Paranoia Strikes Deep

Last week I decided to clean our home office. No business gets done in here, but itÂ’s where we pay the bills, the computers in here and itÂ’s got a big desk and filing cabinets. Over the past year I noticed a giant pile of papers was stacking up in a corner. Since it was my wifeÂ’s doing I left it alone for a long, long time. And last week, in an effort to clean up and find our tax receipts I took a look at the papers. They were credit card statements, water bills, electric bill, et cetera. They all had a date written on them of when they had been paid. It seems my wife is good at paying bills on time, but not so good at filing the records.

I flipped through and saw they went all the way back to 2005. Then I looked in the filing cabinets and saw why they werenÂ’t filed. Every folder was completely jam packed. And you canÂ’t just throw that shit away because of account numbers, social security numbers, et. al.

Since our shredder is so old I thought IÂ’d upgrade to a level 3 shredder because IÂ’m a paranoid and I always assume the worst. So I empty out all the files, make new folders and whatnot and by the time IÂ’m done I have a stack of papers waist high that all need shredding. The new shredder supposedly takes ten sheets at a time so I load in five and it almost grinds to a fucking halt. Come to find when they say ten sheets at a time theyÂ’re reffering to tissue paper. So I start loading these things in and the machine starts cagging and shutting itself down after every fifteen sheets or so and you have to wait thirty minutes for it to cool down. So while IÂ’m waiting for it to cool down I start looking in the closet and I find these boxes and when I open them up I see that they are all documents that need to be shredded. Six boxes in all. I was almost in tears by then, because the whole process is so painfully slow and once I start something thereÂ’s no stopping me.

After a brief analysis I realized that we had every bank statement, investment portfolio statement and retire fund statement since 1992. They were fairly thick and every page had a social on it. In addition we had saved every single credit card statement, water bill, electric bill, insurance, mortgage, cable, cars—you name it—going back for fifteen years or so. Every single pay stub I ever got as an adult, plus two because the wife saved hers as well. Fifteen years, times two statements per month is over 700 pay stubs to shred. Not including all the credit card convenience checks that we would never use and those things come in the mail every day.

I had the shredder cranked up like a lawn mower. In fact, I got the old one out was using two at a time. It sounded like I was mulching fucking trees up here. And every time I emptied the bin on the shredder I was engulfed in a huge cloud of paper dust. Soon the dust was everywhere. I had to change the all the filters in the house once a day. I was sneezing and coughing paper dust. Meanwhile the shredders kept running and I kept pouring oil in and when they overheated I would use the time to lug big plastic bags of the confetti down to the garage and line them up against the wall.
Yesterday I shredded the last document. And in todayÂ’s mail I received a bunch of credit card checks that IÂ’ll never use. Now IÂ’ve got the shredder set up right there in the kitchen. 90% of the mail will go directly in the damned thing. I never, ever want to go through this again. It was a shitty, shitty ordeal.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 05:34 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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ThereÂ’s a phenomena in my neighborhood that I just donÂ’t understand. I see it every day driving in and out. People open their garage doors, set a lawn chair just inside the open door, and stare into the street. Are they on patrol? Whatever, I wish they would go inside and seal themselves in like I do. I donÂ’t like a lot of activity near my abode. Perhaps the cold weather will drive them in where they belong.

I get run off the road at least three times a week. When I finally chase the culprits down, without exception, they are all talking on a cell phone.

On a similar but different note, IÂ’m finding it more difficult every day to merge onto the freeway. It seems that people would just as soon run you into the concrete wall or off an embankment rather than let you just get on the road. IÂ’ve noticed that people speed up to 75 or 85 MPH just to make sure you donÂ’t get on in front of them. Because I donÂ’t relish dying in a burning car wreck, I am forced to speed up and get in anyway, only to find that they then back off to their usual 50 MPH after youÂ’ve safely managed to merge. They must be horribly disappointed.

I recently started watching Dog, The Bounty Hunter. IÂ’m absolutely fascinated by it. IÂ’ve always been interested in freak shows and it qualifies. There is so much wrong with this on so many levels.

Grilled cheese sandwiches rock.

My kid got walkie-talkies for Christmas and they have been commandeered by me and my wife. If one of us is upstairs and one is downstairs we usually have to scream to be heard. Even if sheÂ’s in the bedroom downstairs and IÂ’m in the living room it used to be a screaming match. Now itÂ’s a thing of beauty.

“Momma Bear, you got your ears on?”

Exasperated: “What now?”

“What’s the status of those cookies I’m waiting for?”

“Shut up, I’m bringing the damned things now.”

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 11:44 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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