One year ago today: March 23, 2022, a fascinating study.
Five years ago today: March 23, 2018, initially, I said no.
Nine years ago today: March 23, 2014, duct tape, honorable mention.
Random years ago today: March 23, 2005, the Hippie gets arrested.
First off, I get into a row with the State of Tennessee, or somebody pretending to be that entity. I get this letter saying a vehicle I own in not exempt unless I fill out some paperwork and pay $125. This was a good one, official letterhead, correct address, you could not tell it was a fake. However, as soon as I got them on the phone, I was on to them. I was able to determine they used public records to get your vehicle information and then went phishing for your name and address to “verify” their information. Instead, I got them to verify theirs and fired off a note to Deaderick (the location of the revenue office). They e-mailed within the hour that I do not require any forms for that scooter.
Twenty pounds of chicken quarters on the stove makes me the doggie’s best friend. A while ago, I tried to train my backyard birds to the sound of a bell. No dice, they are too competitive. So I used the bell to see if I could train JeePee. Nope, but it sure let the cats know I was near the kitchen. That’s why I decided to cook the chicken all at once—to cut down on the begging. Chooks has some dark past experience where he runs away with any meat that has the bone still attached. Could be he was used to being robbed by bigger dogs. While they now ignore me, they sure have not forgotten where the memory foam is. They used to wait on the porch for a walk, now they dash out and wait by the van.
The Reb called again, this trip is short. She’s in California, a sell-out show by the way. A couple days visit I supposed, she still has acquaintances back there. I don’t. That’s correct, I no longer know a single person in Texas, California, Washington, or Colorado. Hold on, Bryne, the Irishman is in Texas but that isn’t the same thing. I told him it gets bloody cold out there.
Haitians pretending to be Columbian refugees.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.
It’s gonna rain, so I dismantled the cockpit from the van and worked fast. I cut it down ease space to crawl into the bad. I had to leave barely enough room to work the gear shift. I figure no big deal, it’s automatic. The tin and 24 screws had to be removed. Half the screws holes had to be re-drilled, that’s all done. Remind me one year to cut that 100-foot extension cord into two 50s. JeePee and the pets were outside with me. Unlike Sparkie, the new watchdog shows no enthusiasm for playing in the yard. The time they most want to play is after a meal, the precise moment I feel the opposite. I went over the CDs and on the chance I won’t die this year, the interest rate is 15 times that of a savings account. I distrust certain aspects of banks and CD so this is a step back into an iffy area for me.
I transferred into Caltier, so there is more than $9,000 in there at the moment. My books are kept on the monthly minimum balance. This is the figure used for the income budget. Only the amount of cash I know for certain will be in the account for the entire month. For exactness, don’t use the investment accounts, find the bank statements. This chore took a lot of the afternoon Later, I finished re-installing the cockpit console, wow, that clearance on the stick shift is close.
After a late doggie stroll, I took off to the old club on Hickory. All new staff, nothing like the originals. The people that last in that occupation have different idiosyncrasies than back when. There was no entertainment and I had a couple of beefy broads check me out. I had to use the chicken coop story.
