On (Not) Bluffing and Pride

I have that bad kind of pride that gets you into trouble. I’m a firm believer in principle, which also gets you into trouble. 

When I was little, I’d bluff to try to get my way. “I won’t eat this meatloaf. I’d rather go to bed without eating.” I really didn’t like meatloaf. Because it’s a LOAF of MEAT. So gross. Have you seen the way it moves?

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Go watch Better off Dead. You won’t regret it.

Even though I didn’t like meatloaf, I didn’t hate it. And I would sure take that over going to bed without dinner. I was bluffing, and I thought I’d win. I was aiming for some other dinner, hoping my mom would get up and cook me a little something special and not so gooey.

My parents, however, knew that I was bluffing, and also had their own damned plans to win. 

“Well, I guess no dinner then, huh?” 

I stared in thinly veiled shock before I turned around, walking slowly to the stairs, awaiting the inevitable “wait-come-back-I’ll-make-Mac&Cheese,” but it never came. And as I have the bad kind of pride and won’t be made a liar, I marched myself straight up those stairs with no dinner when I would have eaten the meatloaf over nothing.

Did I learn my lesson? Oh no. I did this many different times in many different ways. 

Right now, ma boo and I are in a bad situation with the neighbors who live below us. They are aggressive, threatening, and they have told their family members, police, and our landlord that we smoke our crackpipe out on the patio amongst a barrage of similarly heinous lies. If they would just ask, they would know we keep our crack smoking in the attic. 

For the last year, we have kept our landlord apprised of the hostility in which they respond to the pitter patter of our little feet across our apartment. We hear a near constant stream of obscenities pouring through the carpet while we tiptoe around, having trained ourselves to walk like freaking cats, so much so that I’ve sprouted whiskers and become allergic to myself.

We told our landlord that we don’t want to be in this situation anymore and we’d appreciate if he would just tell us whether they are staying or going because if they are staying, we are going. He told us that he was kicking them out on June 1st.

Oh, how we rejoiced! The champagne! The fireworks! The flappers dancing about in all their finery. It looked a lot like this.

But due to the Great Calendar Shortage of 2013, June 1st became July 1st, and July 1st became August 1st. Well, let’s just say things escalated in the last week, and, as I don’t take my landlord’s word that they will indeed be gone by August 1st, now we’re definitely out of here. 

We have told our landlord several times in the last couple of months that we can’t live in constant fear anymore and that we are looking at other apartments. 

Well, we found one the other day, and now we’re moving. When we called the landlord to tell him, he had this to say:

“Well, I understand that these are special circumstances, but I usually like thirty days’ notice.” Oh, well we will remember that next time.

Mr. Landlord, we were not bluffing when we told you we were leaving. We were not bluffing when we told you we feared for our safety and would not stay in this situation for any longer. We are not bluffing now with all these boxes packed up and ready to go. We gave you far more than 30 days’ notice, and it is not our problem if you thought we were bluffing. 

Sorry this is not my typical post. We are unhappy with the events that have unfolded and hate to leave our dream apartment.

However, we are excited on moving day to show our lonely embittered neighbors how many family members and friends love us and are helping us move.

And our family members and friends are excited to stomp really loudly and slam the door every thirty seconds.

Now we’re packing. And I Instagrammed it in the most depressing filter I could find:

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