The Golden Rule…

…my parents brought me up on that, and it’s relatively easy.  “do unto others, as they do unto you”

The reason I thought of this was because my ole land lord, y’all remember her, right? Well, she called me earlier today telling me that her home owners insurance wasn’t going to cover the issue with my neighbor, dog and myself.  She retained a lawyer for 5000 dollars, and was hoping I would split the fee with her. Apparently, if I split a lawyer, we will definitely win.  And the fee is reimbursed.

While I’m all for splitting payments I’m pretttttttty sure she is, what I like to call “full of sh-t”.

I don’t recall getting any instruction of pending lawsuits against me. And I’m not exactly a ghost, my name and number aren’t private, neither is my address. Or the rest of my family, we all share a last name, and there’s probably about 78 thousand of us floating around Gotham.

Methinks she’s upset she’s getting sued, and she wants me to chip in by trying to make me believe I am getting sued as well.

Advice: no one will put a judgment against you without you knowing. They’ll find you. Don’t do anything until they do.

She was clearly banking on the fact that even though I have a giant ego, and I’m a narcissist oddly enough, I occasionally have a soft heart, but I’m not going to let some old broad try and scam me!

The situation got grossly out of hand when she started acting like a child and egging the neighbors car, house, property. And her threats to kill him and his dog, I’m sure didn’t help.

In any event, it’s not my problem until it’s actually my problem. And I’m not giving that crazy broad any more money, she was a horrible landlord who cut abundant corners in the upkeep of her house, our apartment (and herself).

Karma can be quite a bitch, I’m so curious how her situation will turn out, and his.

I kinda want to go on Judge Judy though. If THAT is going to happen I am on board, I’d be a goddamn super star on that show.

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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

Sigh.

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…

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”.

click.

The Moving Chronicles: Part One

Boxes Packed: 10
Boxes Moved: 8
Recovered Items: 4.5
Beverages: 3 beers, 1 martini
Broken Items (as of 10:30 PM): ZERO

Today was a wild success, especially considering the first time I moved I was doing 85 down the Cross Island Parkway with a mattress sticking out the back window of my ex boyfriend’s barely-street-legal Durango (I’m pretty sure I took it without him knowing), hung over, and the last time I moved I spent the 4 days up to it watching tv and drinking beeeeeeeehas, smashing (at least) 11 pint glasses.

I had boxes this time. Boxes! And tape. AND a marker.

Granted, it took me 3 hours to even get started – 2 hours to find a home depot and 1 hour to remind myself if I was tipsy by the time Mom swung by to help me out, she’d kick my butt.

I didn’t kill my landlord, not even when she disturbed my packing groove to show the apartment to an unsuspecting woman (who she’s planning on over-charging), or asked me to stay another year.

I found 3 remote controls, 5 nail clippers, a broken digital camera (that’s the half), and 5 rolls of Christmas wrapping paper. I made friends with my new Super, and the lady a few apartments down invited me over for wine when I move in.

I don’t know if it was one of those “I’m just being polite and don’t really mean it” invites, but I don’t care. I’m going anyway.

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.