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.
Room Service Adventures by The Pioneer Woman
1 hour ago