I never found the Pope

The anti-psychosis medication that D. feeds me doesn't always do the job, mostly because I refuse to swallow it. This can lead to some interesting behavior on my part: intense paranoia, visual and auditory hallucinations, out-of-control rages, and reckless helicoptering. Of course, I only know this anecdotally; my sister is very colorful in her words when she tells me of my latest "spell".

Apparently I succombed to such a spell yesterday afternoon. After another unappetizing lunch of foie gras (the crushed pills always make it taste gamey), I stood up from the table and started clawing at the wall, convinced the remains of Pope John Paul II were buried within. D. laughed and told me to take my antics elsewhere. So down to the third floor I went.

I broke into a tenant's apartment and made a beeline to the bathroom. I took one look around and suddenly it made perfect sense: The Pope is hidden behind the bathtub! Using only my bare hands, I tore out a chunk of drywall behind the tub and furiously pulled at the exposed plumbing. Of course, I burned my hand pretty badly on the hot water pipe. That's when D. walked in and began screaming at me.

My sister made me write the tenant a fake note from our plumber so as not to arouse suspicion. The good news is that D. took this as an opportunity to install a brand-new expensive showerhead above the tenant's tub. D. said she'd surprise the tenant with an invoice later - "the gift that keeps on giving" is how she put it, whatever that means.

First time for everything

Last night, a potential tenant named "Armand," did something that no one had ever attempted. At the end of the "date," D. sensually told him "...and it's only $3,600/month," hoping to seal the deal once again. Instead of giving in to what his body and heart were telling him, he listened to his head, replying, "Not bad, but it kind of smells like cigarettes; thanks for everything, but I think I found a better place... unless you can give it to me for $1,500/month."

I'm proud of my sister for handling it the way she did. She sneered at him and explained that this "isn't the bazaar;" he, of course, caved. She doesn't like taking chances when it involves her getting her money, so she's telling tenants that though the D.C. smoking bans don't apply to bars just yet, they certainly do apply to private residences. Makes sense to me!

P.S. -- I kind of like Armand. He's bald and smells like pizza!

Tipsy

La, la, la. I've had a pretty boring day so far. I watched a taped episode of "American Idol" on a tenant's TiVo. There's something about Paula Abdul that I really like. She's spontaneous and sloshy and fairly unintelligible. Kind of like me, a bit.

Oh my stars, have you ever heard of something called "gin"? It's GREAT.

No, she isn't racist...

My sister is by no means not swimming in money, but sometimes, when she gets drunk at a restaurant, she leaves without paying. Last night, D. suggested I treat her to a pitcher of frozen margaritas at a local Mexican place. I agreed -- somewhat in fear, but also because I really like spending time with her!

When D. saw the bill, she exclaimed, "I thought they worked for next to nothing," and refused to allow me to tip. (I stole the money from her coin-purse, so I couldn't really argue too much!)

Our family actually constructed the Alamo, originally as an overpriced apartment complex for Americans interested in watching the "action" during the Mexican-American War. D. smiled, took the sleeve of my straight-jacket, and walked out of the restaurant, boasting a victory in the "rematch."

Unanimous

Like the last 24 years of my life, the weekend brought little but disappointment and sorrow. I had plans to travel to West Virginia with my sister and tidy up our five-acre bohemian resort community before tourist season starts up in May. Unfortunately, it rained throughout Friday and Saturday, so D. cancelled our trip faster than an evicted tenant could cancel a rent check. (Fast, but never fast enough!)

This explains why I spent my Friday night with D., ensconced against my will on the fifth floor, watching game shows on her new, stolen, widescreen TV.

Now, have you ever seen "Unanimous" on Fox? Well, it's my sister's favorite show. There is $1.5 million in cash at stake and nine people have to agree on which one of them will get to keep it. But for every minute that ticks by without a unanimous vote, the total prize payout dips by a dollar!

D. says she plans on using this scheme on the tenants. She's going to line everyone up in the lobby, and for each second that passes before someone steps forward and admits to upturning a potted plant in front of her office door on Friday night, everyone's rent goes up by $47!

At that rate, my sister would hit the rent control ceiling for most units within an hour. I explained this to D., but she doesn't seem to care. After all, I can't tell her what to do.

We all have different things that make us "high"

Yesterday, as many of you know, was April 20. My sister devoted a little more time and attention to roaming the halls of the Manor, in search of miscreants smoking the Forbidden Blossom. I know this is the "Land of the Free" and you're allowed to smoke anything you want as long as it's in the privacy of your own home, but my sister has her own prerogative and her own rules. If you want to stay out of trouble, read your leases!

Yesterday was also the 117th birthday of Adolf Hitler, the butcher of the Polish people. I spent the day thinking of their plight and His Holiness the Polish Project. A teller at the bank told me that I had no money and could not write him a check for $80,000; furthermore, she added that he had died. Not funny.

Poetry reading

Sometimes it's hard to come up with things to blog about, but then I just think about my sister and how she seized all of my earthly assets, and BING! My writer's block vanishes.

So, here is a poem about my sister to commemorate this special day (Hitler's birthday, the anniversary of Columbine, 420, etc.):

Gold coins are yellow,
The color of honey.
My sister's a bitch.
She took all my money.

I'd submit this for a Pulitzer, but D. has control of my intellectual property, as well.

Sibling Rivalry

Growing up, my brother was kind of a mama's boy, and I was always a daddy's girl, leaving big sis as the independent free-spirit of the family.

Right before she died, mom was a little bit senile, and by adding a "few typos" on Mom's will, D. made herself the sole heir of that estate. Consequently, my siblings grew apart for a while, and my brother, J., even started his own renter's insurance company. He'd tease D. about how his business had never been investigated by the federal government for discriminating against handicapped people and Jews, but D. would always smile and say she loved the challenge as well as the publicity.

I remember when Dad died, in 1982; it was the worst year of my life. I lost the only family member who cared about me. My brother and sister became close again, when my sister threatened to evict our brother and his business from the Manor unless he joined her in filing petitions to deem me unable to care for myself and my property. He agreed, and I lost everything.

It's funny. When you're a kid, they tell you that you can be anything you want to be and to never give up on your dreams. When you grow up though, they send electricity through your brain and chemicals through your body for dreaming of being the personal hellicopter pilot to the Pope.

Sometimes, I'm jealous of my sister when I see her smiling at everything she's "earned." She just got a new car, and I'm stuck with one of her old Mercedeses. I guess there's sibling rivalry in every family. I just needed to vent. Thanks for listening!!!

Misunderstandings

There is really no easy way to say this, so I'll be frank: A police officer arrested me on Saturday night and booked me on charges of prostitution. I was additionally charged with drug violations and giving false information. It was a horrible night, and rest assured that my sister did nothing to make it any better.

It all began when I stepped outside the Manor at 5 p.m. with the intention of refilling a prescription or two (okay, seven) at CVS. I saw a Mercedes convertible idling by the curb and assumed (falsely, as I should have known and would soon discover) that D. had surprised me with car service for the day.

Happy for once in my life, I skipped over to the vehicle and let myself into the passenger seat. I instructed the driver to take me to the alley behind CVS - to avoid paparazzi - and when we arrived, I asked him if I could borrow $10 to cover my copay. This is when things turned really ugly!

The driver revealed his badge and placed me in handcuffs on the spot. As he patted me down, he discovered an expired bottle of OxyContin prescribed to an alias of mine, ergo the drug violations charge. As a last resort, I mentioned to him that I am the sister of D., to which he replied, "And I'm Tony Danza!" That explains the false information charge.

When I got to jail, I tried to call my sister, but of course her number was busy. Nine hours later, I finally got through, only to hear D. tell me that I'm a bad person for getting arrested. If that's not the pot calling the displaced Katrina refugees black, then I don't know what is.

It took a few phone calls and a $45,000 bribe to get me out of this mess, but at least I'm back at home, safe and sound. My sister is still angry with me for "once again" bringing shame upon the family. I'll remember this the next time there's a warrant out for her arrest.

Happy belated Easter everyone!!!!

The weather at the Manor was wonderful this weekend (Thanks, big sis!), so I spent Sunday afternoon sitting in a Mercedes convertible just being seen and envied. My sister was going to drive me around, but she was in a bad mood. Apparently, people have been reading their leases before signing them. Don't worry; she'll still get her bonus -- just a month later.

I went to church and the priests were very nice. They even did a special prayer JUST FOR ME! It was something like "Lord have mercy on this soul who understands not what she does." My friends from across the street said they also got attention at Easter mass, but just between you and me, I don't really believe them.

BTW, the new apartment looks great; I don't pay for rent, but I don't get paid for the work I do downstairs.

Bon voyage, D.!

I don't have a lot of time to blog today. D. explained to me this morning that she needs to "lay low" for a while and has subsequently left town on a direct helicopter flight to the family's private island in Fiji. Under normal circumstances, I would join her - but with my sister's bookkeeping under federal investigation, she thought it best for me to keep an eye on things while she's gone.

The IRS is not auditing me this year because I have no money to my name - and therefore nothing to declare or to deduct. I guess that's what happens when your sister robs you of your share of the family estate and then describes you as "mentally unfit" and "a gold digger" to The New York Times.

Murda' one

Despite my sister's latest marketing ploy of granting free rent to new tenants while unreasonably raising that of current tenants, the apartment building across the street remains cheaper. No, not the assisted living home for non-threatening lunatics -- I have a lot of friends there!

Anywho...

As a consequence, a few tenants curious about a better life outside of the Manor (my sister calls them "refugees") forget they've signed over their lives and first borns and move across the street (READ YOUR LEASES!!!!) . If you think Saddam Hussein's mass graves are bad, just peek into our incinerator!

There's a warrant out for my sister -- again -- this time for the homicide of a former tenant, an elderly lady who, unable to afford financing the first-months of new tenants, moved across the street. Her body, unworthy of even being slaughtered on our property, was found in the trash in her new building. D. insists she was warned; she says always wears a cat on her sweatshirt to remind tenants what happens to curious little cats.

First date!

Want to hear some gossip? Just promise you won't tell!

So, my sister had a "date" last night, hehe. Okay, so it wasn't really a date; she was just meeting a prospective tenant and giving her a tour of the building. But D. calls these meetings "dates" and instructs her personal assistant to enter them into her calendar as such.

Now, I know curiousity killed the previous tenants of No. 403, but I couldn't help but follow my sister as she gave a college-aged girl her "dog-and-pony show", as D. calls it. First stop: The lobby. My sister expertly dismissed the broken glass as an "isolated incident" that a tenant will be paying for "in more ways than one." I'm not sure what D. meant by that, but at least she didn't spill the beans on my suicide attempt. You know, I don't give D. enough credit when it comes to her loyalty as my sister.

The second stop: No. 402. Yes, I know that No. 403 is the vacant apartment, but D. only likes to give tours of occupied apartments so that prospective tenants can experience a more expressive, "lived in" tour. The tenants of No. 402 didn't seem to mind; they just sat in their living room, stifling their screams and hoping that D. wouldn't notice the conspicuous absense of area rugs. Talk about the pink elephant in the room! Of course, D. notices everything, so I'm sure an eviction notice is already on its way.

The final stop: My sister's office. It was rather messy; our nephew is in the process of fixing our mainframe computer, which houses our property mismanagement software but takes up nearly half the office. D. seemed frazzled, but when she spotted a signed rent-plus-security-deposit-plus-move-in-fee check in the prospective tenant's bag, her eyes lit up and flooded the office with a divine, blinding light. Looks like someone's going shopping tomorrow!

(If you're wondering how I followed my sister around, it's because I morphed into a gold coin and situated myself in D.'s back pocket. I know she's always spying on me, so I don't feel guilty.)

Greedy old bitch

I was trying to do some laundry in my apartment last night, when I heard the familiar banging of pipes in the walls. The building's hot water supply was being routed to my sister's apartment as usual. Normally, I just roll my eyes and think "Oh D.!" but she knew I was doing laundry tonight and that I needed the hot water! She's just trying to prove that I can't make it on my own, outside of Apt. 503.

Anyway (some of you may think this is going too far, but sisters certainly have their skirmishes!), I turned off the water for the entire building! When I returned to my apartment, I saw my washer and dryer immediately disappear in a puff of purple smoke.

In their place stood my robed sister. She smiled and said, "Oh, I'm sorry about that. You know there's some in the laundry room. Feel free to use those."

My sister needs a hobby

Happy Monday, everyone! What a strange weekend. Where should I begin?

Let's start with my sister, since my life revolves around her, for all intents and purposes. D. prides herself on maintaining a "European" work schedule; she works only one day a month, usually the first. With nothing to do otherwise, my sister usually occupies herself with such extracurricular activities as advanced decoupage, crank-calls to Charles E. Smith, mail fraud... and ME! That's right - to my dismay, D. routinely takes out her boredom on little old me. Somtimes I benefit from the unwanted attention, and sometimes I do not.

For instance, D. knocked on my door this weekend and surprised me with a new, black, extra-large suitcase - perfect for moving the rest of my Pope portraits from the fifth floor! D. warned me not to leave the suitcase unattended in the laundry room, lest someone steals it. What does my sister take me for - a retard?

But like I said, my sister can sometimes be unintentionally hurtful. This morning she accused me of attempting to break into her mailbox. I know that's where she stores her jewels, but I would never in a million years try to take them. A million-and-one years ago, I tried and learned my lesson.

Drinks are on D. tonight!

It's only the 7th, and Edgar, my sister's carrier pigeon, has already returned from his monthly journey to Switzerland. His adventure begins on the 2nd, when he leaves the Manor with a velvet satchel brimming with rent checks just waiting to be deposited. He flies alllll the way across the Atlantic Ocean to a bank hidden in the Swiss Alps, where he puts the checks. Then, he flies alllll the way back! Ol' Edgar's been doing this for over 400 years now!

D. couldn't be happier. Last night, as she sipped her Manhattan and counted her money, she looked so content. She only treats herself to a drink when her finances are doing amazingly; a sister notices these things. Hopefully, things will slow down a bit though. I'd hate to see her adorable button-nose turn a Boris Yeltsin red!

The bandages make it hard to type

Living on my own is great, but I'm beginning to miss the "perks" of sharing an apartment with my sister. I guess it's true what they say: You never really know what you have until D. takes it away from you.

Not that D. really took anything away from me, inheritance excluded. After all, I've pined for my own place for many years; I should be happy to have finally been granted my wish! But sometimes, living on your own can get you into all sorts of trouble, as I learned all too well yesterday evening.

It was 6 p.m., and I had already grown tired of gathering paint chips and hanging my framed portraits of Pope John Paul II. (I have quite a collection!) Anyway, sitting around the Manor with nothing to do is like waiting for water to boil or for a gargoyle to grow out of the brick exterior, so I headed downstairs in search of distractions.

My first (and, ultimately, only) stop: the lobby. Now, the lobby is no longer the bustling hub of Manor life that it once was nearly 100 years ago. In fact, it's quiet and rather soulless these days, especially when D.'s office hours are in effect and the tenants dare not wish to disturb her. But on this certain occassion, I found myself totally alone, left with only the tenants' mail and the voices in my head to entertain me.

I don't really remember what happened when I entered the mail room (or "the grab bag", as D. calls it). But when I came to, my sister's security guard was pinning me to the ground, and I could hear D. screaming in the background. There was blood all over my hands, and, as D. later explained to me, I had apparently tried to slit my wrists after smashing my head against the glass pane that separates the mail room from the lobby. There was glass everywhere and I was cut up pretty badly - it's a miracle I'm alive!

Anyway, I'm back from Sibley Hospital, for the time being. Oh well. At least I got a helicopter ride out of it!

Nothing new really...

The new place is coming together. I *finally* had padding installed on the walls today. Now, I'll have something fun to do when I forget to take my pills. I considered leaving some space open to hang some art. My sister has "The Scream" by Eduard Munch in her room, It's the original work, which she jokes "is a screeeeam!" I don't get it.

I've befriended a few people who live across the street. Tonight, we're all going jogging and then being uncooperative with their caretakers. Electroshock gives me a buzz, but I wake up with a headache the next day.

They don't know me for my last name, which is very refreshing. I hope they don't notice the gargoyle slowly emerging from the stone outside my window; it's actually the protective spirit of one of my ancestors. I wish they could come over some time, but my sister won't let me put a lock on my door.

I'll have to buy some curtains, I guess

Well, I have some good news and some bad news. Which would you like first? Okay, I'll go with the good news first!

The good news: I'm finally getting a place of my own! That's right - I'm in the process of moving my things (two jumpers, a pair of lavender corduroys, and half a bunk-bed - that's basically it) out my sister's palatial fifth floor apartment and into a modest but cozy seven-bedroom/three-bathroom flat just two floors below. For the first time in my 200ish years on this planet (a true landlady never reveals her age!), I'm on my own - what a feeling! It's totally worth the $100 move-in fee, if you ask me.

Okay, and now for the bad news: The only reason D. allowed me to move out is because she believes my living on the top floor poses a potential threat to my health. Unfortunately, there were no ground-level apartments available, so my sister stuck me on the third floor - she called it a "compromise." At least she won't have to keep her windows bolted shut in the summer anymore.

Spring is in the air!

I thought of this when I was monitoring tenants landscaping the front of the building. My sister usually does this, but she had just gotten a raise and wanted to treat herself to a day of shopping for iron-on patterns. Anyway, this is what spring means to me:

S -- Sunny
P -- Pretty
R -- Rainy
I -- Interesting
N -- Nature
G -- Great!


I actually have to take an extra pill during the winter because my sister says I get depressed. I'm surprised she doesn't give me one during the summer to prevent me from being too happy.

I know she's just looking out for her little sister though.