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When I move, I fully plan on marching to Bloated Single Mother's door and telling her what I hefer I think she is. If I tell her now, she'd probably key my car. Her car has a smashed front end that is held together by duct tape. I suspect she doesn't have much to lose. I don't know what she does with a living, but it has something to do with brown aprons because I see her go to work in the mornings. I think her name is Becky because it is stitched on the front of the brown apron. She's always scowling. Being a Bloated Single Mother must be hard.
At any rate, she is the only one who keeps complaining about the dog, my other neighbors don't have a problem with Sam. I bought a bark collar for him, and for some reason, has a reaction to the nylon. Now, he has big, open bleeding sores on the underside of his neck. I hate to leave the collar on him because of it, and I have already taken him to a vet about the sores. His answer, "Don't put the collar on him."
So, I'm in a catch-22. If I leave the collar on, Sam won't bark, but he bleeds and is obviously in pain. If I take it off, he barks and BSM complains and fabricates stories to get me in trouble with the management. They recently implemented a "curfew" for the apartment complex. No loitering outside after 10pm. I'm still figuring this one out.
I'm still in the infancy of the whole home-buying process...so me moving out it contingent on how fast that process moves. I'll be calling the Remax people again tomorrow.
I'm sad...and I want to go punch BSM in the face. Apartment life still sucks.
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