Too late, I discovered that which repels landlord Nick.
The pine scent that says clean and disinfected from barroom to living room to seedy corners everywhere. The tingling distinctiveness of Pine-Sol. 
Yep, went by the old place, and started figuring what was what post our bugging out on Saturday. Right on fucking cue, I’m deep into my iPod and some trashing gathering, and I hear an insistent “Hello,” followed by the rasp of the patio door and screen being slid back and opened.
Fucking asshole, opening the door and coming right in, unbidden, unwelcome.
BUT, what is this? He stops at the door jamb and starts griping about chemicals. I explain it’s Pine-Sol, motherfucker, get over your bitching self. He backs away. He comes back in to bitch about the crappy apartment carpeting looking less than pristine. But he can’t stay, he backs away again. Piney fresh Nick repellent.
Hmmmm. What are the odds of my dumping shitloads of piney clean goodness in every fucking room. Maybe I’ll take a plastic cup of it and shove it behind the refrigerator.
What would be the complaint? It’s too fucking clean smelling?
If I only fucking knew about the magic of Pine-Sol when first I made Nick’s acquaintance. Perhaps, I wouldn’t so hate his annoying, OCD, know-it-all, meddlesome, landlord from hell tendencies. Maybe I would embrace his quirks while wafting pine oil and resin in his general direction.
He wanted to say “Hi,” because he already was in the other day “inspecting,” or as is actually the case, “trespassing,” since no one gave him permission to enter. He’s told me that he’d meet up with us on “Thursday” for the final goodbyes. I pointed out “Friday,” given, I dunno, that was the 30-day notice date and the date through which we paid.
Jesus, what a dick. He explained he needed the extra day to have his wife and maybe some professional cleaners in to clean. I would hate like poison combined with a cup of blood and urine being his wife.
Today’s argument that has my knickers twisted was about carpet cleaning. He plans to deduct the cost of professional carpet cleaning from our security deposit, because there appear to be some spots that weren’t there. I pointed out that California law actually prohibits him from doing so.
It’s called normal wear and tear, douche. Hmmm. Wanna know what other odds I wonder? What are the chances I’ll be fucking with him over the security deposit to the last fucking penny?
Here’s how we were debating whether to leave it.
Not as rockstar trashed as I was hoping or fantasizing since we left on Saturday. It ain’t too late for me to puke in the corner, light something on fire or shit on the rug.