These dreams

I've been told by the man in my television that it's never too late to start over, change careers, switch gears, etc. But what do you do when you've never actually had a career? Oh, sure, I assist my sister in running the family's property mismanagement company, but I consider it more a chore than a career. (My sister calls it "fulfilling a legacy" but I guess that serves as her legal reason for refusing me a living wage.)

Ever since I was a little girl, I've dreamt of achieving my dreams. But that was 500 years ago, and look where I am today. (D. created a dream machine that destroys your hopes and aspirations and replaces them with thoughts of suicide. I always get a tingly feeling when she affixes the electrodes to my head!)

I hope she realizes that she has to pay them!

Yearning to be the Donald Trump of Washington D.C., my sister is pushing the legislature to pass an initiative that would legalize gambling on the Anacostia and Potomac rivers. She wants to style her casinos to be like the Mississippi River showboats she used to play on as a little girl. She's even going to hire blacks -- one to stand at the front of each ship and sing "Old Man River."

Something old, something new

I caught D. searching for pictures of TomKat on the Internet yesterday. Tom Cruise had previously offered my sister $1 million to take his hand in fake matrimony, but she declined. She mentioned something about the money not being enough and also the fact that she's a huge dyke.

I suppose it's for the better that a relative nobody and an international superstar did not marry; Tom could not have handled D.'s fame.

Unchained Memory

After I finished running my sister's errands, I went to her apartment to "report back," as she had demanded. She was wrapped in a hand-woven quilt and asleep on her burgundy wingback chair, which she had acquired from the estate of Britain's royal family in a devious bet.

She had left a video playing last night -- old footage of her once famous Vaudeville act. I know she loved seeing her name on the marquis, but it all ended when she created a skit that was considered distastefully racist, even at a time when the KKK's popularity had peaked.

Broken family

The tension between my sister and brother is climbing higher and faster than an apartment's rent ceiling in even my wildest, most unregulated of dreams. On one hand, you have my sister, who - although not braindead like myself - is certainly brainless at times; and on the other, you have my brother, who is an asshole. It makes for interesting bedfellows, that's for sure.

I can overhear my brother yelling at D.; he's citing my sister's arrest and the recent federal lawsuit against the family's property management company as grounds for her impeachment. She's claiming it's all a "Jewish conspiracy." What does she think this is - 9/11?

I'm scared for my brother

My domineering sister has controlled the family properties, since I was liberated from my wealth. Now, after a plethora of federal lawsuits against my sister, my brother decided that maybe she wasn't doing that good of a job. And he confronted her about it!

I saw some familiar paperwork scattered around her desk. I think she's filing a petition with the government to deem him crazy and seize control of his assets. Or maybe she wants him dead? Last night, he woke up in the middle of the night with D. floating over his body. He thought he was dreaming, but this morning, he looked about 15 years older.

Dr. D.

I ran a few errands for my sister this weekend. I didn't mind because D. very rarely allows me to roam the cityscape by my lonesome. I'll seize any opportunity to stray from the Manor for a while, even if it means having to drop off D.'s stool sample at Sibley along the way. (And boy, was it heavy!)

Speaking of involuntary enslavement, my sister needs me to drive her to UDC's Van Ness campus, where she recently began her doctorate program. She's hoping to earn a Ph.D. so that she can legally diagnose our brother as crazy and then sue him for his share of the inheritance. You can say what you want about my sister, but you have to admit that she's goal-oriented!

She looked like a helicopter!!!

Last night, when my sister and I were going to Safeway, she was struck by a maniac in an SUV. I don't know what happened. I was waving the orange flag as we crossed the street, and next thing I know, I see her awkwardly cartwheeling 15 feet above ground.

She didn't get hurt though because she began to fly when she was midair.

Bounce with me, bounce with me

I read this article in the Washington Post last week and was upset to find that my sister had not been interviewed. I suppose it's just as well; her views on check restitution policy are too extreme for the mainstream media. Not even Modern Landlady magazine will publish her editorials!

Besides, the article is absurd. Believe me when I say that D. has never needed to hire a private, for-profit "check-diversion company" to deal with a bounced check. She takes matters into her own hands, even if it means having to use someone else's garbage shoot. (Ours is too small to accomodate the body of an average-sized tenant.)

On a lighter note, consider the term "bad check." An oxymoron if I've ever heard of one!

Mistakes

Benjamin Franklin proposed a wager with my sister when he famously said, "nothing is certain, but death and taxes," and almost 250 years later, she remains impervious to both. Unfortunately, Mr. Franklin has since fallen to the former -- before he ever paid her the gold coin they had bet!

The two met when he and a few friends were renting Independence Hall and a few of our family's other properties in the Philadelphia area. Benjamin had always been "on time" and "good for his money" my sister said, so she didn't anticipate any financial problems with him.

Some scholars apparently think that this was a posthumous prank by clever Benjamin Franklin. I know I'm crazy, and my brother's an asshole -- but sometimes I feel like my sister has no brains. I mean, knowing she's immortal, why would she make a bet with a mortal on her inability to die without getting her money up front?

And she's the one managing what used to be my wealth!

Rumor has it

I know what many of you are thinking, but believe me when I say that the rumors are not true. In case you've been living under a rock for the past few days, there has been an absolute media frenzy surrounding my sister and the ridiculous allegations of her having had a nose job. It's really quite unbelievable what The New York Times considers news these days. Before-and-after photos of D. on the front page? And above the fold, no less! There are more important things going on in the world than my sister's button-nose. I don't understand the global fascination with it.

D. is in tears because she's made the cover of Us Weekly. I should never have mentioned my sister's affair with Nick Lachey to that editor.

D. might be fucking the mailman.

My sister is very protective of her "children," a nickname she uses for tenants on the rare occassion that she feels affectionate. There's nothing she hates more than an empty apartment, after all, so she "looks out" for them. Every day, except Sunday, she rummages through their mail, looking for Anthrax and birthday money.

The Tell-tale Tenant

Is it Friday yet? Oh my, it is! Well, thank goodness for that - it's been quite a week for me.

A few days ago, the tenants of No. 202 called my sister to report some sort of liquid dripping down the walls of their bathroom. I couldn't hear what the tenants were saying, but judging from D.'s incessant eyeball-rolling, I could tell this was going to be a big hassle - that is to say, a big hassle not for my sister, but for me.

D. instructed me to "get on it" but didn't bother to elaborate. Whatever - I probably should have called a plumber or something, but I figured I could handle the problem myself.

So, I went up to the apartment above No. 202 to see if the leak was stemming from the shower or toilet. I looked around the bathroom, but nothing jumped out at me... until I began to listen. I could hear a faint heartbeat coming from beneath the tile floor. I paused, and the noise became louder and louder. Soon my ears were ringing and I lost control and began tearing up the tile and clawing my way to the terrible, terrible noise!

Of course, nothing was there and I felt like a real idiot. I threw down a piece of plywood and some duct tape, hopefully the tenants won't notice.

I ate an entire jar of Ritalin.

The laissez faire capitalism prevalent during turn of the century instilled the image of the heartless mogul, detached from the labor that built her empire. After the Russian Revolution, Marxist ideology infiltrated social frameworks -- some countries became Communist, while others saw a threatening increase in labor unions.

Today, some might argue, the Welfare State has handcuffed the market's Invisible Hand to domestic and foreign aid programs -- but that's just based on numbers in documents. Adam Smith's Invisible Hand actually belongs to my sister and doesn't lift a finger.

Secret

My sister is spending most of her afternoon buttering up the Supreme Court justices today. She's trying to classify certain court documents that reference the code to the front door of our building. D. calls it "The D------- Code" - and, yes, it's what "The Da Vinci Code" was based on. There's no way the court will satisfy her request. Besides, everyone in the building knows what it is anyway.

When I told my sister this, she slapped me square across the face and shoved a bill of voided rent checks into my mouth. She told me, "This is a gag order - violate it, or else!" I love my sister. She's so funny!

Holidays

My sister's favorite holiday is Landladies Day (the first of each month) because all the tenants give her gifts and she doesn't have to give anything in return. I suppose that's a bit selfish, but D. has always said it's far better to receive than to give - unless by "give" you mean "give a tenant 30 days' notice of a $47 rent increase." In that sense, D. has practically given away the store!

Not surprisingly, my sister's least favorite holiday is Mothers Day - and not just because it falls right smack in the middle of the month (the doldrums of any landlady's financial calendar). Rather, D. hates Mothers Day because she is nobody's mother and therefore cannot expect to receive a present of any kind. I should get her something this year - perhaps a baby? There's a whole shitload of 'em on the third floor.

Speaking of Mothers Day, I wonder whatever happened to my own mother. Her body's in my apartment somewhere, I just have to retrace my steps, I guess.

Ol' Money Bags

My sister is thinking of raising rent again to give herself another small raise and to fund an "improvement" project. There's an unused belfry on the roof of the Manor, and she thinks it'd be nice to have someone ring the bell every month on the first.

Guess whose job that would be.

I'm obviously against this because I'd rather be playing with the padded walls in the elevator than doing stupid jobs for my sister. I tried stealing gold coins from her money bag, but she caught me. If I hadn't gotten out of my straight-jacket, I wouldn't have been able to blog today!

Aww

The firsts of each month are definitely my sister's favorite times of the year because they reinforce her power over the tenants. Nevertheless, when the checks are all gathered and sent to Switzerland, she gets giddy again over the rising balance in her account. A lot of new people always move in during the summer, so she's especially happy right now.

Yesterday I paid her a surprise visit and caught her dancing around her apartment singing her favorite song, "Poor Unfortunate Souls" from The Little Mermaid.

Phew!

I'm finally back in my cool apartment, if only for a second. My sister has been running errands all day from bank to bank, and I've had to follow her to hold the doors for her. She took an HOUR at Wachovia, due to security issues. (She doesn't have fingerprints.)

I had to stand there the whole time with the door open. She says she is who she is and has to look the part.

Not much going on, after a busy day...

I played with my treasure-hole yesterday and some duct-tape. I ended up duct-taping a fan to the floor! LOL. I left it running; I'm sure my sister will find a way to profit from the extra use of electricity.

Last night, she kicked my butt (pardon my French) in Monopoly -- as usual. She always wins at that game. When she was in preschool, she took a career test; the result was "capitalist." Some people are just born great...

Anyway, I love Monopoly, even though my sister used it to prove I was incapable of taking care of my wealth in Court. She and I used to go on double dates with the Parker brothers, so they made a version featuring some of our family's properties. It's soooo nice. The pieces are made of Nazi gold!

A hard day's work

I apologize for updating so late in the day; the second of every month is always a busy time here at the Manor, as you might imagine.

At 11:59 p.m. yesterday, I headed down to the lobby with my sister to inspect the avalanche of rent checks that awaited us just behind her office's golden mail slot. As D. stood at a safe distance, I approached the door in full riot gear, bracing myself for the impact of more than $75,000 worth of checks. Luck was on my side this month; I suffered only minor cuts and bleeding. The great news is that D. now owes me a whole Salmon P. Chase; she bet $10,000 that I'd sustain internal injuries! Not this time, Sis. Not this time.

Once I heaved open the door, I waited for D.'s return from the Home Depot in Hyattsville, where my sister was picking up a few day laborers to assist her in transporting all the checks from the vestibule to the office. Due to the previous day's protest, the laborers were well-rested and unusually vigorous in their toil. D. gave each of them a gold coin from her velvet satchel, partly as a reward for their work, but mostly because her satchel was getting too heavy from the weight of her unfathomable wealth.

*Yawn* The checks are on their way to Sweden, and I am on my way to bed. The withdrawal won't appear in the tenants' checking accounts until at least the 20th - just in time for the next month's rent!

Secret

I spent the weekend washing my sister's linens in the hot springs underneath the Manor. I didn't really get to enjoy the sun, but my sister's nose can predict the weather; she says that it won't rain anytime soon.

I found a dead bird and used its blood to write my name on a picture of the Pope. I hid it in the wall of a bathroom closet (where I tore a hole), but if anyone finds it, they'll know who to give it to! I've been using that hole to hide all of my treasures.

Everytime I get something nice, my sister takes it from me because I can't take care of it as well as she can. It's not like she takes care of my things though; she just sells them.