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Funny things happened since my last video uploads...

Well...not really funny 'ha-ha', either...

I foolishly trusted my night manager at Tim Horton's...split the rent...helped pay past bills...she got herself an internet boyfriend one day, and he showed up at the house...I met him when he woke me up from a dead sleep, less than one foot from my face.

Ok...not a good way to wake me up, if you happen to be a stranger to me in my apartment...

Not a good start for him, and the beginning of the end of my residence there.

This guy sat around for two months, soaking up groceries and playing video games all day. He gave my room mate $150 one time, then decided he ran the whole house from that point. I'd been paying $600-$700 a month for the previous 5 months. Splitting the rent 3 ways would have been the thing to do...but, no...I still had to pay half, and the two of them 'paid' the other half.

Well, turns out, they snorted it, instead, yes, they let drugs get in the way. Then he started talking about 'zip-tying me, putting me in the trunk of the car, and taking me out to the woods'...

To do what?

You can use your own imagination for that...I pretty much figured what was in store for me at that point, so I left, and found a new place to live. A friend's basement, which wasn't exactly the Taj-Mahal, but hey, any port is better than none at all.

When I got back to my old apartment, they had ransacked my belongings...stold my original birth certificate, a second copy of my birth certificate, and my old expired passport, from when I went to London.

This person (I use the term rather loosely) also took my grandfather's shotgun, my ceremonial swords from the freemasons guild, my machete, a box with over 400 dvd movies in it, and a few other things I didn't even know were missing til later, then called me at 11 at night, telling me he did.

The next day, I had to get the police involved, to get my shotgun and the swords back, and this guy told the police officer I was up in my apartment making crystal meth...like, yeah, um...I'm a carpenter...not a chemist.

I have no idea how to make it, from what I hear, making it inside your house is a good way to either set it on fire, or blow it to smithereens...nope, don't want anything to do with it.

He'd asked me if I knew how to make it earlier...and I was like, 'Um...nope...".

You have to figure that if I did know how to make it, why the hell would I be working at a stupid coffee-shop like a wage-slave?

Regardless, I moved out, broke, and went on to get a job working at a tree-removal/trimming service, which has put me back in shape, quite a bit.

Now, I can lift more than I weigh, which is a good thing...even though it was like getting my ass kicked on a daily basis the first couple months, 'cuz I'm old.

Ok, at the same time I got this job, I met a woman working at the local Gumby's (a cigarette drive-thru store) and she offered me a year of free rent, if I fixed the witch-hat dormer with a box-gutter, and the rest of the gutters around the house.

She told me she used to live in Las Vegas...so, I told her about Fallout: New Vegas, the Wasteland Maid Service vids I'd done...all that, you know, I told her what most of the game was, and all that, and she and I got along quite well, we traded old 'war-stories' of our pasts, and she seemed kinda cool.

Sweet deal...for someone with 30+ years experience in carpentry. I figured that in a few months (it was all in very bad shape), you know, by now, winter, I'd have it buttoned-up and be able to start on the interior parts that needed desperate attention. This house had pretty much been abused and neglected, for over ten years.

At first, things seemed fine, this woman sat me down one day, and literally bitched me out about why she didn't want to have anything to do with me, sexually (?).

I was like, "Um...sex wasn't on the table when we shook hands on this deal...I don't need a girlfriend ma'am...I have enough on my plate right now to do me just fine."

She went on for over two and a half hours on the subject, she told me how offended she was at what I'd told her I used to do back when I was 18-19 years old (chasing girls, etc), and, not wanting to be rude, I endured her severe tounge-lashing, then decided to not have too much contact with this lady, or reveal any more details of my past to her, it was kinda a 'red-flag' event.

That, and after I'd started working, on the third day, she asked for the front door key back, saying she needed to 'make another copy of it', which had me wondering, because she already had two other duplicate keys on her own key-ring.

She later told me she thought I was going to make copies and give them to all the druggies that live around here.

Ok, why the hell would I do that? My stuff is in there...all my tools, at least.

She did help me move in...it took two days. the first day she got mad because I told her I wasn't going to let her go through all my boxes of stuff...and clean everything, like she said she wanted to

I explained that five or six other people had already gone through all my stuff the last couple times I'd moved, I still hadn't fully unpacked everything, and I'd like to know exactly what I still had left, before anyone else went through my belongings (besides me), again.

She didn't like hearing that at all, and decided to stop helping me that day.

The next day, when I'd finally got everything moved in, I went to get some smokes, and she'd gone through a few of my boxes of stuff, and was setting up my bedroom for me.

Um...I'm 51...I can do all that myself, and after what I'd told her the day before, I had to repeat myself, then told her I had to take a shower, and do some other stuff, so working on the house for the day was out.

There are no doors in the apartment, besides one to a back room, and one on the room the furnace is in, so, yeah, you wanna see me nude...stick around, 'cuz I'm not ashamed of how I look, even if you are, about how you look.

From what she told me, she used to be a magazine-cover model, when she was in France, and that she'd been to a few porno-shoots, with both her sisters around the same time.

I should pay more attention to that sort of shit.

Well, setting up a 50 foot (16.6 meter) long ladder every day, then taking it back down again, every day...along with dragging brush and lifting logs all day kinda started to really kick my ass at work, where I was being paid, so, I decided to only work Sundays.

Why Sundays? Well, that gave me Saturday to recover from the week before. I'd work 5-7 hours on Sundays, which would get me warmed-up for the week to come.

This lady worked fridays, saturdays, and sundays, so I got to work unfettered, in a quiet house, and not be asked the same five questions over and over and over.

Ok, this lady is 61, I get it, she's curious as to what I'm doing, because all the previous people who'd worked on her house pretty much got sick of her incessant insistence to 'help', even though she knew absolutely nothing about carpentry.

I showed her a few things...tried to be nice about it, and all that, and after five or six sundays, she changed her schedule so she had sundays off...she told me someone quit, and she 'had' to take their place...

Nope

I was already moved in, and half into the woodwork...I hate to leave things unfinished...I may be an idiot, but I'm not a quitter...usually.

She invited me down to eat one time, and her dog (a 50+/- pound pit-bull) jumped at me, and seriously 'ball-tapped' me, I mean, he put me on my knees.

Needless to say, I cancelled dinner, in favor of laying down for a while, and trying not to cry too much.

She told me one of her 'pet-peeves' was people who abused animals...I told her one of mine was people who don't control their animals.

Didn't go over well for her, she instantly assumed I hated her, and her dog, and told me so.

I told her "No, I don't hate you, or your dog, but, please, for the sake of my testicles, put your dog away if you invite me down again, he has a wicked left-paw goin' there..."'

She didn't like hearing that either, and she told me I was disrespecting her in her own house...

Um...really?

Ok, from then on, she got sketchier and sketchier....she started telling me I looked at her with an "evil-eye", and that I was a drunk.

Um, I drink very rarely...being an alcoholic...I have to watch it, and not go overboard, in any way...it's killed me before...and, I'm not one to temp fate, well, usually.

I watched an old video she'd had made into a dvd...one of her back in the eighties, when she was in a band in France...I'd had a couple shots before I got home, and stumbled once or twice going to the bathroom while we where watching all her vids, twice...

I'd already got to live through the eighties, seeing it again was neat-o, but, yeah...

I'm a clutzy person, even when I'm straight...and even excused myself politely, telling her I didn't want to offend her, and went off to bed...she assumed I was totally shit-faced drunk, and wrote me a very nasty three-page letter about what sort of a terrible asshole I was.

You can ask anyone...three shots isn't considered being 'wasted', the way she put it.

I see nothing but flags...only red- flags, everywhere,. because in that letter, she said why she changed her schedule...so she could monitor me as I worked, and make sure I wasn't going through her apartment.

She did it so she could watch me, and ask me about the same things all day long, and 'clean' my spotless apartment, over and over.

Ok, that's twice she'd lied to me, and I caught her...now, all I see is red-flags, off to past the horizon.

I would never do that...Kitty Kat may be a thief from Hell...I'm not...Kitty is a fictional character, I'm not.

Ok, well, back to what came next.

She'd been giving me a ride to work, and back, and when she started screaming at me in the car, over things that made no real sense, I decided to start taking the bus.

I can't take being yelled at on the way to work, or, the way back, especially when all I did was tell her a light was green, we could barely see it because the sun was right next to the light, and hell, I could barely see what color it was, and the car behind us started laying on the horn, as she was looking off into the distance, stoned.

Yeah, she smokes pot, more than I do...hell, she has 4 days a week where all she does is get high and watch people on the cameras she has set up on her house.

She hardly ever even goes outside, even to take out her dog, he only gets one shot a day, and she screams at him the whole time to hurry up.

Poor dog.

The next-door neighbor said something to this lady about how long it was taking me to restore most of the dormer, she hadn't seen me doing any work the few weeks before that, because I'd been working on the joists inside the attic, not out on the roof itself.

It's not like our neighbor knows the first thing about carpentry herself...she's just a nip-shit bitch.

The box-gutter had to be totally rebuilt, it's an upside-down three-dimensional puzzle, most of it was destroyed by water, and I had to rebuild it so someone could walk on it 20+ years from now when the shingles would be needing replaced, or repaired, or, whatever.

It had to be done right, and sometimes, that takes time.

I believe it was Cheops who said "No construction project ever gets completed under budget, or, on time...", I could be wrong, but, yeah...it's pretty much true.

Beside that, i was doing this in my 'spare-time', and everyone knows, that's in the same category as 'extra-money', there is really no such thing, unless if you make it so, which is always a sacrifice. My sacrifice was organizing my stuff, but, that was ok, I had a year, rent-free, paying half the utilities, remember?

Well, it was 'stop working on the house', the next day, and she had someone else to do the work now.

Ok, well, once they touched my work, I washed my hands of it, especially when I saw them doing things backwards, so, the roof is likely to leak again...soon, if not this year, figure the next.

As the next month came, it got colder, I went on going to work.

It was time to start the furnaces, and the one upstairs hadn't been run in a few years. My landlady was completely convinced the vents were just full of dust, and dirt, and bugs, or, whatever she imagined.

I took off a vent cover, looked inside, and it was pretty much clean as a whistle. I told the lady what I saw, and she told me I was full of shit, that it was a disgusting mess, just full of dust.

I wiped with a finger, and showed her, there was nothing there.

She adamantly insisted that there was so much filth in the vents that she just had to clean the insides of ALL of them...and that I was an asshole who was once again disrespecting her in her own house, and being a shithead to her, that I hated her, I hated her dog, i just wanted to wreck her house, that she was going to the magistrate, and gonna call the cops.

in less than eight minutes, she was telling me I could stay until I was back on my feet, twice, actually.

That's how long the first recording I made was, when she started acting weird, I hit record on my other phone, and let it run.

I'm sure it will come in handy in court, when I file a case for filing a false-claim against me.

I made sure my landlady had the money needed to get the gas turned back on, I expected to get a receipt, instead, it was an eviction notice.

I was to be moved out by the 20th of December...so much for holiday cheer, and all that.

Well, ok, I don't deal with problems, only solutions, off I go apartment hunting, whatever...Wubba-wubba dub-dub.

I figured I'd go ahead and see about my lack of a girlfriend situation while I was at it, maybe the two would coincide.

You see, last Saturday, I met a couple women I know around here, and invited them over for a while, they stayed for a while, and right before they were about to leave, I had a serious brain-fart.

I'd forgot where I'd put my wallet...it had all the money I have in the world in it.

In the process of searching for my wallet, being a clutz, um, I knocked a few things over, one was a shelf with my Playstation2 on it, and a bunch of other stuff, and I still happened to be wearing my steel-toed boots I work in (don't ask...please).

So, yeah, the cat got involved, so I yelled at him to get lost, you know "Get the fuck out! Cat! Beat it!".

Well, the cat ran, and there was a knock on my door.

"This is the Sheriff, can you come outside here?"

"Well, shit, what now, isn't it bad enough I can't find my wallet?" I asked myself.

I came out, hands raised, not wanting to get shot by some trigger-happy law enforcement person (they've been doing that a lot more, lately).

They handcuffed me, asked me if I had any weapons, or drugs on my person. I told them I had my bowl, they took it, and remarked that they hadn't seen one like it in years, I've had it a few decades now.

My landlady cowered by her door, acting helpless, and told them she was in deathly fear for her life, because of the all the noise and screaming going on, and that I'd threatened her with violence in the past.

I was like..."What? What are you talking about? If anything, you're the one who's been threatening me the whole time I've been here..."

She gave me that look, you know, that one you see when someone is trying to screw you over, laughing behind their eyes, knowing they can stick it to you hard, and make it stick.

No, she'd seen the two women I'd invited over leaving, watching on her cameras...I can only assume jealously on her part, because the Sheriff showed up literally seconds after I bumped my shelf over, and told the cat to go away.

I told the sheriff's all I'd done was knock a couple things over while searching for my wallet, and yelled at the cat to get out of the way a couple times, that was all...

The sheriff's asked me what I had planned for the rest of the evening, I told them I was going to bed, it had been a long day, and that I'd worked pretty hard and was tired.

They took off the cuffs, and I got my cat and went to bed.

Hell, they even gave me back my bowl.

I woke up about ten-thirty the next morning, Sunday, and started recording a new vid, part way into it, the game was quiet, I again heard, "This is the Sheriff's Office, we need to speak with you...".

I told them to hang on a moment, damning myself for not getting dressed yet, because making the police wait makes them antsy. When I opened the door, the one on my left had his pistol unsnapped, and he was ready to act. I told them my hands were up before I opened the door, and I kept them in completely plain view, again, not really wanting to get shot.

They asked me to come outside with them, that I would need my shoes, that they had some paperwork I had to go over with them.

That paper-work was a Mental Hygiene Order. I was to be committed involuntarily to be psychologically assessed, and to determine if I was a threat to myself, or others.

Ok, you guys and gals know old Roachbait by now...I mean, really?

I was like, "Um, ok, whatever, let's go then...". (My mom told me today I should have refused, and called a lawyer and stood up for my rights as a basically law-abiding citizen. I feel real smart right now...)

I was committed overnight, everyone there couldn't believe any of what they read on the order itself.

It pretty much says I'm an aggressive, violent, hostile, threatening, suicidal, destructive asshole, and that I have 'drunken outrages' (her words) all the time, that I wander around muttering strange things to myself. Oh yeah, and that I wouldn't hesitate to go around gunning everyone down...you know, with my lever-action, single shot 20-gauge shotgun.

I'd get off, what, two shots, and the police would murder the shit outa me...I mean, really lady?

Um...

My landlady also said I constantly harass her fellow employees.

I spoke to one girl that works with her, one time, and she said that all the people who work with my landlady feel pretty sorry for me, because I live in her house, and have to deal with her erratic behavior, she told me they can't imagine how I've even lasted there up til then.

My other friends that go to that store have been hearing things like how I want to sexually assault her, or kill her, or kill her dog...and that I make creepy growling noises all the time...and that I'm always drunk.

Ok, if you work doing tree-trimming, getting drunk all the time isn't a good idea...the wood-chipper can pull you in and shred you to bits, in seconds, and a chainsaw can remove limbs almost s fast.

I don't have a death-wish.

Been there, done that...still here...still have all my fingers.

All it takes is one fuck-up, and it's over...

Needless to say, I was released, the psychiatrist said I shouldn't have even been brought in, so did the court-appointed lawyer, along with all the staff.

It seems they liked me, and that I'm a pretty funny, smart guy, who likes to talk, a lot...eh, I'm a You-Tuber, what else is new?

I guess they never watched any of my videos. Everyone here knows what kind of miserable asshole I really am. :)

But yeah, my court-appointed lawyer told me I needed to check in with the magistrates office, for some paper-work.

That paper-work turned out to be a temporary restraining order...so...it seems I can't go home any more.

The restraining order hearing is on the 22nd...even more holiday cheer! Yay! :)

I managed to get one carry-on with some clothes, my laptop, my work boots, and my toothbrush...they gave me 15 minutes to grab whatever...and took away my key to the downstairs front door, once I found my keys. Yeah, I didn't have my keys, my phone, or even underwear on when they took me off to the mental health facility.

My apartment had been ransacked, the thermostat turned off (it's winter...helloooo), so I turned it up so the pipes won't freeze while I was gone, and no one would get anything else of mine from my apartment.

I was told I can come back once more, to get all my stuff, and that that was it, no more after that.

I've been sleeping on the floor of the office where I work, there is no carpet. It's heated, but, the cat has to stay in the outside garage we store our wood-splitters, and other stuff in.

My boss's wife and daughter are allergic to cats.

I told my landlady that all of what she was doing wasn't going to really do much to me, I've done this silly shit before...the one who would suffer the most was Mr Buttercup, my 4 or 5 month old black and grey tiger-stripe kitty.

He got to ride in his first vehicle the other day...a city bus, well, two, actually. I told them he was my 'seeing-eye cat', which the bus driver didn't find very funny, even though everyone on the bus was laughing a little.

My boss found me a place today, while I was working.

He's a really good person, I told him he was my Santa this year, so far...

It's not often someone is actually nice to me, for no good reason whatsoever.

He even brought me something from Wendy's.

I better give my mom a call now, she called me earlier today, and I told her what was up.

The last time I talked to her, she told me my step-dad had died, long after the fact.

No one even sent me an e-mail when it happened. I understand why she didn't, but, for my own sister not to...

I don't know, sometimes family can be cruel, all I can do is forgive.

And move on.

Roachbait

Edited by Roachbait FNV
forgot a couple words...my bad, oh, I can't seem to spell today, either

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Call this one "Life on the Fringe"

It would seem being homeless during the holidays would be fun, but, not really...

The worse part is waiting to get my birth certificate back so I can get in on some decent income-based housing...they keep adding things I need to get it each time I get them what they tell me to get...

...and it seems my case manager wants me in "transitional housing", which pays back into the homeless coalition.

Ok, you should see the list of rules you have to go by, and include "sweat equity" into it, that means cleaning the place and doing other chores while other people sit around all day, while I'm off at work...

Um...no.

I'm not some recovering junkie, or a fifteen-year-old...as it is, they can evict me even faster than my last landlady did.

No thanks, really, I'd rather live alone, and be left alone for a while.

The people at the shelter are, well, people...many of them lack motivation, or common courtesy, and take full advantage of any sort of perceived weakness.

They also seem to see me as one of them, which, I'm not...this is just a visit, I'm not staying, unlike most of them, I have a job.

The days, to them, are leaving the shelter, finding a soup kitchen, waiting around at the library until another soup kitchen opens, going back to the library and waiting for it to close, then returning to the shelter...

Kinda sad, because it seems to have sapped the will to live from a lot of them, and filled the rest with hopelessness...

insanity lay not far behind, when street-level drugs get tossed into the mix, then it becomes the constant fear of losing on a hustle.

I just watch, and stay out of it...I still have Mr. Buttercup to rescue, I'm sure that by now, my cat misses his human...

...hopefully, he remembers me...

:mellow:

Roachbait FNV

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