Plenty of Shit Revisited

After returning to the dating wasteland of KC, where I met the rudest woman on the planet, I found myself with an urge to meet someone with whom I could spend time with.  There seems to be a bit of a lull, with respect to dating participation, which likely has to do with the holidays and holiday hangover.  I've been on Match and Okcupid off and on, with little success.  Plenty of Fish has been a non-starter for reasons I outline here.  Call it boredom or perhaps desperation, I decided to give it another go over the holidays.  In order to maximize the likelihood of retaining my account, I recycled nothing; completely different username, newly created gmail account, etc.  Damned if it didn't work.

Plenty of Fish has historically been a free site and commensurate member quality.  The latter hasn't changed, but like OKC, there's now an option to pay a monthly fee.  For $9.99 per month, upgraded membership offers a long list of negligible benefits.  My favorite is 'massive increase in messages', mostly because the claim isn't backed by anything so trivial as what will drive said massive increase.  You also get a gold star next to your profile, indicating you've been fleeced, I mean that you're a serious member. 

Upgraded members also have the option of only receiving emails from other upgraded members, because being conned out of $10 per month somehow demonstrates you're serious about meeting someone.  Except those members who check that box are doing themselves a disservice.  In the week or so since I've gotten back on the site, there have perhaps been three profiles out of many I've viewed where the little warning pops up about only paying members can contact this person.  Two of the three met my criteria and were of interest to me.  Except here's the bottom line - the likelihood of my tossing $10 out the window to send notes to two women who, based upon the law of internet dating averages, only have about a 10% likelihood of responding.  Except it's even lower.  My response rate on POF is abysmal.  Seriously, back in Richmond, women who didn't respond to my note on POF would show up on Match and reach out to me.

More Scammers

 While I was with my parents, prepping them for their move, I was shocked by the number of scam phone calls they received.  These were after I blocked the assholes from the original set of scams.  In the interest of payback on scammers everywhere, I did my best to have a bit of fun with the ones who called.

For example, we received a call from someone claiming to be with the Social Security Administration (actually, two different people over two days), advising that my parents' SS numbers were being used fraudulently and assets could be seized.  So, when I asked them to confirm they were with SS, I followed with rapid fire questions.

When was the Social Security Administration founded???  Under what president?  Tell me!!!

The woman went on to receive 'What are you wearing? Who's your daddy???'

A demanded the guy tell me if he sucked dick and that he sounded like a major cum chugger.

Another call was from an IT services company who said they were going out of business and were authorized to refund the $500 fee they charged (there was no service).  All I had to do was log into an account with personal information and something else that I clipped with another peppering of questions about billing history, last payment, and whether the guy sucked dick or just fucked goats in the country he lived in.  

Surprisingly, none of the people stayed on the line long.

But these are more examples of scams that the elderly could easily fall for.  My mother was actually engaging the Social Security dick sucker, before I grabbed the phone from her.  

8 Weeks in Hell; Wait, Make It 9...Someone Just Kill Me!

Now that I have a few minutes to myself, I thought I'd highlight some of the fun I've had since September.  Read previous entries to see how we got here, with me downsizing and moving my parents to Kansas.

The Move

Long story short, I did my best to juggle my professional responsibilities with getting my parents streamlined and ready to move.  I failed at both.   My parents were absolutely no help; zip, nada.  Just the opposite.  My mother wanted to take fucking everything.  And every time I brought up the little point of 'you're moving from 3,000 sq ft to 1,300, so you can't fit that', my mother's response was 'we'll find a place for it'.  

Because I couldn't fly the dog (her aerodynamics suck), yours truly made the 23 hour trip from Florida, driving said dog.  Said dog was an amazing little trooper and because of logic, she's become mine.   Didn't want a dog, but she's awesome and a great companion.   

We arrived the day before my parents were due to fly in, so I took the opportunity to sleep in my own bed, if only for one night.  (it had been over three weeks)   I collected them at the airport and the fun began, starting with me going from living in their guest bedroom to living in my own.  

The Steak

Having my parents live with me, in a word, sucked.   I'll share one story that sort of encapsulates the whole experience.   I had procured three fairly decent (the highest grade available in KC) ribeyes that I intended to grill for dinner Saturday night.  Steaks should be as close to room temperature as possible, when throwing them on the coals; gives you a nice char immediately leading to a consistent medium rare center.  So, in the morning, I pulled the steaks, threw some salt on them, sat them on the counter, and went about my business.  When I hit the kitchen, later in the day, to prep for dinner, I found the steaks conspicuously absent.  Long story short, my father put them back in the fridge so they wouldn't spoil.   I was less than pleasant to both parents over the situation, because I take grilling meat very seriously.  I tried again the next day, but the steaks had gotten too funky, after two days on the counter.

After a week of hell, their shit showed up on Friday.  As expected, the amount of shit that was packed had the apartment busting at the seams.  My mother seems to have brought roughly three large moving boxes containing expired food.   My father's health had begun deteriorating (I suspected, due to the stress and energy he was burning) and my mother is in full regalia as she reigns as the regal drama queen.  

It was with great joy that I shoved them into their semi-functional apartment on a Sunday night.  I was awoken the next morning by my mother telling me that my father's condition was even worse and he couldn't get off the floor.  Off he went in an ambulance, with me in tow, not far behind.  Long story short, he'd apparently taken a header in my house and sloshed his head sufficiently for his brain to begin hemorrhaging pretty badly.  Into surgery he went for the benchmark of complex activities, brain surgery.  By Thursday, he was better than I'd seen him in months and the hospital released him.  It was a bit early, in my opinion (and his brain surgeon), but whatever.  

At this point, I was naïve enough to think nothing else could happen.

Except, he became incontinent the first night home.  After two days of it not getting any better, you guessed it, we went back to the hospital.  By that time, I knew that place inside and out.  Anyway, they got him stabilized and sent him to a rehab hospital to finish healing and regain his strength.  Deep breath; okay, now things are going to even themselves out.  Wrong!  The fucker called me yesterday morning to pick him up from rehab, which I thought was strange that the call wouldn't come from a medical professional.  You guessed it, he discharged himself AMA (against medical advice).  We had a brief yelling match in the entry of the rehab place, where I found myself quite close to just kicking the shit out of him for being a dumb fuck.  If a nurse wouldn't have been present, all bets would have been off.  But the asshat walked out to the car and got in; should have locked it as he walked over.  Water, dams, etc. 

Sure enough, he came home and feels like shit.  My response to his pain and ailments has been 'if only you had access to a facility that had doctors and nurses to address these issues...guess you're fucked.'

On the plus side, their house is under contract, after only two weeks on the market.

I just keep looking at the prize, six months out, that is returning to Richmond.