Apparently, Frau Beyotch knows her shit and she CAN increase my security deposit. Rats!
Also, I will not be able to move before the July 1 increase date. Double Rats!
That tears it. If I'm going to pay another $200, I'm putting the water filter back on my kitchen faucet. I'm also going to have her fix the hall light that the gnomes jacked into and the bathroom faucet that leaks. Hells yeah. Thank you, Sachi, for the advice on getting the deposit back. Also, thank you, Roy, for sending me the links to the civil codes.
So, this has nothing to do with anything, but my friend Joann emailed me to tell me our old neighbor, Mrs. Quinn, died. She was 90. The funny thing is Mrs. Quinn has always been old. She has lived next door to my family since, well, forever. She must have been 49 or 50 when we moved in, which is certainly not old, but I have always seen her as the old woman next door.
Which got me thinking about the relativity of age.
When I turned 25, a friend of mine lamented how at 25, her mother was married and pregnant. I said, "At 25, my mother was married and had three sons." I couldn't imagine, when I was 25, being married, let alone being a mom. And I very much planned on being a mom in those days. It seemed , 25, like a milestone had been reached and I had fallen behind the pack. It didn't necessarily bother me. It was just there. 25. Birthdays from then on are measured in five-year increments. People don't make a big deal again until you're 30. Then 30 found me still not married, still not a mom, heartbroken and antsy, so I moved to California, a move that most people would have done at 25. I'm still behind.
Today, I realized that I am the age my mother was when my father left. Mom seemed so old to me. She was such an adult and so...old. Yet, here I am, 41, and I don't feel it. I don't consider myself old (except when trying to explain to the kids here who Julie Newmar is or what an 8-track was). I certainly don't act my age. I don't think of my brothers and sisters as old, even though they are older than me. And Mom went through menopause at, like, 45. I am SO not ready for that shit to start.
I'm still behind. I still don't care that I'm behind, not really. Sure, sometimes it really hits me and I want to be like everyone else and have the house, the husband, the kids, the dog, but every family needs a "maiden aunt" who's lovable and a little off her rocker. I have a role to fill.
And my Aunt Janet found the love of her life in her late 40's (or ealrly 50's) so I'm not giving up yet.
ace to hang out and meet new friends. I'm not armed for this battle. Plus, I'll be gone for many days and I'm afraid they'll be like Digger, that nail infection dude, and make themselves at home. My only hope is to put a couple of cans of Black Flag (my bug spray of choice) by the front doors and enter the apartment with guns blazing. 
I thought when I left the country I'd never again see folks with their cars up on blocks. But apparently, the absence of a yard is no hindrance to the call of ones inner-redneck.
Sheep.JPG){kind=link}