A moving performance

In an update from my last post, I have found an apartment with Adrienne, and it’s pet friendly, in a good neighbourhood, and the rent is very reasonable.  It’s got everything we wanted and then some!  We have exclusive use of the (fully fenced) backyard, as well as sole use of the garage.  We’ve got a huge crawlspace for storage, and our own private laundry.

Now I’m just trying to bring myself to pack up my stuff.  I’m procrastinating.  I move this weekend coming up (so basically in 5 days), and I haven’t packed a single thing.  I really hate packing; I moved a lot when I was younger, so often I would pack things up and then not see them again for years.  There are some of my childhood toys I haven’t seen in more than 10 years because they’re still in a box, and I don’t even know where those boxes are.

The whole packing up ordeal has been made even more complicated today by the fact that my older brother apparently stopped by on the weekend and TOOK ALL MY BOXES.

Long story short, we have friends who own a local used bookstore, and they agreed to put some boxes aside for us to have because we’re both moving (me to my new apartment and my brother is finished school).  I went and picked up about 10 boxes for myself, but because I procrastinated I hadn’t put anything in them.

I went to pack up some books today, and they were gone.  My parents hadn’t seen them, and then I had a lightbulb moment and texted my brother to see if he knew their whereabouts.  Of course he admitted to taking them, because who else would want books?  I tried to brush it off by telling my brother not to sweat it, since apparently there are some boxes kicking around in my parent’s storage unit.  His response?  “I’m not worried.  Those boxes were the ones I asked (friend) to put aside for me lol.  He should have more for me as well.”  When I informed him that I had in fact picked those boxes up for myself, he didn’t really care.  Apparently we were supposed to pick the boxes up for him, something he had neglected to tell us.  Now, if this situation had happened where I took my brother’s boxes, he would be in a righteous fury, because that’s how he works.  It’s no big deal if he inconveniences someone else, but God forbid it happens to him.  So now I have to go out again and find more boxes, and hope my brother doesn’t show up again and take them all.

On top of that, my dad is generally being an ass today.  I don’t know what crawled up his ass and died, but whatever it was, it wasn’t pleasant.  He’s having one of those days where he likes to find a topic no one wants to discuss and then beats the living shit out of it (like flogging a dead horse).  He gets annoyed when no one responds, so he talks louder, and then he starts saying thinly disguised insults directed at whoever isn’t listening to him.  These one-sided conversations are like balancing on a tightrope with no safety net – one wrong move and you’re screwed.  First he was ranting about Patrick Chan (the Chinese-Canadian figure skater).  My dad is a closet racist, and would be happy to live a Bible thumping, all-white community.  He kept going on about how Patrick Chan had mentioned that if his family had decided to stay in China, he would be getting a lot more funding and support for his figure skating, which is entirely true.  China does a lot to support its Olympic athletes, and Canada has been lagging behind the rest of the world on this point for years.  But my dad had to take it a step further and make it all about the “fact” (I use the term very loosely) that Chan is Chinese and apparently therefore a whining, money grubbing waste of Canadian space.  In his opinion, if Patrick Chan thinks he can do so much better financially in China, then his whole family should just move back there so we stop hearing about his “complaining”.

Next my dad would not stop talking about the Alberta Wildrose party’s bus.  Basically there’s a picture of the party leader (a woman) on the bus, but the picture was originally posted about the bus’s paired rear wheels, giving the impression that the tires were the woman’s breasts.  Everyone had a good laugh about it, including the party’s leader, and the bus has since been redone to avoid awkward placement.  But my dad would not shut up about it and went on for about 20 minutes on the topic.

The final straw for me was my mentioning that I need to call my new landlord to tell him about my dog.  Adrienne and I neglected to mention her because we didn’t want to get rejected again because I have a large (70lb) dog.  She’s harmless, really; she’s 10, and spends most of her time sleeping.  She doesn’t bark, she doesn’t chew on things, and she’s a good dog.  As mentioned in my previous post, it’s illegal for a landlord to discriminate against a tenant because of their pets.  That means I can’t be evicted because I have a dog.  I would have preferred to be honest and upfront about my dog, but the clock was ticking and we couldn’t risk losing out on another apartment.  I proposed that I would call my landlord tomorrow and gently break the news that I also have a dog, but assure him that she would not be a nuisance.  My dad started on his usual tirade about how “landlords have rights too” and that I shouldn’t tell my landlord until after I moved in.  According to Ontario landlord and tenant laws, a landlord can decline a person for rent if there are allergy sufferers in adjoining units (units that use the same furnace and duct work).  Because Adrienne’s dog has been allowed, that means my dog is technically allowed because obviously allergies are not an issue.  I have already signed the lease, so I am secure in my housing for at least the coming year.  Regardless of the fact that I am well within my rights as a tenant to bring my dog with me, my dad continues to yell at me and insist that I’m wrong.

I’m just so tired of his bullshit.  He refuses to admit that someone else could be right, and gets angry when I point out that I know my rights.


~ by blacksheepintheroom on March 28, 2012.

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