My Landlord is a douche.
His name is John. John is an asshole. John is a 70 something, uptight stony faced miserable wanker who quite clearly has not been laid in over some 20 years. Ok I don't know that for sure, but I would put my money on it. These things are not what make him a douche.
We pay a considerable amount of rent to live in this house, it's expensive to live here and it's expensive to run the house but the day I walked in here to view it I was sold immediately. Not on the chintzy Spanish feel to it, although it's tasteful and quaint and chic all rolled into one, no, it was the view that totally blew me away. All bright eyed and hopping about I used every damn trick I know on my man to say Yes we could have it, and after many a discussion of 'Hon, we can have something even bigger and nicer for what they're charging' ultimately I got the green light to go and sign on the dotted line.
I shoulda known when I got to the estate office and upon seeing that he had infact increased the rent by a further 50 euros, per month, since our last talk and me arriving to sign for it, but I just didn't care. It's 50 euros. That view is worth it. I'll smooth it over with the hubby, make him see things my way, a unique skill I only ever pull out when it's serious. I signed.
Moving in just before Christmas day, yeah, not my best idea. Don't ever do that. If you don't know what stress is, actually try that mutha fucker. You survive that shit, mentally AND physically then you know you're a real woman.
John is prickly towards me, but not the other half. I don't know why this is. I've given him no reason to behave in this manner towards me but I just get the feeling that he hates women. Normally I take care of all the bill paying and crap like that, I've always been the contact for all of our previous Landlords but with John obviously immune to my charms which could normally sell ice to eskimos, he deals only with the husband. It's ok, I'm not offended. He's an old asshole. Actually no, it does offend me, it offends me alot. Wtf is this guy's problem? I've given no indication that I am anything but a sweet girl who bakes her own fuckin mince pies.
So many things have gone wrong in this house but I love it so much that I fight with my better conscience and make excuses. If we contact John he just basically brushes us off and we fix things ourselves, this isn't my home, I don't own it. But I treat it like I do.I take care of it like it's one of my babies, but where am I going to draw the line? seriously?
When we moved in, I was a complete and utter fuckin nightmare. I wanted things taking down, out, put away, stored. I totally re-arranged this whole house. 3 floors of furniture humped around and moved from room to room. My man is a fit guy, and even he was eye rolling and sweating heaving all this big ass shit up 2 floors, back down 1. Then it occured to me last night, after a further run in with John over yet another electrical appliance that has just given up the ghost. I had a vision and it was beautiful, it makes my eyes gleam now in anticipation of what could be.
I love this house, alot. But I won't resign for it in December. John's a wanker and he has weird serial killer handymen on his books, nah I'm out. And so I'll move my family on, but I wont put a damn thing back where I found it.
There ya go John... oh wha? sorry? that french set of drawers to heavy, back down 3 flights of stairs... wha? THAT'S for sending Dirk Wayne Gacy round dickhead, oh wha? whassat John? You're struggling to get down and screw the legs back on the spare bed with ya dodgy hip? huh... wha? THAT'S for making me pay the huge water bill that YOU'RE responsible for, watering YOUR mutha fuckin rose bush and home grown rosemary... which btw is a fuckin safety hazard when you're doing cartwheels, fucked, at 2am, dickhead. Seriously I don't even feel bad about being mean to this old codger. He's horrible. And I truly hope, with all my hopeness that my cats have pissed all over your stupid rosemary, and you eat it. That would make me so happy right now :)
I used to joke with my friends how I couldn't wait to become a mean old witch who lives on her own with 18 cats, in a spooky house, smelling of cat piss and just emitting nasty mean old ass woman shit. I'd laugh about how I would confiscate kids' balls that came into my garden and pop them infront of their cute little faces, just for pleasure, but I never meant any of it, I swear. Ok, I'd probably try popping at least one ball just so I could get a feel for it, see if I liked it and take it from there, but I totally don't mean the cat piss smell. But after seeing how mean and old and brusqe John is, I don't wanna be like that. It's not cool, and I still wanna be cool when I'm 70.
Anyway, rant off just needed a little vent there. Children are off school for Easter break and day one has been intense at best shall we say. Couple that with the fact that this house is currently the House of Death, everyone is sick except me. Gotta be those weird shots that I was throwing back on Saturday that looked remarkably like jizz. Yeah, they've made me immune to this virus, clearly, with the obligatory black outs, yep I'll take more of that this weekend.
TTFN
Raven xoxo
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