Yo Yo Yo G-String Funk Dogs

I beez ghetto y'all.
I also beez sorry for not updating yesterday. You may punch me.
As such, here is an update on the last couple days. To make up for my delinquency, I'll also share with you a second tenant description.
Yesterday, I spent 45 minutes arguing with Daulton over whether or not it was safe to use the vacuum. Almost immediately after he started the vacuum yesterday, it proceeded to make a rather loud shaking/rattling noise. When I examined it, I discovered that one side of the base was getting extremely hot. I took the thing apart and found that one end of the brush was rubbing badly. I lubricated the thing and reassembled the vacuum. It still vibrated, but it didn't produce the heat it had before. But Daulton refused to use it. He actually ended up crying, telling me it wasn't worth it, and asking me to go ahead and call the police. I could recall allowing myself to get similarly carried away at that age, so even though I didn't give in to his request to not use the vacuum and do something else, I did give him time to calm down. Eventually though, I did have to demonstrate to him through my own use of the vacuum that it wasn't going to eat him.
I do feel bad for Daulton sometimes though. The old people terrify him, and they say some rather odd things to the poor kid. Katie thinks his haircut makes his "head look funny" and Bobbie says he "sure is pretty."
The exterminator came yesterday. While he was spraying the apartments, Daulton followed us around. He kept asking the poor guy questions about how old he was and whether or not he had kids and if he beat his kids (yeah, he asked him that). He also kept asking him if he'd seen certain movies. Apparently one of the movies Daulton had seen involved a bug spraying serial killer. The exterminator simply responded, "that's not me."
The Rockies won on a walk off two run single last night. I yelled a lot.
Apartment 106: Sara
Sara is probably in her early seventies, though it's hard to tell. She has long whitish silver hair but relatively youngish skin. She has a dog named Sassy, a miniature doberman, who very much lives up to her name. Sara scared me at first. She's very feisty and uses relatively rough language (there's just something about old ladies cussing that disturbs me). She likes to wear dresses that I'd almost guess she made herself. I know for a fact that she likes to knit little cosies for her pop cans. Sara's apartment is packed full of stuff. I don't know if she qualifies as a hoarder or not. The first time I saw it, she told me it was all the stuff that had belonged to her recently deceased mother. I haven't really seen it since. Sara's apartment is on the back corner of the complex, meaning she is in the most private of the residences. She's been here since the place opened, so she chose it herself. She likes to sit out back on her patio with Sassy. Whenever I take trash out to the dumpster, I expect to hear Sassy yapping at me as I come outside.
Now it's time for today.
Daulton did what I asked him today, though he got really really upset when I showed him all the smudges that he'd caused on the windows in his attempts to "wash" them.
I have trouble explaining to Anna and you, my faithful readers, just what it is Daulton does during the day that drives me so crazy, but today, one thing occurred to me. He can't accomplish a task without a) asking for help or b) telling me he has just finished some part, and if I don't respond to either of these things, he will keep asking even if it's obvious that I'm in the middle of something. He'll even do it while I'm in the middle of talking to someone. This means that, as much as he is "helping" me by doing the cleaning, I can't get anything else done while he's working.
Bobbie came by and talked some more nonsense. I am happy to announce that she told me she has finally finished up her "warshin'."
Alice came out and said that the laundry room smelled like the sewer was backed up. I went over there. I couldn't smell anything. I suspect she smelled Beulah's apartment. I hate walking down that hallway. It makes me want to puke.
Mike came by the office on the way out today. He told me he was on his way to Grand Rapids. So if any of you Grand Rapidians see a sixty some odd year old guy with a cane and a "Get-r-drunk" camouflage hat and matching camouflage pants trying to sell knives and watches up there, you know it's Mike.
Apartment 107: James
James is a proud war veteran. He probably in his mid to late seventies and looks pretty frail. He always wears a red baseball cap covered in military related pins and patches. He's a very nice guy. His daughters come and visit him pretty much every day. I only see one of them since she always comes while I'm in the office, but apparently another daughter comes during the evening. I like it when his daughter comes because, from the office, I can always hear her knock on his door and then hear a truly joyful "Hi, Daddy" and "Hey, there." Apparently, you can send "flowers" in the local paper as a form of public thanks. I guess James' daughters honored me in the paper for the pancake breakfast we did. Sadly, I don't get the newspaper, so I didn't see it myself. Those people make me smile though.