Apparently, I Don't Deserve a First Name

In short, we have moved into our new home and we are loving it. It's soooo surreal, wrapping my brain around the fact that I am a home/property owner!

Tom has already painted the dining room and it looks gorgeous (pictures promised). It's now crimson with white trim which nicely offsets the built-in white China cabinets.

Yes, moving is a bitch, the physical and mental aspects of it. As bad as I thought dealing with mortgage folks was, moving ranks even lower in the depths of Hell.

Gradually, things are being put away into their rightful places, furnishings are being put together, old grandma curtains are coming down to be replaced by new ones. This weekend will be spent raking the lawn, hanging up pictures, and buying a few things like new bathroom towels, curtains and such. It's coming together.

You're probably wondering about the title of this post so here it is. Yesterday, I arrived home and found an envelope addressed to me in my mailbox. But it was just my last name in bold caps, as if I was a private in the Army. It was my first property tax bill! (Do I dare have it framed?) I was a little put out by this being that our taxes are included in our monthly mortgage payment. A quick call to my mortgage rep assured me that I was NOT being billed twice, it was just a record that I should file away with all my other pertinent papers.

But, yanno? It would have been nice for the Township of West Orange to convey that. And, while we're on the subject, a welcome note would have been nice. Even a friggin' form letter would have been an improvement. How about, "Dear____: Welcome to West Orange! We hope you enjoying living here, blah-blah-blah..." something like that. And how about including my first name on the correspondence? Bureaucrats! They're everywhere.