I just had to share this. I found out my landlord Jerry is a liar and an idiot. Oh, and a pig.
Everybody lies. It’s true. Anyone reading this and thinking to themselves, “That’s not true,” is kidding themselves or just extremely naive. But, it is not what people lie about. It’s why.
A little background on Jerry. He owns the property where I rent his little one bedroom house for a whopping $400.00 per month. All the other homes on this property are mobile homes. I paid my rent for a full year when I moved in last February, in cash. (Grandpa passed away and turns out he and Grandma left us grand-kids a little bit of money that they had been saving, unbeknownst to us. (Thanks again Grandma and Grandpa!)
I was extremely anxious to get out of the Horrid House where I had been a nanny and caregiver for the most narcissistic woman you have ever known and the laziest father you have ever known. I moved out of there and into my own pad.
It was fabulous. I had just enough money to furnish the place and buy myself a little Chevy out right and drive it from California in January 2020 back to New Mexico. (Again, thank you Grandma and Grandpa.)
(Holy shit! As I am typing this and listening to my playlist, the one song that I have for when my Grandma is saying ‘hi’ to me, ‘Las Laureles’ by Linda Ronstadt, just happens to pop on. It’s one of her favorite songs. Hi Grandma! Te amo mucho!)
I met Jerry and he is this nice guy who I truly thought was honorable, until I had the second conversation with him.
The first conversation was me handing over an envelope with $4000 and him handing me a copy of the lease and the keys. He and his buddy, I forget his name, came over to do some last minute tile work in my kitchen. I am not sure how tarot played into any of our conversation, but Jerry asks if I can pull some cards for him. I tell him that I am way new at it, but that if he wants to, I will do my best. I pull some cards and read him. Then I read his buddy who is standing next to him. ( I don’t even need the cards sometimes. It’s crazy weird.)
I mention to Jerry that I feel like he is going on a trip. Something is stopping him. Yadda yadda yadda. His buddy then says, “Wow,” after I am done reading him just from how he is dressed and the way he presents himself.
I said my thank you’s and we went on our way.
The second conversation with him was when my refrigerator was not staying cold, not long after I moved in, and so I called the guy to let him know. He had another used fridge at my place that same day and I was very grateful.
However, when he was chatting with me, he mentions something about this woman he had been giving a foot massage to recently and that he felt that all she wanted was to just get what she wanted from him and not bother to listen to what he needed.
“Dude, aren’t you married?” is what I was thinking. I did not say it then.
He continues to tell me about how wonderful he is going down on women. This is happening while I am trying to get into my car and take off. Now, in my head, right away I know and feeeel that he is feeling me out to see whether or not I would be ‘down’ for such a thing with him. Seriously?
I send him a text message a day later thanking him for the great working refrigerator and I include that he and I would never engage in any ‘pussy eating’. He calls me later and tells me, in a nice way, not to leave messages like that on his cell phone. I tell him he probably shouldn’t make comments like that to others when they are married. He never came onto me again.
Fast forward a little. I won’t tell you the situation that arose with my having to cut the weeds down in my yard a month ago, although that is another situation that told me this man is a schmoe. I did read cards for him again two weeks ago when he came to collect the garden tools he’d left me to handle the yard work. I even used my pendulum to answer a few short questions to confirm this reading was for him. He tripped out a little. His words to me after his reading were, “Wow. There is no way you could have known that,” with regard to some woman he has been thinking about lately whom he met 40 years ago.
Now, two days ago, I am driving home from the coffee shop in the morning, having just grabbed my usual iced mocha soy latte and caught a glimpse of this cutie patootie named Keith, an astrophysicist, who is a regular at our shop. (Keith reminds me a little of DM in the face and I always seem to be there at just the right time when he is there. That’s neither here nor there, so moving on.)
As I am turning off of Otero Street and onto Frontage, I see these two dogs trotting down the road. I saw one van try to get them in, but was unsuccessful.
I decided to try. I was able to lure them into my car with some flattery, “Who’s a good dog? Who’s such a pretty girrrrl? Come on in…Come on…Come on you two,” and home we went back to my pad so I could see about trying to locate their owners.
I get the two cute mongrels home and into my front yard. My kitty cat Oreo was not having it and stayed inside. I grabbed some water and the left over butt of roast beef that I had and fed it to the dogs. They run around my yard, as I am trying to find the number for animal control on my phone. I tried the number on Coco’s collar, but the number said the office was closed.
The dogs had not been in my yard for fifteen minutes, when the nosy neighbor Leon, the Trump supporter and I feel wife beater, comes out because his dog, this poor thing that stays chained up in the back yard and who is tick ridden, is barking up a storm because of these two new visitors.
Leon goes inside.
Five minutes later, my cell phone rings. Incoming call from Jerry (Landlord). I answer it and before I even ask why he is calling, because I already know, I say, “Hi Jerry! Don’t worry…I am calling Animal Control and am working on getting the dogs’ owner notified.” It was obvious to me why I had received that call and who had prompted the call.
He sounds cool and proceeds to tell me about how he has found many dogs on that road and starts to mention something about insurance and licensing. I tell him I had no intention of keeping the dogs longer than it was going to take to get them to Animal Control and that I would let him know when it was taken care of.
He says ‘thanks’ and we hang up.
My first thought was, “Leon, that tattle doof.” Okay, it may not have been that nice in my head at the time. But, if you know a nicer way of putting, “You miserable, nosy tattle-tailing rat-bastard,” I’d love to hear it.
I get a hold of the people I need to get a hold of and briefly spoke with them on the phone. I asked if they FOR SURE were not a sausage factory in disguise before I drive over the dogs. She giggled and said, “No ma’am.”
Sweet. I hung up and packed the doggos back into my car.
The guy who met me at Animal Control was really cool and let me know he knew the owner of the dogs and would be calling him. He also mentioned he would be citing the owner because this was not the first time his dogs have been brought in. Good for him.
I text Jerry to advise Operation Save Deez Pooches had been a success.
I added this:
***Yeah so, they are going to start filming here soon and after speaking with a couple people, I might get to be a P.A. on a Clint Eastwood directed flick. If anything, an extra. Cool, eh? That text is just my bragging that I know it was Leon that made that call to him about the dogs. (And bragging that I might get to actually meet Clint Eastwood.)***
It continues and my lying landlord actually tosses in this:
For whatever frickin reason, this particular message does not want to send. I was at home in the front yard where I never have issues with my phone. I was in the same spot as all my other messages. Why didn’t this one go through?
My first thought was maybe he blocked me because he did not want to hear my shit about Leon. You know, them being family and all. (Which, FYI, Jerry did not know I knew there was a family relation between the two, therefore justifying the favoritism with park regulations. He also does not know how I know. I got the low down from my other side neighbors right after I moved in almost a year ago.)
At any rate, I gave up for a few and then just decided on this next string. Notice the time gap between my response at 9:19am and my next response calling him out at 9:50am. I spoke with the only other person who could have known that dogs were in my yard for fifteen minutes, my neighbor Alicia. Alicia and I are buddies. She had no idea I was talking about Leon and my landlord. She thought I was asking about the police that showed up at her door this morning.
She fills me in on why the cops were at her place this morning and I filled her in on my finding the dogs. She says, “I didn’t know dogs were over here until Brett,” (that’s her husband), “said ‘Hey, there’s a dog trying to fuck another dog in the neighbor’s yard.'” (I swear that’s what she said he said. Hilarious!) They have two gorgeous labs themselves, Lady and Samantha.
Our conversation is what happened between those two text messages of mine below:
Can you believe it? I laughed and laughed hard. What kind of dolt are you to not leave well enough alone when the person you are trying to bull shit happens to be the one person who will knoooow you are bull shitting?
I have not received a response. LOL
What a schmoe.
Just had to share. Night y’all.