Back from self-imposed exile. Ready to blog again.

So, what’s been going on, anyway?

I finished my NaNoWriMo novel. 62,515 words, if OpenOffice’s word counter is right. The style can best be described as “pulp hack”, but then again, I was always my own harshest critic.

And you and I will never see it in print.

One year ago today, I woke up in a motel on a cold, dreary Albuquerque morning, showered and shaved, put on my black shirt and a pair of clean jeans, donned my black overcoat and black fedora, and went to meet the woman who I hoped would be my wife. She was meeting me at a nearby cafe a short distance away.

I saw her as I entered the parking lot of the cafe. She had her two young boys with her. She was straightening their coats and telling them something I couldn’t hear from across the parking lot. Then she started walking towards the cafe entrance. I cleared my throat loudly. She looked over in my direction, smiled and walked over to me.

We embraced. She started to say something. I put my finger on her lips and took the silver ring off of my finger. Pressing it into her hand and looking into her eyes, I said with all the love I could muster, “Hi, honey. I’m home.”

We shared our first kiss in that parking lot.

Through all the ups and downs of our relationship, I always treasure that day. Even when our relationship finally broke down and died a few months later, I can still picture that day as clearly as it had happened yesterday.

And it breaks my heart every time I remember it.

I thought that I had worked through my sorrow and loneliness, but writing this book, cathartic as it may have been, also tore me apart. All of my pain and hurt went into this book, and it showed. I can’t even bear to read it anymore. Yet, neither could I just throw up my hands and give up the endeavor. This little scrap of prose compelled me to remember everything I thought I had forgotten, forced me to relive every bit of happiness and every stab of heartache.

And this book, more than anything else, forced me to confront the plain fact that, despite everything, I still love her and miss her, even I realize that we probably were not going to be any good together.

So, this novel is going on a 3.5″ floppy (yes, I still have some of them lying around), encoded with a password that I don’t use anymore, and is getting mailed to a friend out of the state, with instructions to hold on to it and never to give it back to me, no matter how much I plead.

And now, this day holds a bittersweet meaning for me. This is the day that I looked forward to with great eagerness, a day that I wanted to believe would hold great promise. And it did. I just couldn’t hold onto what I received that day. So, if I’m a bit scarce or short with my words today, you’ll forgive me, as my mind is elsewhere today. For me, today is a blustery, overcast day that never ends.

I’ll just have to find a way to work through the pain.

day018 :: STFU, originally uploaded by MeLa de Gypsie.

Chase Custom Finance
Irvine, California

Dear Low-Grade Morons:

Thanks ever so much for the lovely note you sent demanding payment for my truck on pain of repossession. I thank you because I apparently have a large KICK ME sign attached to my posterior so that large corporations (like your partners in crime, the auto insurance industry) can single me out for their happy fun time, and was completely unaware of such for some time. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll be paying you any of the extortion money you demanded in the letter.

You see, Blinky, I have this wonderful tool for keeping track of my expenses called a checkbook. In the checkbook, I have a table called a register, where I keep track of my voluminous expenses every month. Occasionally, something goes wrong, and I am forced to adjust the checkbook to reflect reality. But for the most part, I do a pretty good job of keeping track of my wayward dollars.

And according to my register, I am up $100 on you over the last three months.

Now, I did say that I am prone to error. My credit union, on the other hand, has a wonderful database of their own, and they also vouch for me in this instance. As a matter of fact, so does the wonderful budgeting website Mint.com, which broke down for me all of my expenses into several nice neat pie charts that showed you to be big stinky liars.

Now, I realize that things have not been going well for you guys lately. Lord knows I sympathize, as I have family who work for the auto industry. But, really, extortion? I somehow naively thought you folks were above that sort of thing.

In short, get it together, dumbos, and get your own house in order before you go around waving your big stick in other people’s faces. Such behavior is not appreciated.

Up yours,

Steven Perez
Observer and raconteur, thoughts from an empty head

I interrupt this writing exile to relate the following:

I HATE VISTA.

How much?

This much.

If Vista was a physical entity, this is what I would do to it. Twice.

Thank you for being there for me, Ubuntu.

This is a story about a guy named Steven, and how he came to hate insurance companies all over again.

Steven used to work for a health insurance company, once upon a time. His job consisted mainly of telling old people that they weren’t covered for the treatment they needed.

This situation did not sit well with Steven, who was used to helping people whenever he could. So he bucked the company line on more than one occasion, spending an inordinate amount of time trying to help people.

This callous disregard for the company’s best interests made Steven’s boss very angry, since the company placed a premium on volume of calls over helping people. So they fired Steven after a few months. This was just fine with Steven, who was finding out that he suddenly developed an affinity for kicking puppies, and decided that his job was somehow responsible for this newfound trait.

Steven went on to find new and more meaningful employment, where he did not develop ulcers or have to listen to old people crying on the phone. In time, he even stopped kicking puppies.

Earlier this week, some scum hit Steven’s very nice neighborhood on a vandalism spree. They smashed the windows of various cars and trucks and took valuables from the vehicles. The scum smashed up the windows on Steven’s truck.

Steven took photos and filed a police report. Then he called his insurance company to file a claim.

At first, the insurance company had a problem matching Steven’s coverage to the truck. This sounded strange to Steven, since the insurance company never had a problem registering when Steven paid the premiums. Finally, his new agent, who replaced the old agent he signed up with last January, called the company directly. Steven gave his agent the photos and the police report.

Steven waited.

Soon, the claims adjuster called Steven. The adjuster said that Steven’s glass was not covered. This sounded very strange to Steven, as the glass was formerly quite attached to the truck and was not generally thought of as optional equipment. He argued with the adjuster, who said that she would call back.

She called Steven back. It turns out that Steven’s glass had never been covered by his previous agent, even though the not-so-nice neighborhood where Steven lived prior to moving to the “very nice” one he lived in now was colloquially known as “the War Zone”, where smash-and-grab-style robberies were all too common. Also, the very large camper shell was never covered by his former agent, either. In fact, when pressed by the company, the former agent told the company that she had never seen the camper shell.

Steven got mad. He got even angrier when he found out how much more it would have cost to cover the glass and reduce the deductible on his coverage to a mere pittance – one dollar per month.

Steven’s truck now sits forlornly outside his apartment in his “very nice” neighborhood. The window is still smashed. The camper shell will have to be scrapped, as Steven doesn’t have the cash nor the patience to keep it.

And Steven has learned several valuable lessons.

• Never trust friends who are insurance agents.
• “Very nice” neighborhoods can be every bit as crime-ridden as not-so-nice neighborhoods.
• Insurance companies suck.

Needless to say, Steven is currently shopping around for another insurance company.

He also better stay away from the dog for a while.