As if Mondays in general don't suck enough anyway...
The Room
The room I rent is very very close to my place of work, which is handy as I have a tendency to hit the snooze button 50 times a morning. I've been living at this place for over 3 years now. The flat is inhabited by a Romanian couple (also co-workers of mine, thanks to me switching to my current place of employment 2 years ago) and life-long bachelor Mr. Pervy Bear, thusly nicknamed as he resembles a bear and is a bit of a perv.
Mr. Pervy Bear rents the apartment and then illegally sublets the rooms to us. He apparently renovated the apartment himself as it "looked like a stall" when he first moved in. There are three bedrooms, a bathroom which tends to run out of hot water in the winter if I attempt to shave my legs and wash my hair(no bathtub, only a showers stall. Bloody life-long bachelors), and a kitchen that I use very infrequently as cooking for one sucks ass; on the rare occasions that I do cook, Mr. Pervy Bear makes a right nuisance out of himself.
Recently Mr. Pervy Bear has acquired a girlfriend, who is apparently jealous of me (never mind the fact that Mr. PB is in his late forties, tubby, balding, and can be an absolute maiale at time). They like to have fights in the kitchen, which also puts a damper on my use of the culinary facilities. Nothing quite like hearing a plethora of romanaccio curses being screamed from the kitchen on Sunday afternoons....
Occasionally he goes on a paranoia bender, brought on, I suspect, by past years of epic alcohol consumption and a raging coke habit. The paranoia benders center on him getting caught illegally subletting. The front of our building was just renovated and the entire time he was concerned that the construction workers were spying on us (Dude, they're all illegal immigrants from Romania. Chill.)
Saturday as I was heading out the door he mentions that the apartments owners would be "controlling" the apartment sometime this week. Having already boxed up my shit and put it cupboards once before this year (when they were measuring for the new window shutters), I told him to bloody well let me know more than a day in advance what was going on.
Sunday night Mr. PB calls me at half past midnight to inform me that the Romanian couple would be moving out on Monday and I needed to box up my shit again. This is the distilled essence as he has this tendency towards rambling, explaining how he tells the Romanian couple one thing, but I'm special enough to stay, yadda yadda yadda. I was also pleasantly stoned at the time, and he totally harshed my mellow (admittedly I forgot about him as soon as I hung up).
Monday I walk into work and immediately see Hairy Romanian Guy, the male half of the couple, who says "I know" upon seeing my "I'm going to fucking kill Mr. Pervy Bear" expression. Hairy Romanian Guy has already enlisted the aid of our boss to intercede on our behalves. I knew Mr. & Mrs. Hairy Romanian Guy had been looking for a new place and had assumed that they had found one when Mr. Pervy Bear told me they would be moving out on Monday. This was apparently not the case. So Our Totally Cool Boss (Please Ignore His Family) calls Mr. Pervy Bear and arranges a meeting for after Mr. PB has woken up (PB works the night porter shift at his sister & brother-in-law's hotel). Mr. Pervy Bear apparently decides that he can't sleep without resolving this and shortly I hear romanaccio at elevated volumes through the open window.
Conclusion at the end of this entry.
Goddamned Fecking Copioni
Surfing the web and montioring our placement in the search engines, I notice that one of our competitors has point blank lifted our meta tags (description, keywords in four different languages, and abstract), replacing only our name with his.
This particular competitor copies every. fucking. thing. we. do. And this is the second time that I've had content lifted verbatim from our websites. I bust my ass at being number one and don't appreciate the competition trying to gaink a free ride on my coattails. Fuck that. I've had enough.
The lawyer is working on a cease and desist and I sent in a complaint to Google.
The Couple
The Best Girlfriend has been dating the Fucking Possessive Jealous French Canadian Leech from Hell since around January. As I told him to get fucked and refused to ever talk with him again sometime in late February, the BG & I haven't been hanging out as much as before. My tolerance level for the Fucking Possessive Jealous French Canadian Leech from Hell is about once a week. We have been counting down the days until he leaves (Not a royal We. As in every. single. one. of her friends).
About a week & a half ago she gets him a temporary job answering emails in our office. Now I get to enjoy the pleasure of his company four hours a day, dammit. Objectively speaking, he has no fucking clue as to the job. And it ain't that hard of a job, folks.
This means that the BG is constantly holding his hand (in the getting the job done sense). It also means that that they argue (always started by him). His English is shite and his spelling makes me look like I swallowed the entire OED ('with' is apparently spelled 'whit' in Quebec. who knew?) And every five minutes he is bitching about how stupid people are. Christ on a dirigible.
Suffice to say i have been leaving the office very, very punctually as of late.
So that was my Monday this week. Yours?
What about the room situation?
As things stand as of this morning, the "control" has magically disappeared and Mr. & Mrs. Hairy Romanian Guy can stay. Funny, that. I'm still searching for a new place though.
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