I want to text my landlord and tell him, "Your house blew up. Call me." Or maybe I should tell him it blew away, or burned down. He won't respond to phone calls. He won't reply to emails that ask for his confirmation that he's gotten them. He doesn't answer notes left with the rent check.
Ever since I made the complaint about the maintenance man's inappropriate behavior, not only on the professional (professional-ha!) level, but personal level, my landlord has evaporated into thin air. He used to be an awesome guy who took care of every little thing. Now I can't get an affirmative that the furnace repairs from the flood have, indeed, been completed. I don't know if he cares that the kitchen sink and bathtub drains are slow. He hasn't replaced the filter on the sink for my drinking water. I fear the water spots on the ceilings from the roof leaking will be there until I move.
I don't know what else to do. There is absolutely NO response to any question, big or small. My lease is up. I'm wondering if I'm going to be getting the equivalent of a pink slip in my mailbox this week when he picks up the rent check. I'm peeved by the behavior. My last landlord threw me out in a fit of craziness that had no explanation, except some imbalance that turned her into the Jekyll and Hyde. My fear of the same happening again is understandable. However, I am a phenomenal renter. My rent is always on time, and I take care of my rental property as though it's my own. Wisconsin has "at-will" employment, and tenancy when there is no lease. This means a landlord can give a renter 30 days to vacate. If this happens, I will be devastated.
Meanwhile, I'm forced to deal with the infidel for repairs to my home. I think DSMM (DipShit Maintenance Man) knows not to pick up the phone when I call him, for I've been lucky in getting his voicemail. In return, I don't pick up my phone when it reads "Idiot" calling. Actually, it reads "idiot" since I didn't think he was worthy of a capital "I."
When DPMM hooked up my new (used) dryer after the flood, he must have done a half-assed job. The dryer was letting a lot of moisture into the basement. I didn't understand this. Until last week. Last week, I noticed the air vent hose flapping away at the back of the dryer. It was probably loose, and took a few months to come off completely. I had asked for notice when the DSMM would be entering the premises. I got none when he came in to fix the dryer. And yes, I am angry about this. At least he left the premises locked. Does this mean he got at least part of the memo?
Still, enduring his lame ethics and shoddy workmanship is annoying. It took three visits for him to hook up the washer correctly after he used my faucet to power wash the basement. (Yeah, I'll pay that water bill. Don't give me a credit on my rent for the water that went through my drain or got used to clean the entire basement).
I know in the scheme of big world problems, these are peanuts. Even so, this is my "Gool" and he's wrecking it. Hell, they are both wrecking it. I am loathe to call the Landlord-Tenant Agency, but I may have to if things don't change. I am looking for input on this matter. My work friends were quick to jump on the litigation path. As offended as I am by the behaviors of both the maintenance man and the landlord, I do not want to travel that route. I'm not sure if I should be scanning the rentals, or if my tenancy is safe here. The unknown is not fun. I have friends that admire the amount of moving I've done. "You little wanderer, you." I don't relish moving. And I truly love this place. If I have to move, I don't know where I'll land.
Maybe I'll try that text message to see if there's a response. "House gone. Plz call."
I did my laundry after I wrote this blog. Now that the hose is hooked up properly to the dryer, it's loose (off) at the top where it hooks into the metal shoot that takes the humid air outside. I left idiot a message. [sigh]
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
Grammar Lesson for Friday, September 12
I know. I know. It's mostly me. And it's mostly because I have always been a complete nerd about grammar, and spelling, and all things neat and organized. I'm a detail person, and yes, it is a curse. And no, I don't want you to pick apart all those commas and try to decide if that last sentence was a run-on, or if this one is, for that matter.
Okay. All kidding aside, I was aghast at a sign I read at a corporate chain restaurant in its drive-thru. ITS drive-thru. Do you see the proper form there? Apparently, Culver's does not have this information within its corporate offices. (Yes, I used the correct form AGAIN). I wish I'd had my camera. Their drive-thru has a sign that tells you that their food is: "worth it's wait for the freshness."
Herein lies the lesson. It's equals "it is." The apostrophe tells us that it is two words. It's two words. It is.
Its equals possession. "Worth its wait." Who owns the wait? The food and its freshness. The food is fresh. Thus we wait. It's worth its wait because it's (it is) fresh. Get it? The way the sign reads now means: Worth it is wait for the freshness. Does that make any sense? No. No, it does not.
I know I should get a life, but that hasn't been working out for me. It's my lot in life to be its own worst enemy.
Join me next time when we discuss the difference between then and than.
Okay. All kidding aside, I was aghast at a sign I read at a corporate chain restaurant in its drive-thru. ITS drive-thru. Do you see the proper form there? Apparently, Culver's does not have this information within its corporate offices. (Yes, I used the correct form AGAIN). I wish I'd had my camera. Their drive-thru has a sign that tells you that their food is: "worth it's wait for the freshness."
Herein lies the lesson. It's equals "it is." The apostrophe tells us that it is two words. It's two words. It is.
Its equals possession. "Worth its wait." Who owns the wait? The food and its freshness. The food is fresh. Thus we wait. It's worth its wait because it's (it is) fresh. Get it? The way the sign reads now means: Worth it is wait for the freshness. Does that make any sense? No. No, it does not.
I know I should get a life, but that hasn't been working out for me. It's my lot in life to be its own worst enemy.
Join me next time when we discuss the difference between then and than.
Friday, September 05, 2008
The Bandit
Sometimes, all you have is the visual evidence of a misdeed to try to piece together what happened. Figuring out who (or what!) did it can be downright taxing. The story that follows is just one of those incidents.
I do some work for a woman who has several health issues that keep her from rigorous physical activity. We have been cleaning out her old farmhouse where she still has belongings. When we go over, she is the SWAT team who forges ahead to get rid of spider webs and peruse for any ugly bugs before I start packing. I'm still twitchy the whole time we are in this year-long unoccupied house. It's been bug-bombed once, and her uncle checks in weekly there, but you have to believe that the bugs have had free reign to do what they want and to make themselves at home.
We tackled her library the other day. I stood on a small footstool and reached for several books at a time from a top shelf that I couldn't see completely. I dusted them off and stacked them while she sorted and put them in boxes I provided. When one box would fill, I would take it away and bring another. This went on for about an hour and a half until we ran out of appropriate-sized boxes. Every time I went to the back room to get another one, she would tell me that there were more upstairs. I continued to ignore this information because I did not want to travel up to the dreaded second level where the bugs really had the place to themselves! But, because of her great wealth of books, I was finally forced to admit that we needed those boxes that loomed upstairs.
I opened the door to the steep, narrow steps and sucked in a deep breath while I stared it down. "I can do this," I mentally pumped myself. I stepped through the doorway with a duster waving wildly in front of me to knock down any cobwebs I might discover on my upward journey. My eyes were alert and moving quickly to every area I was passing and coming up to, while I made bold strides to get to the boxes in the spare room.
Reaching the top of the stairs, I stopped, stunned. I called down to her, "Did you have your son over here when he was visiting?" She assured me she had not. I took in the scene in the hallway, aghast at what might have happened.
"Why?" she called up to me.
"Well, there's stuffed animals all over the place. It looks like a massacre, and there's one ripped in half over by the bedroom."
"WHAT? There must have been a mouse!" she cried. I assured her I did not think a mouse did this. She got her oxygen tubing and came up. We stared at the scene before us in confusion.
"What if it was a raccoon?" I gulped.
"Well, let's pack these stuffed animals back into that hamper and take them with us." she decided. So we began to pick up the animals and put them in the mesh basket that housed them before the invasion. As we did so, I started finding the eye buttons on the floor. What the hell? It suddenly came to me! A squirrel must have thought he'd found a mother lode of nuts tucked safely up in this attic. We started laughing, envisioning the entrepreneurial squirrel plucking eyeballs and trying to munch on them, only to find that they did not taste good! We could see him discarding the eyeball, grabbing another stuffed animal, plucking the eye out, finding more disappointment, and repeating the scenario. Perhaps this frustration at so many great-looking foodstuffs that really weren't was what brought him to the eventual ripping in half of the poor little brown teddy bear we saw by the bedroom. So sad.
We covered up the chewed hole in the wall with a heavy box of books, but you know those crafty squirrels always find a way to get what they want. In the end, we got the boxes we needed to finish the library. I only had one (wispy) spider crawl across my hand. And it's one more step in my therapy to lose some of this fear of the creepy crawly things that should not scare me like they do. And who knows? Maybe cleaning out the upstairs will bring a whole new fear while I tread lightly around Skippy the Squirrel who loves to steal the eyes from unsuspecting stuffed animals.
I do some work for a woman who has several health issues that keep her from rigorous physical activity. We have been cleaning out her old farmhouse where she still has belongings. When we go over, she is the SWAT team who forges ahead to get rid of spider webs and peruse for any ugly bugs before I start packing. I'm still twitchy the whole time we are in this year-long unoccupied house. It's been bug-bombed once, and her uncle checks in weekly there, but you have to believe that the bugs have had free reign to do what they want and to make themselves at home.
We tackled her library the other day. I stood on a small footstool and reached for several books at a time from a top shelf that I couldn't see completely. I dusted them off and stacked them while she sorted and put them in boxes I provided. When one box would fill, I would take it away and bring another. This went on for about an hour and a half until we ran out of appropriate-sized boxes. Every time I went to the back room to get another one, she would tell me that there were more upstairs. I continued to ignore this information because I did not want to travel up to the dreaded second level where the bugs really had the place to themselves! But, because of her great wealth of books, I was finally forced to admit that we needed those boxes that loomed upstairs.
I opened the door to the steep, narrow steps and sucked in a deep breath while I stared it down. "I can do this," I mentally pumped myself. I stepped through the doorway with a duster waving wildly in front of me to knock down any cobwebs I might discover on my upward journey. My eyes were alert and moving quickly to every area I was passing and coming up to, while I made bold strides to get to the boxes in the spare room.
Reaching the top of the stairs, I stopped, stunned. I called down to her, "Did you have your son over here when he was visiting?" She assured me she had not. I took in the scene in the hallway, aghast at what might have happened.
"Why?" she called up to me.
"Well, there's stuffed animals all over the place. It looks like a massacre, and there's one ripped in half over by the bedroom."
"WHAT? There must have been a mouse!" she cried. I assured her I did not think a mouse did this. She got her oxygen tubing and came up. We stared at the scene before us in confusion.
"What if it was a raccoon?" I gulped.
"Well, let's pack these stuffed animals back into that hamper and take them with us." she decided. So we began to pick up the animals and put them in the mesh basket that housed them before the invasion. As we did so, I started finding the eye buttons on the floor. What the hell? It suddenly came to me! A squirrel must have thought he'd found a mother lode of nuts tucked safely up in this attic. We started laughing, envisioning the entrepreneurial squirrel plucking eyeballs and trying to munch on them, only to find that they did not taste good! We could see him discarding the eyeball, grabbing another stuffed animal, plucking the eye out, finding more disappointment, and repeating the scenario. Perhaps this frustration at so many great-looking foodstuffs that really weren't was what brought him to the eventual ripping in half of the poor little brown teddy bear we saw by the bedroom. So sad.
We covered up the chewed hole in the wall with a heavy box of books, but you know those crafty squirrels always find a way to get what they want. In the end, we got the boxes we needed to finish the library. I only had one (wispy) spider crawl across my hand. And it's one more step in my therapy to lose some of this fear of the creepy crawly things that should not scare me like they do. And who knows? Maybe cleaning out the upstairs will bring a whole new fear while I tread lightly around Skippy the Squirrel who loves to steal the eyes from unsuspecting stuffed animals.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Spiderpalooza
It's well-documented that I am deathly afraid of creepy crawly things. I have no less than four sprays in my house to combat these abominations of nature. This is not a creepy crawly story though. It is a pretty funny foray into my last few days.
Last week, I killed a spider in the bathroom. Several days ago, I killed two spiders in the kitchen--one in the morning (the mommy), and one in the evening (the daddy). Little itty bitty babies began appearing in the areas where I killed these parent spiders. Huh. Fortunately, I'm not afraid of the teeny ones that you can squish with your finger.
So the squishing commenced. They wispily crawled across my stove and I mushed them instantly. In the bathroom, they littered the angled ceiling. When they were within reach, I crushed them. The other night, I noticed one coming down a tiny strand of webbing he created, so I got him too. Squish-Squash-Mush-Crush. Gone, gone, gone.
Thank goodness, once again, that these babies are not scary. Coming from the bathroom to resume my reading on the internet, I sat in my desk chair and got comfortable. A minute later, I notice something out of the corner of my eye. A teeny spider baby is rappelling his way down my hair and onto my keyboard. Ew. I squish him. When will it end? How many frigging babies do spiders have? I would look it up, but I can't see scary eight-legged pictures coming up in lightning fast speed on my screen. I'll just keep squashing them as fast as they keep appearing, I guess.
This festival of babies and mamas and papas comes in on the heels of a very traumatizing day last week when I had to call my neighbor (who is as afraid of them as I am) over to kill a centipede that was on the wall above my bed. The possibility of losing that monster in my BEDROOM was more than I could handle. She is my hero now. And I am scanning every wall, floor, and ceiling in every room before my foot takes the next step forward more than ever. Fall is here. They want in. I'm afraid the spiderpalooza has just begun. I better keep those sprays handy.
Last week, I killed a spider in the bathroom. Several days ago, I killed two spiders in the kitchen--one in the morning (the mommy), and one in the evening (the daddy). Little itty bitty babies began appearing in the areas where I killed these parent spiders. Huh. Fortunately, I'm not afraid of the teeny ones that you can squish with your finger.
So the squishing commenced. They wispily crawled across my stove and I mushed them instantly. In the bathroom, they littered the angled ceiling. When they were within reach, I crushed them. The other night, I noticed one coming down a tiny strand of webbing he created, so I got him too. Squish-Squash-Mush-Crush. Gone, gone, gone.
Thank goodness, once again, that these babies are not scary. Coming from the bathroom to resume my reading on the internet, I sat in my desk chair and got comfortable. A minute later, I notice something out of the corner of my eye. A teeny spider baby is rappelling his way down my hair and onto my keyboard. Ew. I squish him. When will it end? How many frigging babies do spiders have? I would look it up, but I can't see scary eight-legged pictures coming up in lightning fast speed on my screen. I'll just keep squashing them as fast as they keep appearing, I guess.
This festival of babies and mamas and papas comes in on the heels of a very traumatizing day last week when I had to call my neighbor (who is as afraid of them as I am) over to kill a centipede that was on the wall above my bed. The possibility of losing that monster in my BEDROOM was more than I could handle. She is my hero now. And I am scanning every wall, floor, and ceiling in every room before my foot takes the next step forward more than ever. Fall is here. They want in. I'm afraid the spiderpalooza has just begun. I better keep those sprays handy.
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