Actually, I sent her e-mail today indicating that I was subtracting the cost of the delivery from April’s rent. I wish I’d acted a little more sanely at the time and just said, “Sorry, I don’t have that cash on me. You ordered it, you pay for it.” But I just sort of stupidly threw money at her and the oil guy to get them out of my doorway.
Can I borrow five dollars for the purgatory collection?
-L
In response to the original post, I would like to make the call as Anti-Christ. I bet horses rear their heads when the hear her name (obscure reference from Young Frankinstein)
What if you answered her back with your hand?
I thought this said “with the back of your hand” when I first read it; hmmm, not such a bad idea, after all (not that I’m advocating violence; oh no, not at all…:))
Sorry Feather.
I still haven’t figured out the code thing.
GRRRRRRRRR!
This is one of those situations that makes me happy that I am not a dictator. If I were, I would be unable to resist seizing her property and placing her in a prison or hospital. People who cannot handle the responsibility of capital should not be allowed to own rental properties. I know that there are a million reasons why we can’t act on this idea, and I certainly don’t want the state to start deciding who is responsible enough to own property, but Massachusetts should at least pass a law freeing tenants from random breaking and entering by lunatics. She is definately the antichrist; please let her know for me.
Well, they did. The law states that she is only allowed to enter my apartment for a couple of legitimate reasons. Court order, to make repairs, or if the property looks like it’s been abandoned. In those instances, she is required to give me proper notice. According to the law, failure to abide by this rule means that she could be held liable for ciminal trespass, up to three months in rent, and that I can seek restraining order.
I know the law on this so well because we’ve been over this before. And this time, I do intendn on seeking a restraining order. However, did I mention the 70 hour work weeks? I’m really cheesed off that I have to go spend a bunch of time in court and dealing with lawyers and others just because she can’t stay out of my home.
She wrote me a note yesterday explaining her actions. She said she was just WORRIED about me. She then pointed out the (illegal) items on the lease I signed that indicated that I had to do the dishes.
Want to hear the really sucky thing about this? My apartement ROCKS. It’s enormous, has 10 foot ceilings, a fireplace, wood floors, stained glass, and built in cabinets in the dining room and living room. I LOVE it. I was really hoping we could work out some kind of “insanity” clause that allowed me to stay here.
-L
Sounds like a wonderful apartment, sexy. It doesn’t have a hedge labyrinth in the backyard, does it? Hope not.
Well, anyway, if her hand starts telling you, “The landlady isn’t here right now, Mrs. Writer,” or screaming, “Red rum! Red rum! Red rum!” then I’d get out of there fast, me.
And just remember, all work and no play makes sexy a dull girl. 
Not the anti-christ. Just a loopy busy-body.
If her head starts spinning and she starts spewing green stuff, maybe.
Anger management? My methods aren’t for everybody. I go to the shooting range, and slow-fire (a deliberate, introspective shooting technique) a box of ammo, and then go home to clean the weapon. Working my hands on machinery, with tools, takes my mind off of aggravation. Some people use gardening, knitting, needlepoint, etc., in much the same way. Quality time with pets is good, too.
Sometimes I’ll rent a funny movie, or read a funny book, and laugh my troubles away long enough for a bit of perspective to reassert itself.
And most definitely stick your landlady with the oil bill. You didn’t order it, you didn’t want it, so why should you have to pay for it?
All-in-all, and just IMHO, you handled the situation with dignity and class. Throwing a screaming hissy fit wouldn’t have helped, no matter how enjoyable it may have felt at the time, and ultimately probably would have been counterproductive.
She certainly makes Mrs. Kravitz seem like a dream neighbor. Jeesh. I vote for Anti-Christ.
There’s a ghastly aura of familiarity about this… in my case, it was a visit from my mother. Dear old Mum.
She phoned up one Friday to invite herself over to see me the next day. Problem was, I was out, staying with some friends over the weekend… so, getting no reply Friday night, she turned up on my doorstep the next day, and I wasn’t there, was I? So…
…she reached what was, to her, a perfectly logical conclusion: I was dead. I had succumbed to my beer gut and general depression, and was stretched out pale and lifeless upon the floor. So, her next move, of course, is to confirm this… call the landlord, call the police, get them to drill out the locks on my front door, and recover my stricken carcase for a decent Christian burial.
Dear old mum.
The complications weren’t as bad as they might have been, I suppose… 24-hour security had a replacement key ready when I got back, it took a couple of phone calls to get the police to believe I was really alive, and I had a slightly painful interview with the landlord, if only because my flat is decorated in Advanced Bachelor Casual (or, There Has To Be A Floor Somewhere Or All That Crap Would Fall Down). Well, as I said, if I’d known someone was going to break in, I’d have made more of an effort… So, here I am, perhaps the only person around who’s thinking that a restraining order is just perfect for Mother’s Day.
So… qualified sympathy, SexyWriter. But only qualified. You can change your landlady a lot easier than I can change my mother. Dear old Mum.
I feel very badly that I’m now laughing at your misfortune. But it IS a funny story. I mean, I’m sure from your perspective it would have been funny if it had happened to someone else.
Mothers!
Thanks for the story. 
-L
Sorry but I couldn’t resist.
What happened to owner of the second glass, perhaps there is more afoot here than meets the eye.
OK assuming some perfectly innocent reason for the second wine glass (I am sure that there is one, really). Try and avoid those 70 hour weeks, they never lead to an improvement in ones life to the best of my knowledge (unless you are on some phenomenal share option scheme that miraculously survives the current market).
Hope things improve and you could always get some cute Lynx kitties landlords will tend to think twice before entering without your permission then ;). Silly no non-approved pet clauses should not be allowed 
Hope things look better soon
Britt
[QUOTE]
*Originally posted by Britt *
**
Well, there are clearly two possibilities here. Either a) I was drinking two-fisted, or b) I killed the user of the other glass, and she’s rotting in my closet.
The answer is, of course, c) none of the above. I had a girlfriend over for a glass of wine the other night, and she left here all in one piece.
My landlady is arguing with me over whether she has a right to intrude or not. So it looks like I’m going to have to get a restraining order. Sigh.
Oh…and the long work week is a rarity for me. Usually I have plenty of free time. It’s just the product of a project coming to an end. I’m pushing to meet a deadline. When I hit it, I plan to go back to being my usually slovenly self.
-L
I once read an article (wishI had a link) where the Police entered a home and thought it had been ransacked and the owners said ‘No it always looks like this.’
My landlord problem stem from a total lack of his presence on the property. It typically takes 6 months for a repair job. I did have water coming through my celing every time my upstairs neighbor took a shower. It took 8 months of me sending photos with every rent check to get them in my apartment. They claimed they went upstair and re-caulked the tub. So when they looked up into my celing and the now huge hole what did they find? That the drain pipe had completly rotted away.
As far as anger management I enjoy the computer game called Carmegeddon 2. Try it. You’ll like it.
Of course the ‘owner’ of the second glass is not in the closet, this is a murder mystery things are never that simple.
From the evidence given I believe things must have happened something like this.
After enjoying some purely friendly libations with Madam Sexy, said ‘owner’ was heading off into the dark and lonely night. Where upon out of the murk emerges ‘The Boston Hand’, and having had its way with its latest victim, removes said 'owner to the shelter of the basement. Where it then drained all of the oil from the tank, and burnt the body. It then collected the evidence and borrowed a near-by truck that it knew to have an open window and took the remains out to the nearest rubbish dump. Finally being the fiendishly clever master criminal that it was, it proceeded to do everything in her power to get someone to notice the evidence all carefully pointing to the one and only S Writer.
You are in far more trouble than you realised, a strategic retreat (with no forwarding address) should be planned forthwith. Oh and I hope your friends OK.
Britt.
Strip down completely naked, paint yourself blue, and hide in a closet until you hear your Christless landlady come skulking in. Leap out at her and scream “BOOGA BOOGA BOOGA!!!”
After she’s run away screaming, quickly shower, dress, and have yourself arranged as the picture of innocence by the time the cops get there.
Repeat until they throw Psycho Hand Lady into the goofy bin, or she drops dead of a heart attack, whichever comes first.
Hell, come to think of it, this would be a fun trick to play on a loved one, too…
Really, I don’t think your landlady to be the Antichrist. She is, rather, one of the tiresome, meddlesome, nameless hoarde. A Moron. Granted, a moron of near biblical proportions, a moron of epic dimensions, but a moron nonetheless.
The fact that she chose to practice her idioting at the worst possible time, where you’re concerned, is a perverse law of nature. Get used to it. From the pictures on your site you’re still really young; you’ll have lots of opportunity to experience the sysiphan struggle that is life amidst the morons. Don’t despair, it will only get dramatically worse. Rather, enjoy the fact that you remain afloat in a sea of people to dim to properly execute surface tension.
Sorry if this all sounds a bit obtuse, had a six-pack night myself.
billy
I can’t stop laughing.
Oddly enough, my revenge fantasies have leaned sharply toward having her committed. Since the police who showed up and anyone else who’s heard this story already believes she’s crazy, this would be fun AND easy.
Lately, she’s taken to sending me e-mail, in which she tells me that she can smell cigarette smoke coming from my apartment. This is pretty interesting in light of the fact that I don’t smoke. And of course, there haven’t been any smokers in my apartment either. She’s threatening to put me out in the street because the cigarette smoke smell is overwhelming her sensitivities.
Billy Rubin, you’re right. Just another pimple of stupidity on the ass of life. However, I’m not that young. I’m 31 years old. So I have had the chance to experience her kind way too many times before. Usually, I’m pretty good at dealing with it, but in this case, I’m having these awful, yet entertaining revenge fantasies. Don’t know why this case of stupidity should be any different from the last though.
-L
Is there any way to play with her mind a little bit? When you reply to her e-mails, quote her message but change one word to reverse the meaning. Or put a different doormat in front of her door every night while she’s asleep. Something simple.
Nobody messes with one of our own.
Well, there are PLENTY of ways to mess with her mind. It’s SO easy. I mean, I could just do things like leave windows open at weird times. I could leave her a note and say it wasn’t me. I could ring her doorbell. I could cook smelly food. The possibilities are endless. So far, I’ve avoided antagonizing her, since it seems likely enough that she’ll go bonkers over non-existant antagonisms, like the phantom cigarette smoke.
However, as I said, I’ve spent plenty of time contemplating what form her torture should take. You guys have good ideas. I liked the “booga booga” one, myself.
-L