Brian the Landlord, and the Light Bulb.

For several months I have been becoming more and more annoyed with our landlord. He started out awesome and Dick VanDyke-ish when we would interact. When we first moved in he and his wife practically invited us in for tea. Then, about 6 months ago Brian started to lose it. He started coming over during the day unannounced to look at random things, or ask a question that would have been better asked over the phone, However, that would mean, I wouldn't have to answer the door and awkwardly cross my arms over my chest to cover my floppy boobs and protruding nips because I put a bra on under my own terms of use. Unexpected guests aren't a good enough reason for me to wear one at all times. Ok back to the story at hand, we are moving back to the 'Merica! and we are beginning the process of getting everything sorted for that. We allowed Brian and his wife to pop thru the house and look around at their own archaic sense of taste to see what "updates" they might want to make to the house. How's about you install light SWITCHES in the bathrooms? I mean, I like to pull on a string and feel a little bit like I am using an indoor outhouse, but it gets old after the first week of rubbing the wall pointlessly while doing the pee-pee dance. So, around the house these two old people walk, they sit down with us and ask for us to give them their broiler pan and the keys to the windows before the movers come thru. That makes sense to us, because we have seen movers pack. Under military orders, we are not supposed to pack a darn thing. That way when the stoners that unpack our stuff mess it up, we can get reimbursed for it. However, they have no common sense and pack things that stay with the house. Now, I can understand a broiler pan and certain keys.


This house has been angering to me for about ohhhhh 1.5 years now. Right after the novelty of living in England wore off so did the sheen on this house. The biggest complaint I have is that Brian used to be an electrician, I am assuming sometime during the 1930's. When something electrical in the house breaks, he stops over and uses his trade knowledge from the days of Moses to fix things. They then work for a day and stop working again. Our lights in the kitchen are the worst. He stopped by one day because we told him that there was a light in the kitchen that didn't work. He came by with a new light bulb. Yes, Brian, we didn't think of just buying a new bulb to see if it would work then. So, he came over, screwed it in, and it still didn't work. It still doesn't now.

On Friday afternoon, Chad and I were getting ready for our going away/birthday/human creation dinner. There was a knock at the door and there was crazy old Brian. Our dogs lose their cool when he comes around. Maybe they sense my blood curdling, and my only thoughts ever of punching a geriatric old man. I hear him ask Chad, "Ummm yes, I stopped by to pick up that lightbulb I dropped off a few months back, I don't want your packers to pack it." Chad then tells him he doesn't know where it is and he would have to look around. Brian then says to Chad, "Liz said something about a drawer." Chad gave it to him and Brian then left. This is the letter I had to hold back from writing.

Dear Brian,
  In the future, if you are still alive, could you please call before stopping over? I know you are old and therefor cheap, but a singular lightbulb is not going to make or break you. If a lightbulb is what's keeping you from going under, sell your electrical hell hole of a rental house! For clarification we will not allow the packers to take any of the following items: the stove top or the oven, the walls or flooring, doors or hinges, the stairs, or the drawers in your crappy kitchen.
Sincerely,
Liz

PS Stop being so old and weird. Ya old weirdo.