it's been brought

We got our "damage deposit" back today; not "security deposit" as most places call it, even as our leases called it, but "damage." They kept well over half of it, charging us for things they are completely ridiculous. I'm angry. I'm furious. I have taken quite a while to calm down to the point that my hands have stopped shaking. So, yeah, I might have to sue the landlords. These 2 individuals are the closest for me "hating" someone as I have ever had and, unfortunately, that's a tough competition. I'm going to walk my dog and breathe...a lot!

Bring it on "bee-ches"

So yesterday there was this feeling, a feeling of relief (now I'm having "Pee in the Woods" running through my head--it's a song. No I didn't write it). We got the couch out of the basement and, despite Stuff and Goodwill both turning it down (yes, both stores are obviously on crack. It's a good couch!), we put it on the street to find a new home, albeit a ghetto home. *attention, the rest of this post is a rant, an ordinal, ranking rant (yes, ordinal and ranking)*

Anyway, this morning I put the keys in a card and provided the landlords with the new address so they can send us our money. Well, while Matt was in the shower, and I already at work, She-landlord called and left a message that they wanted to know what the status of the house was, the couch, when we could do a 'walk through' and that the lawn needed to be mowed "like it was when (we) moved in." First off, yes, they were in our old place yesterday before we ever gave them keys or anything so that's how they knew to mention the couch. Second, we have never had to do a walk-through before and have always gotten our deposit back. Third, when we moved in, someone was already living next door and they mowed the lawn. It was not and I repeat NOT mowed in celebration of our entry into that piece of crap property! Matt, recognizing that I am the more diplomatic of the two of us (don't know where he gets that from) asked if I wouldn't return her call since, on the message, She-landlord addressed it to me. I returned the call, but He-landlord answered the phone. I told him the couch was out, the keys were on their way to their home, that we did not have time to do a 'walk through' and that the lawnmower had been moved to our new home and we had no way of taking it back to the ghetto. His response, "so the grass will be long." (Um, yeah.) My response "I have no way of getting it cut." So he said, "well, alright, we'll take a look and get back to you."

Okay, so first things first....They suck as landlords and, by my guess, as people in general. Second, what the frickin' deuce?! The people that are moving into our place won't be here until August and I'm pretty tootin' sure that the grass will have grown by then. Third, the grass cutting was not on our move-out checklist, which in itself was pretty ridiculous. Fourth, the checklist is not listed in our lease and neither is the walk-through. So while I am glad to be done with them and hope to never have to see them ever, ever, ever, again, I secretly hope they do something stupid so that I (with Tenant Landlord Act in hand) can give them a legal F&*K YOU! (Teehee)

Ahhhhhhhh

That's the sound of freedom, folks. Freedom from evil, crooked landlords who believe they have the right to do what they want; landlords who don't hold up their end of the bargain but fully expect their tenants to do theirs.

Tomorrow is a happy day. First, it's Friday. Second, it is the day before the birthday of one of our ladies at work, one of our wonderful ladies at work, which means lots of yummy treats will descend upon her. I just ordered a dozen of the most delicious muffins to take in. I feel bad for not cooking, but I just got home (and it's 9:35 pm) after getting the couch out of the ghetto. That ended up being more of a feat than I ever thought it would. Funny how the phrase "taking the door off the hinges" means something entirely different to Matt than it does to me. In my mind, it means taking the pins out of the hinges; to Matt it means unscrewing the hinges from the frame of the door. Guess which one takes longer... :) It was a bonus because Meganne's Matt and E-flat came to help. Meganne's Matt helped me rehang the door and E-flat helped get the ole' couch out of the basement.
I have to admit that E-flat is a loyal friend. He's the type of person that drops whatever he's doing to lend his truck, muscles and insights into moving furniture. His only flaw is that he can be a "hellicopter friend." (a phrase I got from Molly) That means, he tends to hover frequently. In our case, he calls to see if Matt will play Texas Hold'em, Risk, Basketball, and other obscure games. At times, it's super-fun, but most times he calls on days where we want to lay low and hang out together. So Matt's off to hang out with E-flat and the gang; his payment for the assistance in moving. I have several acts of contrition to do for Meganne's Matt. Word to the wise, it's not a good idea to swear in front of a pastor (current or future), especially in German, when he's Lutheran. Ooops, double-oops, and triple-oops.
I'm betting I'll sleep well tonight. :)
-peace, love and health

Almost done...

One of my friends from work, who lives near the 'hood apartment, asekd me today if she lived in the ghetto. She felt she lived about 5 blocks away from the edge of the ghetto, an approximation with which I concur, but it made me think and somehow I was able to quantify whether or not she lives in the hood. Granted, I had to paraphrase Jeff Foxworthy (which scares me just a little), but here's what I came up with:

If your street (and neighboring streets) appear on the Daily Activity Log of the Police at least 5 times or more per week, you live in the ghetto.

So to make sure this was an appropriate assessment, I went through the blotter for the last few days and, sure enough, there is at least one listing per day of my former street. And I thought 5 was a high number.

It's been a hard day's night...

and I've been working like a dog...
Today I spent over 5 hours cleaning and it wasn't even the new place; it was the ghetto. We received a ridiculously detailed list to clean from the Landlords which includes washing the windows inside and out. Um, there are screens on the windows and no way to remove them to wash the outside. Plus, I'm pretty sure that has never happened. Still, I did a lot of work. We vacuumed every room, edges of the room, baseboards, registers and then there was the kitchen. I rinsed out the cabinets, cleaned the top of the stove, cleaned under the lid of the stove including the underside of the lid. The oven was my biggest challenge (and only injury--I burned my pinky) as there was something crusted on the bottom that I scrubbed off. Then I cleaned the refrigerator, which now looks like brand new. I finished by getting on my hands and knees and scrubbing the floor with a brush about six inches long and 2-1/2 inches wide. Needless to say, I didn't get it all done, but you can tell where I stopped. So tomorrow I envision myself cleaning the rest of the kitchen floor and completing some of the requests (Who ever asks tenants to wash/wipe down doors?) It looks like the rest of the night will consist of a long shower, curling up with a blanket and Ibuprofen, lots of it. Bet I sleep well tonight.
peace and love

crooked, crooked landlords

We have 6 days until we have to officially turn over our keys to the ghetto abode, but I am hoping to make it sooner. The past few weeks Ken and Lisa have shared their saga of the "Security Deposit" and given me even more insight into recognizing what conniving people our former landlords are. Monday I went over to try to do some cleaning and get more stuff out of the place. I knew Mr. Landlord had been in to install additional smoke detectors (he asked Matt about it), but the first thing I noticed once I walked in was the lighted ceiling fan attached to the living room ceiling, a new addition to a room that previously had no lighting. So I cleaned the bathroom floor, scrubbing around the base and washed the baseboards. This morning (after all the rain), we got a call from Mrs. Landlord (who I'd rather give a much less flattering name) saying that because of the rain, Mr Landlord might be in the property to check on flooding in the basement, because other places were having problems. Matt dropped me off at work and headed over to do some cleaning and get the last few things out. When he got there every door in our apartment was unlocked and open. The screen door on the side of our house was not even latched and no one was around; no minivan, no truck, no Mr. or Mrs. Landlord! (Some of the items still in the house included Matt's computer) Matt called me because he was so very, very mad that he knew he would say something inappropriate if he called, so I did it. I called and ended up talking with their daughter who said she would pass on the message and have them call Matt; no one ever did.
THEN I got a call from Lisa. After giving Mr./Mrs. Landlord a significant hard time about the 30 days (that ended yesterday), she got her security deposit back minus the carpet-cleaning fee. That, I was happy about. Then I got an additional tidbit of information about Mrs. Landlord, she conveyed to Lisa that she wasn't worried about having to do work on the apartment after they moved out, but said she thought she would have to do "a lot of work" on our place. What the hell?! Nothing like getting slammed by a lying, cheating, stealing slumlord.
So needless to say, I was tempted to leave the place in as horrible a condition as I could, so she wouldn't be disappointed, but I think I am going to clean it up, take a crapload of pictures and sue the holy hell out of them if they try to keep any of my money. But unlike Ken and Lisa, I am not going to let them know about my knowledge (or possession) of the Tenant Landlord Act. I'll let them dig their own graves. They've done a pretty good job of screwing themselves my moving crap into their other places. They're not keeping my honest money.
Now to sell the downstairs couch...

new paint job

I know this last week is gonna be a doozie! "How do I know this?" you may ask. That's simple, catboy got a paint job. Judging from the outcome, I can be pretty sure it wasn't professional work. The best part is this time I actually saw cars slow down and stop while driving down our street. I watched as passengers' heads stuck out the windows of vehicles driving by, careening to see what the heck was wrong with that car. That's actually a first. I mean, I figured in the past this happened, but I actually got the opportunity to witness it several times today.
Now there's a question about whether this new coat has some hidden meaning behind it. Is it a comment on the dichotomy between good and evil; happy and sad; heaven and hell (per his previous magnet)? I don't know. I find it ingenuitive to incorporate his former decorations into this new aesthetic covering. Yes, he did divide the doll's face in half. I didn't get a close enough look to check the cat's head, but pretty sure he was consistent. Just another fun day perhaps. Or maybe he was bored. Anything is possible. Still, it's scary that he works with people who have cognitive delays. You be the judge.

ah, the countdown..so sweet

The hood is in full bloom today; one of those days where you hope for rain. It started with Little Miss Ho-ho. I think she lives across the street, but can't be sure because she seems to "travel" around the neighborhood. Little Miss Ho-ho is the nickname my former neighbors gave her and it, to speak Southern-ly, ain't got nothin' to do with Christmas. She appeared to be quite upset with someone because I could hear her screaming into her cell phone through my windows and over the television. Plus, her emphasis was not lost when her breasts tried to jump out of the gold lamay, bikini top with cotton stomach shirt she was wearing. She was soon joined by people I believe also live in her place and a car where another woman got out to start the screaming-match. Once that ended, Little Miss Ho-ho and her friend walked down the block and back, apparently still perturbed. I could still hear their conversation when they returned some 30 minutes later. Now there's just the random mini-van with men hanging out. That I can live with, especialy since my house and windows aren't vibrating. Yet, I'm still looking forward to the exodus, counting down the days, packing the boxes with glee...for now, that is, while Katie screams in the yard next door.

counting down

20 days to go...the fact that I can count the number of days on each of my fingers and toes, without repeating, makes me sooooo very happy. Especially knowing I'll be gone for half that amount of time for 2-bits wedding. Deep down inside I'm sure I'll miss the greetings from people walking in front of my house yelling "whaddup my nigga*" followed by cursing to the house 2 doors down (*I am quoting verbatim, not using an ugly n-word. I did grow up in the South and know the power of such words when used in a different way). Currently, I am able to hear several teenage males yelling/laughing/cursing in that driveway through closed windows, over the sounds of the television and my fingers clicking on a keyboard (this group hasn't earned a nickname...yet). Thinking of all of this, I don't think I'll miss it, except the nicknames and the stories people often don't believe to be true. I won't miss feeling the need to check the police blotter regularly. I might even forget how to do it. Now that will be a happy day. In other news, catboy has worked several days this week sans scary car. I wonder if it was damaged or his employers finally figured out that it was a freaky vehicle and provided him with an alternative.
On the rampage front, Matt did officially apologize this morning. Yes, two days after the fact, but he takes a while to "digest" everything and think through it completely. He's such a wonderful man (99.25% of the time) that when he messes up (that .75%) it tends to be something that flies all over me.
I would like to ask anyone who reads this to please pray for Kennis. She is not doing well and her disease may have progressed and is now possibly causing seizures and paralysis. Her family is so strong, but this is one more battle I didn't want them to have to fight.
-peace, love, health

a rumble with Thumper

Last night I finally decided I had had enough of Thumper and the shaking windows, vibrating floorboards, etc. Wait... first, I actually was fed up a few weeks ago. And I knew that she responded with "You need to get out of my face" when Ken asked her to turn her music down when she got to the house-- a month or more ago. I figured since they go to bed at 8, they wouldn't really hear here, but apparently it was one of her stronger nights. I decided that flashing the porch light, leaving a note on her car (passive-aggressive, I know) and people who live here actually talking to her was not going to work. So I called the company that's responsible for the boys next door. I simply asked the receptionist if she could ask the "young lady that comes in at 10 to turn her radio down." All I said was that it shakes the windows of my house and has woken us up. Apparently, that did nothing to quell her need for seismic sound...back to last night. Matt has descended into his usual--passing out on the couch before going to bed--and was on the verge of snoring. Almost exactly 10 p.m. we heard the thump, thump, thump of someone's radio and by "we" I mean she woke him up and we both heard her card pull into the driveway and sit there. So I looked out the side door and she had parked behind the evening caregiver's car (who, by the way, is completely normal and fairly cordial--there's at least 2 non-freaks). She then backed out of the driveway, pulled in front of our house and waited for this kid to leave, then slowly backed into the driveway. I stood the doorway (darkened) and waited patiently for her to get out of her car. She saw me standing in there and, from what I could tell, mentally prepared herself for a confrontation. When she did get out, she proceeded to brace herself against her car in a quasi-aggressive manner. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Excuse me, Miss...
Her: Look, I don't know why all you people think my radio's loud; I don't think it is.
Me: I understand that, but...
Her: If it bothers you I'm sorry, but it must be the bass in my car, but I don't think it's loud.
Me: Yes, sometimes it is but...
Her: well, I don't think it's a problem. It's not anything louder than your dog out barking, bothering people.
Me: actually it's quite different...
Her: Look, I only have a week and a half left, then you won't have to worry about me any more.
Me: The problem is that you woke up my husband and...
Her: Like I said, I'm sorry if it bothers you, but I don't think it's loud (walks away)
Me: All I'm trying to say is that it's disrespectful to the people who live here...
Matt: it is so loud, it shakes our windows, bitch! (He's got such a way with words and is so diplomatic.)
Me: Matt, don't cuss at her.
So now we'll have to wait and see what happens tonight. I didn't hear her this morning, for which I am very grateful (considering past 5:30 a.m. wake-up tunes). It will be interesting to see if she does anything in this next week and a half to be considerate (doubt it) or turn it up more (better chance). I realize it's a petty thing, but I'm proud of myself for my being able to contain my need to revert to the ugly side I'd really like to show. I'm tempted to apologize to her tonight for Matt cursing at her only I'm not sure she'll even give me the chance to say more than 2-3 words in a row...oh well, 30 days 'til we move, 9 days until she's done, which means 20 days of peace at 10 p.m.
peace, love and health

The neighbors

I realized I've never really written about the excitment of our neighborhood. First, we live in the ghetto, which for our town isn't saying as much as, say, a big city like New York on Chicago. Still, it's the part of town that when you say the street name, you get the "oh, yeah" response from people who may be vaguely familiar with the town. So far we've given many nicknames to our neighbors. We'll start with the closest ones first.
We live next door to a young man with developmental delays who has 24-hour caregivers. He's a great kid, but some of the people who take care of him are interesting, to say the least. My current two favorites are catboy and thumper. Thumper is the easiest to describe. She's the night worker who takes her time backing into the driveway while the bass in her car rattles the windows, walls and floorboards of our house, thus her name . Catboy is definitely the more interesting of the two. Catboy is the nickname we gave to the rather hippy-ish guy who seems to be there all the time. He earned the name when he drove to "work" one day with a cat head mounted on the roof of his car. This cat head isn't fake, mind you, and has proceeded to decay for the past several months. It's freaky, very freaky! After the cat head, I don't think he really cared too much any more because then he added spray paint followed by random things glued on the hood and roof including but not limited to: bobble-head dolls, army men, action figures, plastic snakes, a plastic lion's head, pennies,a Jesus figure, a magnet that asked "If you died tonight where will you be going: Heaven or Hell?" and a cow/dog/goat skull. I know I'm forgetting some but it's an extensive list. The newest addition is some sort of Barbie doll bust, the kind little girls do hair and make-up on, over and over again. It's always interesting to see what "modifications" he's going to make each day.








Because there's no real way to describe his vehicle (other than pictures) I decided to take a few.
Plus, once we're in the new neighborhood and I complain about something ridiculously trivial, I'll remember these pictures. Looking at the picture on the right, you'll see the cat head--mouth open, eyes staring straight like a black cat on Halloween (or a cat about to be hit by a car)--notice that Homer and a gorilla are hanging with it, along with at least 7 cents.

happy day

Molly and I both got our jobs! I wish I had exuded with the same excitement she had (jumping up and down), but I would have dropped my lunch and scared Dr G, though in hindsight I wish I had. We are both extremely excited about being gainfully employed AND making more money than we have in the past months. Friday's sushi lunch will taste even better. With the job security and moving out of the ghetto I'm sure my life will become incredibly boring. Yet, that is something I am looking forward to enjoying. I don't think I'll miss the bicycle idiots, catboy and his car, thumper, mohawk man, mama, papa, little miss ho-ho, or any of the other exciting events and people we've experienced over the last 3 years. I imagine Sydne will become less neurotic and we'll be able to teach her not to bark when the UPS or FedEx guys delivers a package. I think our family will be happy all the way around, just less exciting.