I'm not naming names or anything, but my landlord is weird as hell. Not just a little bit strange, and not odd in an interesting sort of way, just flat-out, straight-up weird as hell. It's not charming, this weirdness. It's mostly infuriating and all-consuming, so that over time I've learned to just ignore him. If I didn't, I would've long ago snapped and got up in his face and "showed my tail" as my mama would say. Honestly, I've lived here nine years and I can count on one hand the number of conversations I've had with him. And he lives in our backyard. Or we live in his front yard. I can literally look out my window right now and see straight into his kitchen. But I haven't seen him in months. See what I mean? Weird. He and John get along swimmingly. John visits him nearly every day and they call and check up on each other. So most of my knowledge of said landlord comes second-hand. That's about five hands too close for my personal comfort. I know this is all vague and shit. I could relate a few stories that would prove my point and both amuse and frustrate everyone, but then you'd also feel sorry for me. But you see, I don't want your sympathy. I just want to know that y'all know. You know?
On another note entirely: I've lost ten pounds since starting Biggest Loser. Yay, me!