A relationship not worth maintaining. One in which the sheer stress of it all outweighs any enjoyment you may garner from it in the near future.
Man? Wo-Man?
Nah.
Townhome -man.
Muthafreekinjehosephatindamn!
To kick things off, let's have a little background shall we
Earl and I, pre-serious dating, lived a mere 2 minutes via car from each other. He in the townhome....myself in the same complex we live in now.
When we married, he had rented out the place to a group of former friends. Mhmmm, that shaking of the head is what we should have paid attention to, for they TORE that home UPPP.
I then drove from New York to VA, six months after getting married, alone and on a mission. To clean the pit up. Just how bad?
Glass shards in the backyard
Grass so overgrown it had fallen over and when propped up, stood up to my waist
Carpet so overrun with food, alcohol, cat poo, and whatever else can soak into a carpet - it was all there
A very large, very real electronic bar dart board. Bolted into the wall. Worse, the print left on the wall was of a life-size cross...creepy
Paint caked into the garbage disposal, rendering it useless
Black soot caked on all the windows from months of smoking in the house with no ventilation.
Nothing, and I mean absofuckinglutely not one thing, in that house was cleaned
But the coup de gras, the piece of art that was the heart stopping finale - the giant stain on the front stoop created by none other than the very deep fat turkey fryer sitting right there as well. For all the neighbors to behold
When I first saw the last loser out of the house my heart sank and I believe I sat on the stairs in tears....unsure of just how in the hell I could Fix Any of this!
But I did. Three very long summer months spent driving from my mothers house in Williamsburg down to the home, numerous hardware store runs, ripping out and installing new window trim, hand making window screen frames, not hurling when cleaning the bathrooms.
I painted and sanded, degunked, and in effect - breathed new life into a place deemed unlivable.
In the peak of summer I went out and sanded and painted the backyard fence, in essence giving myself a very nasty case of heat rash....on my inner thighs, right by my lady parts. Ughh, sorry for that imagery but it gets worse.
Upon freaking out when the rash did not improve over the course of a few weeks, I turned on my husband...accusing him of giving me the raging case of something STD. In case you haven't noticed by now, my husband puts up with a lot of crap. Some he's worthy of getting, but this was - stupid.
That home, although not in my name, is my baby. She Owes me.
And yet, here we are again. With renters leaving without notice and taking the keys with them, a total breakdown of communication between my property manager and myself, a fine (one in which I didn't know existed) on a failed inspection of the townhome property, a backyard that hasn't seen a mower in well over 6 months, vines creeping up the fucking shed, more money owing than we have in our budget, and more...
Today - I cried in front of the girls today. It wasn't bawling but it was just there and the stress and I broke.
Samantha, bless her heart, she just ran around and squealed because she has no clue but Annabella, she knew stuff was not right.
Mid cry, "I'm sorry bebe, momma's just a little sad", trying to distract them with grabbing up books to read and getting dinner ready.
Annabella, flopping on the couch with her face scrunched up, "ohhhhhhh noooo, momma's crying, she's sad"
Nothing more, nothing less.
And I cut up hot dogs - please someone, make the hot dogs stop...I just hate them soooo very much - and made fizz water/tap water and plopped down beside the bebes.
Annabella came and stroked my frazzled hair, bending over to smile in my face, and ran off to get in her chair. Momma versus Eating? Please. It's all about the food.
Nice Warm and Fuzzy yet?
Don't be. Because in a perfect world all that lovey stuff would make the anger go away. It doesn't.
My property manager called today to not apologize but rather, give excuses as to why he's dropped the ball these past few days.
And here is where you see my heart in all it's cold, icy trueness...for I am, when riled, a true bitch. No apologies. Certainly not bragging. Just, it is what it is.
While and after explaining that his mother had a stroke last week and was critically ill, all I could do was bite my lip and not screech like a howler monkey. Please understand, I sympathize and understand the pain of a parent in severe trouble.
Done that. Several times. I will send my most positive vibes your way but...
If it affects your work and people are counting on you, contractually and money-wise, please oh please pass the torch. Give your go aheads to the next person in charge. Do not allow things to become so muddled when there was an avenue around the mess.
I took the 'oh I'm so sorry, please excuse me then for all the phone calls', and rolled them back down my throat. What came out was far more harsh and with little to no sympathy.
What came out was, 'I understand, I do, and I'm sorry for that but', deep sigh, 'but, you have to understand sir that I am stressed to the point of exhaustion. Your mistakes and mine are costing me a small fortune. My husband isn't here to make it all better. So while I understand, it doesn't make it okay."
To which he responded, " Well, you know God doesn't give us anything more than we can handle."
Umm, okay. Wrong saying, wrong lady. Way to go on making me now not only want to rip your head off but to kick you in the nads as well.
And as far as him never saying he's sorry for the whole damn mess I leave you with this:
Flashback 10 years ago: A girlfriend and I went to a bar to unwind. She, being totally schnockered, walked past a surprisingly quiet group of military guys. The one sitting with his legs right in our path, she kicked him. Hard. With mucho gusto. Why, I'll never know. What I do know is that he was going to forgo the whole 'never hit a woman thing' and knock her ass to the ground. I jumped between them, his nose touching mine, his fist clenched and touching my arm. I repeatedly blurted out how sorry I was but that she was drunk. Sooo very sorry and we'll leave you alone.
His response, "Don't ever say you're sorry. It's a sign of weakness."
And then he sat back down.
Suppose Property Manager guy follows the same creed.
As for me -
No sir, I'm not sorry I'm a bitch. Just sad that I have to be, that's all.
Holy Crapoly, you've had it rough lately.
Cyber-hugs to you.
(And when the asshole property manager screams God's Plan, you should remind him of Karma, Baby!)
Posted by: Cartwheels At Midnight | 17 February 2007 at 09:56 AM
Big smile and thanks for that cyber hug :-)
The girls and I are having a carefree, lazy, no stress allowed kinda day. I send those very same vibes your way, I think you are very well deserving of them!
Posted by: hk | 17 February 2007 at 01:36 PM
Wow. I'm so sorry. For all of it.
We ended up having to rent out our old place and thankfully the tenants have been fine. I cannot even imagine the horror you described--especially from 'friends.' Ugh.
Posted by: karrie | 19 February 2007 at 03:24 PM
Wow. I'm so sorry. For all of it.
We ended up having to rent out our old place and thankfully the tenants have been fine. I cannot even imagine the horror you described--especially from 'friends.' Ugh.
Posted by: karrie | 19 February 2007 at 03:24 PM
karrie, thank you. The good news - the last tenant maintained the interior like a champ. The rush of relief to see the inside looking as it did when she moved in. With a little wear and tear but completely normal. It is refreshing to hear someone have a positive experience in renting. As far as the friends, they are long gone and hopefully stay that way.
Posted by: hk | 19 February 2007 at 11:03 PM