When life hands you lemons, make lemon drop martinis

Sometimes I think it's just not in everyone's constitution to go with the flow and let things slide.  I'm not really sure it's in mine, although I do make furious attempts.

My current predicament with my landlord Smeagol initially prompted me to want to handle things in a zen-like, the glass is half full type of way, but inevitably, like an uneaten Hershey Bar abandoned in the midday sun, I melted down. 

I wasn't calm and cool, I was stressed and frantic.  But how else could I have possibly handled the following asinine situation...

Last week, the painters who recently weather-proofed the outside of our leaky old building coerced Smeagol into having our apartment painted.  In my nearly ten years of renting, I've never heard of walls or ceilings being forcibly painted while the tenants are actually inhabiting the apartment, but hey, what do I know?

I resolved myself to go with the flow, and I did, until we learned that the painter won't allow Hubby or I to be home while he paints and insists on doing it while we are at work.  And before you wonder if Smeagol is putting us up in a hotel so we don't have to inhale nasty paint fumes, don't bother.  He's not.

Naturally I worried about my cat being left in the house while these men worked.  My head immediately filled with menacing scenes of Kittie snacking on lead paint chips or slipping out the front door for wild feline adventures in the big city.  Additionally, my Husband is a musician and has enough instruments to open his own Guitar Center.  We were concerned, to say the least. 

What was the big deal about one of us being home while these guys painted?  Smeagol's answer was a five minute monologue on the trustworthiness of these painters, who had also worked on the neighbor's house without stealing anything.  He said this man is an artist who cannot be watched, and compared him to a master chef who creates art and wild mushroom risotto.  (OK, I'm making up the risotto bit, but he really did say the chef part.)

You see, Smeagol explained, what this painter does is an art form (aka: spackling) and he can't have us watching him while he creates (aka: dripping white paint on my telephone, TV stand, couch, sink, and at least three picture frames.  And that's only so far, he still has two more rooms to go!)

Smeagol assured us he'd be there the entire time to watch Kittie and make sure there was no funny business.  (He also said that he "wasn't an idiot" and could watch our cat.)  So, the stoner who lives with and verbally abuses his Mother was on the job.  Perfect!  I felt much better!

To look on the philosophical side, this could be a much needed exercise in letting go, in releasing control, in trusting, could it not?

I came home from work on Thursday to find both hallway entrance doors as well as my front door propped wide open, two strangers spackling the cracks in my walls, and Smeagol nowhere in sight.  Someone (Smeagol) had laid a small piece of ply-wood across the door downstairs as a precaution against Kittie escaping into the mean city streets.  I later informed him that cats have now gained the ability to jump.  They picked up that jumping skill back in '04 apparently, but I guess not everybody knows about it yet.

Smeagol, at best confused and at worst psychotic, was characteristically defensive: "That was just a precaution, I watched her the entire time."  Except for the times when you weren't in the apartment, right?  Or were you watching her with your x-ray Smeagol vision?

And this was just spackle day.  Please read on, for the story gets better.  Smeagol decided, in an effort to make things nice for us, to mix vanilla extract (or oil?  It's unclear) in with the paint, because this makes the paint smell nicer.  What the?  No, seriously, what the???

On Friday we returned home from work to find our apartment reeked like...how shall I describe the stench to you?  Like the stinkiest feet you've ever smelled?  Like someone gave our apartment a bath using nail polish remover?  Like some frigging jackass poured vanilla into the mother-effing paint can?  Bingo!

Smeagol also took it upon himself to spray lavender scented Lysol throughout the entire apartment.  So stinky, lavender/vanilla/latex paint scented feet.  In the market for a headache, anyone?  Come on over!

One of the the more priceless interactions of the weekend was the following over-the-phone chat:

Hubby: There are paint stains on our couch.

Smeagol: Paint stains on the couch?  No, that's a water stain, I was wiping the couch with a damp sponge.  The painters didn't drip any paint, everything was covered, I saw it with my own two eyes...

Hubby: But there are white paint stains on our couch, I'm looking at them right now.

Smeagol: No, that's just water...

Hubby: Well, the Paint Fairy must have come and dripped it, I guess, because there are white paint stains on our couch.

Smeagol later remembered he was using the "damp sponge" to try and wipe off some paint that had dripped while they took the covering off the couch.  Memories are crazy like that, huh? 

He also told us that at one point he had left to get black trash bags and had cut them to use as furniture covering.  Don't professional painters learn about drop cloths in Painting 101? 

Fed up, we finally told Smeagol either Hubby or myself had to be there when they finish painting next week.  These were crappy ceilings, not the Sistine Chapel, what was the big freaking deal?  Smeagy said he'd try and convince Michaelangelo but it was unlikely he'd go for it.  This is when I said in my nicest yet firmest tone, "Aren't you paying this person?  If you're the one paying him won't he have to do what you ask?" 

Shortly thereafter Smeagol dropped the nice act and raised his voice and started being a real dickhead.  (Don't worry, I raised my voice right back.)  This rental situation has turned into a full-fledged nightmare, Dear Reader. 

If I have to look on the sunny side, I'd say I've learned some valuable lessons.  Among them, the art of being verbally direct, the art of contradicting a psychotic, drugged up landlord as he lies to my face, and the art of going with the flow when asinine events are out of my control.  (OK, I'm still a novice on that last one, but I'm sure the universe will keep supplying me with similar infuriating situations until I become a master.  Don't you just hate love that?) 

Most importantly, I have learned that my family and friends are 150% right, it is time for us to remove ourselves from this moronic, maddening living situation.

Dearest Reader, if you get a minute, please pray for the salvation of my sanity.  Pray that we find an apartment in this Godforsaken town with three pronged outlets, a refrigerator not plugged into an extension cord, and non-psychotic landlords who aren't belligerent when you point out paint stains on your furniture.  (What a wish list, eh?)

XOXO ~The Vanilla Scented Broad

PS- I just went into the bathroom...the cracks Michaelangelo sealed and painted over are cracked again.  Apparently someone's mushroom risotto needs tweaking.

PPS- Hubby just got the mail and this love letter from Smeagol was in our mailbox.  Now you can witness with your own eyes the insanity of which I speak:

 

This was written by the man who took 3 months to finish painting our front door, 7 months to fix the shower he ripped apart, and just now had the ceiling in our hallway sealed and painted after scraping it sometime last September.  Way to go!! 

Comments

[Kathleen]

Good lord! This is insane. That note alone made my eyes water and caused me a headache! I am not always a calm person so I can say with certainty that I would have ripped his stupid head off a long time ago. It's time to say a big F-U to Smeagol and get out as fast as you can!

[Keely]

This is the most absurd man in the entire world. Legit--I think he's crazy! I think that you are being too kind when you call him Smeagol.

Call...the...police....

[The Odd Broad]

We're definitely looking...in the meantime, at least he's agreed to not paint the other two rooms. Thank God! Well, except for the bathroom, which already needs to be repainted because of the cracks. Also, I now sing the theme song to "Alice" at the top of my lungs each morning (6:50am) in the shower. That'll learn them!