The Woman is Insane.

The “woman” I’m referring to is “Landlord”

I was traveling on business one year, in the midst of a multi state, multi trade show trip.  I’m tired, cranky, annoyed.  Ya know, the usual, and I get a call from my Landlord.

Dreading the call; I reluctantly answer.

“Hello??  Hi.  Its me. Listen, I think the battery on your car is dead”. 

Well that’s interesting.  I don’t recall giving you permission to drive my car.

Me:  You don’t say.  Care to tell me how you found that out?

Landlord: Well yea, I wanted to move your car, so when I tried to turn it on, it didn’t work.

Me:  Oh.  I don’t remember getting a call from you about that.  Weird, my service must’ve been out.  How did you get my keys?

Landlord: Well, I went downstairs to drop off your dog and I figured when I was there, I would move your car, so I found your keys.

Me: What do you mean – drop off my dog?  Where was she?

Landlord: Oh, I brought her upstairs.  She was barking so I went to give her chips…

Me: Chips?

Landlord: Yea, I saw them in the cabinet

Me: Audible Sigh

Landlord: Anyway, I heard her barking, gave her chips and when she finished I brought her upstairs.  She made herself right at home and ran around and had a great time!

Me: Okay.  Listen, I’m not really comfortable with anything now.  You shouldn’t take my dog anywhere, you shouldn’t go through my cabinets, giving her people food, and you shouldn’t  drive my car!

Landlord: I just felt so bad for the barking! You know I love dogs….

Me: yes. Also, please do not drive my car without my permission. Chances are, you were not stepping on the clutch properly, and it didn’t start. I’m not thrilled that you were able to find my car keys either

Landlord: Oh I didn’t look for them they were just on the counter


Me: yes, I think you’re missing the point. I appreciate you trying to help, but we do need to establish some boundaries

The conversation continued on for a few minutes from here, but I would like to applaud myself for not yelling. I call Sunshine to recap, and we’re discussing when…

Landlord: “Sunshine! Sunshine! Can I talk to you? I think Buttercup’s mad at me”

Sunshine: (to her) “Why do you think that?” to me “I hate you she’s down here and now she’ll never leave”

Me: hahaha, send her my best

I have to admit, I did feel a little bad for Sunshine having to deal with the landlord for a full week…


The Neighbor Chronicles…

My neighbor – wait, OLD neighbor – is a real piece of work.

Just to kick things off, most people like me.  I mean, sometimes there’s a person that doesn’t like me (they’re usually jerkoffs), and when I meet someone, I’m not always the most open person right off the bat, but once we’re pals – giddiyup!  Point is – people don’t usually go from “liking me” to “hating me”.  It’s generally the opposite.  And I can honestly say that in 30 years, there’s only been one person that legit hated me – and that’s just because I punched her in the mouth (don’t call my mom names).

Okay so my original neighbor at my old apartment was AWESOME.  It was this little, older italian man and his friends.  Every Wednesday they had family night, and they’d cook and sit in the back drinking wine with the lights on; and they’d make plates for us, and give my dog bones.

Wonderful people.  OG neighbor bought himself a house (yay!) and moved (boo!).  The people rented the house out to this guy in his 40s, recently divorced, with an odd similarity to Danny DeVito (physically only, not personality wise).  We met, and he seemed like an okay guy.  He had two dogs, his fat, sloppy beagle and a little terrier type dog that apparently was staying with him on behalf of his daughter.

My dog is relatively dog friendly; she is a pit bull, but I socialized her from adoption.  I used to live in an area with a lot of dogs, and a dog park, and we’d go there every night and over the weekend, giving her time to play with other dogs and get accustomed – not one fight.  With her being a “bully” breed, I didn’t want anyone to have just reason to give us problems.

That being said, Danny DeVito’s dog did NOT like mine.  My dog doesn’t listen to a word I say, but she isn’t aggressive.  His, unfortunately is.  It also barks 24 hours a day.  Literally – 24 hours a day.  I started by trying to ask him to do something about it.  Maybe, pay attention to the dog  or muzzle it.  Or rip its goddamn vocal chords out-  just shut it the f*ck up.  I remember specifically one day, that thing was barking well into the night – and I was going to the gym around 430 in the morning, and going to sleep around 8 or 9 PM.  So I’m exhausted, and its fall, so my window is open and I can hear this thing barking and barking and barking.  I went to see if DD was home – nope.  So I leave a note on his door “Next time that f*cking thing barks all night I’m calling animal control”.  The next morning, when I left for the gym I kicked his door so it would bark, and on my way home I had my first exchange with him, to the extent of “If I can’t f*cking sleep, you can’t f*cking sleep”.  Veins popping out of my neck and all (obviously I was all juiced up from lifting at the gym) – he later told my landlord he thought I was going to punch him in the face.  I was.

That just kind of set the tone for our relationship.  I hated him and his dog, he hated me.  The dogs would fight between the fence, so I wouldn’t leave mine outside unattended – he didn’t extend the same courtesy.

The only way you can describe him is “A Fat, Obnoxious, Inconsiderate A$$hole”.  I could hear him breathing from his house, he wouldn’t shovel his walkway when it snowed, he’s just awful.

Fast Forward to me outside drinking beers with my other neighbor (which was strange, because according to DD, the whole block hated me), and we’re having a nice afternoon – grilling, getting sauced up, all that good stuff.  DD gets home, gives me the stink eye, and continues on his merry way.

Usually my dog is on a leash when she’s in the yard, but I guess with the people around and the food, I didn’t think it was necessary, which was a mistake.  She slipped out, and ran next door, attacking the neighbors dog. 

Like, paws-on-its-belly-trying-to-disembowel-it-attack. 

All hell breaks loose.  DD starts yelling at me, I’m yelling back, the guys down the block come running and start yelling at him, the neighbor I was hanging out with starts  yelling at him (at one point threatening to “burn his house down.  I’m a fireman, I know how to do it”).  I think that he truly thought everyone hated me, and if he were to berate me, the neighbors would band together against me and “take his side” (yea, what are we, 12?).  When it came down to it, the exact opposite occurred, turning into a roast at his expense.

At the end of the day, my dog still got loose and attacked his dog (which was also loose).  He attempted a law suit, he tried to get her put down, he tried to sue me – all of these were in vain; but it still lead to an uncomfortable living situation.  Aside from being a b!tch to him…and remember when I said that people usually like me?  Once they don’t; or I don’t like them, I am mean.  I’m not proud of it (eh, maybe a little), but I have the strange ability to know what a person’s weakness is, and exploit it.  And I make great b!tchfaces/smirks/etc.; my insane landlord decided to revert back to the mentality of a 12 year old socially disturbed child and began doing things like egging his car, house, patio; threatening to poison his dog, threatening to kill him – all sorts of nonsense.

You could cut the tension with a knife – between the a$$hole next door, the goddamn barking and the psycho upstairs, I was living in crazy town.

My New Home

Isn’t fully complete yet, but it already feels more like home then the dump I was living in before.  I had to wash every single piece of clothing I own because the stuff I had in storage smelt like soggy old people that had rolled in moth balls (my old landlords perfume, apparently).

Moving this time was a trip and a half.  I had plenty of time to pack and get things out – and I really think that I did a better job then my other moves.  I mean, it’s not saying much, considering just how poorly prepared I was the previous few times, but I’ve been in this place for over three years (which is LONG for me, before that my record was 18 months in queens, and before that…3 months.  Whatever, I like to bop around).  I have A LOT of stuff.  And its weird, because it doesn’t seem like a lot – but when you’re boxing it up, and transporting it…holy sh-t.

The most interesting part of this move, I think, is my old landlords behaviour while I was packing and moving, and shortly thereafter.  The woman is insane, but I never really paid much attention to it, because whenever she started talking, I would just walk away (coming soon: the carpet chronicles and the neighbor chronicles – that will better convey what we had to deal with for so long), but this time, my buffer (Sunshine, my old housemate) had already moved a few months ago and I had a transient living with me. 

He isn’t really a transient, he’s a friend of mine that was just crashing for a few months after his lease ended.  It was helpful because I didn’t need to find a new place right away, he gave me money for rent, and literally showed up like once a week.

Anyway, she kept coming downstairs and standing in the way when I was packing and moving.  Its annoying.  And I get annoyed easily – I like to do things a certain way, I focus on things and when I’m distracted it pisses me off.  I refrained from shaking her and saying “PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GO AWAY”.  I thought I was free and clear, until I see her calling my office the day after I moved.  Since we have this thing at work called “caller ID“, I recognized the number and said “Self, there is no f-cking way you are talking to this woman now”.

She leaves me a voicemail.  The gist of the voicemail was she was angry that I didn’t go upstairs and say goodbye, I didn’t give her back the key to the house, and I left the apartment “dirty”.

Excuse me?  Dirty?  No.  You can call me a lot of things (obnoxious, hilarious, gorgeous, brilliant, stunning, your favorite person in the whole world – to name a few), but don’t call me dirty.  And don’t tell me that the f*cking dump Sunshine and I fixed up (paint, new carpets and flooring, decoration) was in worse shape then when we moved in.  She literally said “I know what the apartment was when you rented it and this is not what it looked like”.

You’re right.  It doesn’t smell like piss, isn’t covered in nicotine and smoke stains, and doesn’t have your clutter everywhere.  It looks 185% better.  The only thing she said that was valid is we left food in the refrigerator.  I thought my transient housemate had cleared it out, but he didn’t.  Not a big deal, throw it out.

So I’m seething, and trying not to call her back until I’ve calmed down, as I don’t really like to yell at an old lady; when Sunshine IMs me:

“Yo, I got a message from <landlord> claiming you don’t call her back and the apartments a dump”

Are you serious.  Serious?  I text the transient and tell him to go to the apartment and get his goddamn food out of the refrigerator.  He heads over, and calls me, because the joints all locked up and he has no key.

Luckily – I always forget my keys when I go out, so I had like 5 copies made and I hid them in random parts of the yard.  I direct him to one, and he’s about to go inside when <landlord> comes down stairs screaming at him.

He hangs up, calls me back a few minutes later.  “F*ck her.  F*ck her.  Dude, she’s insane.  I don’t know what she’s talking about, but she says that everything in the apartment belongs to her now and she wants her key back, and that you’re an a$$hole because you don’t call her back”

She called me an hour ago!  For the love of God.  “anyway, I told her to keep the 5 yogurts and wraps that are in there and left”

sigh. I guess its time for me to put an end to the non-sense.  Not wanting to have a scene at work, I go outside and try to call her from my cell phone.

“user does not allow blocked numbers”

Of course.

Call her back.  “Landlord.  What the hell is going on.  Why the hell are you calling Sunshine telling her I left the place a mess, and dirty, and why are you harassing HER to tell ME to call you back when she moved out SIX MONTHS AGO.  And why the hell are you yelling at Transient?”.  She begins to tell me that she left me a message yesterday, and I didn’t call her back so I left her no choice. 

 Interrupting her, I ask her where she left a message, and she rattles off a cell phone that I haven’t had in two years. 

Me: “that number was disconnected two years ago.  I’m sure if I call it now, whoever is on the voicemail is NOT me.”

She tries to interrupt me again, and starts raising her voice, saying something along the lines of “put yourself in my shoes…”

Now I can pounce.

“No.  No.  I cannot put myself in your shoes.  Do you want to know why?  Because right now, you are acting insane.  Insane.  And I don’t want to act insane, because I don’t like that.  Let me tell you, I have lived in that apartment for over three years, and I have never caused you problems.  We paid our rent on time, we kept the place clean, we painted and decorated, and we put up with your bullshit.  Just the fact that you insinuate I would leave the apartment a “dirty mess” and didn’t move out properly is just insulting to me and my character.  I’m done with this nonsense.  You can keep whatever is in the goddamn fridge, and you can stop calling Sunshine because she has nothing do to with this bullshit.  I’m mailing you back your key, and you can shove it”.


Sloppy Food? Sign me up.

I love BBQ.  Eating BBQ with 2 gay men (Wifey and Poodle)?  Well, that’s just an extra special treat. 

This place we went to was okay.  Not good, not bad – okay.  My Little Poodle got ribs bigger then the ones tucked inside his tiny poodle ribcage (and subsequently whined about the prospect of getting sauce all over his pretty shirt), Wifey got herself a rib combo and I ate catfish.

Oh shut up, sometimes catfish is a good choice.  We were gonna cruise gay bars after dinner, couldn’t have bbq sauce all over me.

The best part of this BBQ joint we went to, Dallas BBQ, were the giant drinks and the extra shots my waiter slipped me in test tubes.  And the two or three kettle and clubs he made me (f*cking strong, kid) whilst only charging me for one, well, thank you.  It kind of made up for the fact that the rest of the night I was invisible to every one of the opposite sex (think: water water everywhere, not a drop to drink).

Boys are Funky

My house mate is a wonderfully weird man, and we get along quite well, but living with a boy is “different”.

I don’t mean bad – he’s not dirty, he puts his dishes away, doesn’t leave garbage anywhere, and is never here. Except like, Tuesdays. Or once in a while to shower.

But he thinks he lives in a hotel, because he uses my towels. That are hanging to dry in the bathroom. That. I’ve. Used.

And it’s honestly unintentional, which I think, makes it even funnier. But after 3 consecutive days of wayward towels, I asked him what was happening.

“Wait…those are yours?”

It seems as though the house service was putting out somewhat fresh towels for him every day.

Love you house mate!