just when you thought the old landlord was gone…

that crazy bitch strikes again.

Last weekend while I was preparing for my debut at the Case Race my phone rings – Caller ID notes it was my old Landlord.

Now, I’m hopped up on two 5 hour energy shots and I’ve got a purse full of beer, so I’m clearly in a great mood.

“yes, Old Broad, what can I do for you?’

I’m pretty sure she dropped the phone out of shock, ya’ll know she didn’t think I would answer.

Getting into it, apparently the old, pig-faced bastard that lived next door to me is sending her official court documents and blah blah blah blah friggin blah.

“haha oookay Old Broad, you just let me know how it turns out”.  I asked two people what they thought that meant and the consensus was she’s bored and looking to break my balls.  The other piece of advice was “if someone looks like they’re going to serve you with papers, avoid them”.  How do you know you’re getting served, you may ask?  Well, someone dunks a ball in your face.

No, not that kind of serving.  Alls I know if anyone asks me what my name is, I’m responding with “parles-tu francais? Oui?”

I knew 8 years of French would come in handy one day.


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…

…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.