Time Out

While everyone seems to be signing up for the write-every-single-day NaBloPoMo, I have decided to do the opposite. And I never was much of a rebel.

I’ve found myself far too angsty, angry, pent up, depressed, irritable and sad as of late and when I come here, I can’t seem to give voice to it. I feel a pressure to post for everyone BUT me. I feel like I can’t talk about the things that are weighing on me in a public forum. Why yes, I do have boundaries and halloween09 015sometimes I actually do keep my mouth shut.

See? Even that sounded bitchy. I can’t seem to escape it.

I blame an emotional growth spurt. At least, I hope to hell that’s what’s going on with me and not that I’ve turned into an asshole. I’m going to get my head on straight and I’m not going to write until I have something of consequence to say. Not until the feeling like I am drowning subsides. Not until I stop wanting to punch the world in the face.

Smell This

The Smell Lady is driving me to drink which is not good for my weight loss journey, my ability to get a good night’s sleep and my aging skin. Yesterday I was thisclose to punching her in the tits* (if she had any). She has become more than the average nuisance. She’s escalated to pain-in-the-ass status. Ever since she knocked, no, hammered on my door late at night after yelling at a tenant across the hall from me I have been incredibly wary of dealing with her. She’s unhinged over this supposed pot smell. UN-fucking-HINGED.

In an effort to resolve this ongoing saga, I have requested that she refrain from having one-on-one interaction with the tenant she has targeted as the Pot Smoking Culprit. Now, in all honesty, he does smoke weed but I have given him multiple written and verbal notices insisting that he stop smoking anything in his apartment (lest he decide to turn to crack). He’s a nice kid who hails from Japan and seems to have a lot of hobbies that include skateboarding, snowboarding, surfing- basically anything on a board- plus, you guessed it, smoking joints. When I have asked him point blank if he is smoking in his apartment he says no and that he only rolls joints but leaves to smoke it. He even puts a towel in front of the bathroom door when he is rolling(!) to try to keep the smell of the weed from seeping in. I get that he is making efforts to comply and I appreciate it even if it is totally unsatisfactory to the Smell Lady.

The boy has some good bud, I can tell you that much, because when you open his door you definitely smell it. But it doesn’t smell like he’s smoked in there, just that he is keeping possibly a lot of pot in his apartment. Meanwhile, this sweet pot smell is apparently too much for the Smell Lady to endure. When I went up to her apartment yesterday to take a whiff I smelled. . . NOTHING. Seriously. I took the biggest sniffs I could sniff and I did not smell anything that resembled pot. She kept insisting that it was there and I was like I AM DEALING WITH A CRAZY PERSON. That can be the only reason. Or, she has some sort of bionic smelling ability.

The whole thing blew up when I went downstairs to talk to the pot offender. He’s trying to make amends by not smoking it in there, putting a towel in front of the door, changing how his fans blow, etc. She’s standing there insistent that he is smoking it. I have no proof! I can smell it, yes, but I have never SEEN him doing it and thus, I can’t give him a ten day notice to comply or vacate. We’re going round and round about it and I am losing my patience. The more adamant she becomes that he is smoking it, the more I push back because she is not listening to my reasoning. She’s targeted him as the main culprit and is dead set on getting him kicked out. Meanwhile, I know for a fact multiple people smoke marijuana in the building so it isn’t just him. And if he’s not actually smoking it, there is little I can do. Because what we have then is an issue of he said/she said and there is nothing in the lease about kicking someone out over a smell.

After thirty minutes of this bullshit, I lost all semblance of patience. Fed up, I told them that I had to get to class, that I was too frustrated to deal with this situation further at the moment and that I needed to discuss it with the landlords. We were at an impasse and if I hadn’t walked away right then someone would have gotten maimed. I stormed across the hall and slammed my door like a hot headed teenager. Not my finest moment but I was ready to blow a gasket. Impossible and relentless people who do not listen to reason are not my cup of tea. Grrrrrrrrrrr!

The landlords are backing me up which is good but I really don’t think she is the type of person to move out. She seems like she’d rather make everyone else miserable because she is miserable. This has been going on since before I was the manager- over two years! And yet despite her not getting what she wants (which seems to be us either kicking him out or CONTROLLING SMELLS IN THE BUILDING), she stays. I might have to start calling her The Bane of My Existence.

P.S. I went to water aerobics directly after this run in and worked out hard. Today my body is sore. Better my muscles than her face.


More to Hate

I just couldn’t do it.

I tried to watch More to Love so I could give you my honest take on a show whose premise is that plus sized women deserve love too. I watched one and a half episodes before my eyeballs rolled into the back of my head and then my brain imploded.

Because: This show SUCKS.

Now, you have to know that I can’t tolerate shows like the Bachelor or Bachelorette either. Those shows make me throw up in my mouth. And More to Love might be equally as awful except everyone is fat. And being fat is not a reason to not be loved. The way they portray the women on the show is really sad. It’s like every stereotype of plus sized women is blown up to epic proportions with blubbering and catty in-fighting and pathetic emotional outbursts thrown in.

Cut to girl crying about never having a boyfriend because she is fat. (Interjection: Maybe it’s because she does not like herself and has zero confidence? Um, yeah. And being on this show is not going to help her one iota.)

Do those other shows do this to the contestants? Take a supposed “flaw” and magnify it? Use one aspect of their looks and harp on it? Do they show the weight of the female contestants on the Bachelor? Because they do on More to Love. What the FUCK is that about?

I don’t know about you but I would never go on a tv show to find love. I wouldn’t cry on camera because some eligible bachelor was kissing other girls on a GROUP DATE. I would not do it. I don’t care if you paid me. I don’t care if it would make me famous. Who the hell wants to get famous for being on a show like this?! And what is up with Emme, iconic plus sized model extraordinaire, doing hosting this damn thing? Her bio on the show’s page says she “promotes and exemplifies positive body image, self-esteem and self-acceptance.” Her association with this ridiculous show negates that.

My biggest peeve about this show though is that it presupposes that fat people only date each other. There’s this “big” guy (a former football player who by the way is a real doucheface) who likes “curvy” women so all the girls are varying sizes of big. If we were really making progress with size acceptance people of ALL sizes would be on those mainstream shows like the Bachelor or Bachelorette. There wouldn’t be a need for a “special” show.

The whole thing makes me gag and change the channel. And write a ranty blog post.


This Is Me Angry

Begin rant.

I’ve had it. I am so sick of people parking in my driveway. I EARN that space! It says NO PARKING and yet people keep parking there- when there is no car in the driveway or when there is. They have blocked me in when I am rushing out to get somewhere. They have pulled part of the way in so that I can’t even pull in behind them. They are, 98% of the time, not one of my tenants but a friend visiting one of my tenants.

So guess what happens when I discover someone is parked in my space? I have to walk door-to-door to figure out who it is. There are 29 units in this building. It’s ridiculous. I have a novel concept. How about YOU DON’T FUCKING PARK IN MY FUCKING PARKING SPACE?! Genius, I know. It’s like each of them thinks they are the first person to try and pull this bullshit off when in actuality there are a lot of fucktards swarming the city, parking illegally and who, by the way, have no concept of time.

Today I arrived home after a day out with my Mom and sister celebrating my Mom’s birthday. She had her car in my space while I drove us around town. We arrived home, tired, and there is a car blocking my Mom’s car in. So not only can I not park there but they cannot get out.

Queue me being raging pissed off.

So I storm up the steps and start knocking on every door. No one was home until the 7th door but they weren’t the culprits. Then I see a guy I don’t recognize picking up some luggage that was left in the foyer so I call out to him, “Are you parked in the driveway?” He says yes. I walk towards him saying, “I need you to move your car.” I am sure I looked and sounded really bitchy (because I was!). He says, “I don’t even live here I am just helping someone unload some stuff.” To which I retorted, “I don’t care. Just move your car. It is illegal to park there.” And then he says sarcastically, “I am sorry about your run of bad luck.” And I am all NO YOU DIDN’T JUST FUCKING SASS ME!

Oh yes. He did.

I grumbled, “It’s not bad luck, it’s people being inconsiderate and parking illegally.”

Fucking jackass.

So now I am trying to calm down enough to write a warning to all my tenants because I am over this shit. No more. If any of their guests park there, there will be no warning. I do not care if they were just “running in” or “quickly dropping something off.” You park there, you get towed at your own expense. Period. End of story. I am done being the nice girl.

End rant.

My Brain Is Melty

I’ve taken to dunking my cats in the tub.

Before you call the SPCA on me, let me explain. It is hot here. When I say “hot” I mean HOT. Yesterday, Seattle broke its own heat record at over 100 degrees. ONE HUNDRED DEGREES. This is Seattle. We do not do extremes well. Give us constant rain and we’re fine. You won’t hear nary a complaint from us. But bury us in a couple inches of snow and we freak out. Melt us with temperatures over 75 and we are not pleased. It’s not that we’re fussy (that much) but rather unprepared. We only had like 3 snow plows when Snowmaggedon 2008 struck and now, with this heat wave, we’re whining and dripping in sweat in front of four fans cranked up to full blast.

Okay maybe not everyone, but I certainly am.

We’re not a city that requires air conditioning generally speaking which is why people are flocking to the malls and movie theaters (I saw The Ugly Truth and it’s predictable but Gerard Butler is sexy and it was like 60 degrees in the theater so totally worth it). It’s also why people are lining up at Lowe’s before the store opens to try and buy an air conditioner. Apparently people were lined up even after the delivery of A/C units came and went. They even had the people who bought the units exit a different way so that they didn’t have to deal with a mob.

Seriously? Man, people are CRANKY when they are hot. I can attest to that. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in over a week. My nose is stuffed up. My throat is scratchy. And I can’t seem to motivate myself to unpack my luggage, eat dinner or accomplish anything except taking cold showers and grumbling. I can literally step out of the shower dripping wet and be dry in under two minutes.

My apartment has become a clothing optional zone.

But back to my cats. When it’s 100 degrees outside that means it’s likely 120 degrees in my apartment since it gets direct sunlight for the hottest part of the day. My cats are literally baking. They meow forlornly and wander around trying to find a cool spot on the hardwood or tile floor. I finally couldn’t take it anymore so I filled the tub up a smidge and grabbed Dash. He’s the furriest but a gentle giant. After multiple times in the tub, I am convinced Dash likes it. He puts up an obligatory fight at first but once he’s in there he’s all, Hey, I think I like this! Dot on the other hand is fussy all of the damn time so she’s likely to cut a bitch if you look at her wrong. Luckily, I am wily and know how to be quick about dousing her. So far, no bleeding. She thanks me after, begrudgingly, by lying next to me on the bed in front of the fan.

The fact that I am looking forward to it being 88 degrees this weekend shows you how warped my thinking has become in this heat. The good news is, I’m probably sweating away the pounds I gained at BlogHer and purging my overwrought liver of the buckets of booze I forced it to process.

Endless Parade of Vacancies

I can’t seem to catch a break.

I have already bitched before about how I’m going on month THREE of open units. What that means is every available moment I have when I am not at work is spent negotiating showings or dealing with move out stuff or cleaning. My weekends are not my own. I have been trying to go to Portland for three months and now I have to miss Kerrianne’s birthday weekend. (WAH!)

My social life is taking a severe beating. I suppose it is good that I am not dating? That doesn’t really comfort me.

Add to that the fact that so many potential tenants will agree to a time and then NOT SHOW UP OR CALL. This is rude. Very rude. And flaky. I do not like rude or flaky. It makes me want to kick things. Doesn’t anyone have manners anymore? Or is it a lost art much like thank you notes?

One unit has been open since the end of April. I am currently offering June free if someone FOR THE LOVE OF GOD will just move in already. The other unit smells of cat piss. It’s not the current tenant’s fault. Before my time there was apparently a woman who resided in that unit who let her cat use the entire apartment as a litter box. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little just typing that. That is disgusting. So, you can imagine that despite changing the carpets, the carpet pads and doing deep cleanings, the scent lingers. This is also the neighboring unit to the Music Man which we all know by now means someone deaf or incredibly patient or never home is the only kind of tenant that will be happy there.


I did rent one basement-style unit to the very first person I showed it to. I wasn’t even advertising it but she was walking by and then BAM she loved it. I totally thought it was going to be the hardest to rent. I mean it has tile walls in most of the rooms. TILE. The place is like a giant bathroom. But whatever. She liked it and it’s rented and that is one I can cross off my checklist.

Last night around 10pm I received notice from the third tenant (actually fourth since I have technically had that one unit open since May). That’s when I knew that Portland was just a pipe dream and that my weekend would include a lot of sitting around waiting for people to call, putting on my game face, and shmoozing emo hipsters. And maybe some praying. Hey, it can’t hurt.

I am really reconsidering my decision to steer clear of the booze.


I have a tenant that reminds me of all my passive aggressive ex-boyfriends combined.

It goes without saying but let me say it anyhow- he really pushes my buttons. I try to be professional and compassionate. He is struggling with health issues which combined with his medications exacerbate what I find to be his normal proclivity towards being a drama queen. Most days he’s harmless and we go about our business but then something shifts and when it does? It’s like a torrential down-pouring of shit and I am without an umbrella.

He plays his music loud. REALLY LOUD.  As in I am standing on the corner outside the building and I can hear it. As in I knocked on his door one night for three minutes straight and he could not hear me until I yelled his name. The music was that loud. No one else in the building has a consistent noise problem. There really is no need to play music so loudly that it can be heard from the street. Not if you are a singer or you had a bad day or you really love the song. You live in an apartment building and there are rules and neighbors.

Right now I am trying to rent the apartment above him. This is by far the hardest apartment I have had to rent in my year of being an apartment manager- and it’s a sweet, one bedroom, corner unit with great light. I had one guy come look at it who works from home. That will absolutely not work. I need someone who is not home a lot and who owns a lot of rugs to block out sounds. And see? I’m going out of my way to try to mediate a situation that hasn’t even happened yet because history is doomed to repeat itself where this tenant is concerned. I’ve been trying to work out the noise issues between both apartments since I moved in and frankly, it’s exhausting. There are 28 units in this building and only two have this on-going drama that I have to mediate.

It is ridiculous.

I am fed up.

Oh! But there is more. . . He does things like- uses his own money to buy flowers for the entryway. In most circumstances this would be seen as nice except he’ll take them away when he’s pissed off about something. Like this week he is mad that he is being written up for his outrageously loud music, so, gone are the flowers.

Folks, this is what we call passive aggressive behavior. (Exhibit A)

He leaves me these messages that go on and on and on to the point that 75% of them are cut off because he’s over the allotted time limit. I don’t know from day to day if he will be pleasant or a bitchy. In his messages he will go on about some pleasantry or other and then slip in barbs. Like the message I received last night which had a few doozies. Apparently when we were looking in his file the other day he saw that there were greeting cards in there. He sometimes leaves thank you cards which I think is really sweet. I am personally a fan of mail and after displaying them for a time, I tuck them away in a keepsake box. He assumed that the cards in the file were from him to me and in his message asked me to rip them up, not put them in a file and stated he would not be giving me cards anymore. (Exhibit B)

That really puts the ass in assume, doesn’t it?

The kicker? Those were cards he gave to the former managers that were in the file when I took over. But yeah, don’t bother asking me that or anything. So he takes away his nicety because I have somehow wronged him. Again.

Here’s the thing: I don’t give a shit if he puts flowers in the entryway or gives me a thank you card. Sure, it’s lovely but NO ONE ASKED HIM TO DO IT so he does not get to lord it over me like he went out of his way to be nice. That is not being nice! That is being passive aggressive!

It is making me aaaaaaaannnnnnnnggggggggrrrrrryyyy.

It is not the end of the world that he has to turn his music down to a respectable level and abide by the rules that every other tenant does. If I let him get away with it, then other people will think it is okay. This is a quiet building and I want to keep it that way.
I am not an un-compassionate person but just because someone is sick or home all day does not mean you get special rules to live by in my book. My job is to ensure ALL tenants of my building are happy renters, not one who wants special treatment.