Can't Catch a Break With a... um... Really Big Net?

Yeah, couldn't think of a good metaphor. Or simile. Or comparison. Suck it.

I had written about things looking up. And then things took a turn for the not-so-awesome. As usual? Feels like!

So. A coworker had found us a brand new, never lived in duplex; then Chebbar switched jobs and took a pay cut, putting the beautiful duplex out of our price range. Sad, but not awful, as the same coworker then offered to rent us a duplex he owns for the same rent we're currently paying. WOO HOO!

Except. (There's always an "except" with me, isn't there?)

He had been trying to get approval from the condo association for us to have The Pup there (apparently the "condo association" consisted of one "grumpy old lady"). About a week later, he came into the office filled with smiles and good news: "she said you could have the dog!" DOUBLE WOO HOO!

In the meantime, he'd been a little... weird about signing a lease agreement: "Ahhh, we don't need a lease agreement! Nothing's going to go wrong! [enter cheesy grin here]" It was definitely a red flag for me, but I figured either a) I'd get my way and "convince" him to sign one, or b) maybe it WOULD be okay after all - I mean, he IS a coworker: he wouldn't screw us over, right?

We gave our notice for February 28th. We started packing. We paid to have our mail forwarded (and I made many calls and visited many websites to change what I could). We paid to have our utilities transferred. We paid to have our cable and internet service transferred. We paid to have keys cut. We moved four car loads of stuff over.

Fast forward to this past Tuesday (the week my workshare coworker was on holidays and I was doing the work of THREE people and stressed the eff out) when I handed him the lease agreement with 13 cheques (damage deposit and 12 post-dated rent cheques). He looked at me, shook his head, and said, "I'm not signing this."

Buh, wut?

Me: Uhhh, why not?
Him: I'm not signing anything that puts in writing that you can have the dog there.
Me: Whaaaaat? Why not?
Him: Because I don't know if you can have the dog there.
Me: WHAT?!? WHAT are you TALKING about??? You told me you had approval!!!
Him: No, not from the condo association: she never returned my calls or my emails. The previous home owner told me you could have the dog there.
Me:[Redacted], what good does THAT do us?!? She can't make that decision!
Him: She said it would be fine! There are lots of dogs in the complex - there are four dogs in the duplex behind yours!
Me, yelling: [Redacted], that doesn't mean SHIT! The bylaws could have changed! Those dogs could've been grandfathered in! There could be a size restriction in place! (Which is the problem we've been having everywhere: The Pup is a whopping TWO STINKING INCHES taller than most places maximum size allowance.)
Him: Don't WORRRRRY! It'll be FIIIIINE!

(Did I mention his wife doesn't know he bought this place? That he purchased it around the same time she was going through a job transition and didn't want to stress her out, so didn't tell her and STILL hasn't told her FOUR MONTHS LATER?!?)

There was a LOT of back and forth between him, Chebbar, and I, with him - at another point - saying that he didn't want to sign a lease agreement because we were being "skittish" and he was worried we'd "go after" him for moving expenses if we had to move (we were "skittish" because HE was being SHADY, FFS!), then turned around and said he'd sign something guaranteeing the rent for a year and guaranteeing we could stay there for a year... PSSSSST! THAT'S A LEASE AGREEMENT, DUMB ASS! He wasn't "sure" if he had a copy of the condo bylaws (WTFingF?!? You should've gotten those when you BOUGHT the place!).

I ended up calling our current landlord after work that night, BEGGING to let us stay through March, otherwise we were going to effectually be homeless as of February 28th. By the grace of The Flying Spaghetti Monster, she said yes.

*I* took it upon myself to try to email the condo association woman (a week later, she hasn't returned my email either). *I* took it upon myself to contact a realtor who had listed a unit in the same complex and played dumb like we were interested in buying to see if he knew (all he could tell me was that the current owner "[thought] it would be okay," but "[you] come in and sign a contract: we'll get you a copy of the bylaws!"). *I* took it upon myself to contact a guy I know who might be able to search for the bylaws (he was totally willing to help, but needed to know the name of the property management company - isn't one: self-managed).

Eventually, my coworker emailed me a copy of the bylaws... from NINETEEN SEVENTY-FUCKING EIGHT! (Allegedly, it's the only copy on record, meaning that even if the condo association is running from a newer set, they're not legally valid or binding, as they haven't been officially filed.) The bylaws DO state that dogs are allowed, WITH association approval.

Guess what? The "association" doesn't seem to exist (or at least doesn't have phone service? or internet service? or has a moral roadblock to returning communication)!

After all of this back and forth, Chebbar voiced major concern about the whole situation: if this is any indication of how my coworker will function as a landlord, he doesn't even want to be involved in that gong show.

So we spent yesterday unloading all of the stuff we'd moved over and now my living room looks like this:

(And that's just the living room)

Back to the home search for us. *heavy sigh*