Today needs use of the Flaming Sword of Fire. Christ.

Having not gone to bed yet this morning, Jeremy and I decided that we'd just run to the DMV, get a temp-tag, come home and sleep and be fine for the rest of the day and whatnot because this was going to be easy now that we, assumed, we had everything. So we go to the DMV to see if we can register the car for a temp-tag because we really fucking need to be able to drive the car, seriously. So we give them everything we've got that needs to be made use of for the getting of said temp-tag including a letter from my previous lien holder's office stating that they no longer have interest in the vehicle which means the loan is paid off and thus the car is mine, yes? Yes. So the chick we have goes to get her Supervisor who then proceeds to tell me the same thing they have been telling me every. fucking. time. I go there, which is that I need the Certificate of Registration (i.e. what you lot call the "title") of the car. Obviously, I do not have that because the loan was just paid off and the mail is, lol, fucking slow. Add into the mix that the woman from the lien holder's office told us that she was sending-- not the title-- but a letter in the mail, I had no proof that the title was released to my name.

Pissed off from being talked down to by a bleach blond bimbo with too much eye liner on, we asked her what the fuck we had to do in order to get a temp-tag today and she told us that if we called the Nova Scotia DMV (which she provided a number for, yay) and told them that we needed a duplicate of my Certificate of Registration, filled out the application, wrote out a check for the amount that would be due and brought it to the Florida DMV to be mailed out, because she can't take my word for it that it's done (yeah, because pulling $12,000 out of my ass to pay for a loan that had two and a half more years on it isn't enough proof that I'm working on this fucking situation at all, right? Right, obviously.) then she would issue us a temp-tag and we could be on our merry little way and drive TinyCar once again. So we come home and tell mother in law what has to be done, get into a rant with her about it, call the Nova Scotia DMV and ask what needs to be done and where to get the application. Turns out an application is not needed, just a letter in my own words stating why I need a copy, giving my name, birth date, vin number of the car, make and model, year, color and the address it needs to be sent to with a fee of eleven dollars. Easy, right?

Wrong.

It needs to be in Canadian funds. And apparently there is no banks around this area whatsoever that can provide money orders, neither can Amscot, western Union or the post office. We even called the airport at the international currency exchange and they can't do it, either. We think, though, they might accept a traveler's check but that would take days to order and I wanted my car today because there's a party to go to tomorrow that I didn't want to deal with going with mother in law because of differences in opinions when it comes to leaving among other things. Anyway. After running around to Suntrust, Bank of America and calling umpteen other banks and places asking them if they can do a money order that would be in Canadian funds and everyone said no. so we call back the DMV and tell them that what they are asking us to do is impossible since I cannot physically give them the proof of payment they want to see and mail off for us. So the supervisor there finally decided to make a judgment call and have me sign and affidavit stating why I'm sending it off personally rather than her (because I can get traveler's checks in a few days, or even send the letter to my mom and have her write out a check, etc..) so we finally, finally got a temp-tag to use the car while I wait for this stupid Certificate of Registration to reach me.

We finally got to sleep around 3pm. That's after having been awake since, like, 5pm the previous day. Yay for a lack of sleep. ._.

Bah! I seriously need to write a fucking book, or something, of things to know before you move from another country to the USA. Fucking hell.

At least we can drive it. I can't leave the state, but I can drive my car. That's all I care about right now. Once we get the Certificate of Registration I can do whatever the hell I want with my car but until then, I'm boned. At least, I think, I'll have a car for a bit while Aaron is here. Hopefully, though, the car will be fully registered by then.

Sigh, life.

Some days are good days.

And some days are bad days. This was a mixture. It was good. Now it's bad.

Very bad.

I love how the one time I'm supposed to be online to talk about some serious stuff with the other Mods, shit happens that leaves me busy all day and too exhausted to stay up at night to talk to anyone. Disappearances are totally fun! Only not really. Hopefully tonight I'll be able to stay up for a bit talking to the others about what needs to be discussed and how to go about doing everything. All signs are pointing to lol fail since it's only 4:30pm and I'm already yawning and feeling super tired as Hell. Maybe a nap is required? I shall think about this.

So Friday we spent all day cleaning and dealing with stuff that had to be dealt with (Jeremy's financial aid verification). That sucked. Then there was eating. Mostly the day was spent with me and Jeremy running in and out of the bedroom (only room that's "ours" in the house since, lol, living with Mother in Law ♥) doing laundry, general picking up of things, vacuuming and other various forms of cleaning all while watching the entire fifth season of The Sopranos. I love me some Mafia shows. ♥ Good times. That was the good busy day.

This was the bad busy day:

Yesterday was made of super failures that 'caused lots of general irritation and many moments of desiring killing things. Friday night at like, eleven or so? Ginger called and talked to Jeremy (thank God, at eleven at night I might have killed her via telephone. ..Somehow) asking that we go to her place on Saturday to go shopping with her and buy her diapers for the baby since they have no money for food, diapers and rent because she was stupid and loaned the money to her irresponsible sister's man. Wtf Aaron and Ginger. Seriously. So technically, Friday around 11:30pm or later was the beginning of docking the fucking failboat.

So Saturday rolls around and we're getting up to get ready to go to Ginger and Aaron's when lo and behold Jeremy's mother comes into the room and asks if we want to go to Sam Elliot uncle Tim's house for his birthday party. I have nothing against Sam Elliot uncle Tim, in fact I enjoy him a lot because he LOOKS LIKE SAM ELLIOT seems pretty nice, calm, cool and collect (which he totally is). I haven't really gotten to speak to uncle Tim that much, but that's OK. He's cool anyway. Well. The reasons I was bothered at having to go to the party were as follows:

a] lol have to help Ginger and Aaron, hello?
b] not really in the mood for some good ol' fashioned party times since, lol, period soon (stfu, tmi, I know)
c] had moar housework to do
d] had to go to the stores for ourselves and not just Ginger. I had some stuff I had to buy for Jeremy.
e] she wanted to carpool

I have no issues with carpooling. Hooray for saving the world one car at a time, you know? But with Leslie when she wants to go to a party? Carpooling is made of fail and fucking rage. You will understand soon enough.

( Rant is rant-y-ful )

The only other thing I have to say is: The movie The Last Mimzy was pretty damn good. I didn't think it would be that great. It was cute, really interesting too. I liked it. :)

Now to relax. x.x

AUGH. FUCK. OFF.



xM;