Fucking furious. Tyler’s being such a fucking pussy. Our landlord’s doing a wicked job of taking advantage of us.

For fuck’s sake — we’re in our mid-20s, this is our first place, and we were referred by two other tennants. He’s dicking us around, cashing our fucking rent checks more than two weeks after we give it to him. Miraculously Tyler can never seem to get ahold of him, either. He never bothered to get his phone number when we first moved in. And the guy always seems to be on fucking vacation, so says Tyler.

Fuck him. That’s total bullshit. As a matter of fact, he’s used that copout bullshit excuse for more than one occasion. When it came time to ask his HR rep about putting me on his insurance, [i]she[/i] just happened to be on vacation, too.

He sure is a stupid motherfucker. I don’t really see how he can think I believe every lie he spits out at me. Then he gets fucking angry when I tell him I’m not buying it.

Today I washed two sinkloads of dishes, and halfway through he phones to let me know he was on his way home. So, I put the beef stroganoff(sp?) in the oven. He calls me up 20 minutes later to let me know he needs to go into the next town over to pick up his mum’s prescriptions. Okay. Fine. I’ll just put some foil over supper to keep it warm.

I sit alone at the kitchen table waiting. He phones and tells me his card isn’t being accepted at the gas pump. I sign into the bank account and realize then that it’s over $850 in teh negative. This was our first month testing out our new budget (that I spent days putting together). After all the overdraft fees we realize that the rent check had just been taken out, taking a gigantic chunk of dough out of what we were saving for other things (mainly bills and gas money).

So I tell him that he needs to bring this to our landlord’s attention and work something out so that it doesn’t happen again (like it did last month, too). “Yeah, yeah…I’ll call him right now.” (he says these same lines over and over to shut me up)

He comes home and I ask him about his call to Dick (the landlord…fitting, no?). “I left a message.” Mhm. So where’s the number so we can finally write it down? “Oh, I probably should’ve saved it, huh?” (he never called. he never got the number. he won’t call. fucking pussy. I can’t call, because Tyler wants to be the one to be “in charge.” it’s destroying us. emotionally and financially.)

It leads to a screaming match. He takes what he wants of the stroganoff, eats it, then leaves without saying anything.

I dumped the rest of it in the garbage.

I can’t release this rage and am trying my very best not to slice myself unconscious. it’s times like these that all the other things in my life I’m anxious about return to the surface and explode into a huge mass of panic and fury.

Should I get drunk? Should I cut? What else can I do to get rid of it? I’m running really low on options right now.

…which makes me even more anxious. Maybe I’ll smash a glass on the floor. Maybe I’ll try to put my fist through a wall. Fuck. I can’t…make it go away

** EDIT **

Feel a tiny bit better now. Smashed that stupid fucking plastic snowglobe his mother gave me with a hammer on the kitchen floor. *semi-relieved sigh*