The State of Affairs

I've noticed something about my life: things never quite go over well, and despite how badly it might be going, or even if there are signs pointing to worse weather beyond the horizon, I keep barreling through at a madcap pace regardless of how my mood or life will be affected in the end state. Well, as it so happens, this is exactly what I'm doing once again. All for the sake of getting that blasted, forsaken piece of bullshit real estate: my new apartment. Getting it is an adventure, I'll tell you. It would only have been marginally MORE fun if machetes had actually been involved. Sadly, they weren't. Oh, where to begin, where to begin. Oh, I know, why not at the start of this glorifyingly trite misadventure! So, here how it all goes:

I was looking for a place. I need my own place, and talking with my sister, decided we could get a place together, split costs. Well, my dad got involved, offered to look into a few places for me while I worked. Was a good offer. Well, he managed to secure a hook-up at a pretty decent apartment building with good monthly rent. Only $800 a month; that's really good. I mean, I won't complain a whole lot about that. So, the landlady gives us a tour of the place on Saturday. It looks good. We say we'll come back on Monday to look at another place that's opening up. Monday rolls in: we say we'll take it. She says she'll drop off papers Tuesday so we can get moved in on the first of May. Tuesday rolls around, no papers. Call her up, she says Wednesday. Wednesday rolls around, still no papers. In fact, through the entire week, we didn't get the papers. My sister had to go up to the landlady's house at 7:00 PM at night to get said papers, but only ended up with half of them, on a Saturday. That was last week.

Filled those out. Sunday rolls around. It's the third, and we still have no keys for the apartment. Calling her up, she opens the place up so we can start moving things in, despite not having filled out all the paperwork yet. Spend the entirety of Sunday calling her, asking where she is. On the hour, every hour, all day Sunday, I called this woman demanding to know where the rest of the papers were, were the second set of keys for the apartment were, and how long it would take her to get to MY location to give them to me. Oh, only fifteen minutes. Hour later I call again. Same thing. Finally I track her down and go to where SHE is to get the last bit. But, even with the final bit of paperwork done and money knocked off this months rent because of her retarded shenanigans, still no second set of keys. But, officially, the apartment is now mine. Yay, right? Not so much.

Turns out the cleaning she said the place would get; yeah, it didn't get that. I had to clean up the entire place over the entire week. Vacuuming, washing walls, the works. Filthy. I also took pictures of the damages already in the apartment so this idiot of a woman couldn't turn around and fuck me over for it later. Had them stamped by the developer with the date and the places' stamp. Some small measure of security is had. So, finally after two weeks of retarded idiocy, I'm finally, FINALLY, moving into the apartment. Why I do this crap, I don't even know anymore. It's like I enjoy stressing myself out over other peoples stupid bullshit. But I guess it might be too much to ask that people be punctual and accountable for their actions and do the things they say they will do.