” you are. Liberals will sacrifice your job, your family, and your way of life to make themselves look pretty and smell nice. But they will contribute nothing, why God knows they already got enough to do forcing you to quit trying to squirm out of paying your share of their feel-good programs.
The wettest week on record. Right when I need to work on the camper. It is not even normal rain, which you can kind of ignore sometimes and work right through it. Like in Hawaii, but without the Navy types crawling on the sidewalks and such. The one letup was barely time for my morning coffee. It is year-end for the books, but some items don’t take priority until later.
That is why I was on the blower for 29:59 minutes. I’m out $829.01. Almost a year ago, a friend overdrew her account to cover a small deficit for me. And last month, a transfer happened twice. Reversing these transactions just whacked me for that said total. I’ll have it made good by the 20th and we’ll be back on track here. Hey, I think it’s a good thing that my system can take these kind of shocks without a wink, really.
Please don’t expect much entertainment these days unless you want to help me go over a year of numbers, kind of the culminating annual audit that lets me do things like take twelve mini-holidays a year. While I’m still amassing enough cash to buy property. That, folks, is how a budget works. You know, I take so many of these trips, sometimes I don’t remember. But that’s where this blog comes in. People who remember every trip they take, you know, don’t take very many trips.
Let me scan the blog and see where I wound up this year. Some restrictions on travel would include the repairs to the sidecar electric, front bearings, brakes, and tires. That cost enough that it put the camper rebuild, begun a year ago, on the back burner. I could make a trip now if I really wanted, but I don’t. Anyway, where was I in 2015. The criteria is either more than 100 miles from here, or overnight anywhere in a new place. Hence crashing over at JZ’s doesn’t count, but both trips to Arcadia do. This could take a while, the Quebeckers all have their Skypes plugged in against the rules.
√ January – West Palm Beach, FL, by train 2015. This trip was not actually taken until Feb. 4 and doesn't count as it is only 56 miles. See link for revealing comment on France and terrorism.
√ February – Winter Haven, FL, by train 2015. Riding the Amtrak. Silver plunges a dollar.
√ March – Okeechobee, FL, by land 2015. Via Clewiston.
√ April -- Deland, FL , by train 2015.
√ May -- Wildwood, FL, by truck, 2015. Via Yeehaw Junction, Deland.
√ June – Card Sound, FL, by truck, 2015. Hey, it was 101 miles by the route we took. The Naples trip was canceled by a flat on the sidecar same day.
√ July – Arcadia, FL, by truck, 2015. Via Okeechobee, Ft. Meyers.
√ August – Punta Gorda, FL, by truck, 2015.
√ September – no trip this month.*
√ October – Winter Haven FL, by train, 2015.
√ November – Bartow, FL, by truck, 2015.
√ December – nothing even planned yet, but we have a double budget including the September allocation (see above).
*No trip, but I may (that’s “may”) have made more than one trip in some months this year. I only scrolled back until I found the first trip in each instance. Like I know we went to Arcadia twice in one of those months.
There was minimal motorcycle travel in 2015 for two reasons. The 25,000 miles on the machine resulted in a thousand bucks in maintenance, including $720 for that alternator. Plus, obviously the most fun to be had is when JZ and I hit these small towns. Or anywhere actually, since we get the lion’s share of attention from women everywhere we go. What’s more, cheap as the motorcycle is to make trips, it is slightly cheaper per person to take the truck. That does not include accommodation.
But for accommodation, that makes the individual trip slightly more expensive, but the collective trip so efficient, we should question staying in town as much as we do. I’m saying it is cheaper, when you add up everything, for the two of us to head out than stay in town. The only expensive thing is sleeping, but that will change drastically when I buy a house.
JZ and I have discussed the possibility of a hood for his truck-bed and towing my cPod behind. Then we both have comfortable sleepers on the road. But, his truck-bed is not full size because of that crew-cab. Still, that’s a viable option to check out. All we need is a trailer ball, he already has the hitch. And he has taken to roughing it a lot quicker than I figured for a city slicker. One day he may even learn from me that you don’t want the type of woman who won’t to it in a makeshift spot.
Later, the repercussions of the October mix-up are filtering in. After a while one develops a sense of how other people behave with money. I knew something was wrong and wrote an e-mail and made a phone call on October 11. Then, I behaved as if the error was in nobody’s favor. So when the problem turned out to be a deposit made twice, the correction barely made a ripple over here. Sure, it makes my accounts look anemic for year-end, but it never cost me a cent. Hold on, because of shifting fees, it did cost me $8.35. But there was no panic like at the other end.
That’ll be the day I panic over $8.35.
ADDENDUM
Despite your best effort, you always sooner or later run into a true ignoramus. And one of more sordid of the lot is the real estate agent who thinks she is smarter than you are. There may be professionals in that field, but I’ve never met one. They are the equivalent of grade school drop-outs which I consider somewhat lower on the social scale than the drummer in a blues band, but not quite as magnificently cerebral.
Until you get “BJ” involved. First she denies all knowledge of the property, then denies any responsibility for the listing, then distances herself from the accuracy of the information unless I wait on the phone while she “researches”. Hmmm, there you go. BJ, selling something you don’t have a clue about. I advised her the property appeared to have 3 years of outstanding taxes, yet the aerial photos indicated it was communal land.
At this point, she cuts into how I intend to purchase, and I’m like, “What?” I’m not committing to a thing until I find out if the price includes the land. I asked her that in the first sentence and it is now five or so minutes into the conversation and everything but the answer is coming out of her pie-hole. She launches into this, “How do I expect her to make a living?” Now she’s playing me for a sucker.
Folks, it would be wrong to think I’m picking on BJ. It doesn’t work like that. I don’t notice hardly a thing about older women, not even the obvious like race or type—unless they try to pull a fast one on me. Then I notice every detail. Got that? I’m not insulting her, I’m describing her. If I call Brenda down, she has nobody to thank for that but herself. How do I care how she gets paid? I surmised by now that she was not going to answer my question.
So I informed her that a good real estate agent would not list anything that did not include land and thus would not have to “research” such modest questions on the prospective buyer’s time. Now, I will go through the more complicated route of the tax records and consider BJ just another blimp blocking the view. Professional, my eye. I don’t think she had even personally seen this property. When I informed her I wanted a direct answer my question, she clued in I was done listening to her twaddle.
She pulled the old ass-clown stunt number one and started to pretend she was offended. I hung up. Enough hippo-woman for one day. Had my fill of those at the phone company. Bottom line—she started it. Respect is something you earn, not that you demand. Loser. I stand by my theory that you can predict female personalities by looks. These crows always go sour-ass when they realize they will never be babes.
Last Laugh
(She dropped a quarter . . .)
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