Sunday, August 25, 2013

The Long, Hot Summer

I'm beginning to think that this summer is never gonna end. It's hot, it's difficult, and it's going to keep grinding me into the ground for the rest of my life. At least that's how it feels.

I'm continuing to work for the slumlord. I've never talked to so many crackheads, prostitutes, retards, assholes, and ho-bag skanks in my life. That's all this guy rents to! Jesus, deliver me from low-class human beings. I keep an economy-sized pump bottle of Purell in my tote and pat myself down after each interview. I wish I could wear a hospital mask and get away with it. Michael Jackson might have been onto something.

Everything else in my life is on hold. Mark and Kurt (remember my next door neighbor?) have been spending the summer on a new-relationship pink cloud and neither one has had much time left over to hang out with me. How pathetic is that? I'm jealous of my gay friends because they left me. Aurora has had nothing to share, evidence-wise, because Barney and Harmony are in Machu Picchu. As in Peru. He's so out of shape he can barely climb the stairs, let alone a high-elevation mountain in the Andes or wherever the hell it is. Harmony would have to find some high-heeled, wedgie hiking boots before she'd set foot on the trail.

I need to take a brisk walk and drink a green-energy smoothie. Unfortunately, my favorite Juicy sweats are wearing out and have a huge run in the seat. I think I'll drink a mudslide and watch 'Dancing With the Stars'.

Friday, August 2, 2013

Slumlord Millionaire

This job sucks. I had no idea what I was getting into. That's not exactly true. This guy is a friend of Mark's so I just assumed I would be sitting in a beige converted-garage home office organizing and filing a bunch of papers. I expected air-conditioning. And a desk.

How to describe this? Ok, the guy's office is in his home...everywhere in his home. There's crap in the kitchen, hallway, living room, out in the garage, even in the (ick!) bathroom! Not relatively neat stacks of paper. No, these are huge drifts, mountainous mounds, throat-clogging clots of paper intermixed with all manner of personal things that I'm horrified to even admit I've had to touch. It's like an oven in there because he won't fix his air-conditioner, and it's not because he doesn't have the money. I've seen his bank statements. He's just cheap.

This job is supposed to be temporary but, honestly, it will take me weeks to straighten it all out. What's worse, just when I get into a rhythm, he gives me some actual office work to do. Today it was posting rent to this archaic old program that runs in...wait for it... DOS. I though the last DOS computer died around 2004. Anyhow, next he wants me to get some vacant units rented so tomorrow (yes, I work Saturdays) I'll be posting on Craig's List, reading applications, and running eviction checks. He doesn't even bother with credit checks. Says that it's a given that the people who would rent from him have less-than-stellar credit. Gee, ya think?

I know, it's a job, right? I save a ton by not having to drive anywhere. I can wear sweats to work and I'm learning a new skill...I guess. I look back on my life thus far and I can't reconcile how it used to be with how it is now. Life is becoming a big, tiring grind. Do most people feel this yawing sense of desolation day after day or am I just having a hard time adjusting to 'real' life because things have been so easy for me in the past? I don't know - it's something to ponder. Or maybe I'll just go eat the rest of the Nutter Butter cookies and have a good cry.