Well, Shit, OMGoddess

I guess I spoke too soon about being all puppies and kitties here.

I was supposed to be back on rewriting Oh My Goddess with #27, but now am told that I'm not since it's just barely been yanked back on-schedule.
I think the last one I re-wrote was #24, maybe #25. So, if anyone's been wondering why it doesn't read the same, it's because it's not the same. Editor Carl Horn now re-writes it, even though my name is still in the book.

I didn't care for all the camel toes and ass shots in #26, anyway. It was a really great story arc, with a lot in the art that detracted from it. (Skuld panty shot, anyone? Jon-Benet Hild? Anyone?)

Still, I was rather counting on that money.

Hating comics just a little right now. Sigh.

ATF: Ass Capades

King called. Twice.

Call One: The rental house was found open, and the carpet is trashed.

Call Two: Someone from State Farm said, "Well we don't know about giving you another $438. dollars, you haven't given us back the deposit we paid [for the rental.] In my world, as in State Farm World, deposits are not returned until after the renter moves out (if at all). So, we are not moved out, we do not have a deposit to return.

Our State Farm agent is Jimmy Gabourel. Our (being fired today) adjuster is David Ortiz. The rental agency is Boardwalk Realty in San Antonio and we deal with Ken. Just to make a public record or these fine people.

I was already not having a good day.
There's the "Yes, you're rewriting Oh My Goddess, oh wait you're not." There's another PTSD episode attacking me in my sleep. There's this rental shite. There's the malaise that's been creeping up on me for the past few days (please let it be my period, please let it be my period).
There's not a lot that scares me any more, but falling back down the rabbit hole is one of them.

Why am I not yet getting my volume discount on shitty?

Hey, Shit Fairy, Get Offa My Cloud

Okay, we went to the rental. There was no trashed carpet, just a typically dirty carpet that results from four people living in a house with light beige freaking carpet.

The story Broadway Realty is floating goes thus:

A guy who really wanted to rent the place decides to drive by. He sees that the house is open, so he goes in. He walks around the whole house, WHICH IS DIRTY and STUFF IS ON THE FLOOR BECAUSE TEHRE'S NO FURNITURE, and decides it's the work of, oh noes, vandals.
He calls the "hotline" listed on the sign and tells them the house was open and looked vandalized when he walked through.

My conversation with Adriana, skipping the BS story above:
A: "...and he called because he was concerned."
L: "He walked through the house, THEN called you?"
"No, he didn't call us."
"Well, who did he call?"
"He called the number on our sign in the yard."
"Well, what number is that?"
"Our rental hotline."

Okay, so this is either the bullshit weakest story ever, and they made it up because they had to explain walking through. Or the guy is real, and he's the stupidest fucker ever. Because if you think a place has been broken into, YOU DON'T WALK THROUGH IT, SHITFERBRAINS, you CALL THE POLICE.

Each and every one of you reading this who rent, or have rented, and are stuck with a shit landlord, I truly feel for you. There's so many reasons I loathed renting, and being unwelcome and discriminated against because King is half-Hispanic and I'm married to him, is one of the biggest.
(And, before anyone feels they must balance this with a story about their awesome landlord, or terrific renting experience, just please don't.)