The Reason [I Suspect] As to Why I Haven't Gotten My Security Deposit Back

As you may recall, my former landlord is an incompetent jerk. You remember that time he acted a fool when my rent check got lost in the mail and that other time when I gave him 30 days written and verbal notice that I was vacating my apartment (per the terms of my month to month lease and in compliance with California state law) and he acted like he had a problem with that? This is the man that often took forever to make repairs, dragged his feet about scheduling time to do a final walk through of my apartment once I'd moved out, and finally, showed up 45 minutes after the mutually agreed upon time. Well, it's been over six months since I moved out, and (SURPRISE!) this fool hasn't returned my security deposit to me.

According to California state law, a landlord must return a tenant's security deposit in full within 21 days of the last day of occupancy. Typically, that 21 day countdown starts on the day of the final walk through. If the landlord is withholding any part of the security deposit, he or she must notify the former tenant in writing with an itemized list of deductions. So, if you kicked a hole in the wall or stole a light fixture, your landlord would have to send you something that basically says, "I'm deducting such and such amount for the repair of the thingamajig." In my case, the apartment was in excellent condition and thoroughly cleaned. Of course it showed of a reasonable amount of wear and tear which is understandable with 3 years of occupancy. However it didn't need much done to it in preparation for the next tenant. Perhaps a coat of paint.

I had paid my final rent, trusting that despite his shoddy track record, he would do the right thing and pay what he owed in a reasonable amount of time. But, as R. Kelly so eloquently stated, "Haters gon' hate. Ballers gon' ball," and true to his character, my landlord did not do the correct and proper thing. I wrote him a nice email, as a reminder that he owed me some good money. No response. This is the point at which I started calling him. And of course, he participated in shade and didn't answer his phone. He didn't respond to my messages. He was a sucka emcee. But I really want to call him something else. But I won't, 'cause my Mama raised me right.

One day, my fiance called him and cursed him out. I think he did it in Spanish. My landlord called me, damn near crying (like a little bi-- Oh... I said I wouldn't call him somethin' else. Nevermind). He was a fountain of excuses. He was offended that I would take such measures and almost went as far as to say that my fiance doesn't know his life. I told him, "Listen. That's the man I'm marrying and currently residing under the same roof with. It is absolutely his business. He doesn't have to know your life. You owe me. So, you owe us. Cough up the dinero, compadre." And then he started with the promises to pay. "Just give me some time," he said. That was back in June.

So, now I have to sue him.

Really, ain't nobody got time for that. But, I have to do what I have to do, mostly out of principal. I've been living without that money for a long time and [thankfully] I hadn't hinged any dreams on it or made any plans for it. That money would be extra. But the point is that its MINES. Not his. So, now I gotta take attention away from things that I want to do to go deal with some foolishness that I shouldn't have to. Such is life.

Here's the thing though. I have a theory as to why he "hasn't been able" to return my security deposit to me. Remember that one time last summer when Ashley Catharine McGinty (also known as "That Girl") came to stay in my spare bedroom and proceeded to make messes and not clean up after herself, try not to pay rent, and finally not return my house key to me once she left? Well, about a week after I had moved out of that apartment, I stopped by the premises to check and see if there were any random pieces of mail for me that may have been mis-delivered to the old address... And I saw that someone had already taken up residence in my old apartment. Hmmm.

This struck me as strange since, as far as I knew, my old landlord had not advertised the apartment as vacant and it was still the middle of the month. Surely, at that point, he hadn't had any time to prep the apartment for a new tenant. For someone to be occupying the place within a week was just...

Hey. I suspect that That Girl (who, as far as we know, still has my keys), let herself into the vacant apartment  once the coast was clear and took up residence. Listen. Stranger things have happened. And with a squatter in the unit [and California laws regarding tenancy being what they are] there would be no way to swiftly order an eviction, physically remove the unwanted occupant, and rent it out to a new tenant. Therefore there would be no way to obtain a new security deposit or collect any rent... And maybe no way to return my deposit to me. With his broke behind. I'm just sayin'.

As you can see [and probably already knew], my life is full of the finest foolery. Now, excuse me while I go write a check to Southern California Edison in the amount of $.57. Good day.

Because My [Soon to be Former] Landlord is an Asshole

February 10, 2012

Dear [Dumb Ass Landlord That Shall Remain Nameless],

As per the phone conversation that we just had a few minutes ago, I am sending you this email as written notification of termination of my tenancy at [address]. I was very disappointed to hear that you may have a problem with me vacating the apartment by the 10th of March, instead of the 1st. As I stated, had I known on the 1st of this month that I would be obtaining a residence elsewhere, I certainly would have notified you at that time. Also, I have not noted where it states in the lease that my 30 day notice must be given on the first of the month.

Obviously, it goes without saying that it is tradition that an individual would serve notice of their plans to vacate a property on the first of the month. However, in this case, unfortunately that was impossible. One would think that it would actually be beneficial to the owner of a property to have a tenant vacate within a reasonable amount of time after the first, as it would mean that the unit would not have to stand unoccupied for an entire month. It is extremely realistic that you could show the unit to a prospective tenant on or shortly after the 11th of March and have them move in by the 1st of April! Or even the 15th! That actually means more money for you! And yet, you are unhappy.

Based on our previous interactions and my knowledge of your unyielding affection for money, I assume that you will be charging me rent until the 10th of March due to the fact that I am notifying you on the 10th of this month. If I am correct in that assumption, my rent will be prorated and fill your pockets to the tune of something like $419.30. And yet, you seem dissatisfied. This is nothing short of confusing.

I have found that it is impossible for you to be satisfied in most instances. It appears that we can never have an easy, simple interaction, and that is truly sad. From the very first day of my moving in, our business dealings have been fraught with tension. I look forward to lessening the obvious strain that I place upon your sensibilities, and easing my own mind. I have done my best as a tenant to be punctual, respectful, reasonable, and low maintenance. It is my hope that I have cared for your property well and that the next individual or family that occupies my current home will do the same.

Best,

Nikki

I SHOULDA HAD AN ABORTION: Tha Year in Review

2009 took it's sweet time gettin' on up outta here, didn't it? Well, I'm glad that bitch is gone, cause we 'bout to get it in in 2010! *giggles*

And apparently, that's exactly what I been doin', cause here we are, a week into tha year, and I'm just now doin' a blog entry. Shameful, really, but whatever. I got a life, people! And furthermore, you gotta understand that I gotta take time out between entries to replenish my reservoir of foolishness. That's how you get tha very best fuckery from me... but I digress...



Despite some tragedies and scandals, I guess tha past year wasn't really bad at all, especially on a personal tip. I kept myself a job, wrote some poems n' thangs, continued to Boom on these hoes (while simultaneously stunting. That shit ain't easy!), and generally lived my life like it was golden. Highlights of tha year included my friend Tamara's wedding, celebrating Naomi's 10th Birthday at tha Mos Def and Erykah Badu show on Labor Day Weekend, and in October, marking tha one year anniversary of my marriage to my apartment.

So, this is like tha best story about my husband -- I mean, my apartment... It was Halloween of 2008. I had been in my place for all of 31 days and my brother, Chas was here. I have a front and a back door and of course, my back door is in my kitchen (well, not really "of course"... I mean, I guess it could be somewhere else... but traditionally, that's where back doors are.) My desk and computer and whole work station area is also in my kitchen, so inevitably, that's where I spend most of my time. We had been having a bit of a heat wave (or is that really just normal for L.A in October? *confused face*), so all of tha windows and my back door was open and Chas and I were sitting in tha kitchen talking and then, all of a sudden, we hear this woman GOING OFF.

She was sobbing and yelling and just actin' an all around fool. I imagine she prolly rolled around on tha floor at some point, that's how much she was cuttin' up. Well, apparently, she was "arguing" with her man (I put that in quotation marks, cause really it takes two people to argue and we never heard him say anything). She was like, "YOU DON'T LOVE MEEEEEEEEE!!!! YOU NEVER LOVED ME!!!" and of course, Chas and I, bein' tha maniacs that we are, turned down tha music and went over to tha window and back door so we could really hear all tha juicy mess. So, she's goin' on and on and on, just actin a muthafuckin' fool, and then she was like, "I SHOULDA HAD AN ABORTIOOOOOOOON! I SHOULDA HAD AN ABORTIOOOOOON! [insert inaudible sobs here]"

Chas and I looked at each other like "OH SHIT!"

Bwahahahahahahaahahahahahaha!

Forreal, lady? Is that whut you shoulda done? Wow.

I certainly hope tha child she "should've aborted" was a little baby and didn't know what was goin' on and not like 17 in tha other room on tha PS3, like "Whut tha fuck???"

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

So, now that's our inside joke. When some shit don't go tha way we want it to or we're just generally unhappy, we throw our heads back like tha characters in Charlie Brown, fake sob, and shout, "I SHOULDA HAD AN ABORTION!" It's fun for tha whole family.



That story had absolutely nothing to do with tha New Year or anything else for that matter... I just felt like sharing.

Tha Great Tree Masacre of '09

If ever there was a time to quote Joni Mitchell, I'm pretty sure this is it.

They took all the trees
Put em in a tree museum
And they charged the people
A dollar and a half just to see em

However, let me say, I kno whut I've got before it's gone and don't you try to come take it away or I might hav to get rowdy.

This morning, I was abruptly snatched up outta my sleep by a sound that can only be described as a violent, motorized grinding. No, actually it sounded like my apartment was being eaten by a big ass blender. Better yet, it sounded like tha whole World was being consumed by a tornado of chainsaws -- concrete, buildings, trees and all. Well, I was right about tha trees and sort or right about tha chainsaws. When I went to my living room window and looked out, I could see tha Inglewood City worker men cutting away at this huge tree in front of my building. Okay. Trimming. It happens. Good city. Trim your trees. At 7:30 in tha morning, tho? Is that really necessary? Whutever. I went to get ready for work.

After finishing part of my morning ritual, I wandered back over to my living room window to see whut looked like some sort of giant grotesque stone hand, protruding from tha ground, clawing at tha sky. Clearly, a lot more than "trimming" had occurred. Every bit of this poor tree's foliage was gone and all that was left was trunk and branches. Ugly. I didn't want them to leave that monstrosity in front of my window, but it didn't entirely occur to me that they were going to completely cut a perfectly good tree down. Why would anybody do that? Duh.

Well, folks, I returned home from work to see that that's exactly whut they did. But they didn't stop at tha tree directly in front of my apartment. They kept going all tha way down tha block. Three big beautiful trees had been reduced to stumps and roots.



In tha middle of summer Inglewood? Really? And exactly whut purpose did this tree masacre serve? Does my neighborhood look better now? Can tha people that reside on my block now do something that we couldn't do before? Who's gonna breathe a sigh of relief or sleep more soundly tonight because finally, all those bothersome trees are gone?

Dumb. Asses.

Meanwhile, I've called several times to request that a stop sign be placed at tha deadly ass intersection at tha end of my block. Do I hav my stop sign, yet? Take a guess.



Great verbiage such as "livid", "angry", and even "pissed tha fuck off", don't do a good job of describing how mad I am. I can't quite articulate how vigorously I would like to slap tha individual(s) who came up with tha brilliant idea to chop down these trees and leave my street naked and scarred. And how much money in labor and machinery did they spend in tha destruction and disposal of these trees? But they can't come and put up a couple of stop signs to prevent me or someone else from dying at tha corner a few yards away?

Tha war path is whut I'm on... and you kno I'm familiar with and hav no problems goin down that road. I'm about to giv tha City of Inglewood THEE BUSINESS. Watch.

Granted, city personnel is often good for very little. However, if they can answer their phones (which they are successful at, most times), and if they can check their voicemail, then I'm pretty sure I'm about to get some results, cause they're about to get tired of hearing my voice. I'm calling everyday (sometimes several times a day, depending on how I crazy I feel) until I gets my muthafuckin stop sign. And I won't stop till I get it.

If, God forbid, I were to die tomorrow, I would call tha Inglewood City Public Works Hotline from my grave. I'm like tha Terminator. I'm like Bad Boy in tha 90's. And furthermore, "This mind, this body, and this voice cannot be stifled", word to Fiona Apple.

For now, I've titled this situation that I'm about to temporarily obsess over "Operation Avenge tha Trees". It might very well turn into an adventure. Needless to say, I'll keep ya'll updated as my sanity wears away and the fuckery escalates. It will.