I had hoped I could come up with a cool subject line, but that looks like it’s out of the question for now. This is going to be long, but I have no intention of cutting it. Why? Well, for one, I’m just not that considerate right now. My level of consideration for the feelings of others has been stretched to the limit, and if you don’t want to read about why, then you can just use your down arrow key to scroll past it, or your mouse, or whatever works, but whatever you do, it’s not my problem. I hope no one takes this personally. It’s just part and parcel of the rant.

As I have stated in this space before, I have an unwanted roommate. For a little while, it looked as though things were going to work themselves out. She was supposed to move back out, and I was supposed to get my life back, and start setting things back in order. And then, a little over a week ago, things went wrong. The roommate walked in, with one of her ditsy little friends, and informed me that she is staying here permanently, and that if I have any questions, I can call the manager. By Sunday, she had arranged the apartment so that the couch is now in the middle of the living room floor, with the coffee table in front of it, leaving just enough space to walk between it and the stand with the TV and DVD player on it, which, by the way, she feels is communal property, along with the XM radio, and so that means she can use them whenever she feels like it. All of this was going on while I was fighting a really bad cold/flue thingy, so it was a surprise when I walked out Sunday to get some food, and was told that the apartment had been rearranged, again. No asking, just telling. She’s a fucking pig, and she brings strange people over, lots of them guys, and she’s loud, and just generally stupid. My house is a disaster, and there are fucking roaches everywhere. I hate it. I can’t fucking stand it. She leaves food out. Yesterday morning, when Andrew came over to pick me up for work, he saw a glass of liquid, (in her case, probably Pepci), with pieces of meat floating in it, as well as half a spam sandwitch left out on the counter. Fucking spam! She used my fucking frying pan to cook the shit, and then used my dishes to serve it. And, how the hell do you manage to end up with pieces of spam in your drink? That shouldn’t be a possibility, if you’re civilized. Fucking Gentile heathen! And then, wonder of wonders, she has the chutzpah to bitch about the bugs! So she came up with the brilliant idea of bathing the kitchen in Raid. Oh! And when I mentioned that the couch needs to be put back where it was, due to the very small and insignificant fact that its current placement renders it, along with the coffee table, a safety hazzard, I was told that it can’t be moved back much further, because of the bar stools. When I suggested putting the bar stools back where they were, I was told that “it looks cute,” and how she had done such a good job redecorating the living room, and then the matter was dropped. For those who haven’t put it together, that’s an attempt at a subtle way to tell me that I can fuck off. I refuse to live like this. My kitchen is practically unusable, if you have any concern about preparing your meals in a clean environment, because it’s been infested with roaches, and then bathed in Raid, but not cleaned up after the bath, and it just wouldn’t be a good idea to make a meal with that kind of risk. My apartment’s been completely overrun with ghetto trash. In January, another one is moving in. The roommate overdrew her checking account by over $200, and can’t figure out how she did it. And even when you add up all the NSF charges, you still have $25 or so you can’t account for, and she isn’t that worried about not being able to account for it. She’s worried about not having money to spend on her birthday. No worries about bills, unless you count the cell phone bill, and that’s because she stays on that damned thing constantly. Well, I’m not going to fucking babysit. I didn’t create the drama, and I’m not going to be responsible for holding things together. I’m going to leave, in whatever way necessary, whether that be by subleasing or just moving, But if I just move, and the complex wants to give me hell about it, I’ll go to the media, and raise the issue of picking on the blink. I don’t usually play that card, but I will if I have to. Everyone I’ve talked to agrees that they would have never moved someone in on someone who is sighted, without their permission, and then come out and said that if they expected their rights and needs to be respected that it would be best if they moved. And that, my friends, is discrimination. I am not going to live in disgusting, dangerous conditions. I don’t work my ass off at Convergys only to come home and get more of the same crap. And, by the way, I got written up last week, again, this time for missing two days for having a really bad cold. Far be it from Cornelius to think, “Hey, maybe I should exclude some occurrances, since she was very obviously sick.” No, that just makes too much fucking sense. There’s that fucking L word again, and we all know how bad that is. The roommate situation makes me want to go out and purchase home protection pieces, (for those who don’t know, that’s a nice little term for guns, which probably sounds more palatable to liberal ears, coined by my friend Andrew, who likes weapons a lot despite his liberality), and come and test them on the apartment and everything and everyone in it. I don’t want to come home and hear ghetto music blaring, or stupid people talking, or anything like that, and I shouldn’t have to. I didn’t tell the little whore she could move in, and I’ll do everything in my power to get the fuck out, if I have to. I don’t want to hear about the latest condom and Ky jelly purchases, (I’m sorry, but if you’re as young as she is, and you need KY jelly, then that means you’ve really been around, hence the whore comment), and I don’t want to hear how good spam is, and I don’t want to smell the shit. I want my fucking life back, and the prospect of peace and quiet to end my day. Is that too much to ask? really? I mean, come on!

Everybody feel free to comment. Yeah, I know the begging was harsh, but like I said, it’s nothing personal. And, believe it or not, when you guys comment, it makes things a little easier. At least then, I know someone’s being entertained. I’ll keep you all posted on this situation.

I had hoped I could come up with a cool subject line, but that looks like it’s out of the question for now. This is going to be long, but I have no intention of cutting it. Why? Well, for one, I’m just not that considerate right now. My level of consideration for the feelings of others has been stretched to the limit, and if you don’t want to read about why, then you can just use your down arrow key to scroll past it, or your mouse, or whatever works, but whatever you do, it’s not my problem. I hope no one takes this personally. It’s just part and parcel of the rant.

As I have stated in this space before, I have an unwanted roommate. For a little while, it looked as though things were going to work themselves out. She was supposed to move back out, and I was supposed to get my life back, and start setting things back in order. And then, a little over a week ago, things went wrong. The roommate walked in, with one of her ditsy little friends, and informed me that she is staying here permanently, and that if I have any questions, I can call the manager. By Sunday, she had arranged the apartment so that the couch is now in the middle of the living room floor, with the coffee table in front of it, leaving just enough space to walk between it and the stand with the TV and DVD player on it, which, by the way, she feels is communal property, along with the XM radio, and so that means she can use them whenever she feels like it. All of this was going on while I was fighting a really bad cold/flue thingy, so it was a surprise when I walked out Sunday to get some food, and was told that the apartment had been rearranged, again. No asking, just telling. She’s a fucking pig, and she brings strange people over, lots of them guys, and she’s loud, and just generally stupid. My house is a disaster, and there are fucking roaches everywhere. I hate it. I can’t fucking stand it. She leaves food out. Yesterday morning, when Andrew came over to pick me up for work, he saw a glass of liquid, (in her case, probably Pepci), with pieces of meat floating in it, as well as half a spam sandwitch left out on the counter. Fucking spam! She used my fucking frying pan to cook the shit, and then used my dishes to serve it. And, how the hell do you manage to end up with pieces of spam in your drink? That shouldn’t be a possibility, if you’re civilized. Fucking Gentile heathen! And then, wonder of wonders, she has the chutzpah to bitch about the bugs! So she came up with the brilliant idea of bathing the kitchen in Raid. Oh! And when I mentioned that the couch needs to be put back where it was, due to the very small and insignificant fact that its current placement renders it, along with the coffee table, a safety hazzard, I was told that it can’t be moved back much further, because of the bar stools. When I suggested putting the bar stools back where they were, I was told that “it looks cute,” and how she had done such a good job redecorating the living room, and then the matter was dropped. For those who haven’t put it together, that’s an attempt at a subtle way to tell me that I can fuck off. I refuse to live like this. My kitchen is practically unusable, if you have any concern about preparing your meals in a clean environment, because it’s been infested with roaches, and then bathed in Raid, but not cleaned up after the bath, and it just wouldn’t be a good idea to make a meal with that kind of risk. My apartment’s been completely overrun with ghetto trash. In January, another one is moving in. The roommate overdrew her checking account by over $200, and can’t figure out how she did it. And even when you add up all the NSF charges, you still have $25 or so you can’t account for, and she isn’t that worried about not being able to account for it. She’s worried about not having money to spend on her birthday. No worries about bills, unless you count the cell phone bill, and that’s because she stays on that damned thing constantly. Well, I’m not going to fucking babysit. I didn’t create the drama, and I’m not going to be responsible for holding things together. I’m going to leave, in whatever way necessary, whether that be by subleasing or just moving, But if I just move, and the complex wants to give me hell about it, I’ll go to the media, and raise the issue of picking on the blink. I don’t usually play that card, but I will if I have to. Everyone I’ve talked to agrees that they would have never moved someone in on someone who is sighted, without their permission, and then come out and said that if they expected their rights and needs to be respected that it would be best if they moved. And that, my friends, is discrimination. I am not going to live in disgusting, dangerous conditions. I don’t work my ass off at Convergys only to come home and get more of the same crap. And, by the way, I got written up last week, again, this time for missing two days for having a really bad cold. Far be it from Cornelius to think, “Hey, maybe I should exclude some occurrances, since she was very obviously sick.” No, that just makes too much fucking sense. There’s that fucking L word again, and we all know how bad that is. The roommate situation makes me want to go out and purchase home protection pieces, (for those who don’t know, that’s a nice little term for guns, which probably sounds more palatable to liberal ears, coined by my friend Andrew, who likes weapons a lot despite his liberality), and come and test them on the apartment and everything and everyone in it. I don’t want to come home and hear ghetto music blaring, or stupid people talking, or anything like that, and I shouldn’t have to. I didn’t tell the little whore she could move in, and I’ll do everything in my power to get the fuck out, if I have to. I don’t want to hear about the latest condom and Ky jelly purchases, (I’m sorry, but if you’re as young as she is, and you need KY jelly, then that means you’ve really been around, hence the whore comment), and I don’t want to hear how good spam is, and I don’t want to smell the shit. I want my fucking life back, and the prospect of peace and quiet to end my day. Is that too much to ask? really? I mean, come on!

Everybody feel free to comment. Yeah, I know the begging was harsh, but like I said, it’s nothing personal. And, believe it or not, when you guys comment, it makes things a little easier. At least then, I know someone’s being entertained. I’ll keep you all posted on this situation.

I’m finally starting to get over this cold/flue virus thingy I’ve been battling for the last week. I went to the kitchen to grab a sub sandwitch I had in the refridgerator, and found that the roommate had eaten half of it, and didn’t even wrap the other half up properly. That’s just fucking inconsiderate and rude. You don’t touch someone else’s food without permission. I feel like I’ve been put through the ringer twice, and I’m getting ready to work an eight-day stretch. Not cool. I’m waiting for the laundry to finish drying, but I really don’t feel like putting it away. Found the menorah, and it’s burning in the window right now. More later.

I’m finally starting to get over this cold/flue virus thingy I’ve been battling for the last week. I went to the kitchen to grab a sub sandwitch I had in the refridgerator, and found that the roommate had eaten half of it, and didn’t even wrap the other half up properly. That’s just fucking inconsiderate and rude. You don’t touch someone else’s food without permission. I feel like I’ve been put through the ringer twice, and I’m getting ready to work an eight-day stretch. Not cool. I’m waiting for the laundry to finish drying, but I really don’t feel like putting it away. Found the menorah, and it’s burning in the window right now. More later.

Well folks, it’s been ages since I’ve posted, and it’s about time for another one. It’s been so long since I’ve posted that I don’t remember what I posted about. Suffice it to say that work’s pretty much just the same crap, different day. I have a new roommate, who was moved in without my knowledge, and is here to stay permanently. She, and all of her friends, are Convergys-quality people, and by that I do not refer to the few people at Convergys who are hard-working. In short, they’re extremely trashy, people nobody with any sense would want in their house. And this one lives with me, and she brings all her friends over. They stay over till all hours of the night, and I don’t trust any of them as far as I could kick them. Thank G-d the bedroom door has a lock, because there’s no way in hell my ass is going to sleep with a bunch of strange guys in the house. I’ve been sick for the last several says. I worked a half-day today, and came home to try to get a little rest while the roommate was at work. Her sister, and her sister’s boyfriend are over here now. The sister’s about 16. The roommate’s 19. She periodically rearranges my living room at will. Yesterday, I got lucky enough to receive a warning that the living room had been arranged. All her and her friends do is blast ghetto music, and generally act retarded, like trash. They’re moving her best friend in next month. I’ve seen her too. She’s just as retarded. I have a really bad feeling I’m going to get seriously fucked because of this whole arrangement. ze’evi said he bought one of those bird grenades, the little grenade launcher that can fit in the back of a truck. I wonder if he’ll let me borrow it. I could come home one night, open the front door, and just start lobbing concussion grenades in to the place, and run them all out. Yeah, it’d destroy a whole bunch of shit, but what the hell. “I just want my life back!” It’s the night before Hanukkah, and I can’t find the menorah. I can’t think straight enough to try to figure out where I put it, and that’s assuming it wasn’t in one of the living room closets, and thus has been moved. I can’t wait until I can move.

I’ve had a very strange weekend.
I walked in to my apartment Saturday night after work to
a bunch of strange people who had absolutely no business
being there.
There was ghetto music blaring out of my TV, my books
were all over the place, and my apartment was in the
process of being rearranged to fit somebody else’s
likes.
When I opened the door, (which was unlocked), the
intruders even had the nerve to try to joke around with
me, and tell me I was at the wrong apartment.
I thought the same thing myself, due to the fact that
the place didn’t smell like my apartment usually does,
(besides the familiar smell of the place, I had some
apple-cinnamon Glade plug-ins, and it kind of smelled
like incense, since I burn that a lot, and it smelled
like books). I’m sure when you walk into your home
after a long time away from it, you recognize familiar
smells that identify it as your home, as opposed to
someone else’s.
Well, every last bit of that was gone when I walked in
Saturday night after work.
I got no notice from the apartment management that they
wanted to move someone else in, and they have my number,
because they gave it to the woman who’s my current
roommate.
This new person isn’t a roommate, she’s an occupier.
From the information she, her mother, her aunt and some
guy who I, (and Andrew from looking at the kid who was
with him), assume is her baby’s daddy, despite what they
all say about him being just a family friend, there was
some sort of “altercation” between the invader and her
former roommates, and she got locked out of her
apartment.
No violence was involved, no threats were made, and,
according to all of them, she wasn’t the offender, and
she didn’t do anything wrong.
Yet someone decided that the situation was of emergency
importance, so much so that they had no problem telling
some strange people to just go right ahead and move into
my apartment, because this poor 19-year-old girl
couldn’t figure out how to deal with her roommates, and
because she’s alergic to cats, and because she wanted
her other roommate, who she got along with, to have a
chance to move in with her.
All of the above is absolutely not my problem, and I
could care less.
They said there was another apartment open.
Let her move into that one, after the people living
there have been notified.
It wouldn’t kill her and her friendly roommate to have
to deal with the inconvenience of walking less than a
block to be able to hang out.
Or better yet, she can grow up, and learn to resolve the
dispute with the other roommates.
I didn’t create the drama, and I shouldn’t have to bear
the consequences.
I sure as hell am not going to put up with someone
coming into my apartment, without my permission or
knowledge, and taking it over.
The contents of my cabbinets have been
rearranged, my refridgerator has been rearranged, my
stove’s in pieces, my books are all over the place.
Their excuse: “We just wanted to clean up a little.”
First of all, my apartment wasn’t dirty.
Yes, it needed to be straightened up, which I am quite
capable of doing myself, and had set aside for my next
day off.
Secondly, even if I wanted someone else to do it, I’m
quite capable of asking myself.
But that’s beyond the point.
They ended up making more of a mess than straightening.
My place is now a disaster area.
Sure, they mopped the kitchen floor, and wiped down the
kitchen.
But that’s it.
Everything else they wanted to do is just a list of
ideas, and, as I said, her shit’s all over the place in
my living room, along with my books, and the trash can
from the kitchen.
Apparently, she likes her trash can better.
I’m going to the office later today, and going seven
levels of postal.
This is completely unacceptable.
Furthermore, I’m not going to put up with it.
She is going to get the fuck out, and I will expend
every last bit of effort I can muster to get her out.

23 November 2004

It’s Tuesday now.
I went to the office yesterday afternoon.
After they gushed on about how they understood how much
of a shock it must have been to find several strangers
in my apartment, and then further to have them try to
convince me I was at the wrong apartment because they
thought it might be funny, and still further to find
that everything in my cabbinets had been rearranged, I
was told that, if I really expected my rights and needs
to be respected, then it would be best if I moved,
because this complex doesn’t cater to mature adults.
Well, that’s perfectly fine with me.
If they think I should move, so be it.
I’ll be out of here as soon as possible.
Since I started writing this last week, things have
changed yet again.
The head manager’s gotten involved, agreed that it was a
bad move on the part of the assistant manager to move
the girl in without letting me know, and has prepared a
list of apartments for her to look at in order to find a
permanent place to live, permanent being relative to the
length of her lease.
So that means she’ll be out of here soon.
That’s good, because the only praise from her mother
I’ve seen her live up to is the part about working.
Im yirtza Yehovah, this will all be over soonn, and I
can get back to my life before all the upheaval.

Well folks, it’s been ages since I’ve posted, and it’s about time for another one. It’s been so long since I’ve posted that I don’t remember what I posted about. Suffice it to say that work’s pretty much just the same crap, different day. I have a new roommate, who was moved in without my knowledge, and is here to stay permanently. She, and all of her friends, are Convergys-quality people, and by that I do not refer to the few people at Convergys who are hard-working. In short, they’re extremely trashy, people nobody with any sense would want in their house. And this one lives with me, and she brings all her friends over. They stay over till all hours of the night, and I don’t trust any of them as far as I could kick them. Thank G-d the bedroom door has a lock, because there’s no way in hell my ass is going to sleep with a bunch of strange guys in the house. I’ve been sick for the last several says. I worked a half-day today, and came home to try to get a little rest while the roommate was at work. Her sister, and her sister’s boyfriend are over here now. The sister’s about 16. The roommate’s 19. She periodically rearranges my living room at will. Yesterday, I got lucky enough to receive a warning that the living room had been arranged. All her and her friends do is blast ghetto music, and generally act retarded, like trash. They’re moving her best friend in next month. I’ve seen her too. She’s just as retarded. I have a really bad feeling I’m going to get seriously fucked because of this whole arrangement. ze’evi said he bought one of those bird grenades, the little grenade launcher that can fit in the back of a truck. I wonder if he’ll let me borrow it. I could come home one night, open the front door, and just start lobbing concussion grenades in to the place, and run them all out. Yeah, it’d destroy a whole bunch of shit, but what the hell. “I just want my life back!” It’s the night before Hanukkah, and I can’t find the menorah. I can’t think straight enough to try to figure out where I put it, and that’s assuming it wasn’t in one of the living room closets, and thus has been moved. I can’t wait until I can move.

OK, this was just too much. I found this funny, even in my flue-saturated mental state. Enjoy.

 


You’re Mozambique!
You’re tired of fighting with yourself.  For years, you fought battles
with yourself over every little thing you could, but now it’s finally time to move on.  Just
forgetting about it looks like the best way to move on, though you really like graphic representations
of machine guns for some reason.  Rebuilding yourself is going to be a challenge, but with
the inner peace you feel now, it’s looking like a possibility.  Just take the machine gun off
your flag.

Take
the Country Quiz at the Blue Pyramid

OK, this was just too much. I found this funny, even in my flue-saturated mental state. Enjoy.

 


You’re Mozambique!
You’re tired of fighting with yourself.  For years, you fought battles
with yourself over every little thing you could, but now it’s finally time to move on.  Just
forgetting about it looks like the best way to move on, though you really like graphic representations
of machine guns for some reason.  Rebuilding yourself is going to be a challenge, but with
the inner peace you feel now, it’s looking like a possibility.  Just take the machine gun off
your flag.

Take
the Country Quiz at the Blue Pyramid