Legally Gray

I am officially a Floridian.  Last week T and I went to the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV) to get Florida driver’s licenses, giving up our New York State equivalents.   We also registered our cars in Florida and got FL plates.  In the course of these transactions I opened the hood of my car to look for the VIN (Vehicle Identification Number).  Imagining that I was coolly displaying my auto smarts, I clicked the knob that opens the hood, walked to the front of the car and yanked open the actual car hood, grabbed the metal rod that you pull up to hold the hood open and burned the *^$# out of my hand.  Yes, it was SO HOT the metal burned my hand.  Blisters even.  So believe it when I say that August in Florida is blistering hot.  And to top it all off, the VIN is not even inside the hood.  Everyone else seems to know that.  The lady who was taking care of us kept telling me not to open it, but I would not listen.  I was bound and determined to open the hood.  Sheesh, I don't know car things.  Truthfully, I did not even know how to open the hood of my car until that morning.  I asked T to show me how before we left.  That is why I was hell bent on opening it up.  There was no stopping me.

I was nervous about going to the DMV.  I imagined the worst: evil DMV employees foaming at the mouth, making my life hell just so they can savor a fleeting moment of authority.  I figured something was bound to go wrong.   I gathered up everything on their list of required documentation and more.   We went with two separate portfolios (one for T and one for me) both stuffed to the gills with documents that proved we existed and we owned those cars.  I brought every piece of paper I could find that seemed even remotely connected to our cars, including receipts for all repairs and inspections since we bought them.   Yep, that is not an exaggeration.   My motto is “Better Superfluous than Sorry.”  Good thing, too.  When she asked for proof that I paid off the loan on my car I was able to dig a little and produced it on the spot.  That was NOT on the list.

The reason it took so long for us to register is that:

1.  T lost his SS card, and

2.  Neither of us had an official state-issued birth certificate Florida would accept

That’s right; according to the “list” Florida will not accept the hospital-issued birth certificates we have successfully used all these years.  We had to write and wait for these things to arrive from the state’s Department of Vital Statistics.  Of course the place we needed to get the birth certificates from required SS cards, so we had to wait for T’s SS card to arrive before we could apply for our official birth certificates.  The clock was ticking.   A couple of weeks ago we went ahead and got Florida auto insurance because that was required.

A few days after we canceled our NYS policy and replaced it with a Florida policy a representative from the insurance company called to tell us they would not be able to cancel our NYS auto insurance until we turned in our NYS license plates and faxed them proof that we did so.  They were so sorry, but they would have to charge us for both policies until we turned in our NYS plates.  Grrrrr.   Of course, we had already signed up for the Florida insurance, and we still had not received our official birth certificates from a certain Midwestern State.  Plus, when the certificates arrived it would still take a while to get an appointment at the DMV.  So for at least a month we are stuck paying for both NYS and FL insurances.  Of course, we cannot physically turn in our plates so we mailed them.  We now have to wait for written notification from NYS DMV stating we turned them in.  Assuming we actually receive this notification, we must fax or mail it to the insurance company.   Then hopefully someone somewhere will cancel our NYS policy without us having to call multiple times with desperate cries for help.  Many of these bureaucratic actions seem a lot like screaming into the void and waiting for an answer from God.  This is how our life has been since we moved - endless complicated hassles.

The DMV representative was seriously sweet and kind.  I was relieved.  She took one look at me over the counter and said with a beatific smile, “Don’t be so nervous!”  Must be that she is psychic because it could not have been that obvious.  I tried to lower my shoulders, but they were seemingly hooked to my earlobes.  She smiled a lot and she laughed at our corny old people jokes.  The process took a long time and of course I burned my hand, but besides that everything went pretty well.  At last something was easy.  However, the next day she called to tell us that she forgot to copy one of the required documents and we had to bring it in.  She called T’s cell phone, so he thought she meant the document needed was for his car.  I was out gallivanting around, so he took the document down to the DMV.  After waiting in line for a while, she told him the document she needed was for my car, not his.  T does not do well in situations like this, so I am fairly certain there was steam coming out of his ears when he heard that.  He called me while I was driving home from Target loaded up with toys and sweets my grandchildren would most certainly not need.  I picked up the phone because it is not illegal to talk on a cell phone while driving in Florida.  Florida is wild.  There are also lots of accidents on the roads.  But that is another story.

I drove home in a foul mood, grabbed the document, and drove like a Bat Out of Hell to take it to the DMV.  I was thinking bad thoughts all the way there.  When I arrived, the representative was still so damn sweet.  She waved me over so I did not have to wait in line.  To my twisted, friend-deprived psyche it seemed she was happy to see me.  It has been a long time since a non-family member was happy to see me.  I caved.  When she said how sorry she was for the inconvenience I just smiled my biggest smile and replied “No problem.”  I am such a liar.

Nothing is familiar or easy.  I still do not know where many things are in our house.  I do not know where any place outside our home is either.  I rely on the steady, robotic voice of my GPS.  I do not know the rules governing our lives.  I keep making mistakes.  I strongly prefer things to seem familiar and secure.  That will happen with time, I know.  Any time now would be good, actually.  Like Warren G. Harding and the post WWI populace, I await the return to normalcy.

Saturday morning we rode our bikes to the farmer’s market.  It is a nice market with great produce and interesting booths.  There was live music, Cuban sandwiches, flowers, crafts, and much more; and like good farmers markets everywhere, it is the heart of the community. We jumped in the pool when we got home.  I spent the afternoon doing genealogy research to my heart’s content.   Then we took Italian take-out to our daughter and son-in-law’s house because it was his birthday and nobody in their right mind wants to go to a restaurant with a 2-year-old.  We brought a little cheesecake (Sara Lee, if you must know) and let our 2-year-old grandson stick candles all over it.  He was so happy to make Daddy’s birthday cake.  We sang Happy Birthday.  There was a team effort by M&MV&N to blow out the candles and then we left.  Great day. 

Our 10 year old granddaughter was performing in a play this past weekend.  We saw it on Thursday, her parents saw it on Friday, and Saturday was her other grandparents’ turn to see the play.  She was incredibly good, by the way.  She is a natural comedienne with a flair for the dramatic.  At the risk of sounding positive, perhaps I should start thinking about that damn bright side once again.

Happy Dance

Well, we kind of closed last Friday. We just could not take possession or legally get the keys until the title company received the signed contracts via FedEx on Monday. 

Point of information: no lawyers are involved in house sales/purchases in Florida. Instead, an Unholy Trinity of realtors, lenders, and title companies process all house sales/purchases.  I hate to admit it, but I think the absence of lawyers is why house purchases are so complicated down here.  Duh… There are no overpriced legal superheroes to move things along or intimidate lesser beings with their legal expertise and authority. Consequently, you end up putting your hopes and dreams in the hands of entrepreneurs, egomaniacs and bean counters. It is kind of a crap shoot. I am finding that quite a bit is different in Florida. 

There was no advance warning that we would not get the damn keys on Friday. The notary who was doing the remote closing for the title company (located hours away in Fort Lauderdale) did not even know. But one of the last documents was a form for our realtor to sign stating she would not release the damn keys to us until the title company received the “wet signatures” of the signed documents.  In realtor world “wet signature” means the original signature.  Very descriptive, I think.  I use that term all the time now because I think it is cool. Wet signatures.  “Excuse me, I need a Wet Signature over here.”

Anyway, our lovely realtor had never heard of such a thing in all the closings she had done.  We had already wire transferred our down payment to them the day before so it was not a matter of seeing the money.  The signed closing forms were scanned and emailed immediately after closing.  They had what they needed to release the damn keys. The closing took place on Friday afternoon.  The FedEx package could not arrive until Monday.  The whole weekend would be lost. No one at that table could believe that we could not have the damn keys. We thought it must be a mistake.

Our lovely realtor called to clarify and get their approval to give us the damn keys so we could get in to the house over the weekend and start cleaning. The movers were to arrive on Monday.  Unfortunately, the lady at the title company was adamant that we could not be given the damn keys until the FedEx package arrived on Monday with the Wet Signatures.  Our lovely realtor asked to talk to the manager.

Then a heartless bitch with an attitude like you would NOT believe got on the line to read us the riot act. She said she was the owner AND the president of the company, ha! She acted more like the Queen of Sheba. She was horrible. I simply cannot believe someone that rude could own a successful company. I think she was lying about being The President and must just have been the clerk sitting next to the one who answered the phone. They probably play good cop/bad cop all day long and then laugh about it afterwards. Had we been in the same room with her (a room with an exposed light bulb hanging from the ceiling), I have no doubt whatsoever that she would have sucker punched our lovely realtor and kicked me to the floor. 

Our lovely realtor got in a huge and nasty argument on the phone with Ms. Monster Mouth (aka The President) over the damn keys.  Our lovely realtor was kind enough to put the phone call on speakerphone so we could hear both sides.  You should have seen the look on the notary’s face.  So what can I say?  I quite enjoyed it. Most fun I have had in months. I even managed to stay out of it. Really. I am not kidding. Well, I did yell something out at one point, but only one time. I am pretty sure that one “shout out” does not really count.

We moved in on Monday, right after getting the okay from The President. The movers met Tom at the storage unit at 3:00 pm and loaded up while I took the damn keys to the new house and cleaned furiously. The movers brought all our earthly belongings around 6:00 and were gone by 8:00. They did a great job.  

The past few days we have been nesting, buying odds and ends we need, opening boxes and putting things away. There are so many boxes. I am quite sure it will takes months, if not years, to empty them all. We have cable TV and internet – real fast internet, not like in the travel trailer. The long wait is over. We have a home.  Life is good. And it will be even better when the pool is functional.  I could cry I am so happy. But of course I don’t cry, so that’s not gonna happen.  

Cheers!