The Infants... my nickname for my landlady and her "passionate artist" boyfriend, Art Boy. (Sometime Fat Art Boy when I'm really ticked at him.)

My landlady is a kind person with a great outgoing personality, a terrific sense of humor, and a heart of gold. Generous to a fault. She's one of those bigger than life people... until Art Boy comes to freeload, er, I mean visit.

Art Boy drives his road warrior up from about 4 hours away, brings his laundry, and more stuff to store in her already overcrowded barn. The laundry thing bugs me b/c then she complains to me about my water consumption during showers. ("Do you shave in the shower? You should turn the water off if you do.") Hmmm... has she thought of cutting off Art Boy's shower time and free laundry service? No.

Art Boy sells paintings (that look like expensively framed dropcloths) for a hefty price. He has a large spread of his own. He's one of those folks who lives very comfortably, but always feels poor... so he's miserly. If Landlady asks Art Boy to trim the hedges, he bills her for the gas he puts in the chain saw. They've been having sex for 4 years now. Hmmm.... what's he good for, I wonder to myself.

They fight. Boy, do they fight. Two nights ago, full of himself (I must be God, I'm hanging 42 paintings in a five-star restaurant) and cheap white wine (why pay more than 3 bucks a bottle for the same psychotropic effect?) he did the typical abusive alcoholic thing: He yelled a lot at Landlady, and I actually heard some body slamming going on. This is on the other side of my wall. I thought of calling Landlady and asking, "Are you okay?" but knew my intrusion into their passionate interlude would have been unwelcome. The yelling and fighting went on for 2 hours.

Landlady has broken up with him twice since I moved in last March. She's a person who likes being half of a couple (I can understand that), so she immediately begins thinking what it would take to get another guy. Gee. She'd have to actually fix her hair, wear something other than flannel shirts and shorts. I helped her style her hair one day. She decided it was too much work, I guess. The next weekend, Art Boy was back for a drunken weekend of reunion sex.

Last night, after the alcohol-fueled reception, Art Boy, too cheap to actually stay at the restaurant and spring for dinner (thereby possibly snagging a few more patrons, it's called schmoozing and investing), brought back a real estate agent --prospective art buyer-- to the rancho. He and Landlady were whooping it up... I came home from 10 hours of work, bone tired, just wanting to hit the hay. With the faux Flamenco music (so uber "passionate") coming through my bedroom wall and 3 drunken people shouting over it, do you think I could sleep? Heck no. I put on Artie Shaw full blast (something I never do) just to drown out the hyena laughter. Then I washed my hair, called my ex-husband, and informed him I needed to sleep on his couch for that night.

Tonight, thank God, they are too wasted from partying all weekend to be very noisy.

These people are in their 60s.

You'd think they'd be old enough to know better.

As soon as I save up enough money, I'm outta here.

Magdalene, sounds like a plan--and a darned good one at that! Added to your place being cold, it doesn't sound like the haven your home is supposed to be. Sorry you have to put up with such unpleasantness. Alcohol when abused can skew everything.

(((Hugs!)))

If I'd heard all you have heard, I would have called the police. But my home is surrounded by rolling ridges and woods with a few houses that I can see across the countryside so I have not had to deal with problems like yours.

I wish you well.

This home is like that. Police? Could they even find the place? At the end of a one lane road, on top of a hill? Doubt it. This is not city living, and the folks here don't have city ways (like calling police for anything short of a felony). Actually, it'd be the sheriff's department. And... if I called in the law, I'd be out on the street faster than I could blink an eye.

I'm so sorry for you!!! When we go home, we want to feel safe, calm, in control and protected. It seems like you have hard time feeling that way where you currently live. I wish for you a speedy move!!

Good Heavens! Please, get out of there as fast as you can. Being isolated with volatile perhaps violent people is unthinkable to me.

I understand what you are saying about the police...we, too have a county sheriff's department and all they are good for is to clean up the mess because of the large area they cover. We pretty much have to take care of our own security and safety.

Yikes, you know, you're right. I do remember mentally locating my 32 and my ammunition at one point. Guess my gut was trying to tell me something.

Sigh. So tired of this nonsense. What is it about me and violence? I seem to be flypaper for it.

Thankfully, Art Boy is built like an avocado on toothpicks, and has never done a lick of exercise in his life. (And he's 67... and I think the tossing around is a mutually agreed upon type of operatic foreplay. Groan. I'm so cynical.)

While reading your post, I thought the infants were in their 40's or 50's but when you mentioned that they are in the 60's, heavens to betsy. How immature they are. It must've been really bad that you had to call your ex-husband to crash into his home. Thank goodness he is thoughtful and concerned about your well being.

Save your money and move, honey. It is not worth it. Yeah, yeah, she is nice but that is not the reason to stay.

Must....eliminate.....mental.....picture.......


Mags, I agree that you need to get out of there pronto. No one needs that crap at home. Your home should be a sanctuary, not a source of stress. Good luck!

Oh Mags. Please find another home!

Oh, believe me, that's not enough to keep me around! It's a shame that she becomes someone else around this blowhard, is all I'm saying. But that's life.

I just started my new (real) job this last week. I'm planning on moving out probably after the holidays, when I have enough money saved for deposit, rent, move. It'll be a pleasure. I figure she'll up my rent anyway, now that she knows I have a higher-paid, full-time job.

Looking forward to not having my shower time monitored.

And being able to turn the heat on without worrying about it, good lord. She's not nice, not a bit nice, that Miss Are You Shaving Your Legs In The Shower? I don't like her.

Yeah, you're right. I've just been making do.

Dear Lord, girl.
What a nightmare.

I'm an ex-hippie myself-
but there IS a limit.

We will have to have you beatified and sanctified...

And I love you for saying this. Nothing does a heart good like a little righteous indignation. :-)

Seems like a pattern that we've seen alot: a woman is unempowered where it really counts, namely in saying "see ya!" to a jerk that is unworthy, so she gets back her sense of "control" by being a bit of a petty tyrant with you. Yuck.

I'm so glad you found a job, Mags. You gotta get out of there.

Yikes, you're right. Ye olde (hen)pecking order.

I moved a few months ago b/c of loud neighbors. I couldn't take it anymore and one day I just woke up opened up the paper and went for it - I took the first place I saw. somehow, when you set your mind to it - things happen for you, it all unfolds. I found a small house on a dead street, no walls to share, it's old but I love it b/c it's so quiet. Get out of there pronto - it'll stress you out and make you miserable. I hated living where I lived before...............I'm so glad I left.................


I have to admit though that your writing skills are excellent and you had me all the way till the end with your post - it's actually somewhat funny - not the situation, just the way you wrote it. ;-)