not for the faint of heart

Now, I don't mean to be a prima donna....I don't believe in the 5-second rule. Sometimes I wear my socks twice. And I've been known to let Powder sleep next to my face even when she has kitty litter paws.

That being said—a lady has standards.

And expectations.

And legal documents stating that when I arrived at my new rental house on moving day, this would not be in the front yard:

If I'd been in the market for motor oil, unidentifiable rusted objects, or the quintessential junkyard accoutrement—a tire—then this might have been a nice surprise. But I half expected The Sandlot dog to jump out from under the HVAC duct tubes. What I was really hoping for was, I don't know, a liveable space where I wouldn't get tetanus walking in.

I had higher hopes for the inside, until I saw some little pink fuzzies on the hardwoods ... harmless, right?


Oh no wait.

That's fiberglass, people. Not to be touched, inhaled, or (ideally) projected from your air conditioning vents. Some even call it a "health hazard."

Hoping for better luck in the bathroom, I instead found this turd swamp in the sink.

And HIV around the toilet/bathtub.

And then hepatitis dripping from above the stove.

I thought about relocating the homeless shelter there, but instead I started researching tenant/landlord rights, calling a lawyer, etc. Because my "landlord" (I can't even call him that with a straight face) was a lawyer, I figured I'd need to be well equipped to fight getting out of my lease. Even though he was clearly in breach of contract since he hadn't done anything to prepare the house for me to move in. I know it looks nasty, but I've seen a million episodes of Hidden Potential and dammit, I knew that place would be perfect for me if it was just cleaned up. Instead, the two disgusting potheads who previously lived there decided to dump their life in the yard, then the landlord left the house for dead and didn't even have the courtesy to call me before my moving day to let me know, oh by the way—bellybutton hole lint, body odor, and acrylic nails had a baby and named it 403 W. Monroe.