Worst Gift EVER

Just incase you're not familiar - this Bull is wearing a bra because it has tits... and tits on a bull are useless (bulls have penises - that's they're money shot)... hence, the saying 'Useless as tits on a Bull'.

So I was doing the old blog hop and I came across one helluva funny mofo, at Steam me up, kid.

The post was about the worst gift you've ever received and it got me to thinkin'...  Hands down, without a second thought, Valentines Day somewhere in the mid to late 90s, springs to mind - it was such a forgettable gift, it seems I've forgotten the year - unfortunately not the gift.  I dated this guy, 'late 90s' (as he will be referred from here on in) for longer than I should have (no offence if you're reading this... but we both know that's true).  It should have ended on that fateful Valentines... but being a sucker for punishment, I stuck it out until I could stick it out no longer.  

I'm a big gift buyer... not big in terms of monetary value, but big in terms of thought.  Micko is the same... We often store up idea's in the brain bank from throughout the year and when it comes to Christmas or Birthday's we get something that the other really wanted (often had forgotten about) and surprise the shit out of each other.  That's just one of Micko's many endearing qualities - he puts a lot of thought into everything he does.

Late 90s was certainly no Micko!  And on this particular Valentines Day, me and 'late 90s' had been going through a rough patch - I think... I also am not too sure because the whole relationship was a rough patch and for the most part I think I've blocked it out.   

Anyways... I can't recall what I bought late 90s, but I'm sure it was fucking awesome!  He then reluctantly, sulkily, handed over his gift - not because he felt bad that his present was soooo shit, just because throughout our entire relationship, that was his persona (I'm sure it was just our relationship that made him that way and I'm sure he is much happier person these days).   

It was a card... something weird on the front (I can't quite recall what - perhaps an animal of some kind) and inside was blank... blank with a couple of stickers stuck in it, a red triangle, a blue square, a green circle and a yellow octagon.  There was nothing written in the card... not a single word.  Then he handle me a mini bottle of Midori (you know the tiny little bottles you find in a mini bar)... problem was, I hated Midori!  And he should have known that!


You know... If he's just given me the card and written something sweet in it, I'd have been really stoked. The gift aspect wasn't what I was looking for (and certainly not that fucking disgusting melon flavoured wannabe alcoholic cordial called 'Midori'!  The card alone would have been more than enough!

Surely he knew I was a beer drinker!  I'm sure he'd never seen me drink anything but beer.  It got me to thinkin', how much attention does late 90s actually pay to me.  So shortly after the card/midori episode I covered my eyes and asked 'What colour are my eyes?'  To which he sat silently for a minute contemplating... then said 'Brown?'    

Ummmmm... WRONG ARSEHOLE!  My eyes are blue!  Blue as the day I was born - about as far removed from brown as you can get.  Like I said before, I should have ended it there and then.... The me, here today, doesn't even recognise the pansy bitch I used to be.  That girl is someone who put up with way more shit than I ever could (now) and she is definitely worth another blog entry.  I'm just not sure I'm quite ready to open those drawers in my mind... just yet!

The Landlord from Hell in Paradise!

In a previous blog, I may have mentioned that Micko, a good friend and I, had one fucked up landlord... Well, here is the story!
Micko, a friend and I were desperately seeking a house in Suffolk Park. My friend had just arrived with all her worldly belongings from Vic and was couching it at a mates short term. We were on the hunt for the perfect pad for our family of three. We stumbled across a privately rented 3 bedroom, 2 storey townhome across the road from the beach. Placed at the rear of 3 townhomes, all owned by the one woman, it was lovely and clean and the perfect place to base ourselves. I can vaguely remember, as we were checking out the rad lounge area, Micko mentioned he knew some chicks that lived there previously. He'd been around for a few sessions over the years and they'd said the landlord was an evil bitch. We put that in the back of our minds... the rent was fair ($385 a week in Byron is practically a steal) and moved in an soon as we could.
Early days in the Alcorn St pad where awesome. My housemate, Micko and I had similar standings on food and utilities - a shared approach (what we'd refer to as 'what you lose on the swing, you gain on the roundabout'). The house had 3 bedrooms upstairs, Micko and I shared an ensuite and our housemate had the full bathroom. Downstairs was the kitchen and living space plus there was a garage with internal access that we converted to our drinking/smoking/drug den. The beach was directly across the road and a few of our best mates lived in the next door block of units. Life was good and the evil landlord (we'll call her Moizey) was rarely seen or heard.
Eventually, unfortunately, she did rock up on the scene. She had been staying in Brissie with her kids while she underwent some medical treatment. She knocked on the door, made her presence known and told us she was planning on selling the front townhouse (the one which she lived in). Phew! We thought... she's going to piss of back to Brisvegas and take her neg vibe along with her for the ride. And she did, at least until the holiday season, when she rented her unit out to holiday makers - noisy bastards with no regard for permanent tenants (but hey, you get used to that lack of respect living in Byron!)
As the holiday makers turned up, Moizey moved herself into the spare garage... right next to ours. She did it, she said, because she was very poor and desperately needed the money to live (a reoccurring theme throughout our time at Alcorn St). She was ALWAYS crying poor, but strangely sitting on around a mill and half worth of property. Of course, that was her investment for the future, but the string of trucks that would rock up week after week and unload white goods, plasma TV's, coffee machines, new furniture, and the list goes on... had us questioning her poor status bigtime!

So, as I was saying... Moizey moved herself into the garage over the holiday season. She'd bathe across the road in the public toilets (no hot water) and sit in her garage with the door shut. Oh, don't feel sorry for her sweltering in the garage through the heat of a north coast summer. She had that garage kitted out with air-con, a plasma, TV, fridge, washer, and all the necessary mod cons. - which I suspect where tied up on our electricity account!
Every now and then, she'd mosey on through our backyard, look in the windows and seeing us there and casually walk past. This used to piss me off to no end! I'd get so angry that I'd want to walk out there and rip her head of, but Micko and the housemate would calm me down not wanting me to go completely loco at her. She had no right to step foot on our property without the necessary notice and I wanted to let her know if she stepped over the line one more time I'd be in touch with the tribunal. She was just such an intrusive sticky beak - a lot like the old Neighbours character Mrs Mangel. I don't doubt that if she didn't spot us in the lounge, she'd be reaching for her spare key and helping herself to a hot shower or a nice, comfortable shit in a proper, clean dunny.
So Moizey's visits became a frequent intrusion in our day to day life... 'Make sure you lock the gates as soon as you get the car in'. 'Don't park there'. 'Here are the water rates'. Any excuse to knock on our door for a sticky beak and to bark another order at us. Until, one day, she knocks on the door and informs us she is selling our place and the sooner we move out the better. We didn't have to give any notice, just tell her whenever we decided to leave. She wanted to move in and leave the comfort of her garage at the first opportunity so it was of no consequence to her what date we left. She then had another reason to hound us... 'how is the house hunting going', 'when do you think you'll be out'.
Finding a place to live in Byron is never an easy task and as Micko and I were going our own way we needed to find something we could afford with just the two of us. Moizey's hounding slowed down - mainly due to there being little interest from the buyers market. We all found new accommodation and were to move out in less than a week. Moizey was given the good news. However, she didn't think it was good news! It no longer suited her for us to move out immediately. She had planned to spend the next few weeks in Brisbane with her family – not our problem in the least.
She went apeshit! 'You haven't given me 28 days notice... You'll have to continue paying rent up until the end of the month'. Bullshit! Like hell we will! We cut sick on the old bitch! Finally, I got to release all my hatred at this evil bitch in one foul swoop! 'You said you didn't need ANY notice! You have intruded on our lives at every opportunity you've had! You walk through our backyard, stick your fucking ugly face on our windows and peer in at any chance you get. You want to fuck with us...we'll take up our case with the tribunal'.
We got our way... Moved out the day before BDO on the Goldie and it was a fucking stinker! Sweat seeped out of every pore as we toiled away packing, moving and cleaning the house. Late that night we finished up, all very relieved to have that woman out of our lives for good. Off to BDO for a blinder... It ended up a non event – we were so rooted from all the work, we left early and feel asleep next to our mode of transport (the Nimbin Rainbow Grasshopper).
The relief was short lived... Moizey got her final revenge. The next morning with a phone call our world came crashing down. She said the place was not cleaned to her standards (which I found unbelievable - it was spotless - we had even washed all the walls down). I had to go back and re-do the bathroom - which I'm positive she dirtied before I got there. While there, she lectured me on the jobs I'd not done... Her main gripe was that we'd not cleaned the sliding door tracks (on the floor) with a toothbrush! Finally, and not nearly early enough for my likings, she jumped on her broomstick and was once and for all out of our lives completely! Never to be seen or heard of again... Oh except once! We saw her going off her tree at a woman in the car park at the supermarket. Somethings never change (or should I say - some people).