|"We've got a brand new dance. . ."
||[May. 3rd, 2006|07:59 pm]
|||||PVCC library noise||]|
So, yeah. Day three of the new townhouse. We've already had to call the Lord of the Land four times due to pluming issues, but, whatever. He's a nice guy. He shows up five minutes after we call, and promptly fixes the problem. None of us as unpacked fully, so the living room and kitchen look like ground-zero at the moment. That will change come Friday. Promise.
As for the old apartment that I and 1,299,000 other people occupied. . .Yeaaah. I might be headed for jail. He (old Lord of the Land, who from here on out shall be referred to as Asshat) is evidently hell-bent on taking me to court for destruction of private property.
And now, an open letter. . .
True, my name was on the lease. True, I should have found a respectable UVA student to replace Bricey when she moved out. True, the majority of my friends are complete asshats (you can relate, I know you can). But do NOT threaten me. You are keeping your security deposit, so shut the fuck up. Do not jot down my friends license plate numbers. Do not threaten my friends who are simply helping me pack. Do not pretend that you were "going to issue a warrant for (my) arrest" because, Assat, the law doesn't work like that.
Yes, I will pay for the damage that occurred while I was either asleep or not home. Done and done.
Just stop being a dick.
I think some court-related bullshit is sitting in the main branch of the postal service. I received one of those yellow papers, telling to come pick something up. . . something sent by my ex Lord of the Land.