Powerball madness, y’all.

Did you get your tickets yet? Do you live somewhere that doesn’t HAVE Powerball? Sucks to be you, eh? I mean…It’s $1.5 BBBBBBBBillion Dollaires. That’s BILLION. WITH A “B”!

I just had this conversation with my husband via The Facebook Messenger:

9:49am

Hubs: I have the vertigo this morning!
Me: uh-oh.
Me: hydrate.
Hubs: yep
Hubs: I did eat an orange
Me: Maybe we’re gonna have an earthquake.
Much like dogs can sense earthquakes and no one knows why – or maybe they do and I just don’t remember the reason…
Hubs: Maybe it’s Powerball fever
Me: Maybe! I should get a couple tickets.
Hubs: Won’t work.
The fuck?!
Hubs: Spadafore has the winning ticket
“Spadafore” is a buddy of his at work…
Hubs: and he’s not sharing the numbers
Stingy bastard, that Spadafore…
Me: He’s lying.
Me: Everyone says that.
Hubs: huh
Hubs: When it went from 1.3 to 1.5, he said I could have the $200 million
Me: I’d rather be the one to give HIM the 200 Mil.
It’s simple math, really…I mean…duh.
Me: So…
Me: nice try.
Hubs: okay
Me: And…uh…if he DOES have the winning numbers, then…the deal is STILL ON.
I amaze even myself, you guys…I’m fucking brilliant.
Me: Sneaky, right?
Hubs: very
I don’t like his tone.
P.S. This is probably the first thing I’d buy with my winnings:
dollar-signs-bling-ring

I’m pretty sure it says somewhere in the fine print on the back of the tickets that you are 100% obligated to buy one of these rings when you win the lottery.

Misophonia – It’s a “thing”, y’all. Look it up.

It happens against my will. It’s almost as if I get possessed. One minute I’m fine…the next I’m shooting daggers out of my eyes.

Usually, the first thing that I notice is people chewing their food noisily. At first, I’m able to control my twitchy eye. Breathing exercises work great. After that fails, though…all bets are off.

I drop little hints to those around me starting with that stare with the squinky eye. (Dear spellcheck…squinky IS a word…because I just made it up.) The offender usually senses this look…stops chewing for a moment, then says something like, “What?” to which I respond, “Oh…nothing…” hoping they get the hint. When that fails I go a little bit more passive-aggressive-aggressive.

Do those Funyuns taste good?!

I’m usually met with, “They sure do, want some?” I respectfully decline.

It will typically escalate from there. Here are ways that I will attempt to drown out or get them to stop:

  1. Turn on my music at my desk or turn on the TV.
  2. When that doesn’t work, I’ll turn up the volume so that I drown out that god-forsaken sound from my head.
  3. I remind myself that I love the person making this goddamned noise and sometimes that works…most of the time it does not.
  4. Slamming of dishes ensues.
  5. I will literally throw a fork onto my plate causing a scene making everyone nervous and occasionally they will leave the room.
  6. Heavy sighs work the best, I’ve found. And if you accompany the squinky eye and the stare-down, the offender knows you mean business.
  7. The final straw comes when I have had enough. Usually directed at my poor sweet husband or my BFF who both love me unconditionally and are the worst offenders. These two people love me DISPITE my shortcomings and weird quirks. I typically lose it completely.

The conversation will begin with the look. And my reactions exponentially get ballsy-er from there:

  • Blank stare while simultaneously freezing in place causing a silence in my general direction that is immediately noticed and the sense of being watched rather intensely is completely palpable.
  • They look in my direction, usually freezing in mid-chew. Let’s not forget, these people know me. They know exactly what this look means.
  • They say, “What?” – I say, “I’m literally going to stab you and to go prison if you don’t figure out how to chew more softly.” They say, “I’m just eating.” – I say, “Fine! YOU EAT AND I’LL GO LOOK FOR A KNIFE!”
  • They say, “You need to calm down.” – I say, “What would you like on your headstone? ‘Here lies Mr. Sassy, his wife murdered him because he wouldn’t chew softly and she fucking had had enough, already.'”*

In the end, I make my point. And a few days later, I feel really bad that I went so nutso about it – but SERIOUSLY.

* Don’t you fucking love it when you get to use “had had” in a sentence?! I do. Especially if it ends up on a head stone.

 

I always get nervous when you people follow me…

You guys…I’m freaking out.

There are times when this blog gets more attention than others and apparently today is the day because I just picked up two new follows and I’m not really sure if you understand this blog enough to follow me…

Seriously though...low standards?

Seriously though…low standards?

HAVE YOU READ ANY OF THIS STUFF?! I mean…I drop F-bombs like I drop the ellipses…frequently…with ABANDON and…well…quite frankly, you’ve got me worried.

And another thing…if you think you are stumbling upon some “writer” that can form a coherent thought and can form proper sentence structure with ease…you’ve got another thing coming.

Usually the posts here are just my thoughts rattled through my fingertips with little regard for proper writing and punctuation, proper tenses…all of that crap that serious writers care so deeply about. WHICH I CAN APPRECIATE, but seriously. You followed a blog with the title “Sassypanties”. How proper can it possibly be?

Not. It’s not proper at all. Thankyouverymuch.

Oh yes, sometimes, I’ll surprise you with some heart felt mushy stuff and my sincere love for Music and hosting House Shows, but mostly it’s just my rantings about my job and how people piss me off and I’m not happy unless I add a “shit” or “motherfucker” in there for good measure. Because I can.

So…I guess you can consider this a warning or…a welcome aboard. Thanks for even considering clicking that follow button. If you choose to stay…I’ll do my best to chase you off.

P.S. You should be really proud of me because I sort of kept my profanity under wraps for the most part with this post. Pretty impressive, I must say.

P.P.S. The ellipses…dude…I told you…I use them…or should I say “mis-use” them…A LOT.

These Woodpeckers are Driving Us Insane: Apartment Manager Tales

There are a lot of things I can do to help make my tenants comfortable. Fixing things that are broken in their apartment homes, being friendly, letting them know they are valued, offer my counseling services when they need a shoulder to cry on, quiet down their neighbors if they get rowdy, accept packages from the FedEx or UPS driver when they aren’t home…but there are *some* things…some things…that are out of my control.

The Apartment Manager vs. Nature:

Me: Blahbitty Bloobitty Apartments, this is Sassy, how may I help you?

Caller: Yeah…I don’t know if you’ve been getting calls about this, have you?

Me: You’ll have to tell me what you’re talking about there, sir.

Caller: The woodpeckers! They are driving us nuts – you’ve HAD to have gotten some calls about this.

Me: No, I can’t say that I have. What is going on?

Caller: Well, they are pecking at all hours of the day and it’s driving us INSANE. What can you do about it?

Me: Well, there’s not much I can do about nature, unfortunately – but I’ll send my maintenance guy out to take a look and see if there is anything that can be done. I will not guarantee any kind of permanent solution nor result, however. It’s spring. The birds are out.

Caller: Well, this is just ridiculous. He needs to put up flashy ribbon or something because we can’t keep dealing with this.

Me: Again, I cannot guarantee the results you desire, but I will send him over to take a look.

 

Dear Apartment Dwellers Everywhere,

There are some things that are out of your apartment staffs capabilities…taming wildlife is one of those things. We truly have no control over birds, raccoons, deer, wildebeasts, hyenas or any other fauna that you may encounter. Pests, on the other hand, we can deal with. We CAN fix your leaky sink or your plugged up toilet (training our tenants of the fine art of the “courtesy flush” is something that has had to take place…yes…we try to educate whenever possible…).

We love you, but so help me, I will not hesitate to smack you up side the head if you start in with your silly, petty demands. Don’t test me.

Love,

Sassy the most AMAZING apartment manager ever to have walked the PLANET!

The internal dialogue of falling asleep…and math.

It’s 11:00pm and I start the internal dialogue…

“If I close my eyes now, I will get approximately 8 hours of sleep. That’s enough, right?”

a few minutes later…

“I’m never going to fall asleep. Why does this happen? Maybe if I roll over onto my stomach and tuck my arm under my pillow and wrap the free arm around my chest and tuck my hand under my shoulder, I’ll be comfortable enough to doze off.”

“Why is he BREATHING LIKE THAT! Sweet JESUS he needs to get a sleep study done! That can’t be healthy!”

…I kick him a little under the covers…

“Good…he gasped for air…he’s still alive. THANK GOD!”

…peeks at the clock…

“Holy shit, it’s 11:45…that means I have 6 hours and 15 minutes until I have to get up. Tomorrow is going to suck ASS!”

Crap…

“Did I set the alarm for 7 or 8? Jesus…where is my phone?! It’s so fucking dark in here!” 18 items hit the floor from my nightstand…met with a grumble and snort from my erratically sleeping husband.

Blinded by the light of the display on my phone, I wince and shut my eyes quickly realizing that my glasses were one of the 18 items that fell to the floor in my attempt to feel where my phone was placed on my nightstand. Realizing I’m blind enough to not be able to read the time display on my phone and also the fact that I had not reset my alarm clock on my bedside since the last time we tripped a breaker in our rather old house, I figured I’d squint to bring the numbers into focus…I had set my phone alarm to wake me up at 8am.

It’s midnight.

“I better set my alarm for 7am. That way, I can psyche myself out and hit the snooze a few times before I actually have to get out of bed.”  I adjust my alarm for 7am. I set the phone back on the nightstand.

“So, if I wake up at 7…and don’t *really* have to get up until 8…I can hit the snooze button…how many times? One hour = 60 minutes. 60 divided by 9…SIX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I can hit it 6 times. Whew. Glad we got that figured out.”

“What was that noise? Did I lock the door after I let the dogs back in? Crap…if I didn’t…no, I did. I must have. Shit. FINE. I’ll go check.” Carefully getting out of bed so as to not step on the glasses that fell off of my nightstand.

yyyyeeaaahhh…it was locked. Good thing I got up, though. Now I have to pee.

Climbing back into bed…

“Seriously, I can’t keep living like this. That’s IT! I’m going to brush my teeth at 8:30 tomorrow go to bed early! I mean it this time…I’m SICK of it!”

2789022_12691439_b

Calm down crazy, you know your favorite TV shows start at 8pm. There’s no way you’re going to follow through with this plan. You and I both know – wait…”You” and “I” are the same people…this just got really weird. Shut the fuck up and go to sleep you freak!”

The sad part is…most of this happens the same way while I’m sitting on the couch until 11pm…”I swear I’m getting up at the next commercial…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Apartment Manager Tales #43: Good luck with that…

Last month – one of our perpetually late paying tenants came into the manager’s office to *finally* give a partial rent payment. I explained how much he still owed and he questioned why I wasn’t waiving the late fees. I – initially – responded calmly and stated that the owners didn’t allow us to waive the late fees and that he had to pay them.

He responded with, “Yes they do.”

I calmly folded my hands on my desk and said, “No, no they don’t.” He then asked what his late fee was and I explained to him that it was 20% of the amount left owing after the rent deadline…which was about $200 for him. He was none too pleased with this response.

He continued:

“You can…you just won’t.”

Me: No, the owners have given us strict instructions to NOT waive late fees. We are not waiving late fees for ANYONE.

Him: You aren’t anybody. You ain’t nuthin to me.

Me: Well, I’m the manager here. Pay your rent on time and you won’t have to pay a late fee. It’s pretty simple.

Him: You don’t know me lady, you are NOTHING.

Me: Well, that’s about all I’m going to take from you. You’re not welcome here anymore. Get out of my office. *shooing motion with my hands…dismissively…like I’m shooing a goat*

About a week and a half later, he comes in and pays every penny of his late fee and remaining rent balance. It, of course, was after we sent our monthly reports to the owners of his building, so it showed that he owed money still – which completely pisses me off.

So Mr. Jackhole called today and asked for my co-worker that works in the office with me.

Me: She’s not here, may I help you?

Him: No, I don’t want to talk to you.

Me: Okay – who is this.

Him: Jackhole.

Me: Ah. Okay – well, I can’t tell you for sure if she will be here when you call back because she’s helping at another property. If you tell me what you’re calling for, perhaps I can help you. Is there something wrong with your apartment? Is there something that needs fixed? *of course I know that he’s calling to say he will be late with his rent…AGAIN…because he’s been late with his rent ever since he moved in…but I figured I’d humor him.*

Him: I just want to talk to the other lady. She knows my situation and can help me.

Me: Again – I’m not sure when she will be here, so if I can help you, I will.

Him: I really don’t want to fight with you. We got off on the wrong foot and you were rude, so I’m not going to talk to you. I really don’t think you’re sincere in trying to help me, so I’m not going to talk to you.

Me: Ok dude. Do whatever you want, I guess if she doesn’t call you back before you need something, you’ll have to deal with me. Good luck with that.

rent

Apartment Manager Tales # 42: A rooster in a van.

This goes into my “You’ve *GOT* to be fucking kidding me” file.

Chevrolet-Express-VanPLUS

roosterEQUALS

A ROOSTER…IN A VAN, Y’ALL!

10:17 AM November 17th, 2014

Caller: Hi – I wanted to let you know that the new people that moved in above me have a rooster in their van and it’s been crowing really early in the mornings and it’s been waking me up for quite some time. It’s been getting really cold out lately and I  think you should call animal control or something because this is really quite ridiculous.

Me: Whoa, whoa, whoa…hang on a second. I’m sorry if I’m cutting you off or laughing at what you’re telling me right now, but did you just say the people who moved in above you are keeping a *rooster* in their *van*?

Caller: Yes, that’s what I’m saying.

Me: I mean, I’m sorry if I’m laughing, but this might be the best call yet. And you are giving me some really good Facebook material right now if I heard you correctly. [yes – I really said all of this as I was laughing…] I’m going to just repeat what you said, you said there is a rooster in a van and it’s been in there for awhile and it “crows” in the morning – waking you up, right? Like, this is really happening?

Caller: Yes, that’s what I said. I walked up to it because I was washing my windows and I saw a cage in there…and a rooster.

Me: Wow. Okay. We will….address this and deal with it. Thanks for calling.

Now…I’d like it to be known that our “Pet Policy” already reads like a Ripley’s Believe It Or Not marketing piece…or maybe a Candid Camera episode…but I never thought I’d have to add “rooster” to the list. (We actually had to add “Flying Squirrels” to this list…as my maintenance guy says…it only takes one idiot to ruin it for the whole group.)

#apartmentmanagerproblems