So, I'm not sure what I did in my past life/lives to piss off the part of the universe that's in charge of housing but, holy shit, I must have done something really bad like kill one of their family members because that's really the only explanation I have for why I keep ending up living in the places I do.
Let's reacap the last month or so. I would recap my whole craptacular renting/owning history but I really have only one lifetime so, if you're interested, you can find some stories here, here, here, here, here, here and here.
Very well then.
You may remember from my sporadic posting that I had found a place in Toronto and it was super cute and I was super pumped and the property agent seemed really nice and she was going to get professional cleaners in and I had hired movers so the move would be great?! Right?! Remember?!
So, I went over to the place the night before the move to get the key which the previous tenant had hidden (very well by the way) because the property manager couldn't really be bothered to come by and give it to me herself, and I had been really excited all day because I was going to my brand new great place in Toronto where I would be living for at least the next year because I had signed a lease and my fun life in Toronto could finally begin!
I figured that if I headed over after work the cleaners would for sure be done and I could walk around and plan where I was going to put things and drop off some stuff that I had bought especially for my new place. But the cleaners weren't actually done. Why? Because they never came. And the place was a disgusting mess. The floor, the counters, the walls, the fridge, the stove, the bathroom. It actually smelled. It was one of those times were I was actually afraid to touch anything. But I did. I opened cupboards and the one closet and SURPRISE! there was crap still inside almost every one.
So, I did what anyone would do. I cried a little bit, composed myself, and I phoned the property management office and explained the situation. No one called me back. When I got home, I emailed the property manager I was dealing with specifically. No response.
Now, before you call me a sissy little cry baby because I know that's what you're thinking, I just want to explain how overwhelmingly dirty the place was. This wasn't just some light housekeeping I was going to have to do to get things cleaned the way I liked them before I unpacked my stuff. I would have rather put my purse on a public washroom floor then on the counter. And, yes, I had looked at the place before but it was a month ago and the woman was moving and had stuff all over the place so I didn't notice.
Saturday morning I called the office again and left a message to have someone please call me back to address the situation. Of course no one did.
So, I moved. And, let me tell you, movers or not? Moving alone is really really depressing. I had thought I would be fine by myself so I didn't ask for help and turned down the one person who offered, but it really kind of sucks having no one to talk to or plan with or complain to. And, believe me when I tell you this, the feeling you have after the movers leave and you're by yourself in a tiny, disgusting apartment with no room to move or sit because you have too much stuff and it's to dirty to sit anywhere anyways? That feeling is the most sad, lonely, overwhelming feeling in the world. And you just want to leave all your stuff and move back home with your parents forever. Or at least have them there to give you a hug and tell you everything will be fine and you're not going to turn 35 all alone and live in crappy apartments for the rest of your life.
So, I started cleaning. And cleaned for the rest of the day. Then I phoned my parents and cried. Then I cleaned some more.
Then I emailed the property manager again to tell her about the screenless windows, and the oven vent that was hanging onto the ceiling with one screw and propped up with a piece of wood I found in a pile of garbage on the bathroom floor, and the leaking shower and the leaking washing machine, and the moldy smell in the bathroom and the broken doorbell and the fact that I didn't have a key to the deadbolts.
And later on that evening I emailed her about the pile of mouse droppings.
And this morning I emailed her about the cockroaches.
She did actually send me back a short note on Saturday morning letting me know that she was away for the long weekend and we could talk about it on Monday. I REALLY really hope I didn't ruin her long weekend with my emails. It would really suck to have your long weekend ruined by wondering if you should actually be doing your job.
On a good note, I've decided to just eat pizza and deep fried chocolate pizza dough from this point on and never exercise so at least I won't have the pressure of trying to look good and be healthy anymore. That's a load off.
And, don't worry, I'm sure I'll be happy and positive again in no time because that's what I keep doing. I must admit it is getting tiring though.
The best part was when my Dad innocently suggested that maybe it was time that I got a boyfriend and was genuinely surprised when he found out that the past three years of being single were not self imposed.
He's so cute.