Reason number 39756385 why renting a house blows.

At November 4, 2009
By Lotus, aka Sarcastic Mom
In Humor, Miscellaneous Blabbering, Rant, Stories
32

And when I say “blows” I am not thinking about bubbles or dandelions.

Or even that hot guy I saw standing in line at the grocery store the other day. Rawr.

I’m referring more to hairy ballsacks, possibly even diseased ones.

I have a good running list of reasons (39756385 items long, clearly) for this particular brand of Makes You Want To Vomit All Of Your Meals From Ever suckage, but today let’s talk about:

“When Shit Breaks And Doesn’t Get Fixed In A Timely Manner”

When shit breaks and you own your own house, the reason why it sucks is because you have to FIX THAT SHIT YOSELF. So that means, get off your lazy ass and determine the cause of the problemage and then do something about it.

When shit breaks and you rent, you’re often NOT ALLOWED to fix that shit yoself, nor are you allowed to hire someone else to fix that shit for yoself. Because, of course, when you signed the lease you did no less than admit that your judegment is not to be trusted, m’kay? And you signed an agreement that says “I am a dummee and cannot fiss thingies goodlike and also I can not has enough smart parts in my head to find any other good peoples to help me fiss thingies eether. ever.”

I swear that’s what the thing said, and normally I wouldn’t sign a document rife with such horrible spelling mistakes, for chrissakes, but if I remember correctly I had diarrhea that day so I was kind of in a hurry to get things wrapped up, because there is really nothing worse than sitting in a realtor’s office with a hot wet ass that ISN’T just a euphemism for how damn sexy you are.

But I digress.

So, basically, we’re not allowed to fix broken things. Instead we have to call and report them to property management, and they will send someone to the house to fix what’s broken.

Wait, no. I wrote that incorrectly.

They will THINK ABOUT HOW THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO send someone to the house to fix what’s broken FOR ABOUT A WEEK, but they will not do anything about it.

Then when your husband calls them and says, “Uh, did you get my two messages about how the kitchen light is broken and my wife has already set 4 fires in there trying to cook in the dark because she’s an idiot, and could you please just go fix it before she accidently builds an atom bomb trying to make Mac & Cheese in the dark? I know it sounds improbable, but really, you don’t know her. And it is not at all improbable. That kitchen light is SO MUCH MORE important than you realize” they will be like, “Huh?”

And then they’ll be like, “Oh, we need approval from the owner since it’s just lightbulbs.”

This is the part of the story where I tell you how I almost threw the phone across the room when John was relaying things to me. Because I was in the room the day that John called them and left a message, and I heard him saying, “Hi, our kitchen light is broken and we thought it might just be the bulbs, so I went out and bought new ones, but it still won’t turn on, so it’s not the bulbs. We need someone to come out and have a look at it and fix it.”

And:

1) See that part where he said IT’S NOT THE BULBS? Yeah. I HEARD THAT.
2) John hasn’t been home since October 16th. I just want to go ahead and point that out.
3) As I type this, the light is STILL BROKEN.

After he set them straight in a much more polite way than I’d ever be capable of, they promised him someone would “be out tomorrow” to have a look at it.

BAHAHAHAHAHA!

“Be out tomorrow” in Property Managementese CLEARLY means “sit around with a thumb up one’s ass.” Either that or “laugh at your dark kitchening ass while we pretend like we care about you and your broken thingies, when if fact, we so very much do not. Buy a lamp, asshole.” I’m not sure, but it’s definitely ONE of those.

A WEEK LATER he called again to find out if they would prefer that we:

A) Burn down their building.
B) Set bull weavels loose in their office.
C) Poop in a box and send it to them instead of next month’s rent.
D) Get H1N1 first and then poop in a box and send it to them instead of next month’s rent.

They asked if there was an option E, and while I told John to say, “Yes, All of the above, you sons of bitches,” instead he just asked if they could please come fix the light in the kitchen.

He is such a pussy.

So finally, someone came the next day and looked at the light.

(Technically, they said someone would “be out tomorrow” again and so I got all pissed off because I AM LEARNING THEIR LANGUAGE. But they decided to mix things up to keep me on my toes. I am on to you, anyway, Property Management.)

On Friday, a nice man came to the house, stood on one of my chairs and looked at the kitchen light fixture.

He told me it was broken.

I almost had a hysterical breakdown at the delivery of this news because I had no idea the kitchen light was broken and I thought frantically, “Holy crap, how am I going to make dinner now, in the dark???”

But really, he said the ballast is fried and that he’d have to remove it and replace it. Then he took it off the fixture and he left, saying, “If I don’t see you again later today, I’ll see you Monday!”

It’s Wednesday. I have not seen the friendly Ballast Replacing Fairy yet.

I’mma gonna go into the kitchen later and whip up that atom bomb.

Hope you fuckers liked your lives. Some shit’s ‘splodin’ tonight.

****

UPDATE: So after I wrote this, but before I could publish it, the friendly Ballast Replacing Fairy actually showed up, except it was the same guy who came before and told me the ballast was broken, so I was a little bit disappointed. I was hoping for something with wings and a tutu or at least a glittery wand or a Pegasus waiting for him in backyard while he was inside working. Regardless, he had a new ballast with him and the knowledge necessary to install it.

Fortunately, while he was working, Braden made sure to point out loudly to me that “that’s not Daddy!” saving me from making the horrible mistake of pestering the poor guy to rub my feet. Of course, this is nothing new from Braden; he’s always screaming that information at random times, like when I’m on the couch making out with boyfriends, and also sometimes when my pimp comes to collect.

Duh, Braden, DUH.

Oh, but apparently the Ballast Replacing Fairy IS a fireman. Braden said so. Which clearly means he needs to be reported to the fire chief for his Fairy Side Gig. I’m 97% sure that there’s a “No Fairies” rule in the Fireman Job Requirements. It’s right next to the part that says you have to have really big muscles and the ability to grow masculine patterns of facial hair on command. I’m not sure whether it’s more or less important than looking sexy while you slide down a big metal pole in a hurry. Anyway, he’s breaking the rules.

I’m telling.

PS: You’re a bunch of lucky bastards. There’s light in the kitchen now, so I probably won’t be blowing up the earth tonight.

Probably.

Once more, for good measure.

Long time readers will
remember the story of
our last, moldy house.

What a trial that was!
We have been in this new home
for a whole year now.

I could never say
thank you enough times to those
who helped us get out.

To all of you who
stepped in to help us move then
and are still around

I want you to know
that I think grateful thoughts of
each of you often.

And now we’ve got a
whole year of new memories
in a better home.

So much has happened
in this year that has now passed.
It’s remarkable.

March 2008………………………………………………………………………………………………………….March 2009

So, once more I say
Thank you, Thank you, Thank you all
Thanks so very much.

The rest of the story…

This past week has been
very long and so tiring.
There is much to tell.

To make long story
short, please read this post and then
come back and finish.

Okay. Now you know
the heart of the mold problem.
And you are outraged?

Asked to terminate
lease last Friday, but we were
ignored all week long.

We figured that we
will leave here no matter what;
need a place to live.

Well, we’ve been looking
for a house to rent all week,
so we can leave here.

Over and over
we “just missed” getting a house -
“Someone else got it.”

So much FRUSTRATION.
Home, John started falling ill.
So hard to keep going.

Found another one
and looked at it on Wednesday.
We really liked it.

While we were in it
looking around, a woman
walked in to look, too.

Would she beat us to
apply, taking the house off
the market once more?

Like I said it’s been
such a very long week and
my wits were frazzled.

I had crying fests.
We gave written documents
to our manager.

The documents were
strongly worded and we gave
them prints of photos.

Wednesday night I was
just ready to fall asleep.
Awake was too hard.

But I saw that there
are friends here who want to help
us leave this HELLHOLE.

Angie rocks my rack here.
And tells you how you can help
us move away, too.

Victoria, too!
She’s also trying to help
me get Braden out.

And Dawn! She posted
so that people would see the
ways to help us out.

I cried last night and
it was the good kind of cry.
I felt loved by them.

They say it’s darkest
before the dawn, and that means
get ready for good?

I wasn’t ready.
In fact, I was thinking that
the worst would happen.

Today we got news.
Owner will let us out of
lease with no more pay!

I cried, crapped my pants,
and did a dance of joy, all
at the same time. Wow.

Also, guess what else?
Application was approved!
A home to move to!

Now we just have to
cough up the savings to move
and pay for that place.

If you want to help,
Donate on the sidebar or
do this or do this.

(To paypal donate
leave a comment on the form,
“Use money to move.”)

Thank you so much to
all who have already helped
and supported us.

True friends gather round
when a person is in need.
I am bowled over.

But the rack does make a difference.

Dawn’s most recent SOOS Challenge, in honor of Sandy and her family moving into their new house, was to talk about what makes your house a home.

(Also, Veronica and her family are moving into their house in 6 days!)

I wasn’t all together sure, so I decided to walk through our (rental) house (that we’re staying in for another year, despite this, ugh.) and look around a bit while mulling the question over.

“Hmmm… what makes our house a home?”

Is it John’s Forever And Ever, Amen Junked-Up Nightstand?

No… that can’t be it.

And yeah, I’ve tried repeatedly to organize it for him, but it generally only stays clean for .52342 seconds. So I stopped trying.

Wait, maybe it’s the pile of dirty clothes!

No, no… hold on, it’s The Pile of CLEAN CLOTHES!

And the rack that relates to it?

Ugh. That can’t be it. It’s not about clothes or even racks.

“Think, Lotus, Think!”

Let’s keep looking…

Is it the Poor Man’s Loveseat?

Or maybe ALL THE FREAKIN’ TOYS!?

(where did they all come from? we never planned this! i think they multiply at night.)

Ack. I think I’m still way off. It’s not the lack of reliable seating or the 8 million and five toys (though I’m beginning to realize why we can’t afford a real loveseat).

Oh, WAIT. I’ve got it!

It’s the highly disobedient dog!