California 60 Day PDF 2008-2024 Form

I came across a loophole in the library where I studied by pure accident. I used to go there to study and to also print out the lecture notes which were on average 40 pages long and the print was .10$ for each page. So basically i paid 4$ for each lecture i printed. This was a costly exercise for me and i spent on average 30$ each week for printing.The way it worked was, I had a library card and I recharged it as needed using the recharge machine. The recharge machine was about 5 feet tall and 2 feet wide. You had to insert the card, it would read it and then prompt you to insert the cash you wanted to recharge. Once that was done, you went to the print station, swiped your card on the card reader and then selected your file to print. Pretty basic stuff.One day I gave a few print jobs to the printer and went to the print station and swiped my card. I had to print 2 files of around 30 pages each. I had a credit of 3.70$ on my card. So I decided to print one file and then proceeded to the signNowarge machine to recharge the card while my file was printing. Keep in mind that the recharge machine and the print station were next to each other. Since my file was printing, I inserted my card into the recharge machine, it read my card and gave an error saying that the card is locked. I realized immediately that my card is currently being used by the printer and thus I am unable to use the card at 2 places at once. So I waited for the print to complete and then recharged my card to a value of 5$. So keep in mind I had 3.70$ initially, I printed 30 Pages, My credit should have dropped to .70$ and then recharged 5$ bringing the total to 5.70$. I did all the maths myself before proceeding to the print station and swiping my card. As I swiped my card, it showed me the current balance as 8.70$ instead of 5.70$ meaning I was not charged for the 30 pages i just printed. I quickly noticed and realized the error i got on the recharge machine while printing. I had another job to print, I gave the command to print and again inserted my card into the recharge machine and got the same error as card is currently blocked. I checked and was not charged again. And thats how I have been printing for a while now and my current balance is still 8.70$.I will notify the library eventually of the error and donate a certain amount. But for now, I am a student and its hard to make ends meet.

When I was twelve, my dad died. I have five siblings and we ranged at the time from seven years old to eighteen. The eldest was leaving for college that week, but came back and spent the year at home at my mom's request.Before Dad had been dead a whole month, my mom started sort-of dating a sort-of homeless guy (he had been homeless and then was living in an RV on someone's property as their caretaker) my family had helped before (we volunteered for years prior to this at the local homeless shelter).A month. Our father had died of unexpected of complications from heart attacks just a month prior. We four youngest didn't know what was going on at first and she didn't let our older two siblings know. All we knew was that almost every night mom would have us get in the van, and she'd be in her pajamas and robe, and we'd drive down to his place and she'd send us to go play in the yard while she "said goodnight" and "ministered" to him.Eventually she'd come out with a shit-eating smirk, load us up in the van and drive back home.Less than two months after that she moved him into the house and started claiming they were married to everyone. (They weren't.)Why this was so incredibly selfish was because we weren't allowed to grieve anymore after that. We all had to be happy because mom had a new boyfriend-then-husband, and we all felt like we couldn't even talk about Dad anymore. Mom still talked about him but only to force our good behavior, ie: "You are all such terrible children! Your father wanted you to be raised this way and I've sacrificed so much for you...!" He wasn't even a good stepdad. He could have been worse, sure, but he'd fight with mom then storm out of the house and she'd blame it on us.Less than six months after my dad died he and my mom went on a drive and left me to change a curtain rod. I was still twelve and very small for my age, and I couldn't signNow the curtain rod. I tried, hard, but I kept falling off the back of the couch. They got back and saw that I hadn't done it, so the step-dad kept saying to me "Hah, I knew you were useless." while laughing and repeating it over and over like it was hilarious. I lost my temper and said "You're just a fat old man!" (he was 13 years older than my mom so he seemed quite elderly to me.) He, in front of my mother who had been laughing at his denigration of my handyman attempts, grabbed me, shook me hard, and screamed in my face "You stupid little b***ch!" and stormed out of the house.Mom then spanked me for trying to ruin her marriage.I just wanted my dad back, but I couldn't even say that because what if it made the step-dad feel bad?

“Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is skipping out of an entire semester of advanced calculus, pulling off a dramatic identity change mid-day during a final exam and escaping expulsion to pull off an A in the class. This message will self destruct in 9 seconds.”I always envision that message when I think about an impossible, elaborate scam my friend attempted in college 20 years ago.My friend is crazy smart. Too smart. He was that guy who spent no time studying in high school, doing his homework in the car on the way to school and still beat you on the tests. He hated the concept of school and would do just about anything to avoid it.During our sophomore year, I visited him at Michigan State University for a football weekend and noticed one of his textbooks was still wrapped in plastic . . . one month into the semester.“Have you been to class yet?”“A couple times.”“Uh, aren’t you paying tuition to be in that class?”“Yeah, but I’ve got a plan.”Turns out that my boy’s roommate took the class the previous year and told him how the final exam played into the grading. Once your final exam grade was final, you could choose to keep that grade for the semester or take the grade you had leading into the final exam. In other words, one test could replace the two midterm exams, homework assignments and quizzes.In addition, the class was large enough where they offered two final exam times. One was in the morning and the other in the afternoon.Conceivably, someone could get their hands on the questions in the morning and come prepared with the answers in the afternoon.This plan was high risk in that the professor made you turn your exam in directly to him and he looked everyone in the face. If you were coming to his lectures all semester long, he would get to know what you look like and would know if you came to take the test twice.Armed with this information, my friend quit going to class.He already had a beard and long hair but quit shaving or grooming from that point on. By the day of the exam, he looked like this and made sure to even dress like a homeless lumberjack.He showed up, copied all of the questions on the exam onto a separate piece of paper, did his best to answer the questions and didn’t put a name on the exam.He turned in the exam, looked his professor in the eye and walked out the door. He sprinted home, handed the exam questions to his roommate who was two semesters ahead on the subject and being paid handsomely for helping him pull of this scheme. He hit the shower, shaved and had another friend give him a haircut.He dressed up like a banker and put on a pair of glasses, then copied down the answers and work it would take to show he knew how to arrive at those answers. He had all of two hours to pull this off and get back to the second final exam time. When he showed up at this second exam, here is how he looked:He got through the test and then came the moment of truth. Hearing him tell the story of walking up to the front of that classroom to look his professor in the eyes for a second time gives me the chills to this day.He smiled, handed him the test and the professor stared at him for what he says felt like 15 minutes but was probably 5 seconds. I can’t imagine how sickening that feeling must have been, knowing expulsion was riding on what the professor said next.The professor said thanks and he walked out.My boy got an A on that exam and the class, even though he was riding an F heading into that exam. There are so many reasons this plan should not have worked.Why didn’t the professor wonder how he had missed a homeless guy being in his class all semester? (can probably be easy to miss some people in a 200 person lecture hall but that is ridiculous)Why didn’t the professor question how someone who had clearly failed two midterms and done no homework pull off such a turnaround?How did the professor account for an exam turned in with no name and terrible answers or that 201 exams were turned in for a class with only 200 people? Could someone else in that class have failed and quit going to class so it actually was 200/200 turned in exams?Why didn’t this suspicion make him bring my friend back in to retake the test in front of him with different questions?Why would someone go through this much stress and hassle when going to class could have been so much easier and less stressful?I have always felt that the professor was definitely suspicious but didn’t want to admit that his process of two exams left a loophole that could be exploited. His ego probably led him to move on, understanding how improbable it would be to orchestrate something like this.Regardless, I consider this mission one of the greatest rages against the machine in modern history. Given what was at stake and the level of complexity to pull it off, my boy earned that A with flying colors.

Did you know that a million dollars in U.S. currency weighs just ten kilograms? It's true. A freshly-minted $100 bill weighs in at slightly over a gram, and 100 of them is ten thousand dollars. 100 of those stacks, and there's your million.It’s not often that 10 kilograms - 22 lbs of anything can change your life. But on February 25th, 2014, that’s exactly what happened.  Day 1: $1,000,000 As the man in the gray suit walks away, I shout after him “Hey, come back here. Who are you? What’s this all about?” He does not look back and quickens his pace. Between the choice of chasing down a stranger, or securing what appeared to be stacks of currency, I chose the currency. We can resolve the issue of his identity later, but a loose sack of cash is, well, a loose sack of cash. I look through the contents again. Bundles of US$100 bills, stacked a hundred bills deep, wrapped in standard $10,000 bank bands. A quick count revealed that there were precisely a hundred of those stacks in the bag, and spot-check riffle-counts of the $10k bands suggest that there are no short-stacks within. These were full bands of $10,000 apiece of non sequential USD$100 bills, and I was holding what appears to be a million even in cash. And it feels like just as many question are swirling in my head, as I feel my pulse pounding in my skull. Who was that guy? Why me? What is this all about? But the most urgent thoughts swim past the dizzying deluge of unanswerable questions. Fakes. It’s one thing to inadvertently be the recipient of counterfeit currency; as you’re reading this very sentence, a clerk at a retail store somewhere in your city just accepted a counterfeit bill and made change from the real money in the till.  But to be in possession of a life-changing amount of counterfeit currency of the United States of America? Well, that’s sort of thing that can bring the full might and wrath of their law enforcement apparatus on your head. My emotions swing wildly between the elation of instantaneous wealth, and sheer terror that I was minutes away from being snatched from my home and corralled into a Federal holding cell, where I will grow old within its walls. Terror was the stronger of the two emotions, and I quickly went to work. First things first: the bag had to go. If there is a GPS tracking device embedded in its seams, it would take too long for me to root it out. Better to incinerate it, and make sure that whatever trail it was laying stops at a dead-end for its pursuers. I pour the stacks of bills into an empty duffle back from my garage, and lock the bag in my condo. There’s an abandoned marina just a mile from my home and I get in my car and drive straight to the docks, at the top of the posted speed limit. After pouring enough Kerosene on the bag to see the shimmering mist of petroleum evaporate above it, I lit a book of matches and threw it in the middle of the mass. A satisfying “Whoomph” lights up the fire, and I watch the edges of the bag curl and burn - sizzling in the midmorning sun. As the remnants of the bag’s embers swirl around the scorched mark on the docks, I drive back to my condo, pulse still pounding in my skull.I still haven’t figured out if the bills are real or not, but if this morning’s bag-drop was an attempt to pin a piece of deeply incriminating evidence bearing a tracking device … well that plan has been thwarted. Or delayed, at the very least. What do I do? What should I do? Call the authorities? Consider how it would sound: “Hi, Police? Somebody dropped a million dollars in cash at my home. I don’t know if it’s fake or not. Please help.” Would you believe such a ridiculous story? I wouldn't. Any reasonable law enforcement dispatcher would consider the caller legally insane, and I'd be arrested on the spot and sent to psychiatric care. If the money was real, it’d be seized and I'll never see it or spend it. If it was fake, they’d find a way to stick “possession of counterfeit currency” charge on me, and I'll be shoved into a Federal concrete box, draining the best years of my life away, only to be released when I can’t chew solid food any more. No. The only recourse is to handle this myself. I call an old college friend practicing criminal defense law in New York City: “Hey Roger, it’s Kai. How’ve you been?” “I'm cool. It's been a while. What’s up man.” “We should catch up soon in person. But I’m calling because I need something.” “Ok, shoot.” I swallow hard - it’s difficult to even say the words: “Who’s the best CrimDef lawyer you know in California, who defends against Federal charges?” A moment. His voice lowers noticeably. “Shit, man. You in some kind of trouble?” “I’m not sure yet.” I said, truthfully. “But I need someone experienced and smart ... someone who you’d hire, if you’re facing serious attention from the Feds." He lets out a long exhale. “Vincent King. Former rockstar DOJ prosecutor in D.C. Had a change of heart halfway through his rotation in Maryland, when he was securing Life sentences for “interstate drug transportation” charges on young Black kids who were busted muling for the cartels. Was offered a fast-track promotion straight to the U.S. Attorney’s office but went rogue. He set up independent shop in San Francisco, fighting Fed cases. Heavy hitter clients, but makes a point of refusing to represent anyone accused of murder or human trafficking. Intimate knowledge of Federal prosecutorial procedures and evidence-collection protocol. Smart. Methodical. Very expensive.” “Perfect.” “I did mention ‘very expensive?’” “You did.” “I’ll send his contact information now.” =================================“I’m sorry - Mr. King is in court all day and won’t be back in the office. His earliest appointment is tomorrow morning after a client meeting. Shall I book him for 11am for you?” “Yes, thank you Marta.” “We’ll see you tomorrow at 11 then.” I look at the digital clock in my kitchen -  it reads 10:44am. Just me and a stack of bills which may or may not be fake, no formal legal representation for over 24 hours. It’s going to be a long day. Taking even a few of these bills to a bank to corroborate their authenticity is out of the question. If a bank officer confirms they are fraudulent, I’ll be arrested on the spot, and since I haven’t hired counsel, I’d be at the mercy of the Public Defender’s Office - the most overworked and underpaid division of the American Criminal Justice system. No, thank you. The next number I dial is an old friend, Robert Kendrick, sole proprietor of ‘Secher Nbiw - The Golden Path,’ a gold bullion dealer with a whimsical Dune reference in the name of his shop. I’ve known Robert for over a decade; his business deals in large amounts of (mostly) legal cash. By necessity, he has a high-end currency counter/ counterfeit detection device in his office, which can swiftly count and verify large sums of money with precision. “Bobby, it’s me.” “Hey, what’s up.” “Can I come to your office - like right now?” “Sure, what do you need?” “I, uh, came into some money. Long story, and I really don’t want to get too much into the details … but I’m wondering if you’d be willing to run the bills through your counter for me? I’m not 100% sure they’re real, and I’d like a discreet way of verifying them. If they are, I’m going to pick up some bullion as well.” “Sure man. Happy to help. How much money are we talking about?”“$60,000” I flinch at that - I hate lying to friends, but at this point, I have no idea who to trust. Though if you want to be technical about it, I did come across $60,000. I am just simply not telling Kendrick about the other $940,000 that accompanied the $60k in the satchel that dropped into my life just three hours ago. “Come on by.” I pull apart a few $10,000 currency bands and start plucking random $100 bills from the middle of every 10k stack to assemble a randomized sample of the entire million. 100 bills, wrap it up. 100 bills, wrap it up. 100 bills, wrap it up. Three bands, thirty thousand dollars, randomized and fully assembled to be tested for authenticity. “Half” of my alleged $60k windfall. The rest of the loose bills are refolded back so there remains 97 stacks of $10k racks, re-wrapped and properly sorted. In 30 minutes, I will figure out if I’m rich, or holding on to enough illicit contraband to send me to Federal Prison for the rest of my life. =============================The Golden Path, like most bullion dealers, work out of small, highly secured office covered by multiple layers of security. At any given moment, Robert may have several hundred thousand dollars in cash or gold, silver and platinum bullion on the premise, it pays to be careful. One of the few civilians in California with a Concealed Carry Weapons permit, Kendrick and I met on pistol gun range ten years ago; we bonded over shooting .45 ACP slugs down-range. He and I spent countless hours debating the relative merits of his preference for single-action 1911s, vs my bias toward double-action SIG-Sauer P220s. In the bullion business, you learn to know the boundaries of money-laundering laws, and know how to walk right up to the edge without triggering reporting thresholds. Drop US$10,000 in cash or more at a car dealership, bank or bullion dealer in a single day’s transaction, and the U.S. authorities gets very interested in the source of your funds. By law, these business that receive such sums of cash must fill out invasive forms to tie the transaction to you and your Social Security Number. Keep cash transactions below US$10,000, and you can avoid much of that intense scrutiny. “Welcome back man. I haven’t seen you in a while.” A discreet man, Kendrick does not inquire further about the source of the cash. In the business of buying and selling gold bullion, you learn to comply with the letter of the law, while avoiding conversational topics that can jeopardize one’s own plausible deniability. While his clientele is mostly legitimate, I’m certain the most lucrative of his customers are criminals - and he smart enough to know not to ask the sort of questions that open up a line of liability for him.  So long as the proper theatrics of anti-money-laundering protocols are observed, everyone is technically in the clear. I hand him the three $10k stacks and he pulls the bands off them and puts the entire block in his high-speed currency counter. After a second, the machine spools up and the digital counter swiftly runs from zero to three hundred. Thirty thousand dollars. “It’s real.” It’s real. His words hang in the air for a moment, and it takes a moment for them to sink in. One million dollars. Genuine currency of the United States of America, the most recognized and accepted form of money in the world - denominated in crisp, non-sequential bills. I hold my face as neutral as possible, but my excitement made me slightly dizzy, and I am glad I was sitting down. “What’s the spot price of Gold today?” Kendrick’s eyes drift to his laptop computer, where the current day’s commodities prices were fed to him via a live stream. “$1334 Ask, $1335 Bid.” I nodded my understanding.Precious metals bullion trade in troy ounces, and prices are quoted on a per troy oz basis; depending on the specific type of bullion (bars, coins, make), there are different markups from the quoted price. Depending on the specific form, Gold is typically marked up by USD$20 to $60 over the day’s quoted Bid price, and sells for $5~10 over the Ask. “What do you have in inventory right now for gold?” “The usual. South African Kugerrands. American Eagles. Canadian Maples. Oh, I do have a lovely Credit Suisse 5oz bar that somebody just sold to me, and I’m happy to let it go for $25/oz over spot.” I quickly did the mental math calculation. With the hard-cap spending limit of $10,000 before I trigger any mandatory anti-money-laundering paperwork, $1335/oz works out to about seven troy ounces of bullion I can buy, without forcing Robert to fill out invasive forms about me and my identity. “I’ll take the 5oz Credit Suisse bar, and two American Gold Eagles.” Kendrick pulls out a calculator and taps in the numbers, “So five troy ounces at 25 over spot plus Eagles at $50 over spot works out to nine thousand six hundred and -“ “Take ten grand and keep the change.” I interrupt. “I will be back for more.” He raises his eyebrow, but says nothing. “Thank you. I’ll be right back.” He counts back $20,000 and hands it to me, taking the $10,000 in the back room of his office and returning with the 5oz Swiss bar and two heavy 1oz American Eagles, along with a receipt for US$9675. I pause for a moment and hand him back one of the $10,000 stacks. “I know the limit is $10k in transactions per day. Consider this pre-payment for a purchase tomorrow. Your call, on a mix of anything up that totals up to $9500. Keep the rest for you and Katie.” A barely-perceptible smile flickers across his face, then his face was clear again. “Sure thing.” There’s nothing like the feeling of holding physical gold - the density, color and heft of the metal is like no other substance on earth, and it is no wonder that since its discovery, every culture on Earth treated gold with awe and respect. With 18 hours left before I can understand my legal options, there’s only two things I know for certain: 1. The money is real. 2. At least one person knows exactly where I live, and where the money was dropped off. I need to get mobile. I need to get mobile and off the grid ASAP.... to be continuedIf you'd like to be the first to get updates to this story, please add me kai chang 張敦楷 (kaichang) on Twitter. Part 2 (of 10) is being written right now, will be announced on Twitter. Please follow for updates on the saga of the Quora Millionaire! :D

Spend less time using your blocked Internet to ask questions on Quora, andTravel back in time to when there was no curfew and you were playing Super Mario Kart, and instead, fill out your exam form.

In most, if not all, states, a landlord must file an action in the locality’s Landlord-Tenant court if the tenant is still in the apartment. There are grounds in some cases, depending upon the state’s laws, to terminate a tenancy upon prior notice. But there are also potential defenses a tenant may use. You must determine the following, under your state’s laws, and in some cases, under federal laws and regulations (especially HUD, if applicable):(1) Is the landlord even legally permitted to terminate your tenancy upon 60-day notice? While your lease may include such a provision, you must be familiar with and understand what your state’s laws say about a landlord terminating a tenancy.(2) When does the statutory notice period begin and when does it end?(3) Does the law require any additional notices or procedures prior to a lease being terminated? For instance, is there a specific manner of service required by the state’s laws? (e.g. regular and certified mailing, hand delivery?). In many states, a defective notice is a ground to have the eviction action dismissed.(4) Does federal law apply? In many federally-subsidized apartments, including those where a tenant is residing in private housing but obtains, either directly, as through a voucher (e.g. Section 8 voucher), or by means of a subsidy paid to the owner that applies only to the building, there are specific notice requirements that may be stricter than the state’s own notice requirements.(5) Does the state require an eviction ‘for cause’? Determine whether the law in your state enumerates specific grounds to evict, to the exclusion of any evictions that are not for cause.Even if the landlord followed proper notice procedures and the contours of your state’s law, the landlord will still have to file an action in court if you remain in possession, and may not, in all likelihood, lock you out, change the locks, throw out or remove your belongings, or compel you to move out, by threats or physical actions. The landlord ultimately must file an action in court if you remain in possession. You should apprise yourself of your state’s laws regarding eviction actions and consider consulting with an attorney.

It's best to ask homeschoolers in your state. Every state has different laws. What works in one may not work in another.This looks like the information you need: Notice of Intent (NOI)

You are required to write the amount for which you are filling this form. Nil in case of debit card requests as now it is mandatory to have PAN card to apply for a debit card from the Bank.

Include your name and the rental address, and date the letter. Don't date it and hold onto it; date it for the day you are giving it to the landlord to start the 60 days. Address the letter to the landlord with a subject line of “60-Day Notice to Vacate."

The tenant must give adequate notice. ... Confirm the move out dates with the tenant as soon as possible. ... Review the contract. ... Collect relevant information from the tenant. ... Inspect the property. ... Get the security deposit in order.

State the Facts First. The first part of the notice must include the details of the rental agreement, even if the lease has expired. ... Provide the Notice. Discuss the fact that the notice is for at least 60 days. ... List the Rent Due. ... Discuss the Security Deposit. ... Talk About Showing the Property. ... Close Out the Letter.

Write your notice. Use this move out notice sample to frame your written notice, taking the landlord or property management company's name and address from your lease and filling in the blanks where indicated. Date (Be certain that the date on your letter is at least 30 days from your scheduled move-out date.

State the Facts First. The first part of the notice must include the details of the rental agreement, even if the lease has expired. ... Provide the Notice. Discuss the fact that the notice is for at least 60 days. ... List the Rent Due. ... Discuss the Security Deposit. ... Talk About Showing the Property. ... Close Out the Letter.