I Need to Move

I am officially fed up. Those of you who have been following my blog know about the litany of horrors I've been subjected to at my crappy apartment. My horrible landlord bullied me and my roommates because we were students that were too poor to hire a lawyer and too busy with school to fight a lawsuit.

My landlord lowered the rent in September (for the month of October) because I had no hot water for 12 days and they were afraid I was going to move.

Today Mrs. Landlord called me and says I didn't send her enough rent money for November. "Oh no, you misunderstood. The discount was just for October only. The regular rent applies from now on."

I kept living here because of the discount. She certainly gave me the impression that the discount was permanent because they were selling the house and couldn't get anyone else to rent.

Her husband happened to be at the house when she originally offered me the discount by phone in September. I immediately typed up a revised rental agreement and had her husband sign it because I didn't trust these people. I was right.

The landlady tried to weasel out of our agreement by saying, "I don't know anything about my husband signing any papers."

I gave him a copy to take home. It's not my fault he lost it. I can send you another copy.

"Well, the house is in my name. I take care of everything for the house. He can't make deals with you."

Then why is he willing to sign agreements?

"No, no, the discount is just for October. You need to send me more money now."

That's not fair. By signing, your husband told me I would pay the discounted rate perpetually. If you disagreed, you should have notified me right away, until waiting for me to pay for another month.

Her justification for charging me extra was "Oh woe is me. I have $800 in bills a month and your rent won't cover it."

Your money management problems are not my problem.

She continued to whine, "You know, your water bill was $400."

Um, that's only because you didn't pay for months, until the utility company shut off my water.

"I pay $85 a month so you can have internet."

That's a flat out lie. For $85 a month I should have data packets being delivered to me by cherubs carrying silver platters.

I read her the riot act. I told her the lack of communication between her and her husband was not my problem and I was fully paid for the month. I am not sending her any more rent money.

I'm sure these bastards will "forget" to pay the utilities this month again in retaliation. I'm moving. I would rather live in a cheap motel than deal with people who barge in unannounced. (Earlier this month they sent a repairman over with his own key. He unlocked the door and walked into my apartment without knocking while I was home). I'm going to store my belongings at my parents' house and live with the bare necessities.

Too bad I couldn't have decided this before I paid for November. December will find me in a new address.

Panic in the Kitchen

I have a classmate who is a man of intimidating size, but is a complete sissy.

He was cutting meat in his kitchen when he saw a large cockroach. His reaction was to run screaming out of his home while still clutching the utensil he had in his hand.

I think his neighbors were a bit nervous about seeing a 300 pound man shrieking and waving a knife.

Six Things Meme

I am not fond of memes. They remind me of chain letters. However, I have been tagged by Rae at The Notice, and she is a very nice, persuasive person and I can't hurt her feelings.

Here are the Rules:

1. Link to the person who tagged you
2. Post the rules on your blog
3. Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself
4. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs
5. Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.


1. My left pinky finger is the same length as my right index toe.

2. At this moment I have 3 cases of bottled water in my bedroom because I drink water like a camel.

3. I am going to make chocolate chip cookies with orange sprinkles tomorrow night because I can't wait until Halloween.

4. I wash face towels after every use, bath towels after every other use, and hand towels weekly.

5. Everyone thinks my white laptop is a Mac, but it's a PC.

6. There is a plate of doughnuts on my nightstand, but they are not really edible.

Rules were meant to be broken. I don't want to deny anyone the pleasure of doing this meme if they choose to, so I'm not going to choose 6 and exclude all the others. =)

Blue Man Group Shenanigans

Earlier in the year I was invited to see the Blue Man Group's How to Be a Megastar show. (If you haven't seen the show I highly recommend it. I cannot accurately describe its fantasticness in mere words).

My friend Karen knew one of the tech guys for the show, and he offered to get us complimentary tickets. My thoughts were, "Really? But the show's sold out, right? Whhhhheeee! Wheeeeeee! Squeeeee!"

I would have been happy with any seat, even seats in the nosebleed section, so when we picked up tickets at Will Call that were printed "Floor 3" I had absolutely no problem with this.

However, once inside the arena, the ushers directed us to really prime seats in the front. "Floor 3" didn't mean seats on the third level. It meant seats on the floor, next to the stage, in section 3! My reaction was "Wheeee! I wouldn't have been able to afford an $86 ticket. Wheeee! Wait, we won't get food thrown on us right? Wooooooo!"

But here's the really really fun part: We had backstage passes! I've never had one of those, so I wasn't sure how they worked. I assumed a large group of the audience would be herded into a back room to watch the performers be interviewed by the press, or something.

However, we actually got to meet, take pictures with, and get autographs from the Blue Man Group and their back-up band and vocalists. Everyone was very friendly for people who were probably exhausted and dying to take a shower.

Wheeeeee!

The Blue Man Group remained in character throughout the meet and greet. They were completely silent and did not sign names. Instead, they smudged blue greasepaint onto papers as their "autographs." (One Blue Man kissed my paper and gave me lovely blue lip prints). They also blessed a bald fan by putting a blue palmprint on his head.

The backstage activities lasted about 20 minutes, and then the performers and audience left. However, since my friend Karen knew the tech guy, he took us to the tourbus area.

I wonder if anyone who saw us heading towards the back thought, "Those are some weird, non-skanky-looking groupies there." (We heard rumors that the show was sometimes messy, so I wore comfy jeans, beat-up tennis shoes, a turtleneck and a windbreaker).

Mr. Tech took us to the bus he shared with 8 other tech guys. "Welcome to the coffin box."

It was a very nice RV with marble counters, leather couches and DVD screens in all the bunk beds, but it was still very cramped for 6 months on the road. He told us that since it was a male tech bus, they actually had a subscription to the Playboy channel. You could find out who was hiding in his bunk by turning off the main TV, which was connected to the smaller bunk screens. The way to get a guy out of his bunk was to cut off the Playboy access.

There was a very small toilet in the RV. The tech guy warned us, "You can go number 1 in there, but we're not allowed to go number 2."

What?

"Yeah, the toilet isn't designed for that. If we have to go, we have to hold it until the next stop."

Ew.

Still, it was a fabulous evening, and definitely a great experience!

Extreme Recycling

Since the economy started going into the tank, people have been swapping Great Depression stories in the lab.

One lady's great-aunt survived the Depression through intense frugality, which she still practices today. She refuses to throw away anything that could be of use again, including greeting cards.

When my labmate graduated high school her great-aunt sent her a card that said "Congratulations on graduating from nursing school!"

The elderly woman carefully crossed out "nursing" and wrote "high" underneath it.

She also blotted out the name of the previous recipient of the card, and wrote my friend's name over it.

Creepo

I'm starting to think my boyfriend's new roommate is a serial killer, or at least someone with severe social phobia.

Silent Boy never speaks to us. When we enter the apartment we can hear him close his bedroom door to avoid us. He has his own bathroom, and keeps food in his room so he doesn't need to leave. Sometimes he's so quiet we don't know he's home. Often, my boyfriend doesn't see him for days. They communicate through notes and checks taped to the doors: "This month's electricity bill is $34.54."

We know he's avoiding us because if Silent Boy comes home while we are already present, he rushes past us and goes into his room without saying hello.

Should I be afraid?

Some People Never Learn

Remember the roommate who dumped her boyfriend because he was a philandering, alcoholic, compulsive gambler who threatened her?

They have rekindled their relationship.

I had trouble believing this until she started posting lovey-dovey pictures on Facebook again.

Ugh. Good luck dear.

Daddy I Want a Solid Gold Pony

My friend's sorority sister got married over a year ago. She planned her wedding, picked out a lavish gown and high-society caterer, then asked her father for $70,000.

He looked at her budget and said, "If you can cut the wedding costs down to $20,000 I will give you $50,000 cash for a down payment for a house."

Instead of considering the offer, or even negotiating for a $35,000 wedding and $35,000 cash, she said, "No Daddy. I want the whole $70,000 for the wedding."

He gave her the money and she had her party.

A year later, older and wiser, she now says, "I should have taken the house money."

You think?

Neighbors from Hell

My co-worker was very pleased the other day. She did a happy dance when her neighbors moved out.

She's African American, and lived next door to virulently racist white supremacists.

They lived in a house that was so run-down, part of the building was covered with plastic tarp to prevent rainwater from coming in. Because there was no air conditioning, and the ventilation was so poor (despite the gaping holes), during the summer the tenants camped in a tent in the backyard.

On top of that, the Neo-Nazis believed it was their "Christian duty" thing to invite homeless people to stay with them.

Their guests stayed in a rusty, non-mobile mobile home situated in their yard (which was visible from the street). They ran big tubes (presumably containing sewage) from the trailer into their house.

The health department even came to investigate them. Twice.

My co-worker is quite happy the house is being torn down now.

Story Time

When I was in high school I entered a writing contest with a satirical story about two bumblers trying to solve a murder mystery. I spent lots of time creating quirky characters with clever lines, making obscure literary references, editing and polishing my work.

I never heard back from the contest sponsors regarding that story.

The next year, when the contest was announced again, I thought about re-entering. Then I remember all the time I spent writing last year's story without even a "Thank you for trying" note.

I decided, "The contest is probably judged by a group of elderly people with no sense of humor. They want something poignant and emotional and blah blah blah."

I sat down at the computer and banged out a story in 45 minutes, written from the perspective of a 12-year old boy. The dialogue was simplistic, the characters were two-dimensional and the plot was predictable. After looking at the finished product I thought, "Geez, this is the worst story I've ever written. There's no wit or cynicism. Where's the snark?"

Fueled by apathy (if that is even possible), I sent it in anyway.

Guess what? I won first place.

I even double-checked the letter and envelope to make sure it was really addressed to me. Until I got my prize money and a certificate with my name and story title printed on it, I had this gnawing fear that they would realize they made a mistake and rescind the prize.

I made $1000 in 45 minutes. (Holy crap I wish that could happen again!)

I was 17, and that was an enormous sum of money to me. Of course, I entered college a few months later and spent $800 on textbooks the first semester.

Oh well, it was good while it lasted.

Wedding Bells Keep Ringing

I went to 3 weddings this summer, and I am attending a fourth one this weekend.

Just today, another friend announced her engagement. Plus, two other couples got engaged in September.

It's a conspiracy, I tell you.

But if there's food, I'm not complaining.