I am probably the most frustrated I've ever been in my entire life. More frustrated than when ISU told The Hubs that no, he couldn't really graduate because they'd added a couple requirements to his program without bothering to tell him, so he'd need to do yet another semester. More frustrated than when I came home too early from the hospital after The Boy was born and I couldn't sit up on my own or roll over or nurse or get my baby to stop crying or pee.
I have lots of reasons for being this frustrated, but the one I can share on Facebook is that my mail is delivered by Newman.
So I knew that our postman was complete idiot. That is why before our summer migration to Idaho, I drove to the post office, filled out the forward mail form and turned it in. I figured there was no way a guy with the same intelligence as a fence post could figure out what to do with that piece of paper. Oh, I was SO right.
While in Idaho, our bank called to say they got mail back. But by golly, I was getting my Martha Stewart magazine, so I figured the bank thing was just a fluke. It wasn't until we got home I found out my doctor tried to send us a bill. Twice. It got returned. Twice.
After getting that mess straightened out, I get a letter from the great state of Arizona saying they have no record of our car insurance, and if we don't get that cleared up, they'd suspend our license plates. That note came two days before the scheduled date for plate suspension. (NEWMAN!!!!!!!)
Of course the first person I call is my insurance agent. Guess what? They sent the renewal notice while we were gone. It never made it to Idaho.
They cancelled my insurance.
So I've been driving uninsured since mid JULY.
We drove the whole western United States, including the entire length of California COMPLETELY uninsured.
Oh, I'm livid.
Not only that, but it's been so long, our insurance company wants nothing to do with us. They won't backdate the policy. The only companies I can find that will insure us now want TWICE the premiums we were paying previously.
If it were legal to do so, I'd drive down to the post office and file a formal complaint. Alas, I can't go anywhere until this hot mess is straightened out.
I'm also a little ticked that what was supposed to be a year policy turned out to only be six months, despite what it says on the card in my glove box.
I'm gonna go eat some Nutella and Whipped Cream and fantasize about laying in wait for the postman with my imaginary shot gun.
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