Stella Martinez living large as the landlandy

My friend wants to start a web service for landlords and call it deadbeatrenters.com.... or better yet, losers.com. This would be a national database listing all the of names of people who rent. And they are rated on a two star scale... 'real' and 'avoid'. Simple, no slander just a very valuable service for those who depend on losers for their income. No one gets an excellent because given the right set of circumstances, within every person resides some degree of loser and when this loserlife decides to show its face, it's generally the landlord who gets the first peek.

I have my own personal rating scale I use with prospective renters... they call, asking to look at an apartment. I simply say, "Are you real"? Now 'real' renters scoff, act a touch indignant and incredulous, snicker a few times and ba-babble.... "Well yea".. laugh laugh. The 'avoid' population that you want to escape at all costs...will mutter....sputter....like..uhhh... wha'd ya mean...huh..whaaat?" Trust me, this little test can key you into a Vegas vault so you know exactly where this person is coming from. It's the the 'huh?' that lets me know that my interest are not their number one priority. Don't ask... it's a second sense I have developed during this ordeal. And this is the person the website would let you know about....it's a briallant idea because loser renters are e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e and any full time landlord would gleefully pay a montly service fee to get information... yea/nea... on some prospect.

I used to be the landlady from heaven because I'd give everyone the break.... page three, fourth paragraph, number two .... no pets. If you decide to have a pet you must pay a $300 deposit.
And there she is, this slight build, full time student working three extra jobs.... all alone... father used to smack her around... yea... a cat... only friend... deposit?... ooooohhh...really? ... oh no..neutered...declawed...incisors extracted... perfect... well....oh thank you so so so so so so much.

.....Or how about .... the first months rent and deposit required at time of signing the lease. In the beginning I was so excited they could sign their name that I got caught up in the moment and ... yea... sure... pay me on the fifteenth... I would spend my time more wisely configuring my ascent route up Everest than the time I've given to separating a loser from their money.

The people I have met... in your wildest imagination you could not concieve the stories, the plights that are visited upon people. Inevitably I look around, wondering if I have morphed onto some movie set filming Desperate Renters and we're reading from a script. Abuse is big... all kinds of mind fucking going on out there... family, corporate, government, self inflicted... that's mainly what it always is.... and helpless... always helpless and oh so needy. Listening to their stories... even though I try not to.. but how can you not listen.... It's like Truman with Perry and trying to decipher what the gods were smoking that day to lead him out the front of the house and Perry out the back... what factors determine a life ... and besides...I'm going to see these people every month ... god willing... so I listen... Hearing them makes me ache.. I get hunched over, fight for air and give them any goddamn thing they want if it will just make some of that pain go away... pleeeeze... live there for free.

That was the old Stella Martinez. I think it was the schizophrenic that pused me over the edge. Knew him as a little boy... his mother was our piano teacher until she decided to check into a Days Inn and to drink herself to death... took three months... But he seeemed like a good kid... working.. college.. and the check his lawyer dad wrote covering all the expenses made me so happy inside. Then. .... within three days he starts dismanteling the electricity.... disconnects the plugs... can't figure out why the lamp won't go on... and then he starts ripping up the floor boards and dropping down into the basement because there were people arguing down there. He told them he was gonna have to call the cops. Did you? No... they split. But three months later, when he sliced open the drywall the size of a door.... I knew he had to go and with him my weepy pleasedeargodwhatcanido attitude was right behind.

This new, forceful, don't tell me your pathetic stories get off your ass and go to work, woman is not interested. Pay up.. oh you can't? ... get out loser boy.... you'll find some other neck to suck dry no doubt so beat it....so convincing don't you think? I've been working on the delivery for about two years and yesterday I got the chance to try it out. Marched right down the street, woke loser boy from his midmorning slumber and gave him the lowdown.... complaints... whad are you doing... selling drugs?.... other people living here?....neighbors don't like the company you keep..... and then I said it..... "You know, I don't really think this is working out too well... and well... I was just thinking that... you know... maybe you should think about getting another place.... that way... you know... the neighbors won't be wierded out... yea... so... uh.... you think you can do that? You have fifteen days... yea yea... I can give you today's paper... no problem...

He is so unreal....I'm praying he's gone by Christmas.