Jimmy-bob

My landlord, Jim-bo (as I like to call him in private), lives upstairs in my house and Beth and I live downstairs. He's in his early forties we're pretty sure, and for the most part he's never home and doesn't bother us. In fact, he keeps the weirdest hours. He's usually up and long gone by the time I get up to get ready for class (and I have early classes everyday), and usually he doesn't come home until ten or so. It's a huge mystery, what he does all day. We have no idea. But we rarely see him, hear him, or come across him at all. It's kind of nice.

But we do come across him, and sometimes the encounters are... unusual.

First of all, he always has an alcoholic drink. Wine, a beer, a rum and coke, it never fails. I eventually started thinking judgmentally about this, and my thoughts went from "he has a little bit of a problem" to pretty much diagnosing him as a mild alcoholic (if there were such a thing?). You just don't drink by yourself. Don't do it. If you do, go into your bathroom, look in the mirror and say, "Self, you have a horrible problem." That will be the first step of many for you.

Secondly, he got divorced just a couple years ago, so now this house he used to share with his wife and daughter is empty with just him and... we sexy girls downstairs. So needless to say, he gets pretty lonely and sometimes it's obvious. Usually when he's really lonely is when he comes down to chat with us for a minute, about absolutely nothing, honestly. He's my landlord--not my buddy. He's a nice guy and I like him, but we're not chums, if you get my drift. So sometimes when he comes down to say hi, it's just downright awkward. And he never comes downstairs with the intent of asking us something, or telling us something. It's usually just a brief, awkward conversation (sometimes he even sits down--OMG) after which he goes back up to his spider hole, leaving Beth and I to gossip in heated whispers in his wake.

Yesterday was a new, very different encounter. I was studying in my room, which is right next to the laundry room doorway. We all share the laundry room of course, so whenever Jim comes down to wash his clothes, he has to look into my room because it's practically impossible not to if my door is open. So he comes down last night to do what I thought was laundry, but after passing the washing machine, the dryer, and continuing right on towards the refrigerator that Beth and I share alone, I realized he had different intentions. He opened up our fridge and promptly asked, "Are those you're mini-Diet Cokes? I'm out and I'm craving one. Can you spare?"

Alright. I'm not a selfish person, so I let him have one of course. But you have to realize that I'm very obsessive compulsive when it comes to things. For instance, every morning I take one of those miniature Cokes to class to help me wake up, and I buy enough every week for just one per day. Yesterday I had four left, one for every day for the rest of the week. Now, after Jim had his fill, I only had three. Which means one day gets sacrificed. Which day, OMG???

After taking the Coke, Jim did absolutely nothing else but go upstairs. Which meant one huge thing--he knew those Cokes were in there. That was the only reason he came down. This could only mean that he'd been in our refrigerator before, and checked out our stuff. I realize this is his house and he owns that fridge, but I'm paying him full rent every month, and the downstairs area as far as I'm concerned is mine so long as I'm paying for it. Anyway, he shouldn't be snooping in our fridge when he's got one of his own upstairs.

I tell all of this to Beth of course, and then she brings up that she's also missing two eggs. After confirming that I hadn't used them, we concluded there was only one culprit. I mean geez, we're a couple of broke-ass college kids with barely enough money to buy our own food, and our forty-something landlord is taking what he needs from our refrigerator. At first we just laughed it off, but the more I thought about it, the more angry I felt. I don't have a ton of money for food, so it's a big deal when someone eats my stuff. It's one thing for Beth and I to share amongst ourselves, but he didn't even ask.

Additionally (Oh Mrs. Forshee, how I love transition words!), while I was away helping Mike move this weekend, Jim-bo had some company over, and apparently there were like eight kids here or something ridiculous like that (glad I missed it). But Beth said she came out of her room because she heard some noise, and all of those rugrats were in my room! They were chilling out on my chair, huddling around my fish bowl and probably scaring the ba-Jesus out of poor Benzi.

*Grumble* So I guess I'll have to keep tabs on my food from now on, and close my bedroom door if I'm gone for the weekend so the hooligans aren't tempted again. *puffs*

And here's an AWARD for anyone who read that loooooooooooooong ass thing all the way through! :D