Today has been one of those hell days where putting your fist through a wall seems like the best idea. That is until your brain say, “Yeah, try that. Let’s see how fast you can snap some bones, dumb ass.” Instead of causing physical injury I’ll opt for word vomiting all over this page.
Over the last six, or is it seven, weeks I’ve been going round-and-round with my mom’s ex. He feels entitled to her car and wants it for his new fiance [whom I believe was mentioned in an earlier post]. Of course, I disagree, mainly because I was clearly instructed to do so. Trying to take the appropriate route, I reached out to a lawyer, made it clear I would pay off the remainder of the loan. All the ex needed to do was sign over the title as they jointly owned the vehicle, though he never made a payment nor drove the vehicle in the last two years. Of course, the ex said he wouldn’t sign over the title and I was left in a what-the-fuck situation.
Flash forward to this morning. Finally, the lawyer was able to get the car signed over but bureaucracy has stepped in to make things more difficult. The plan has always been to sell the care to cover the cost of the funeral and other items left to me [Utilities, credit cards, etc.] Surprise! I can’t sell the car because the moron lawyer allowed the ex to say I don’t have power of attorney over the thing. Now it’s a battle of paperwork to prove the car was left in my possession while trying to avoid additional state taxes for licensing a car I will never drive.
This is the car that refuses to die. What was supposed to help alleviate some stress has caused ten times more problems than anything I could imagine. I’m half tempted to ditch the damn thing in the Bronx just to get it off my back.
I hated cars before and hated ex’s even more. I think between the two they are at the top of my all time ‘Would Rather Die Than Deal With’ list. F. F me right in the A.