
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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Although the events of this blog contain certain truths, every attempt has been made to protect patient confidentiality. Names, dates, location, and identifying features have been changed or fictionalized for that reason. The author reserves the right to embellish to preserve people's confidentiality. All content is copyright of the author. Please do not reproduce or copy in part or whole without the expressed written permission of GB, RN.