Cha-cha-cha-changes...Okay, so I can't sing David Bowie to save my life.
Things around my life here of late have been, shall we say "dynamic?" I'm not ordinarily a person who likes change, have never been a big fan of change, and frankly I still don't like change. I like change so little that I throw all my metal money out.
Yeah, that was lame.
Change, however, seems to love itself some Irrelephant. I can't exactly point a finger at it, but there was the wallet. Fifty some odd years of the same wallet, and then suddenly I need a new one. Then it was boots. My old pair of HiTek Magnums finally gave up the ghost, one losing all it's colour, the other had a tear in it's side about four inches long, so suddenly it was brand new boots on top of a new wallet.
As if that wasn't enough, I suddenly develop a problem with my truck's tire. These tires have less than 20K miles on them, are about 5 years old, and out of the blue the right front decides that it wants to let a slice of it's belting about a foot long come loose from the carcass, which gives me a lump the length of my forearm, the height of my nose and the width of a case of red-ass in my tire, making my truck undriveable. So I had to get my tire changed (yeah, that's like a pun only not so funny) and that involved a long wait in Sears and a lot of cash I didn't have. No change involved.
My daughter is returning to her mother's place in Oregon this summer, too, a change which I always have a difficult time dealing with. Last year her mother (heretofore referred to as "The Goat") didn't bring her back to the Pacific Northwest because she couldn't afford it, so I had my daughter not only for the entire school year and summer but the next school year as well. And now she has to return for summer to La Casa del Goat, which then means a dreaded series of flights back up there come the beginning of school to fetch her back. The only high point of that trip is that we're bringing Vulgar Wizard with us, so THAT promises much fun!
Change, change everywhere.
Of course, we can't forget dear Black Betty, can we? A new bike, a new bike note, a whole new way of driving (slow!) and myriad changes in street mannerisms as well as no longer being part of the sport bike crowd. Sadly enough, the worst part of all this bike-change is that Harley guys now wave at me, thinking I'm one of them. *violent, pained shudder*
We officially got our new DOO, and then we hired a new Account Executive at work last week or thereabouts. More change, faces this time, and positions. The low side is that we got rid of the good Account Manager, Cindy-Bo-Bindy, and kept Cankle, the Wicked Witch And Her Old Barbie Doll Look. WTF is up with that? Here's hoping our newbie ousts The Thick-Ankled-One soonest. I'm tired of avoiding her basilisk-like gaze.
And then, I found out this afternoon (to add insult to injury,) that my eBay account had been hacked and I was suddenly from Taiwan and was selling some 40+ Louis Vitton purses and handbags that not only did I not own but the purveyour probably didn't own, either. And so that entailed a lot of password changes and tons of hunting down information that I had forgotten years ago, and an online chat with an eBay representative who turned my account back on after they turned it off for me, thank my stars and garters for that, no money lost, no skin off my trunk. The superfast speed of the internet, however, combined with this young lady's intent to stick in a huge pre-prepared paragraph every line advertising their safety and etc. and her insistent desire for me to remember the first email address I used on eBay some six or seven years ago as well as the street I was born on almost 38 years ago made what should have been a three minute chat last almost half an hour.
At least she didn't ask me if I was 15 and/or a virgin.