I love my house, I really do. And I have the feeling my landlord is a good guy. But, why, oh, why can't he be a good guy to me? It takes forever for simple stuff that should have been fixed before I ever moved in to get finished. The windows were painted shut (um, safety hazard much?), and David and I had to go in with a putty knife two weeks after he said the painter would be here to open them. And so many more things. Then, today, after I've put in 2 weekends and more than $300 in plants and spending 2 days ripping out dead boxwoods, he came by to look at the door knob. I mentioned that I was going to be taking most of the bigger plants out whenever I leave (some 2-3 years later, at least) unless, of course, he decided to take a cut out of the rent. That's fair, isn't it? He was like, "Sure, take them, just put something back in it's place. Actually, I wish you hadn't taken the shrubs out to begin with, but oh well." ??? He told me when I first moved in that I could take them out, not to mention that they were dead. Gah. Please, dude couldn't you cut me some slack? You're the president of a bank for crying out loud. But don't worry, I'll put something in there. Something horrible looking, don't worry. It just sucks cause now I know there's no way I could get him to grind out the other dead shrubs. I think I'll replace my beautiful juniper and tea olive with some leggy something that won't grow there. Revenge!
Stupid people who don't realize people are poor. Bah.
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