It’s no secret (clearly) that I attract a lot of weird/crazy/fabulously strange/inherently awful people to me.  I consider it a blessing, almost, occasionally in disguise.  I wouldn’t trade my friends or family for another, ever – nor my “enemies”.  I mean, everyone has to have a bit of conflict in their life, and mine typically presents itself in the form of people who are generally lacking in self-worth.

My Dog Walker, on the other hand, is the opposite.  She’s wonderfully weird, and she always cracks me up – not to mention she absolutely adores my dog – I get it, cause my dog is a trip – but Puppy does have the tendency to over power people or be a little intimidating if you don’t know how to handle her.

Similar to me.

So I found my Dog Walker by accident.  I was interviewing people, and one woman who my vet recommended didn’t want to travel to where my old apartment was, and recommended my current Dog Walker (not for nothing, my town is literally 7 miles from end to end, you must be pretty lazy not to get across town.  Or, there was another reason that she didn’t want to convey).

Since then, my Dog Walker has been incredibly reliable.  She comes every day I ask her to, if I text her and I’m going to be late, she walks and feeds my dog, she rubs her belly, sends me random videos of them gallivanting about town, brings me presents to decorate my apartment (that she helped me find to keep me from moving to a different boro).

Yesterday, she texts me in the morning, apologizing because she lost my key.  No big deal, I’ll just leave her a new one the following morning (she lost it because she was playing with balloons for a baby and her keys fell into a gutter).

Later, I get a video of her and my poochie wandering around my complex.  Curious how she got inside, I listened to the narration of her video.  She cracked the window open and my dog leapt out the window.

Yep, leapt out the window.  And when she finished, she picked up my 60 pound pit bull and put her back through the window.

She felt so bad that my dog would go 8 hours without a walk that she broke into my apartment.

I admire the dedication in the woman…but my super literally lives next door to me and has a spare, so she didn’t technically need to break into my apartment.  And what the hell kind of guard dog do I have that leaps out a window to greet her thief?


I’m such a creep

I know this.

The other day, I was in the elevator.  Some dude gets on and presses 14.

Me: I used to be on that floor (running her finger on the button)

Stranger: what’s that now? Well, how come you moved?

Me: well, we consolidated our real estate. Anyway, do you know that you’re actually on the 13th floor?

Stranger: oh, that doesn’t bother me

::door opens, I start to exit, turn and say “sppppoooooooooky”::

I bet I brightened that kids day.

stop ringing my goddamn doorbell

I was going to post this yesterday, but I didn’t think it was a great follow-up to the whole “NYers aren’t rude” discussion we had.

I live in an apartment building that has one of those intercom things, that allow me to buzz people into the building.

There is a way around that, for my particular apartment.  Actually, its pretty annoying when people buzz me, so I know that if someone is buzzing my friggin apartment, it’s either someone I don’t know well, someone who hasn’t been to my apartment yet (so I would be expecting them) or the delivery guy.

note: I have a mental list of people I’m cool with dropping by unannounced.  With the exception of a handful of people what have not been by my new place yet, if I get a knock on my door and I haven’t made plans with someone, I can assume its either my ‘rents, my homeys, or my buddy.

So I’m home, staring at my dog (we have a staring contest every night when I get home.  I cheat so I can win) when the buzzer goes off.  I ignore it.  It goes off again.  I ignore it again.  Goes off again.

and it is LOUD.  Who is this persistent bastard?  I give it a few minutes, and they buzz again so I hit the intercom and say “what?”.

the response is something inaudible, so I say “What!” again.  Inaudible.  Clearly annoyed, I grab my pit bull and go outside to see who it is (I’m not going to randomly buzz someone into my building, I’d rather square off with them head to head).

It’s this little asian man.  I didn’t order any food.  So, I tell him “Hey, I didn’t order any food, why are you buzzing my door?”

well, he has a certified letter.  For my neighbor.

“Buddy, that’s not me”

“yes it is”

“NO, it’s not”

While this was a lot of fun, I had to end it.  I could just picture myself in a never-ending circle, like when I was little and I’d play the “I-know-you-are-but-what-am-I” game to aggravate my sister…so I took the high road and showed him exactly which apartment he was looking for.

And how to get there without using the buzzer.  Hope that doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass one day.  I hope I didn’t smithe the Lord by not ordering chinese food, I wonder if that was a sign from above.  We shall see.

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”.


moving moving moving

Some people HATE moving.  Me, I kinda like it.  Its almost like a fresh start – and each time I move I say to myself, “Self, you are going to pack your stuff up nicely this time, you’re going to label it, and you’re not going to leave it in boxes for 6 months after you move in”. 

Of course, that hasn’t happened – last time I moved I took two days off work to “pack” and I essentially sat on the couch, watching television and drinking beer.  When my mom and sister showed up to help, I had moved all of my belongings into the middle of the living room next to a stack of bags.  The U-Haul was a friggin disaster, when we opened it in front of my new place, bags came careening out of the back, smashing some of my beloved pint glasses.

In any event, THIS time will be different.  I’m even getting boxes – real boxes – from the store.  And I have a marker, and tape, and I’m going to start this ish tonight. 

Why tonight? Because the new land lord has a creepy crush on me and is letting me move in early (apparently I “brighten his day” over the phone.  And he texts me.  Texts me!  WTH).  I’m going to start boxing things up and sneaking them into my car tonight, tomorrow night, etc. in the hopes that I won’t have to spend too much time talking to my current-soon-to-be-ex-a$$hole-landlord.

She’s literally insane, and I might kill her.  I told her I was moving to a completely different boro, not across town, so if I ever run into her, I’m just going to pretend I’m my twin, Regina.  I don’t have a twin, but maybe she won’t know that.

This weekend will be…interesting.  At the very least, I might have some stories to share when it’s all done.

…so I’m moving…

My current land lord is a raving lunatic. My neighbor – raving lunatic. After 3 years of living among the lunatics, I decided to pack up the apartment and move.

Now, I live in a beach town. It’s approximately an hour away from where I work so I was planning on moving a little closer to my job when I realized that would simply mean I had no excuse to be late anymore.

not that my current excuses are anything good, but sometimes they’re warranted.

Part of the moving process is the “showing of the current apartment” to potential renters. I’m okay with that – it doesn’t really feel like home now, and lessbehonest, I’m not Rockefeller. The most important thing in that apartment to me is my dog and my pint glass collection. Unfortunately, I’m 98% sure that my dog would happily go off with a complete stranger if they scratched her ears…leaving me with the pint glasses.

In any event, I told ole Gerty upstairs to just give me a ring before viewings – if I was at the house, I’d stay out-of-the-way, if I was at work, well…alright, alright, that’s not really an option.  If I was at the bar – I’d happily tell her not to judge me based on the dishes in my sink (I was microwaving marshmallows the other day.  Absolutely hilarious – trust me and try it, but do it on paper plates cause it’s a b!tch to clean up after)

She agreed, however, she’s a filthy liar. Rewind to a few days ago, I’m sleeping on the Big Easy in my drawers, covered in tissues and a pit bull, messy hair, with Days of Our Lives blaring in the background (I don’t ALWAYS look a hot mess, I was sick, I swear), and in walks Gertie, potential renters in tow.

Did you see that I was in my drawers? I’m talking under-roos, panties, undies, grannie panties, whatever you want to call them – so it’s not like I could jump up and hide in the bathroom without further humiliating myself.

At least the potential renters got a glimpse as to what they might have to deal with if they decide to rent from her.