May 7, 2011

War.

So, I checked out One Star Rentals substitute room and as of yesterday and it's official...I submitted the application for the Tenancy Tribunal (NZ law-talk to get out of this godforsaken lease). The room is about 1/3 the size of The Adelaide dumphole situated inside of a bustling hostel in downtown Wellington. The bed is just larger enough for a midget hobbit. No private bathroom. I would be using a locker room-style communal showering and shittin' facility shared with a bunch of enthusiastic backpackers. No offense backpackers, but while you're hopping over to NZ from your Australian vacation, I'm trying to live.

Okay One Star a-holes...I get it...you're a business trying to make money and I signed a lease. I understand capitalism and as a Yankee I dealt with car loads of ass clowns just like you on a daily basis. I may not win but will sure as shit try to break up with you.

I can say that moving here has and is the most wonderful and difficult thing I've ever done. I'll spare you the sob story of what led me here but since the very moment that my feet touched NZ soil it has been a daily kick in the balls. Well, I've had it. I'm inches away from reaching my breaking point and this shit can go one of two ways rental bitches: 1. You get me out of this dump or 2. Push me beyond my breaking point and I'll go all America on your ass. I'm talkin' grassy knoll-carjacking-LA riot-shit. Your choice.