Going through the crap on my nighstand, I see one of those filing claims concerning something my parents got into which they inevitably want me to clean up for them because they might get money. But this doesn't have anything to do with penny stocks for companies that did underhanded business that screwed over their investors. This has something to do with brass fittings that were put in homes in the Vegas area. They were bad, I guess, so bad that a class action lawsuit was filed against them. As part of the settlement, they are offering claims to owners of properties where these faulty brass fittings were installed. And that might include the houses my parents own in Las Vegas.
Don't tell my folks, but I think I got this early in the year, and I haven't gotten around it till now. I was going to blow it off, but on a lark I looked up the website of this settlement and, egad, there's still time to file this claim. But they only have ... wait, I'm doing this ... I only have three weeks to fill out the application and get proof, which will consist of getting and sending pictures of these fittings. Obviously that's the hardest part, and therefore time's a-wasting.
This morning I see Mother drinking coffee and just hanging out. And for some goddamn reason, I blurt this claim filing out. Well, I didn't give her details; I told her that tonight I need to talk to her about something that has to do with their Vegas properties. And of course she started assailing me with a bunch of questions:
What is it about?
Why do you need to know?
When did you find out about it?
What do you care about our properties in Vegas?
Man, why the hell didn't I see this coming? So now My Fucking Mother is going to be in a tizzy all day about what I have waiting for her tonight. And then, once I show them that it's this thing which might involve their property manager out there needing to go into these houses to snap photos and then send physical pictures back to me, they might flip a bitch about not knowing about this till now ... which will make me defensive and tell them that I was busy ... which will prompt them to accuse me that "Oh, you've had plenty of time to do this" ... which will force me to leave the house.
I needed to tell them this, but my Buddha, maybe I could have broached this subject in a better way that wouldn't have turned Mother into a chicken running around with its head cut off, again.
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