I've missed two days of work this week with thanks to Ms. Fat Thighs and the pyscho landlord. I hate missing work for things that stress me out more than work does. Luckily, I am aware that karma is on my side. This time, at least.
So, here's the update:
I spent Wednesday scanning the newspaper for apartments to rent and then calling insane amounts of phone numbers in hopes of being shown some like...right fucking now...and I did get to see a few. Nothing fantastic and nothing as close to the beach as I would like, but all within the price range and ALL on the right side of "the ditch" when that was over, Spliff and I met some friends for too many margaritas and then a trip home with said friends to read the lease...over and over again...to my friend's mom (who works for the county clerk of courts). We got, yet another confirmation, that the psycho landlord cannot just tell change our lease...on a handwritten letter...that she took the care to post to our fridge...after ONE noise complaint that didn't involve cops. We also learned that she can't evict us in the same fashion either. (That one was pretty obvious, even to us.)
When we woke up Thursday morning, we had both planned to go to work, but after talking about it, we decided that we had better talk to someone at Legal Aid just to see if there was anything we could do about this. First, we wrote a letter stating that we didn't appreciate PL being in the apartment when we weren't there and that we (like we had already told her about 58 times before, would really be thrilled if she would just do what she needs to do when one of us is home. We told her that we felt that we were being treated unfairly and that we didn't deserve to be evicted for something that we didn't even know that we had done and that we would be speaking with a professional in order to make sure that everything is handled lawfully and respectfully by BOTH parties. We taped the letter to the front door. Clearly, she took it down and went inside anyway.
Of course, it was Legal Aid, so we got to talk to an intern. Was helpful by suggesting "off the record" that, in the time in between being contacted by an attorney, we file a formal complaint with the police. Honestly, we both thought that this would result in a bunch of pointing and laughing but after we left downtown and after we had lunch at the Jewish deli that I can only find when I am severely lost, we decided that it couldn't hurt to try and talk to the cops about it.
Since we knew that PL would be at the apartment "inspecting" at some point during the day, we decided to drive by and see if she was still there. And she was. So we drove right past and the 5 minutes down the road to the police station.
"We need to file a formal complaint."
"Against who? A roommate?"
"No. The landlord."
We went into the short version with the receptionist who told us to have a seat and that an officer would be out shortly. And he was. In under 5 minutes.
"What's going on, ladies?" he said with a toothpick hanging out of the right side of his mouth.
We told him how we had signed a ten month lease and received a letter regarding a noise complaint ten days after we moved in, stating that we were now on a month-to-month lease. We told him how we had just received another handwritten letter stating that we were to vacate by the end of March. We told him how we had never signed to make any changes to the lease, that there was now a FOR RENT sign in our yard, and that, despite having asked the PL not to come into the apartment when we aren't home, she was planning to start showing it to strangers whether we were home or not.
"Oh, NO, she can't do that. Get in the car. I'm gonna follow you."
And that was it. After all of the frustration, someone...the police, no less...were going to help. Spliff immediately started to cry and my knees almost wouldn't carry me to my car. But we got there, and got in and drove home, with two police cars in front of us and one behind. The two that were in front of me, pulled up right as she was locking our front door, then me, then the third. She stood there with a look of shock and fear on her face and didn't say anything for a long time. My first instinct was to stay in the car until the police had taken care of her, but once she started talking, I couldn't resist the urge to fire back.
"What are you doing here?" Officer Toothpick asked.
"I told them I was coming to inspect the apartment today."
"Why do you need to inspect the apartment today?"
"Because I am going to be showing it on Saturday."
"Did these ladies ask you not to come into the apartment when they aren't home?"
"You can't be in their apartment. You own the building, but they are leasing it."
"But they are moving out and I need to show it."
"Actually, according to their paperwork, they are leasing it until August."
HA! That's right, the cops stuck it to PL. It didn't stop her from arguing with me about the piece of illegal garbage that she called an eviction notice. Or the fact that we have never had any warnings or complaints directly to us. Or the fact that the police have never been called about our "boisterous behavior" and/or the "excessive noise" which was no doubt coming from our fucking television. It didn't matter. Officer Toothpick just rolled his eyes. And the other two cops who stood by and watched didn't say anything except once, in reply to a pointless comment she had made when he responded, "And what IS the price of eggs today?" Awesome. Completely priceless.
PL did tell the police that at the town hall meeting, a homeowner on the next street was so disappointed that the police didn't come when called that she was "literally CRYING...saying that she can't even get the police to come when the people next door are having all-night parties!" and that she was so impressed that they came to yell at a tiny, 60-year-old woman...Come on, lady...
Anyway, they made her agree not to come into our apartment if we aren't home and she cannot show our apartment at all, because legally, we still live her until August.
I'm not saying we're not moving, we would have to be crazy not to...but I AM saying that I showed THAT bitch what's up. Now I just have to wait until Ms. Fat Thighs starts vacuuming tomorrow morning at 9 while blasting that Justin Timberlake crap. Then I am calling the landlord. And the police. And the State Attorney. And hell, while I am at it, I'm gonna call Oprah.