SDO

Things and Stuff.

Maria

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Maria isn’t here, and her bed is made.
Since she is always home when it’s this late, and she never makes her bed unless she’s going home, it’s safe to assume I most likely won’t see her until next week.

Thank god.

Landlord

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Amanda,

I have received you text files and e-mail address. I will not be in town until next Tuesday afternoon. I am telling everyone that the yelling must stop. Yelling constitutes verbal abuse and is considered a breach of our lease agreement. Evictions will follow any yelling instances. Do not give me a cause to evict.

I will gather as much detail as I can and will try to resolve this. My options will include the transferring of students. Please do what you can to maintain the peace until this gets resolved. You are allowed to disagree but you are not allowed to yell.
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Maria

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A half hour ago, Maria came into the room to start getting ready.

Of course, I woke, but I did not get up. I sat in my bed and watched through half-closed eyes as she opened and slammed the closet door without going in.
She left the room.
I turned. If I was going to be forced up because of sound, I didn’t want to be forced because of light.
I listened as she went through some bag, possibly a makeup bag, and rattled the contents.
I listened as she moved the bottles on her desk without hearing her use one.
I then listened for a full thirty seconds or more the crinkling of a plastic water bottle.
She was either trying to wake me up, or she just decided to not care that I was sleeping.

Maria & Showers

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Ashley and I realised that Maria never takes showers. Ever.

She doesn’t even take baths.

She washes her hair in the sink. I don’t know if she washes anything else or not.

Ashley’s Theory on Maria

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Ashley thinks that Maria might be suffering from drug withdrawal.

Makes some sense, I suppose, but I still think she’s just stupid, in a mentally handicapped fashion. This might have lead to the constant spoiling she’s used to, and why her parents always let her get away with things—she may just be a retard.

Her behavior makes somewhat more sense, if I think about it like that.

Does that mean I have to start treating her like she’s special?

Fuck no. If she’s going to try and live in the real world, she’s going to be treated like she’s living in the real world.

A Letter to the Land Lord

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A 28K text file has been sent to my landlord regarding Maria.

Schroe Dot Org (11:11:33 PM): Maria keeps walking in and out of the room.
Schroe Dot Org (11:11:43 PM): She grabbed her fucking blankets and left
Schroe Dot Org (11:11:45 PM): now she’s back in
J Jorenko (11:12:06 PM): >:|
Schroe Dot Org (11:12:18 PM): she’s straightening shit in her drawer
Schroe Dot Org (11:12:27 PM): I think she thinks I’m going to say something
J Jorenko (11:12:45 PM): I hope she holds her breath waiting

A Call to the Land Lord

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I just got off the phone with Kurt, the landlord of our nice little shithell apartment.

I had called because of Maria.

Just under a week ago, Maria accidentally broke Ashley’s baking stone, an expensive piece of cookware. An honest mistake made while she was cleaning, and a replacement was to be ordered right away. Maria was directed to the website, where it was assumed she’d order it from. She didn’t do it that night, and she left for the weekend, so we don’t even know if she actually ordered it.
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Maria

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Five minutes after she and I were discussing something, she goes on about it again. After about two minutes of listening to her talk rather loudly about the girl in the next room, I say to her, “Okay, we stopped talking about this five minutes ago.”

“There’s not need to be so rude, you brought it up!” (which it did, now seven minutes prior.)

“And we’ve already said all we’re going to say on the matter.”

“It’s not big deal” blah, blah, etc.

*shush noises*

“Oh don’t you shush me, you brought it up.”

“And now I’m trying to END it.”

Lametria

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Grand. Someone just called for Lametria Scott.

“She doesn’t live here anymore.”

Which is true. So no one should be calling her here, ever. Right?

Well, she’s been using my phone without me knowing, as Maria told me a while ago. I really didn’t care, because it very easily could have just been Maria trying to get me to take sides. Now I have a little bit of proof.

Ashley’s already told me that she doesn’t use the phone at all, as she has her own cell phone. Good. Then she won’t mind me taking the phone with me to school. Maria doesn’t use the phone, either, except when she NEEDS to talk to her mother. She’s going to her mother’s house later today, so she won’t be needing the phone.

I said to Ashley a while ago: “Your friends do not live here, they should not be using the phone.” That didn’t mean anything to her other than she has to hide it from me now.

Lametria’s got her own cell phone, she doesn’t need to be using my house-line. She doesn’t even need to be coming to my apartment. I swear, next time she is at the door, wanting to bitch at me about something, I’m just shutting it in her face.

She often feels the need to come and complain about something. Apparently, placing her junk mail (100% third class mail) in front of her mailbox is wrong, and she would “ah-PREE-shate” it if I didn’t do that. She’d also prefer that, instead of telling her friends to stop calling here, I instead pass the messages on to her.

She moved out a month ago, folks. She also agreed to not give out my phone number to her friends, because she had a cell phone.

Then she has the nerve to call my friends ghetto when she can’t even spell it.

Maria

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It’s funny how, whenever I say something to Maria along the lines of, “You shouldn’t skip school,” or “You shouldn’t waste your money on taxis,” she always says, “Hahha, you sound just like my mother.” Mom’s can’t possibly have good advice, can they now.