batshit chronicles, part II

suffice it to say that my earlier post “apparently, helping someone in need is not in the lease” was not the end of the story.  hopefully, parts II and III will be.

damn.  i hope there only are parts II and III.

so, after contemplating the events of sunday, i had a long day on monday.  i went out to dinner with colleagues from japan at union square cafe (sidebar: get the pear and gingerbread parfait.  it’s insane. and i don’t eat desserts).  i then met up with dear friends to see no country for old men which is, incidentally, also insane.  just fantastic all around.  i got home late, and so did not see batshit.  i had heard her on her cell phone singing happy birthday loudly outside my door at 7 am, but i didn’t see her.

the next morning she really upped the stakes in the passive aggression game.  since i was in bed, i couldn’t see what she was doing, but this is what i have been able to deduce based on what i could hear.  she must have lined up plastic bags on the table and counters (squeezed in between her bags of cutlery, tap lights and trays for non-existent toaster ovens, of course).  i imagine it was set up much like one of those glasses-filled-with-water-that-you-play-on-the-rims scenarios.  anyhoo, after lining up said bags, she began to play what must have been a ten act opera for forty five minutes.  let me tell you, it’s no birdsong, but it certainly does kill the need for an alarm clock.

i spent tuesday worrying and tensing, which we all know is no good.  when i got home, i decided to try and talk to her about moving out.  her moving out.  i’d heard of some places, cheaper even than mine, and was ready to offer to pay for moving men because a) moving is seriously a pain in the ass, b) i’m basically a nice person and have some muddy emotions about asking someone to leave two and a half months after moving in and c) i cannot wait to be rid of the bitch.

first, i talk to signore ar, my lovely and rather hilarious landlord.  he doesn’t like fusses, but he’s behind me 100%.  i’m the “a-boss.”  oh.  did i mention one of signore ar’s more endearing qualities is that he actually sounds like a cartoon eye-talian when he talks?  it’s pretty seriously awesome. 

next, i go to knock on her partially open bedroom door.  [batshit] i say nicely, do you have a minute?  bs: for what?  me: to talk? bs: i guess so.  she opens her door.

i awkwardly, but nicely say that we’re clearly both not happy and i doubt that she wants to be miserable for the next ten months of her lease either.  she stares.  i suggest that she “might want to consider mov”- before i can get it out, and the offers i had devised and mention above, she screams”i have a legally signed document that says i can stay and it’s my choice when i move,” cackles, and slams the door in my face. 

i said “[batshit], come on.  please?  let’s talk.”

bs: “no. i am nawt having this convuhsation.”

me: “why?  let’s talk and figure this out.  i’ve heard of som- ”

bs: “NO. grow up.  i’m not having this conversation. you wanted a roommate and you got one.”

me: “yes, i did.  but i wanted someone with whom i felt comfortable and is stable and-”

bs: “oh my gawd! i nevuh judged you aw called you names.* you aaah so immatuah.”

me: “c’mon [batshit] let’s talk.”

bs: whipping open the door “STOP TALKING TO ME AND GET AWAY FROM MY DAW OR I’M CAWLING THE COPS.”

me: zunh?

i walked to my room, got my keys and went down to talk to signore ar.  between sobs i told him i had to move.  i couldn’t (sob) live with her (sob) for ten (sob) more months (waah waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah sob).  he says, no, you stay, you’ve been here nine years (eight really, but who’s counting?).  besides, this isn’t rent controlled and she doesn’t have a term on her lease, she gonna give me two thousand dollars by herself.

eeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt.  what?  she doesn’t have a term? 

no kids, she’s month to month! huzzah!  yay! are you sure?

yes, he’s sure.  he shows me a copy of the non-notarized, non-witnessed lease.  through my sobs i look it over.  i say ok.  he says you stay.  i say ok, i’ll talk to a lawyer and see what we have to do.   he doesn’t let me leave until i smile.  he’s a very nice man.

i go back upstairs, wiping the tears and snot from my face and head towards my room, pausing only long enough to lock the front door and note that batshit is watching TMZ, which she tivos, in the living room.

 *eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee 

lo, if this were only it.  stay tuned, batfans, for tomorrows installment of the batshit chronicles…..

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1 Response to “batshit chronicles, part II”


  1. 1 gmoney 16 November, 2007 at 14:36

    Holy crap, I did not realize that the friggin’ law enforcement was potentially involved! Don’t worry, I have called 911 exactly three times in my life, and 311 once. (I reported an unsafe traffic situation)

    The police are my boys (and girls).

    If you need me to call 911, I can get us on the fast track. Kick this lady to the curb. She’s not classy.


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truth

“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

truth

Upon common theatres, indeed, the applause of the audience is of more importance to the actors than their own approbation. But upon the stage of life, while conscience claps, let the world hiss! On the contrary if conscience disapproves, the loudest applauses of the world are of little value - john adams
November 2007
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from the man who taught me everything:

“Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.”

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