What Do You Call 5 Lawyers At The Bottom Of The Ocean?

I went to pick up a check from a lawyer's office today. This has it all over having to drop one off. The circumstance that caused this was a traffic accident that I was involved in a few days before Christmas last year. I was waiting at a traffic light when a big white sedan backing up through traffic at a fairly high rate of speed, crashed into me. You might say, "Heck Merle, how fast could the car have been going?" Well, it seemed like a hundred miles per hour, but was about 15 or 20 miles per hour. The woman driving accidentally put her car in reverse and floored it, and was unable to correct her error. Fortunately, I was able to prevent her from causing further damage to the motoring public by being in her path. The damage to my truck was around $2500 and the associated medical bills were around $4000. The other driver's insurance paid my repair bills, but the adjuster for the other company was difficult to work with because he wouldn't return my calls. After several months, I grew tired of trying to reach him and decided to hire a lawyer to get his attention. I didn't have any illusion that I was getting more money that way, I just didn't want to deal with a bunch of hassles. The lawyer was quick to tell me his services would cost me one third of whatever he collected. This is a standard deal in the US personal-injury business and was fine by me, since one third of not much is not much. About a month ago I got a call that the other company had made an offer to settle. We discussed it by phone and my lawyer counter-offered. The company then countered back and we agreed. Fairly straightforward stuff and trust me when I tell you we are not talking about much money. Three weeks ago, I got a call from Vera in my lawyer's office, asking me to come in and sign the settlement check. Then Vera promptly went on vacation and when I went to sign the next day, there was chaos since she was gone. After some discussion they had me sign the check and a release for the other company. They said that they would give me my two-thirds of the settlement just as soon as the check cleared the bank. Probably in three days, they said. So I waited. After a week I called back and was told that Vera was still out, so they put Diane on the phone. Diane said that since Vera was out, she didn't have all the final figures, but she would talk to the boss about how to handle things and call me back. Three days later, I called back. This time Vera and Diane were both off work and the lawyer was apparently filling in as the receptionist. He said he would talk to whoever came in first and that they would call back the next day for sure. Three days later I called again to find Vera in and Diane out. Vera said that Diane axtually wrote the checks and since she was out there could be a problem getting one. Plus she said there were several medical bills outstanding, that had to be paid before I could get my money and she didn't know how long that would take. Well, I knew for sure that all the bills she cited had been paid by the medical payments coverage on my car insurance, but she wouldn't take my word for it. I had to call my insurance company and the physical therapy provider I used, to get them to fax proof to her. At the end of the day, literally the end of the day, I picked up most of the settlement, with a few dollars held back, just in case. I didn't want the money as much as I wanted this mess cleared up. It had the potential to drag on and on. Plus it kind of bugged me that they were anxious for me to sign the check so that they got paid, but when it came time for me to collect, things got hosed up and I seemed to be the only one concerned about it. Isn't this always the story? If Vera isn't off, Diane is. If Diane's here Vera's gone. They don't do what they are supposed to do or the paperwork is lost. I should have just handled it myself because in the end it was about the same amount of hassle. Merle. By the way, the answer is a good start. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Normally Sneedlet stays at Casa Sneed on Saturday night. After the brunch at Daughter Sneed's house yesterday, he refused to come home with us. Then he demanded to go, later refused, then demanded and finally refused. I told his mom that I would drive around the subdivision because I figured he wasn't done deciding. Sure enough she called us when we were two blocks from their house to say he wanted to go. We went back and he got into the car, but before I could leave, he changed his mind again. We left without him. This actually worked out well, because we were free to go out to dinner with the lovely Mrs. Sneed's brother and sister and their spouses. It was nice to be with them because they are very nice people. The stars of the evening were the two lovely daughters of the lovely Mrs. Sneed's brother. The girls are ages 18 and 24. If you were able to order daughters to suit your every desire as a parent from some place called Every Parent's Dream Warehouse, you would get these two. Now in fairness, I don't live with them, so they may be have a flaw or two, but I sure don't see it. As Christmas approaches I am beginning to notice references to the real meaning of Christmas. Nothing takes the joy out of Christmas like some nay bob lecturing me about how I am going about it all wrong. I get the whole Christ-in-Christmas thing and why the deeply religious are concerned, but Christmas is a far more secular holiday in America than a religious one. If Christmas is a deeply religious holiday for you, that's great, but the reality of the situation is that for most people it isn't. However whatever your belief about Christmas is, there are values, family, giving and sharing, in the Christmas message that we share. That seems like something worth agreeing on. Christmas means different things to different people, so I would appreciate being left in peace to enjoy it in my way. In fact, we had Christmas, before there was a Christmas. People have always had significant celebrations around the winter solstice, time to look ahead to better times, time to share and to give thanks for what we have. Merle Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Oops!

Oops, seems appropriate this morning for a number of reasons. First and foremost, I never got around to posting yesterday. I had to work and when I got home, the lovely Mrs. Sneed was chomping at the bit to go somewhere, so we left right away and got back late. Even though the lovely Mrs. Sneed is presently fast asleep in the other room her personal radar just interpeted the previous sentence to mean that I blame her for not being able to post yesterday. (Yikes, she just came out of the bedroom, I think the radar alarm went off.) So, even though I meant to post yesterday it just didn't work out, not blaming anyone, just saying, I could have stayed up later, my fault, all my fault. In another oops-related matter, it seems that we are going to Daughter Sneed's house today for a brunch. I didn't know. Again, my fault, I must have misheard or something because I thought it was tomorrow. The occasion is a visit from the lovely Mrs. Sneed's sister, who lives in California. She is here for the weekend and Daughter Sneed wanted to have it at her house because she has a lovely home that is presently a dazzling Christmas wonderland. Which brings me to another oops. I had an email from Daughter Sneed this morning, asking me to call her when I got up. In her quest to win the Chritmas home-decorating contest in her subdivision, she took the locks off the front door so that she could properly decorate it. When she put the lock and handle back, they no longer work and the door is stuck closed. This probably isn't a big deal, but since she is a Sneed, she likely tossed and turned all night, mentally constructing fantastic senarios in which the house would have to be demolished in order to fix the door lock. More later. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Things Will Be Great When You're Downtown

The Christmas season is upon us hot and heavy here in the desert. I offer you pictorial evidence, the newly decorated tree here at Casa Sneed. Technically, it is upon us cold and heavy, because temperatures have dropped. Its cold by our standards anyway. 60F (18C) during the day and 30F (-1C) at night. Cold enough for me and pretty close to as cold as it ever gets here. We live in right in the city, just a block off a main thoroughfare, so neighborhood businesses are lit up. The nudie bar and the porn shop around the corner from Casa Sneed are both decorated for the season. I spied a Christmas tree in one of the 5 or 6 car lots within 2 blocks of the house. Many of the neighbors have their lights up. Only 25 days now. I had better get cracking on my shopping. Yeah, that's gonna happen. In other news, I going to start calling my fair city, Berkley by the Border. The reason is that our local government keeps getting more liberal and goofier by the month. Case in point. Our downtown area is basically a dump, like that of many American cities. The hope is that it can be rejuvenated in a big way. At the moment our downtown consists of the government offices of various sorts, a load of law offices and the small service businesses that cater to them, plus, and this is a big plus, a bunch of artists, none of note, if you ask me. We have a couple of old falling down warehouses, being used as artist studios. It goes by the name, the Warehouse District. The moniker district is generous. Dump is more appropriate. Downtown is mostly closed at night, except for the alternative music crowd. Lately, the downtown area has had a spate of housing construction and some people have moved downtown. More construction is planned, but with the housing slowdown, who knows when it will happen. Since there is no shopping or services for homeowners downtown, the pool of people willing to shell out big money to live there is limited. Our fair city has a master plan for downtown, called Rio Nuevo, or roughly New River in Spanish. It is really a taxing scheme to finance the construction of a bunch of really swell stuff downtown, none of which has actually been built thus far. Like most government projects, the drill is study, study more, scrap the plan and start over with a new study. After 10 years, they have built almost nothing, but spent a ton of money doing it. In fairness they did restore the old movie theater downtown, convert the Greyhound station to a vacant lot and tear down some other buildings. Sensing a need for some retail business downtown, the latest plan is to lure a used bookstore operation downtown. That's their big idea, a used bookstore. A giant used bookstore, but a bookstore none-the-less. Not exactly a retail magnet. Plus the bookstore guys say there isn't enough parking downtown and even if they wanted to go downtown when the lease on their current building expires in 2008, there is no building for them to go to. The chances of the city getting one ready in less than two years is zero. Oh, I nearly forgot the trolley. They have a plan to run a trolley from downtown to the University Medical Center. It will cost a zillion bucks and the potential ridership is suspect since almost no one lives downtown and how many of those who do need to get to the hospital daily? You can already take the bus from downtown to the hospital, but evidently we have money to burn. I'm also fairly sure that the medical center end of the line was pulled out of their butts. It had to go to somewhere and since the routes to places people might actually want to go to lacked the right-of-way to get the trolley there, it was the medical center or nowhere. The old buzzards behind the trolley idea weren't willing to take nowhere for a destination. Enough about the government buffoonery, in a bizarre juxtaposition, I have to work tomorrow and the lovely Mrs. Sneed is off. Lucky her and since my boss is off, I might find myself off part of the day by accident. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Dream A Little Dream

"Dreams are nothing more than wishes and a wish is just a dream, you wish to come true" -Harry Nilsson "The Puppy Song". That's deep thinking, right there. More about that in a moment. I had to go to the doctor today to see if my blood work came out okay. It did. My doctor seems to be cutting back on his hours for personal reasons. The reason I mention this is that he had a medical student helping him today. The student did all the listening to my inards, checking stuff and asking a bunch of questions, before the doctor actually showed up. This medical student idea is a real deal for the doctor. I was a little surprised when he asked me what Advicor, my cholesterol medication, was. I guess they didn't get to drugs yet in his medical school. Plus, he kept thumbing through a paperback book as he examined me. I really prefer that my medical professionals have this stuff memorized. Let's see, the knee bone's connected to the thigh bone, check, the thigh bone's connected to the...to the...crap! Not a real confidence booster. I'm 76 inches or 193 cm tall and weigh 235 pounds. The med student said something kind of funny. He said that when he sees on a chart that the next patient weighs a lot, like me, he tries to guess what the patient will look like. Is he opening the door on Jabba the Hut? Just a point here. I am actually at the ideal weight for a slightly taller man, so blame nature if you must point fingers, Doctor-Man. Dr. Medical Student was kind enough to remark that I carry my weight well. I appreciate that he thinks that I make lugging this mess around look easy, but I'd like to have someone else carry about 50 pounds of it around most days. I can't figure out how to arrange that though, and short of a short of a diet, I'm out of ideas. Yikes! At the end of the medical stuff, the doctor asked me when I planned to retire. I waited for him to tell me that I ought to, seeing as how I only have a month to live, and all. But it turns out that this is related to him having cut back on his hours. I think he is really struggling with the idea of taking more time for himself. I just keep thinking of reasons for keeping on with my crappy job. This did set me to thinking about what I would rather be doing, not like I don't think about that about every ten minutes already. That's the sixty-four thousand dollar question though. Some people have a dream. I don't, try as I might, to think of one. Man, I am so boring. If I could just convince myself that being a miserable wreck is living out my dream, I would be one happy clam. However, if I could do anything, I would like to be a singer. The problem is that I can't really sing. At least not without people asking me to stop, so that's out. I'm pretty sure that when they say to pursue your dream, they mean something you can actually do reasonably well. I would also like to be a handyman, but then I worry about really screwing up something, at someone's house. Plus, I don't want to paint or do someone else's yard work. See what I mean? It's always something with me. This miserable wreck dream idea may have some potential. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Who Knows What Evil Lurks In The Heart Of Man

Before I launch into serious matters, here's a tip for healthy living because I care about your well-being. Don't keep a gigantic-sized bag of Nestle's semi-sweet chocolate chips in your pantry. I'm just saying, because some people might eat them by the handful. And the handful and the handful. What kind of a sicko eats chocolate chips as a snack? None of us, I'm sure. I got a depressing email this morning telling me that a woman that I have worked with for a long time is dying. A year ago she was working with me to learn what I do, and because she is a decade my junior, I had high hopes that she would be my replacement. She went on vacation last December and never came back. When I finally found out where she was, I learned that she was back in treatment for her cancer. We have known that she has battled cancer for the last 5 years, but for a while it seemed that she had it licked, until last year, when it returned, evidently for good this time. She is in hospice care, so the outlook is bleak. This is so heartbreaking. In other news, I read today that Michael Richards, of Seinfeld fame, and racist outburst infamy, is now explaining why he claimed to be Jewish in his defense of anti-Semitic remarks attributed to him. It turns out that he isn't actually Jewish by either birth or conversion, but, and I'm not making this up, feels Jewish. Well, I feel pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and wise. Don't make me pretty or witty or wise, though. I've been thinking a lot about the Richard's incident since it happened. You never want to be in the position of denying that you are a racist, because the accusation is ugly and it is impossible to deny credibly. I guess to a certain extent, like it or not, we are all racists in one way or another, be we red or yellow, black or white as the old children's hymn goes. Decent people of all races and ethnicity, while aware of our racial and ethnic differences, try hard to make them unimportant in our person-to-person relationships by our word and deed. One-on-one we are pretty good at it. Less so on a societal level. Our habit of sterotyping makes us all suspect until we prove ourselves otherwise. We waste a lot of time and energy proving that these sterotypes are wrong. The history of race relations in this country has left us all with some uncomfortable baggage to unpack. Situations like Richard's outburst are a stark reminder of the darker side of our nature. At the end of the day, I think Mr. Richards has more of an anger problem than a racist problem. Often when we get angry, we lash out in ways intended to create maximum hurt, at least I do, and I assume I'm not alone. Its just most of us know where the uncrossable line is. He evidently doesn't. I hope that makes some sense, but its a white guys opinion, so I may have a distorted perspective. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

I'm On A Need To Know Basis

A very unusual thing happened at work today, I arrived early. How early you ask? Really early, before 7 am. Now maybe you think that's not all that early, but for me its early. Generally, if I make it by 7:30 am, its still early, eightish is more the norm. To make matter worse, I always have trouble sleeping on Sunday night. The anticipation of a new work week is always disturbing to me. I fell asleep about 11 pm last night and woke up at 3 am, tossing and turning until 5 am, when I finally got out of bed. I was tired before the day even started. Being tired when you arrive at work in the morning does not bode well for the rest of the day. I checked my voice mail on the way into work and returned a call to someone who needed an answer right away. I thought how lucky I was to only have one new voice mail after the long weekend. By the time I reached my desk, I had another new voice mail. This was the best kind of voice mail a guy can get. It was from the boss saying he was in a city far away and would be gone until tomorrow afternoon. How great is that? I'm a salaried employee, so I'm hired to do a job, not to punch the clock, a concept the boss routinely tries to abuse. When I come and go seems irrelevant to me, so long as the job gets done. The boss, on the other hand, is all about the clockwork. He figures that every hour beyond eight that I work each day, is a freebie for him. This is a problem with the whole salaried worker idea. Employers are quick to ask you to go above and beyond and less willing to recognize when less than forty hours in a week is appropriate. My goal is to keep it as close to eight a day as possible, while still getting my work done. Anyway, I had to go in early today because my co-workers are both off for the next two days and I had to cover for one of them at a meeting. Of course, I know nothing of the meeting and there was not a hint that it was in the offing. This past Wednesday, while I was fighting my way through the avalanche of idiotic emails from the boss, someone called to ask who from our office would be attending this meeting today. Since I was the Lone Stranger at work today, it fell to me. So this morning, when I should have been heading to WalMart to get coffee, I found myself on the interstate, rocketing toward a community 35 miles or so south of my fair city to attend a meeting in the place of the alpha male member of this duo. When I arrived at the meeting, the lead guy of the folks I was meeting asked me for some paperwork that alpha guy was supposed to have for him. I had to plead ignorance. The guy was not happy and insisted upon recounting the entire conversation in which he told alpha guy about the urgency of having the paperwork to him today. I was appropriately sympathetic, but I don't think he was assuaged. I did solemnly swear to talk to alpha guy the moment he appears in the office. You gotta give them something, even if its the non-committal, committal. I got back to the office around noon and had a bunch of phone calls to return, and administrative things to do. Around 2 pm I was overcome with fatigue, but being a trooper, I pushed on until 3. Then, seizing on the whole salaried employee thing, I came home and took a catnap. A guy's got to do, what a guy's got to do. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree, blah, blah, blah,blah, blah.

This sad specimen is the smaller of what the lovely Mrs. Sneed refers to as the barbed wire Christmas tree. It is hard to see clearly in this image, but that is a hat atop it. My father, who died in August of 2005, loved Christmas and so we decided to use his hat to top the tree. She's a beauty, isn't she? We celebrated younger son Sneed's birthday today by meeting for breakfast. The older son Sneed and his family, along with daughter Sneed and her Sneedlet were in attendance. Of course the lovely Mrs. Sneed and yours truly were there. It was very nice. Unfortunately, I got a call just as we were leaving the parking lot from Cletus Sneed our homeless son. He wanted to know if we would be home in an hour or so. Never a good sign. He is presently working at a used car lot as the only employee. He says he makes $50 per day plus 10% of the profit on any cars he sells. According to Cletus they only sold 5 cars so far in November, so it isn't big money. I figured that this would end with him asking for money. About an hour or so later he showed up just as I was getting started on some fall yard work. We have to prune the bougainvillea back before the first freeze. Otherwise you wind up with a bunch of dead branches in the spring. Trimming them also requires a trip to the dump to dispose of the trimmings. We spent the next 2 hours trimming, bagging and loading the truck, plus another hour taking them to the dump. We finished about 4:30 pm and I dropped him at the bus. He never did ask for any money. All in all, it was tolerable I guess. When I got home from the dump the lovely Mrs. Sneed and I went out shopping for a really good fake Christmas tree. We already have a mini-forest of fake trees. We have traditional fake pine, a white tree, with white lights so bright the you could guide the space shuttle back to Earth with it, a smaller white tree and probably another that I can't identify off the top of my head. The problem is that we have a hard time being enthusiastic about Christmas and so we flit from idea to idea. One year, at least, we had no tree. This year we got a 9.5 foot, slim something pine, emphasis on the slim. It was purchased to be set in a particular spot in the foyer area of our house, although it may be moved. We'll see. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

If the Shoe fits...

Once when I was in high school, living in California, I convinced my dad to buy me a pair of brown wingtip shoes. The shoes were a ridiculous purchase since I didn't have any dress clothes, but I'm pretty sure someone told me that the really cool guys wore wing tips, so I coveted them. They also cost $22 and believe me when I say that the Sneeds did not normally wear $22 shoes. My dad's idea of good footwear was black military oxfords that could be purchased at the military clothing supply for $5. Anything more expensive cut into the beer money, which made it an unacceptable frivolity. You may recall from an earlier lesson that, using the offical Sneed currency converter, a=4b where a equals the number of beers and b equals the total dollars available. So in this case a=4*22 or 88 beers. This is serious dough. My mom, God bless her, was always on the lookout for good hand-me-down shoes. In fact, when I was going into the 8th grade, she scored a pair of brand new size 8, black loafers from one of the neighbors. They were the best shoes that I had ever seen. I think the neighbor's teenage son had purchased them and then wouldn't wear them. I tried them on and I told Mom that they were too tight. She assured me that they would stretch out. My mother always believed whatever was wrong would magically clear up if you gave it enough time. I wore the shoes to the first day of 8th-grade, and the second day and by the third day, I could barely walk. About day four I dug out the black military oxfords, much to the relief of my aching feet. When my mom noticed and asked me what was wrong, I told her that the shoes were too small. She assured me that I wore a size 8 and there was no reason that they would be too small. What is a guy to believe, his mom or his lying feet? Miraculously she relented and took me to the store on Saturday, where the shoe clerk measured my feet and pronounced them a size ten and a half. No wonder they hurt so much. I got a pair of white canvas slip-ons that cost around 3 bucks and was glad to have them, although my dad still insisted that the black military jobs were fine. Anyway, back to the wingtips. I wore them everywhere for the first few days I had them. I even wore them to school with my jeans. these were the greatest shoes I had ever owned, by far. One afternoon, I was hanging out in a park near home with a bunch of kids and someone got the bright idea to take this older kid's 1957 Chevrolet convertible and fill it with watermelons from a farm not too far away. Since I was always trying hard to be one of the cool guys, I jumped right in. As soon as it was dark, we took off for the melons and filled the backseat to overflowing. We returned to the park and began eating and throwing watermelon all over the place. What we didn't know was that the farmer had seen us in the act and had called the sheriff. The park was soon surrounded by sheriff's cars. They illuminated the area we were in with their car lights, flash lights and spot lights mounted on the cars. Someone on a bullhorn ordered us to stay where we were. Needless to say, we scattered like rats. My friend Bob and I ran into a vineyard, where we laid down in the dark hoping to escape detection. After a bit, the cops came into our field looking for suspects. We ran in the opposite direction as fast as we could. Fortunately, becasue a vineyard is planted in long rows of plants on wooden frames, they couldn't get to us from the adjoining rows. We ran and ran, eventually getting away across a highway. Unfortunately, in the melee, I cut a slice in the side of one of my new shoes. The old man made me wear them like that. I tried to fix the tear with some craft glue, but it looked worse after than before. Fortunately, my dad never stuck to stuff and after a couple of weeks he forgot about the shoes. I eventually threw them away, having worn them only a handful of times. What a waste. This is illustrative of why poor people remain poor. Only a poor kid would wear his new dress shoes to a watermelon fight. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Nothing Worse Than A Lock With No Key

Well, today is another day off work. One of the decent things my company does is to allow us a holiday on the Friday after Thanksgiving. It saves me from calling in disinterested. I had to go to the Salvation Army today to drop off some exercise equipment for the men's rehab program. It has been gathering dust in our spare bedroom since our "get fit" program was declared DOA. Better there than here. In case you don't know it, the Salvation army has a terrific live-in rehab program for people trying to get off drugs and alcohol. It is worthy of our support. Their facility, here in our fair city, is located on the south side of town. It took me a while to find it. I took a longcut (like a shortcut, but much longer) to get there, first driving too far south and then too far west. Once I got my bearing and headed in the right direction I found it easily. While I was stopped at a traffic light a Native American cowboy (isn't that an oxymoron?), who was standing on a corner, started yelling at me that he could use the weight machine to get ready for the rodeo. Then he mimicked a body builder, much to his own delight. It was quite a show. I got home in time to discover that I needed to go buy a bolt cutter. Talk about a tool you never expect to own. The key to the side yard gate got lost when we redid the kitchen and the lovely Mrs. Sneed was locked out. So I got a bolt cutter at Ace Hardware and cut the lock off. The problem with a bolt cutter is that it is made to be used by a younger, stronger guy than me. It is a brute force tool. After much grunting, pushing and prying, the lock finally snapped. I also bought two combination locks for the two gates to the backyard. Unless we all develop amnesia, we shouldn't have a repeat of the lockout. If you need a lightly-used bolt cutter cheap, leave me a comment. I finished breaking the lock just in time to get to lunch with my friend. For reasons that I can't begin to understand, he brought his wife along. I thought this was covered in, The Rules for Old Guys Having Lunch in a Bar, 7th edition. I'll have to research this and get an appropriate note of reminder to him. How are we supposed to put our good moves on the young women who happen in with her hanging around? Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor