Arg. Today is the day from hell.
Our tenant upstairs from me is a right bitch. She hasn't paid her rent for a month+ now or half of her damage deposit -- she owes us a total of $1300. And she's slowly moving out -- but I have no keys to upstairs and she's been taking her sweet ass time getting her shit out of there. So today I tell her I need her keys, forwarding address and all her shit gone by the end of the day.
"I'll be out by the 15th, like I told your mom."
You told the police you'd be out by the 15th of May, but whatever. "You haven't paid the rent, [name omitted]."
"I gave your mom $200 dollars."
So....? "That's not the rent."
"Yeah, well, she knew I wasn't going to pay it and she's known it for way longer than you've been in the picture." *storms off*
I neglected to remind her that I've been in the picture for 22 years and will be for a while yet. Furthermore, I'm the director of the company that owns the property, so I'm equal parts landlady with my mom. ARG.
Anyway, we'll be calling a locksmith soon, and I'm moving her shit out for her. Into the car-port. I would put it out into the rain, but I don't feel like dealing with her if it gets damaged. And then I can clean the place and rent it out, or maybe sell the fucking house.
AND I HAVE NO ACCESS TO A WASHER AND DRYER WHILE THIS IS GOING ON. I SWEAR TO GODS, THE CONSTANT SAGA OF MY LIFE IS NEVER HAVING CLEAN CLOTHING BECAUSE SOME ASSHOLE IS FUCKING WITH MY RIGHT TO A WASHER AND GODDAMN DRYER.
I would use the laundrette, but that takes money, which is something I don't have. (Literally. I don't have change for the laundrette.) And I would use my mom's washer and dryer, except the washer is waiting for a part and a fix-up and so won't in commission for a week. The dryer works, but handwashing...? Like, a week's worth. If I spent all my time doing it. ALL my time. I literally have two and a half full hampers of dirty laundry, I'm down to two pairs of underwear, and re-wearing bras till I really shouldn't even anymore. I'm out of outfits. I have clothes, but nothing nice, nothing to look good in, except my winter clothes, which it's too hot for. The only washer and dryer that work that I can use are upstairs, in the front porch area of the upstairs suite, and which she has not given me keys for.
You know what happened when she first moved in there? She thought the clothing I was washing belonged to the former tenant and so she trashed it. I got there in time to rescue my work clothing, but some of my favorite outfits never recovered.
I'm ready to kill the bitch. No jury would convict me.
SO. I go to get my shit done, i.e. distributing Immanence to Lund, which is a good 20-30 klicks north of town. Quite a trip. I get there. Half the places have the June Issue already, WHICH OF COURSE NO ONE TOLD ME BECAUSE WHY WOULD I NEED TO KNOW THAT? But the other half don't have the issue, which makes me wonder WHO THE FUCK did such a poor-ass job. I mean, jesusfuck, if you're going out to fucking LUND you may as well hit up EVERYTHING out there. Make the trip worthwhile. So I distribute to the places that don't have it and now I'm out of magazines and sitting down writing this blog entry, because if I don't rant somewhere I'll kill something. Or someone. Or EVERYONE IN THE WORLD.
It's called going postal. And as Moist von Lipwig can tell you, there's a reason for that title.
Our tenant upstairs from me is a right bitch. She hasn't paid her rent for a month+ now or half of her damage deposit -- she owes us a total of $1300. And she's slowly moving out -- but I have no keys to upstairs and she's been taking her sweet ass time getting her shit out of there. So today I tell her I need her keys, forwarding address and all her shit gone by the end of the day.
"I'll be out by the 15th, like I told your mom."
You told the police you'd be out by the 15th of May, but whatever. "You haven't paid the rent, [name omitted]."
"I gave your mom $200 dollars."
So....? "That's not the rent."
"Yeah, well, she knew I wasn't going to pay it and she's known it for way longer than you've been in the picture." *storms off*
I neglected to remind her that I've been in the picture for 22 years and will be for a while yet. Furthermore, I'm the director of the company that owns the property, so I'm equal parts landlady with my mom. ARG.
Anyway, we'll be calling a locksmith soon, and I'm moving her shit out for her. Into the car-port. I would put it out into the rain, but I don't feel like dealing with her if it gets damaged. And then I can clean the place and rent it out, or maybe sell the fucking house.
AND I HAVE NO ACCESS TO A WASHER AND DRYER WHILE THIS IS GOING ON. I SWEAR TO GODS, THE CONSTANT SAGA OF MY LIFE IS NEVER HAVING CLEAN CLOTHING BECAUSE SOME ASSHOLE IS FUCKING WITH MY RIGHT TO A WASHER AND GODDAMN DRYER.
I would use the laundrette, but that takes money, which is something I don't have. (Literally. I don't have change for the laundrette.) And I would use my mom's washer and dryer, except the washer is waiting for a part and a fix-up and so won't in commission for a week. The dryer works, but handwashing...? Like, a week's worth. If I spent all my time doing it. ALL my time. I literally have two and a half full hampers of dirty laundry, I'm down to two pairs of underwear, and re-wearing bras till I really shouldn't even anymore. I'm out of outfits. I have clothes, but nothing nice, nothing to look good in, except my winter clothes, which it's too hot for. The only washer and dryer that work that I can use are upstairs, in the front porch area of the upstairs suite, and which she has not given me keys for.
You know what happened when she first moved in there? She thought the clothing I was washing belonged to the former tenant and so she trashed it. I got there in time to rescue my work clothing, but some of my favorite outfits never recovered.
I'm ready to kill the bitch. No jury would convict me.
SO. I go to get my shit done, i.e. distributing Immanence to Lund, which is a good 20-30 klicks north of town. Quite a trip. I get there. Half the places have the June Issue already, WHICH OF COURSE NO ONE TOLD ME BECAUSE WHY WOULD I NEED TO KNOW THAT? But the other half don't have the issue, which makes me wonder WHO THE FUCK did such a poor-ass job. I mean, jesusfuck, if you're going out to fucking LUND you may as well hit up EVERYTHING out there. Make the trip worthwhile. So I distribute to the places that don't have it and now I'm out of magazines and sitting down writing this blog entry, because if I don't rant somewhere I'll kill something. Or someone. Or EVERYONE IN THE WORLD.
It's called going postal. And as Moist von Lipwig can tell you, there's a reason for that title.
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