Not even a little amused.

My absolutely INSANE landlord ruined what was one of the nicest weekends I've ever had. Sara and I were so pleased with how our show went, we had a lovely sleepover afterwords with Lang, we went to Brooklyn for Bastille Day and watched pentanque and ate pasta that Ang cooked for us. Then I came home and new roommate Porter told me that our LOON landlord has decided with less than 2 weeks notice to raise our rent by $400. That's no 7% increase, like the ones people in Manhattan piss and moan over. That's at least 25%. I took to my bed at 9 that night, cried myself to sleep and have been in a daze the past few days.

I mean, jesus. If you've ever been to my apartment the irony of this ludicrous declaration is not lost on you. My Islamic landlord and his- I kid you not- extended family of at last count, 13 (I think one of the wives is knocked up again) run screaming bloody murder in the halls all day long, leave huge cones of incense burning in a way that would cause any fire marshall to shit thier rubber pants, hurl trash into the hallways and leave it there to rot, and basically make the entire area outside of my soon-to-be-overpriced oasis sound like World War III at all hours of the night. For what he's charging I could have a garden apartment somewhere on this block with a roof deck or something. He's cracked out, really.

I guess it's good I like shoes so much because it looks as if Nigel and I are going to use all the boxes to construct our own cardboard castle. Jesus. This sucks.