Sunday, May 3, 2009

Another installment of Douchey McDoucherson

You guys remember my landlord, Douchey McDoucherson, right? The guy that talks out his ass about everything, and I never know when he's telling the truth, lying to my face, or making something up. Sometimes I think he even believes some of the ridiculous things he says.

He also has a tendency to give me permission to do something, then back out or change his mind, or tell me he never agreed to it. I had asked in advance for two things I was looking forward to this spring: having a tag sale, and planting a vegetable garden. I've been reminding him so he couldn't say he forgot, and I keep getting affirmative responses - with lots of negativity thrown in.

For example, "this is a busy road, no one will stop for a tag sale" and "I don't know what's buried under that spot you want for a garden. For all I know, there's a car buried under there and all you're going to be able to grow is motor oil.".

Last week, I gave him actual dates. Saturday the 2nd was going to be my tag sale, and Mother's Day weekend was when I was going to plant the garden. He was okay with the tag sale, but had to warn me that there was poison ivy growing in the garden area. I was suprised because I had never seen poison ivy on that side of the yard. I went over and took a look:

"Um, Douchey, that's - a - baby - tree... I think I can handle it."

We had the tag sale yesterday, and despite Douchey's dire predictions we had a freakin' lot of people stop by, and we made some money. Not as much as I would have liked, but my son and my cousin did pretty well.

One of the first people that showed up at the tag sale was a guy I went to high school with, Danny. He bought a vcr/dvd combo from my cousin while we were still unpacking boxes and she realized after that she hadn't given him the remote that goes with it. I couldn't for the life of me remember his last name so I couldn't call him. At the end of the day we just threw the remote into the big trash can out back with all the rest of the debris.

Of course Danny showed up at 8:30 last night when I was in my pajamas, with no bra on, wondering if I had the remote. Turns out he couldn't work the machine without it. I grabbed a flashlight, turned on the back light and we started looking through the trash can. And, of course it wasn't right on top, so I laid the can on its side in the driveway and we started carefully pulling out one thing at a time until we found it. Yay!

Just as we found it, the landlord turned on his back light and came not only outside, but down the steps into the driveway. "Fancy, what's going on out here? Is everything okay?" I explained the situation to Douchey, bid goodnight to my friend, and went inside to wash my hands.

Does Douchey always look outside and watch what I'm doing? He obviously realized it was me, as he called me by name. Does he really need to know why I'm looking through my own garbage?

If I want to go out back in my pajamas in the dark with a stranger and look through my own garbage can, why the fuck do I have to feel like people are watching me? Now that I know he's watching, maybe I should make sure to give him something to look at more often. And before your mind goes THERE, you pervert, I was thinking more like tap dancing in some crazy costume by the light of the moon. Give me ideas, people. Maybe if I really like the suggestion, I'll video tape me doing it and email it to you.

(for record, yes we do call each other Douchey and Fancy!) (also, you will have to sign a waiver that if I get evicted because of your suggestion, I get to come live with you)


Vodka Mom said...

oh sweet jesus did someone say TAG SALE????

I'M IN!!!

Dr Zibbs said...

I love when people talk out of their ass. Unless it's someone that I have to deal with directly.

mike said...

So he just happened to stop on by while you were in pajamas and no bra? Riiight. Give Danny some credit.

Fancy Schmancy said...

Deb: Tag Sale! Yard Sale! Garage Sale! I know how much people can get excited seeing a bright piece of paper on a corner.

Zibbs, having to deal on a daily basis with someone who talks out their ass sucks. Where were your suggestions? I was counting on you!

Mike, trust me when I say
Danny is a happily married man, and not a "chubby chaser".

LegalMist said...

Something to look at.... hmmmm.... about a seance with your friends in the driveway by the light of the full moon, complete with gypsy costumes?

...or you could practice your tai chi in the yard while wearing a sombrero?

...or you could go put a small plastic bag in the garbage, then go out later and carry it back in, then go out later and hide it under something in the garbage, then go out later and pull it out of the garbage and put it in your trunk, then go out at midnight and put it in *his* garbage can. The small plastic bag should contain something innocuous, like old cloth scraps or shredded papers. If he asks why you put it in his garbage can, you can say, "I just wanted to see if you were watching."

Jocelyn said...

I played "garden" all weekend. I hurt all over and after TWO DAYS, I'm ready to PLOW THAT BITCH UNDER. Hard work. Veggies better be tasty!

BeckEye said...

Don't all landlords talk out of their asses? I thought it was a job requirement.

Prunella Jones said...

Dr. Zibbs took my comment, the bastard.

Aunt Becky said...

Tin foil outfit. Gardening.

'nuff said.

Cora said...

I'm sorry, you lost me at tag sale *DROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL* What else did you say?


Cora said...

Remember "Signs" when Joaquin Phoenix and the little kids wore pointy tin foil hats on their heads? I think you should have friends over and all run around outside in those while looking in fear at the sky.

Hee hee hee.

Peggy said...

werewolf suit.

Candy's daily Dandy said...

Creepy stalker landlord douche wa probably feeling all territorial, seeing you out there in you jammies with, heaven forbid, a GUY!!!

Gwen said...

The first thing that came to my mind was camping in the backyard one entire weekend but I don't think that tops Legal Mists' third suggestion.

JoJo said...

Your landlord is a real piece of work.