V for Vindictive
A couple of weeks back, Darren and I missed out on a house I wanted very much.... and I'm still not feeling too friendly about it. It was ridiculously, absurdedly, fantastically good - it was the closest thing to Guylian's Dreame Home that we've seen so far, even down to the His n' Hers twin vanities in the bathroom, the electric oven but gas hot plates (recommended as the best combination for good cooking) in the kitchen, and the elevated verandah in the yard which had a square on one end big enough to fit a table for summer dining. But we lost out to the only other applicant - a family of four with a chain-smoking, deadbeat father and two rowdy, ADHD-affected kids who are just a couple of years and a bong hit away from a life of petty crime, because the owners of the house would rather have those animals living there than my two elegant, clean, registered, de-sexed, microchipped, vaccinated and freshly-bathed cats.
Well, I've always believed that Cat People are the Best People, and this proves that non-cat people, are, well, not.
It was made that much worse by the fact that we were so sure we'd be offered the place, because we were told that the owners wanted people Just Like Us - clean, quiet, educated and respectable - all while the aforementioned family thumped and crashed their way around the house during the open for inspection. We put our applications in first. We made it known that if it would make a difference, we could go a little higher with the rent. We praised The Fuck out of every nook and cranny. And Darren has a ten-year rental record with his current real estate agency that would make a property manager weep. We were The Perfect Tenants for that house. And yet they ignored all that as soon as they saw that we had pets, and ironically, chose tenants who are far more likely to turn their property into a smoking hole in the ground. Frankly, I'm hoping they do trash the place. >:- (
And so we're back to the daily search for possible rentals, except there's been absolutely nothing worth looking at for weeks - the rental market has suddenly been infested by damp, ugly and broken-down houses that should've been condemned decades ago for their flooring alone. And I'm getting more and more frustrated that my 30th birthday is coming up and I'm still here. Every bump and bruise from crashing into my parent's junk, every time I'm told off for 'making noise' when I try to do anything related to cooking or cleaning in the house, every time that my father starts yelling racist or sexist obscenities at the tv, the effect of it on me just gets amplified because of the frustration. I have to be so very careful that I don't snap and answer back or get angry or God Forbid, say anything at all about the fact that the 400th dusty, unidentifiable chunk of obsolete electronics to the left just ripped a hole in my favourite skirt, AGAIN, because I brushed up against it while avoiding the huge stack of old newspapers to the right that I didn't want to knock over. : (
Sigh. My new mantra is 'Just hang in there babe - not much longer now...'.
Guylian
Well, I've always believed that Cat People are the Best People, and this proves that non-cat people, are, well, not.
It was made that much worse by the fact that we were so sure we'd be offered the place, because we were told that the owners wanted people Just Like Us - clean, quiet, educated and respectable - all while the aforementioned family thumped and crashed their way around the house during the open for inspection. We put our applications in first. We made it known that if it would make a difference, we could go a little higher with the rent. We praised The Fuck out of every nook and cranny. And Darren has a ten-year rental record with his current real estate agency that would make a property manager weep. We were The Perfect Tenants for that house. And yet they ignored all that as soon as they saw that we had pets, and ironically, chose tenants who are far more likely to turn their property into a smoking hole in the ground. Frankly, I'm hoping they do trash the place. >:- (
And so we're back to the daily search for possible rentals, except there's been absolutely nothing worth looking at for weeks - the rental market has suddenly been infested by damp, ugly and broken-down houses that should've been condemned decades ago for their flooring alone. And I'm getting more and more frustrated that my 30th birthday is coming up and I'm still here. Every bump and bruise from crashing into my parent's junk, every time I'm told off for 'making noise' when I try to do anything related to cooking or cleaning in the house, every time that my father starts yelling racist or sexist obscenities at the tv, the effect of it on me just gets amplified because of the frustration. I have to be so very careful that I don't snap and answer back or get angry or God Forbid, say anything at all about the fact that the 400th dusty, unidentifiable chunk of obsolete electronics to the left just ripped a hole in my favourite skirt, AGAIN, because I brushed up against it while avoiding the huge stack of old newspapers to the right that I didn't want to knock over. : (
Sigh. My new mantra is 'Just hang in there babe - not much longer now...'.
Guylian