I’m feeling all up in the “fuck you” action.

I finally got and activated the ATM card for my new bank account. So I wrote a mighty big check to myself from my assholic Bank of America soon to be bank account that was. Over the past few months, I’ve been taking cash out and spreading it around. But, now, with a new checking account and all of the checking accoutrement, I’m done.

Adios and suck my ass, Bank of America. Take your fees, take your mind-blowingly bad customer service and your good old mega-conglomerate ways and fuck off.

And, Nicky, boy. Oh Nicky. I’m going to ask for volunteers in your final fuck off. Now it’s just a little bit of build up to the main event.

In today’s episode, for some unfathomable reason he called M.’s old boss and chatted him up. The unfathomable part isn’t that he called the old place of work, because disorganized old men getting a number wrong, ain’t exactly news.

No, the part that’s on the uncomprehensible side is why he talked with the guy. He stopped and chatted enough to lie to him about needing to get in touch with M., because we hadn’t given him proper notice to vacate the premises. Um, what the fuck, Nick?

How fucking inappropriate is telling a stranger that there’s some kind of financial issue. Let alone making up shit and selling it to create a non-existent issue.

M. called him and called him on it. Um, right, you got the letter didn’t you, bad boy?

He offered M. a good deal, if we move out right away, and he gets a new tenant right away, he’ll pro-rate for us and we only have to pay until the new tenants start. Hey, old man, that’s the fucking law, not let’s make a deal.

You know what else, old man, we’re staying until the date we said, because time is money to us. Guess what, the law is totally hip to our thinking.

What I think though, apart from wanting to make book that the placid M. freaks out on Nick before it’s all said and done, is that I need to hold the first ever, invitational, let’s all screw with Nick’s head open.

If you got any good ideas on how we can mess with an old man as we wave goodbye, give me your best shot in the comments section.

(Anything all psycho and fecal, though, man, I don’t want to know about that sick shit (no pun).)

M.’s taken to stalking our new digs. He ostensibly went for a run yesterday, but at some point ended up parking on the new street and walking to that Trader Joe’s.

We’re both chomping at the bit to get the hell out of Dodge. Nick hanging around today, as seems to be the case whenever I have a long weekend, is kind of driving the desire home, as it were.

Jesus, Nick, just let me have an unbalanced load of laundry in the little laundry room in fucking peace. We don’t need to go through each item speculating the automatic mass of each sweatshirt, its absorptive properties, its bulk, its tendency to shift in the universe to figure out why your piece of shit dryer is rattling.

Best quote, “Oh, see that, they call those ‘Turkish.’ [Pointing to an actually very plain white towel, possibly one I stole from a mid-range hotel chain.] Yeah, those kind of towels hold water. Absorb water.” Um, dude, we bought the towels to dry shit. We fucking want them to absorb water for christ’s sake.

It’s not that bad a place, and I can’t blame him for the neighborhood’s decline. But, for fuck’s sake, I can’t figure out why he makes every mundane situation so goddamn painful.

But, M. and I together are amassing quite the list of “You might be a slumlord if…” jokes.

My fav Nick fix in that vein these days is in said laundry room. The door to the little hut had a little country window with a little country curtain. Cute. But, in Nick’s vigilant and vigilante fear of the changing ‘hood, the glass clearly was a temptation to ne’er-do-wells and the dreaded minorities. A crime beacon.

Many people might take off the door with the cute little window and slap up a whole new door. Not our hero. Nope, why spend that, what $150 at Home Depot, when you’re handy with the tools? What you do is take a hunk of not quite square, rough hewn scrap wood, don’t bother cutting it to size to fit in the window slot or anything. Now, slap that over the window, and hammer away. Paint it a similar color and you’re good to go.

The two details I love best — The curtain still remains on the interior, and the board didn’t quite fit, so maybe the door knob didn’t turn. At least I’m guessing by the whittled curve around the knob’s circumference.