On the Road Again...

I was a little skeptical when I opened the mailbox and saw a FedEx envelope addressed to me AND Spliff because, in reality, we don’t get much in the mail that is addressed to both of us and when we do, it usually makes me feel more like I have a life partner than I joke about on the daily. But when I opened it, I didn’t expect what the letter read. I wasn’t expecting words of a psychopath.

No, it isn’t a stalker or anything like that, but close. Just our psychotic landlord.

We’ve had issues ever since we moved in. The bitch downstairs is completely insane and, despite the fact that she wakes up at 7 on the weekends and blasts horrible music (read: Justin Timberlake’s new album), cannot tolerate it when we watch television and turn it up loud enough that we can actually hear it…(although it is a comfort to know that our television does not bother her when we are watching the same thing that SHE is watching. A total relief , right? So at the very least, we know that if we are watching something that is in her bad taste, we won’t get the landlord called on us.) I personally think that she is a little pissed off that a) she is hideous, b) she has ginormous thighs, and c) her boyfriend is a silent, fat idiot. These are all serious reasons to be bitter, but honestly? You want to take it out on your upstairs neighbors? The ones who, because of an incident involving forgotten keys and some middle of the night knocking, you don’t like?

These are the complaints registered by Ms. Fat Thighs:
1. They always hear screaming.
2. Spliff is repeatedly outside at 2 or 3 in the morning, trotting around the yard, looking for her cat.
3. That our TV is too loud.

Oh, but I have rebuttals, Fat Thighs…yes…yes I do. And they go a little something like this:
1. Screw you, bitch, we screamed on ONE occasion (A MONTH AGO) because we were watching “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” (the original, which neither of us had ever seen) and Leatherface jumped out and we got a little…frightened. Okay, so we screamed simultaneously. ONE FUCKING TIME, you stupid, ugly bitch. But that doesn’t make us heathens. And it really wasn’t necessary for you to bang on the ceiling with your broom. Because, seriously, it was 11…on a fucking Saturday.
2. Remember when Bridget had a STRAW through her FACE? Do you think that Spliff would let her out when it is dark, knowing that she could potentially have to be “Strawface” again? Seriously? She lets her out for like a half an hour a day and ONLY when it is still light out, you dumb whore.
3. Ummm…why are you so concerned with our TV? I can hear you having sex with your dumbass boyfriend, but I haven’t called the landlord on YOU. And honestly? Justin FUCKING Timberlake? If you are planning to blast music at 7am, couldn’t you at least pick something that 12-year-olds aren’t flocking out to buy? Like…I dunno…ANYTHING???

So, here’s the deal: In November, there was an instance where Party Boy left his keys in our apartment and after I locked the door, he started knocking. I couldn’t hear the knocking because I was in my room (at the back of the house, upstairs, and the door is downstairs) and didn’t answer in the allotted 2 seconds. Fat Thighs came out and yelled at me, to which I responded with SINCERE apologies. Instead of being a normal fucking person, Fat Thighs decided that she would call the landlord DESPITE my apologies. So, naturally, she writes us a letter telling us we are on a month to month lease. Neither me nor Spliff sign anything, but for some reason, she thinks she can just break our lease because of our “boisterous behavior”. Yes, she used those words.

Things had been fine since then…we thought. But evidently, we are loud 4 days out of the week for the last several weeks. Which is funny, because we have been home watching TV, which is evidently, part of the problem. So now, we find ourselves tomorrow seeking legal aide and changing the locks. Because evidently, the psycho landlord thinks she is going to show this apartment while we are still living in it and evicting us without actually going through the proper steps to do so. It really is lovely. Spliff’s grandfather is a landlord with several properties and he called her today to let her know that she can’t actually evict us with no evidence of any wrongdoing, which is true. But she is so “confused” (her own famous words) that she doesn’t know what she is talking about.

Psycho Bitch: If you are not an attorney, then I am not speaking to you anymore.

Spliff’s Awesome Grandpa: Well, don’t worry, you’ll be hearing from one.

Seeing as he knows the rules, I am not really worried. Aside from that, he assured us that the last thing that a landlord wants is to hear from legal aide, which is full of young, vibrant, seriously naïve and go-getting young people.

What pisses me off? That I have to, AGAIN, find another apartment, and THIS TIME, for no reason other than Ms. Fat Thighs doesn’t like watching “ER” and has trouble distinguishing 6pm with 3am.

What pisses me off even more? Ms. Fat Thighs and her idiot boyfriend are moving out on the same day that we are supposed to be out of our apartment (which Psycho Bitch let slip with Spliff on the phone today), which means that she could raise the rent if we didn’t live here. Heh. How convenient?

Oh, you fucking assholes…you shouldn’t fuck with me, I have had a fucked up year.

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