Tuesday, September 21, 2004

I said I would continue with the situation regarding my mom and her assisted living place… but it’s an ongoing saga of aggravation. I’m kinda tired of dealing with it/thinking about it, and so I’m gonna bang out this post to update y’all, if you’re interested.

Fight the powers that be! The powers being Pig Head and Ratchet, who actually have continued to amuse me. Well, not Ratchet. I think that ice princess could single-handedly stop global warming. But I feel sorry for Pig Head with his sad, sad, stupidity. Pigs are supposedly smart animals. But they're not bright enough to deal with legal eagles who won’t sit back and accept his truffle-shuffle pigshit.

He called me the day after our meeting, thinking that because I was good cop, I was on his side. So he agreed that my sister, Tom and I had a strong argument for fighting the eviction and admitted that he and Ratchet were completely unprepared for our meeting. “You were the only one concerned with your mom’s well-being,” he said. I told the schmuck we all were. Just because I asked questions relating directly to that issue didn’t mean it wasn’t the bottom line for everyone. The point of the meeting -- and all our conversations -- was to determine the reason for the eviction, which was unclear and irrational in his notice and subsequent discussions.

Pig Head said, “Well, your mom fell in the pool and we can’t guarantee that --“

“I’m not having this conversation again,” I said. I wasn’t looking for him to try to answer it now. Jeebus. If he wasn’t gonna listen to our responses the twelve times before, suddenly Captain Vague would achieve a moment of clarity?

I tried to explain that if he too was concerned with my mom’s well-being, he’d reconsider the eviction. To her, she feels like she’s failed. It was as if she got into a good school, and now she’s flunked out. My mom was a straight-A student her whole life (and expected the same from her kids), and now she was getting expelled.

“Wow,” Pig Head said. “I never thought of it that way…”

So then he said he was gonna get us in touch with some woman at the corporate office to discuss it further, since we were getting nowhere. Sounded like she was his superior. Respect mah authoritay! I was trying to find out right from the beginning who we talk to in order to go over his Piggy Snouted Head, and finally I found out. But a corporate stooge? Great. We weren’t gonna have any luck with Beulah Ballbricker.

Turned out, Beulah was really nice. My sister talked it over with her, and the woman said the eviction notice sounded invalid as written. Duh. What have I been saying all along?

But even if Beulah invalidated the notice, Pig Head would write a new one with more specifics, so she suggested we write a complaint for wrongful eviction to counter his unkosher proclamation.

I started hashing it out. This is why it was good to take notes during the meeting. And where even blogging helped, ‘cause I just elaborated on Pig Head and Ratchet’s hissy fits and de-Rashomoned their skewed version of events. But I’m not fluent in legalese. My sister later edited and amended the complaint, wondering why I was in love with the word “stipulate” and defining every term (e.g. “the head of assisted living, hereby known as ‘Ratchet’ or ‘Frigid Friggin’ Beotch with the Ass Tattoo’”). When it was done, we had written a damn good argument, if I may say so.

But at the same time, we were looking at new assisted living places... and found one we all liked. It’s a little cheaper, not much further away, and just as nice. It’s older, but has more outdoor areas, including a little terrace for my mom to go out and smoke her Salems – sure, work on that emphysema, Mom.

By the way, Beulah Ballbricker was right -- the eviction notice turned out to be indeed bogus as Bill & Ted’s Journey. So we told Pig Head (dumb sap) not to hurt his porky pate and write a new one. I wanted to warn him that our countering complaint would probably cost him his job, but just said that we were leaving anyway. The vindictive side of me wants to make those schmoes’ careers plummet faster than Britney Spears’, but my mom is already feeling like a pariah at the joint, so best to just move on.

As a result, the last month or so we’ve been handling all the ramifications of moving and getting my mom a new wheelchair. I went through most of this just a couple of years ago, and thought I had things moving with relatively minimal maintenance. But it’s consuming me once again...

...Even when I'm away from it all. Sometimes I have to tell my sister to please stop calling me all the time, worrying & deliberating over every little detail. She says, “Sorry. I can’t help it. You have to put up with me.” Yeah, yeah. I know.

Last weekend she invited me to some fundraising charity silent auction event. I hate those things. Get dressed up in a suit & tie, hobnob with a buncha boring attorneys? Worse was that she wanted to bring our mother and grandmother. Which means me escorting the old ladies around all night. I had had enough. I said no thanks, and she seemed annoyed, but I had to put my foot down. I’ve also told my mom that once we get her settled in, she has to understand I can’t be coming around as often – Mikey needs his own life back. Mom said its fine – after all, how is she gonna get grandkids otherwise? -- but we’ll see when she gets bored/lonely/angry/irrational.

So my sister took them to the event without me, and now I found out they got something for me at the silent auction. A present. For no apparent reason. They just saw something they thought I would really like. I don’t know what it is; I’ll find out tonight. Mom says it’ll be the best gift I’ve gotten since they surprised me with Max, my golden retriever puppy. My sister says, well, maybe not, but it’s pretty cool. I don’t wanna build it up either. Whatever it is, the thought and consideration is just a reminder. One of the many reasons this mishugenah mischbucha is worth the aggravation.


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