Illegal, at the Very Least Unethical

I have been waiting for a delivery from Barnes and Noble.  Today I got a Collection Notice from my former apartment building, Newport Village Apartments. Not the same. On October 8, 2010, The Southwest Collection Service, Inc in Orange California sent a communication informing me that I had been turned over owing $685.37 plus $7.14 in interest. Yet, I have never received a bill from either Newport Village or the parent company Norman Jacobson Realty. Which left me with the question, how can I be in collection for money I did not know I owe?


Befuddled, I phoned the office. After looking through my file, the woman who answers the phone lists the variety of ways they nickel and dimes away my security deposit. $150 for carpet cleaning, $10 for blind cleaning and so on and so forth. After being put on hold twice she informed me she would have to call me back.

Twenty minutes later, my phone rang. She now had an explanation of the collection notice. I owed money.

I have two issues with this. First, how can I already be turned over to collection on October 8, 2010 when I moved out on September 11, 2010 for a debt of which I wasn’t aware? Second, why are they charging me for “normal wear and tear” repairs and cleaning that they would do regardless of the state of my apartment.

When I inquired into issue number one, I was informed that I should have known I owed but they do not send bills. Never, not even when I returned my keys, did anyone inform me that I would owe money.

As for question number two, she claimed that the security deposit was supposed to go towards normal wear and tear. I asked if I had the carpet cleaned before I move would they still have had them cleaned. She said, “If it were not professionally cleaned.” Which I took as an unequivocal yes.

Finally, I spoke with her manager. She informed me that the same day she, Newport Village Apartments, reports the debt to the collection agency is the same day she send the information of amount owed to the corporate office, Norman Jacobson Realty so they can send a bill. Huh? You turn me over to collections before an invoice can even be printed. She is certain, as it is California law they sent me a bill however if I “received it is another question.” Seems illegal, at the very least unethical.

Granted, once it gets sorted out I will pay without any impact on my credit score; however the approach seems a bit, well, drastic.

Can they do this? Anyone in the know, please advice. If you know someone who might know please forward. Anyone else, pipe in.


http://normanjacobsonrealty.com/contactUs

Meet Baby Huey

We have a new resident at Newport Village Apartments and all I can tell you is just when things couldn’t get any odder this freak show moved in. I have met him on three separate occasions the second of which he was in the Jacuzzi flashing his Moobs in full glory and evidently needs to do laundry so—instead of swim trunks—was donning his underwear. They may have been boxer briefs at one point in time. He exited the pool area carrying his clothes with his fat rolls hanging over his black elastic band. An hour later Jay—that is his name—returned wearing a Wrigley Field T-Shirt.

“Have you been inside the friendly confines?”

“Huh?”

“Your shirt?”

“Oh, uh, this was a gift.”

“It’s one of the best tourist attractions to party at.”

“Wait, it’s a baseball field right”

Warned about Baby Huey living in the complex, no one accurately described him. His source of income is to drive his Prius to various bars in Newport Beach and Irvine and offer drunken people a ride for a small fee. He prides himself on being cheaper than a Cab. The only problem, he doesn’t have a license and apparently some bouncers are “out to get him” despite the community service he provides. You may wanna re-read that sentence. Don’t worry he is going to set a trap for them and videotape it.

Oh, but it pays better than a day job.

I won’t begin to explore the sanity of a his “fares.”

He recently tried Heroin, as Pot no longer “does anything for him.” Again, you may need to re-read that sentence so that it can sink in. In my opinion, anyone who tries Heroin expecting to be that one person who doesn’t get hooked is a moron.

The first time I encountered him he kept talking about his Daddy (who bought him the Prius) taking care of this and getting him that. I looked to my neighbor for permission. Then stated, “It must be hard being a spoiled rich kid.” He retorted, “I am not a kid. I am 22 and I am not spoiled.” Really? Then start paying your own way in life and pick up the phone and call TicketMaster yourself.

Last weekend his tires were slashed; which is a first for Newport Village. Quick to rush to judgment, Jay pointed the finger at some other residents. I am willing to guess that people are lining up to get even with him.

That’s my report of oddballs for the week.
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Topless in Costa Mesa

The other day, I concluded I was bored with the pool. First of all, it has been too hot to really enjoy any time in the sun. Second of all, the crowd has been disappointedly lame. However, I have been tending to my neighbor’s girls and they have not grown discontent from the pool. So today I begrudgingly escorted them for their daily swim. Upon entering I witnessed a woman whom heretofore occurred as a benevolent. I took my usual seat while the girls frolicked about the water. Eventually, the previously tame woman was talking to Aubrey and Liana. Keeping my eye on them it becomes evident that this lady, in addition to chatting with the kids, is engaging in a full conversation with herself. Finally, I send Liana to my apartment to get my raft and play in the deep end—far away from recently erratic woman.

Upon my relegating them to the deep end, she attempted to start a conversation with me. Asking me to come over to talk to her and other things she declares, loud enough that the kids hear, “My boobs are bigger than yours will ever be.” This statement offers so many problems. Obviously, there is no certainty in the statement, as medical advancement being what it is, I can always buy bigger breasts should I desire. Also, just because they are big doesn’t equate to them being admired or coveted.

Apparently, she wanted to prove her statement because the next time I looked over she was unholstered with her left tit and nipple resting in her armpit. Ok, now I alerted the management office where they were already aware of the incident but uncertain how to proceed plus concerned that she was passed out. A few minutes later the Manager came out and, assumedly, told her to pull up her bathing suit and go home. She sat for a good 10 minutes with her one piece around her waist cupping her breasts. The Manager spoke to her again and another 10 minutes later she pulled her top to cover herself and promptly passed out in her lawn chair.

Forty minutes later a member of the Costa Mesa Police Department arrived to wake her up and escort her home.

“Ma'am, pull you swim suit up.” “Can you please tie your swim suit?”

He then requested the Manager to assist him in walking her home as well as getting her dressed. The woman struggled to tie her black and white suit till someone came to her aid.

Eventually she managed to pull herself together to be escorted back to her second floor apartment.

This all happened before 4:00.

To quote 10-year old Liana, “That was better than a movie.”

I have been drunk, I have even passed out in a lawn chair; yet, the police have never escorted me home from the pool in my apartment complex. Has anyone ever witnessed anything like this?

Given my proclivity to document things on my cell camera, I was able to provide a brief photo essay of the whole event. Enjoy!

Also, this whole day made me appreciate Moobs

Ride it Frodo....

The other night, while out with the Village People, we had a discussion about which action movie theme song would make for a good lap dance. Admittedly, I have no working knowledge of lap dances or strip club but it was an entertaining exercise in imagination.

The first one we pondered was Batman. The Catwoman is the obvious choice; however, as Robin is seemingly effeminate nothing says one cannot take creative license and have some uber sexy vixen saying to her patron, “Holy Smokes Batman.”

Batman to Robin: "When you get a little older, you'll see how easy it is to become lured by the female of the species."

http://www.televisiontunes.com/Batman_-_1966_TV.html



For those who enjoy leather and whips and the like another possibility is from the Indiana Jones franchise.

Indiana: Here, take this,
[hands Marion a torch]
Indiana: Wave it at anything that slithers.
Marion: The whole place is slitherin'!

http://www.televisiontunes.com/Indiana_Jones.html

My favorite was the theme song from Mission Impossible. DooDoDo. To the left. DooDoDo. To the right. DeDeDe full on grind while pretending to point a gun. Which brings to mind, what costume would be appropriate. Would you go vintage or remake? One could go real high budget and employ tech such as suspending from the ceiling or pyro.

Ethan Hunt: You turned around.
Nyah Nordoff-Hall: What are you going to do? Spank me?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JtyByefOvgQ

Followed by Star Wars…the act would be called Star Whores. A performance to make John Williams musical contribution appreciated by the masses. Princess Leah or the other one? Or maybe Storm Troopers who strip? All things being equal it could Hans Solo and Luke Skywalker with a light saber serving as a pole. The Droids are an option too. Science Fiction geeks all over the world would line up for a lap dance from C3PO and R2D2. I advise staying away from Yoda. Nothing sexy about Yoda.

Darth Vader: I sense something; a presence I've not felt since...

http://www.televisiontunes.com/Star_Wars_-_Main_Theme.html


In honor of the International Mr. Leather Convention (IML) this past weekend in Chicago, I would like to introduce Lord of the Cock Rings. I think it is best if I do not elaborate about this so you will have to employ your imagination.

Galadriel: The one ring to rule them all.

http://www.bing.com/videos/watch/video/lord-of-the-rings-theme-song/f4d33e3b88e3b8ad967cf4d33e3b88e3b8ad967c-55876453604


Seemingly inane, the idea still rolls around my mind days later. I find myself “singing” the Mission Impossible theme song and giggling. In writing this I hope it brings amusement. Maybe at the thought that this was actually a topic of conversation? Perhaps at the notion that out of all the impactful conversations I have had recently this is the one that sticks? Maybe because I chose to share it with you? Whatever the reason, I like to imagine that the absurdity of this post causes you lips to turn up and your eyes twinkle. Let me know what you think?

Introducing the Worlds Biggest Douche

The other night, armed with cameras, phones and a notebook The Village People (my fellow residents of Newport Village Apartments) and I ventured out looking for blog material. To say we were successful in our mission would be an understatement. That night provided more material than I know how to cover. Plus, I have now added a video component, as sometimes the real thing cannot be recreated.

However, I am going to start by sharing the end of the night.

On Friday night I was informed by Bear, one of the Village People, that the first night I hung out at the hot tub he has won $100.00 based on a bet as to whether or not I was a lesbian. (To reaffirm he said I was not a lesbian).

On Saturday night I had the opportunity to meet the man with whom he made this gamble. I had the honor and the privilege of encountering Martin Disney, the Biggest Douche on the Planet.

Martin, who sometimes bets people about the time of day, wagered a game of pool with Bear. The rest of us migrated across the bar to watch the rivalry. Martin rarely spoke to me except to say, “shut the fuck up bitch.”

Offended to say the least, Martin, who is so deeply in the closet, started out as annoying yet amusing. By the third time he said it to me I wanted to punch him. Yet, he still seemed benign and when he assumed that Diane—who is engaged to marry Max--is going to wed Doc he revealed his pathetic and clueless nature.

It turned bad when he asked me a personal question that I did not feel comfortable answering. Those who know me can attest that I am not shy and rarely withhold anything. Maybe it is because he has spent much of the day telling me to, “shut the fuck up bitch” that caused me to not want to open up? Maybe it was because what he asked was simply none of his business? May it was his insistence that I answer like it was his God given right to know? In the end the why doesn’t not matter. Please click on the links below to get the rest of the story.

(Please note these links are rated R due to their adult content)


bit.ly/Martin2
The Beginning of the End

bit.ly/b5Bk3b
The Man will not Give UP

bit.ly/Martin3
The Ugly End

Also available on my You Tube Channel adyksterhouse



I ran into a neighbor yesterday and told him I met Martin. His response was, “I bet he kept telling you to shut the fuck up bitch.” It seems that everywhere Martin goes he encounters “bitches” that tells to keep quiet. I wonder how he does with the women? Yep, and the problem was me….

Am I insane but if you tell a stranger you do not wish to discuss something shouldn’t they let it go. Drop it.

I am interested in knowing your thoughts about Martin The Biggest Douche on the Planet. Do you know any one who can rival Martin?

Fodder for my own Blog

I know I frequently tell tales of the characters and mishaps at the pool and now to prove that I can take as well as I can dish I am going to write about myself because if I witnessed it I would blog about it. I am fair game.

The hot tub at my apartment complex is my new hangout. For those who know what I am talking about the Jacuzzi is my new “living room.” For those who do not know, think CHEERS but BYOB.

Sitting in bubbling hot water, we drink and share stories. Cocktailing in the hot tub requires skill. You need to manage the cooler, opener, towel and if inclined cigarettes.

The quality of character elevates in the late night spa. We have PhD’s and multiple master’s degrees. One friend refers to me as 139 (my IQ) and I call him 141. I am engaged it witty banter and clever conversation. I feel safe to be self-expressed.

Well, last Saturday proved to be extremely comical. I was hanging with my neighbor when I met a whole new crew of Newport Village inhabitants. With my gift to talk to anyone, I engaged and had a blast while enjoying beers. Told by one heavily tatted guy why I should not get a tramp stamp to trying to engage with is his girlfriend who would not be upset if he called her a cunt but would slap him upside the head if he called her a bitch.

However, I provided the best moment of the evening.

Yep. Me.

I became a character in my blog.

I go to open my last beer in my cooler.

L.A.S.T B.E.E.R!

I open it and it flies into the hot tub. Before anyone can say anyone, I dive under water to rescue my beer. I stay under searching for the beer. Oh, wait I need air. Up and deep breath….I will not let the last one go to waste. Down again. I can see the bottle even though the bright light of the tub glares in my eyes. Need to go up again. Inhale and under again. Ok, between the chlorine and the light I find it difficult to locate this beer. Wait. WAIT. I put my hand around it.

I emerge out of the tub and into the air holding the beer high, like a trophy. I salvaged my beer.

I declare, “It doesn’t taste at all like chlorine and it is still cold.”

If diving for beer in a Jacuzzi was an Olympic Sport I would bring home the Gold….

Feel free to comment.

In other news, I had a Robert the “Not Man” sighting today at the pool. He donned a black t-shirt (which he removed to “get some rays), dark blue jeans, a black belt, black socks and…brown shoes. Complete with plumbers crack.