Address Unknown

"Return to sender, address unknown.

 No such number. No such zone."
Elvis Presley, "Return to Sender"

The saga unfortunately continues.

Going into month #3, the transition from a docile existence in a reasonably quiet neighborhood to the rigors of apartment life has been frustrating at best, downright nerve-jangling at worst. From dealing with the whiny-child alarm that squeals every evening at 10:30 (shouldn't toddlers go to bed earlier?) to the Harley-Davidson riding douche sack who feels compelled to blast his hog about the parking lot below at all hours of the day and night, it's been fun, but it hasn't been REAL fun. Parking is increasingly horrendous and construction on the rest of the community resumes earlier every week-day morning, at recent time-check 6:30 AM. As it is, the courtyard echoes with the sound of a pin dropping (who keeps doing that?) and the recent Hillsboro Air Show flyovers were a regular Deaf Comedy Jam. I felt like I was living in a Best Buy. The Fourth of July was worse. At the old place, we would hear fireworks, usually the illegal type purchased on the rez, blasting off from dusk 'til dawn, to which we would always proclaim while pointing in the direction of the explosions, "It's coming from over there." We now live over there. (Thank you, George M. Cohan) The reports of bottle rockets soaring into our area made me long for the days of downtown Kabul.

But the ongoing hemorrhoid has been the change of address itself. We live a mile away from where we were in what should be the very same zip code since the blocks surrounding us confirm that very fact. But no. Since this is recent construction, new street addresses and names had to be created by the US Postal Service. And they make absolutely no sense at all. The "main thoroughfare" is NW 206th Avenue. The new street at our new digs, one block away is NE 89th Avenue. What? And the zip has changed to 97006.Huh? Two blocks over, it resumes to NW and 97124. Shut up..........

Upon moving I sent in our change of address to the post office so that our mailed could forwarded. We didn't see even a postcard for the first two weeks. Attempting to change things online-bank accounts, DMV, etc.-had been a study in futility since I am always informed that the USPS cannot find this street address at this zip code. I had to fix some of these the old fashioned way-in person, but some I couldn't. I hadn't received my Oregon state tax refund, lost in the muck and mire somewhere under this rainbow. Contacting the tax bureau online (by phone-fergit it. I'd still be on hold...from June) garnered the same results. Address not found in this zip code. I went to the source-USPS almighty. I couldn't send the message either since it required an address because...address not found in zip code.

Excuse me as I raise my voice...

THE UNITED STATES POSTAL SERVICE CANNOT FIND THE ADDRESS IN THIS ZIP CODE IN THE ADDRESS AND ZIP CODE THEY CREATED

Un-be-fucking-lieve-able...

The dust is settling, but there are some dangling participles which may forever hang in the balance. I discovered that my forwarded mail from a place that I will repeat again for emphasis is a mile away first had to travel to Seattle in order to find its way back to me. I'll never see that stuff, whatever it may be, but at least my junk mail has be nil, a mixed blessing. The state tax refund arrived and DMV has also finally complied to my requests just in the nick of time since the registration of one of our vehicles expres at the end of this month. However, some other motherhumping whorehounds have yet to believe what USPS has at least admitted...this street address can indeed be found in this zip code.

Or can it?

As this slowly and never very surely becomes resolved, I have some minor blessings about said new digs. We are on the top floor (third, big whoop) overlooking the courtyard below and at night I can channel my inner Jimmy Stewart at I look across at our increasing number of new neighbors and wonder, REAR WINDOW style if I'm going to fortunate enough to view a murder. Who knows? Maybe I can commit my very own and get away with it. Is Harley Davidson home?

After all, nobody seems to know where I live.

Vowel Movements

My long national nightmare is over. The move to our new digs has now come to an end. This has been the personal worst two months of the 21st century, a hearty shit-stew filled with overwhelming stress, humiliation and damn near grovelling in order to find a place to live in this, the worst of times and the worst of times. It's amazing I have any self-worth at all after this homage to Torquemada I endured since April 5 and it will linger long, not just in the memory but in the bruised and battered spirit I am left with after all is said and done.

Fortunately, we were rescued at the last minute (hey, just like in the movies!) by some beloved family members who have leap-frogged into the front of the line when the final will and testament is read (not like I'll have anything to leave them. Ssh. It's our little secret)

Our search for a new home did become a learning experience. Here are three fun facts I'd like to share.

1. LEASING AGENTS ARE THE NEW USED CAR DEALERS

These lying little weasels will do in their power anything to rent you a place,  but will throw every obstacle in the book to prevent you from doing so. Sure, they're bound by a new set of restrictions that make the task of moving more arduous than ever. It's just the seem to revel in the proceedings now, smiling while they're holding a knife to your throat.

2. FITNESS CENTERS ARE THE NEW CUP HOLDERS
When we were car-shopping in the 90s, salesmen were gaga over cup holders, as though they were a major selling point. Some had no idea what kind of mileage a vehicle could get, but hey, here's another cup holder in the back! With apartment sites, they lead with the fitness center. That and the clubhouse are always updated and spotlessly clean, mainly because they sit right beside the office and will be the first things you see when you enter the property. But when you actually see the unit that is available, the quality may surprise you since it takes a nosedive if it's older than five years. We toured a 20 year old complex with an updated state of the art fitness center and clubhouse that were immaculate. Then when we viewed the unit on the far side of the property, it felt as though we were headed into the Heart of Darkness. In fact, one of the maintenance guys looked suspiciously like Col. Kurtz, muttering "The horror, the horror..." as he steam-cleaned a carpet. Or maybe he was referring to the slob sun-bathing in the parking lot. I don't know. What I do know is that if the website shows photos of the fitness center and clubhouse ONLY, stay away, Joe.

3. APARTMENT COMMUNITIES ARE THE NEW AIRLINES
These scumbaccis tack fees onto everything these days, just like their demonic brethren in the sky. Parking, storage, you name it, they'll add it. Air conditioning and lighting? Are you mad? You will be. Naturally, utilities are extras, so basically, you get a space, the final frontier. Love it and lump it, sucka.

4. DOWNSIZING AIN'T FOR SISSIES
Going from a two bed/two and half bath townhouse w/ garage to a one bed/one bath apartment meant getting rid of a lot of stuff in ore ways than one. Goodwill has been graced with a ton of donations from yours truly in the last month and it still isn't enough. We had to rent a (hopefully) temporary storage unit for the rest of our cuh-rap. The freedom we enjoyed before had to be sacrificed as well including my office and of course sharing bathroom again for the first time in 11 years. Yeah, I know. First world problems. But downsizing has also come to mean a lack of self in this already difficult world. Soon it's all a rebuilding process, not easy in any stage of life but particularly difficult as these latter years. I felt as though we were in an American remake of an Ozu film. Somehow, HILLSBORO STORY doesn't have the same ring.

5. THE WEATHER IS NOT MY FRIEND
Ever since we've migrated here from Callyfornya at the end of the last century, we've run into inclement atmospheric conditions on Moving Day. First it was an introduction to rain forest conditions when we made like Lewis and Clark. The following three times were the hottest days of that particular year. 2016 was no exception. Three straights days of 100 + temps. I haven't lost so much water weight since my last flu. My mind is gone too, but the weather only contributed to its loss to a minor degree. I may have left it in the old place, probably in the garage.

But as I said, we made it. We're here and alive to tell the tale. What hasn't killed us only makes us stronger. Yeah, I get that, but fuck you anyway, Nietzsche. Just remember these words, for this I do swear. The next time I move will be to a cold hole in the ground.

And on that cheery note...