Since my fiance and I moved our "cozy" [read: tiny] two-bedroom at London Square, now The Gables at Southern Hills [read: Tha Ghetto], we've had nothing but problems.
Five changes in management companies, three changes of ownership, a steady stream of maintenance men and temp agency workers, and with that, a constant and never-ending stream of BS from the management, and water from our upstairs neighbor's apartment.
In our three years here [we're students, cut us some slack--can't afford a whole lot...] we've reported the same leaks a total of 17 times. That's 17 separate maintenance tickets to get a simple problem fixed. At one point, the ceiling above our bathroom completely caved in--luckily when we were not in the house--because of a massive water leak from our neighbor's bathtub. Did they replace the ceiling? After over two months, yes. They gave us the key to a vacant apartment in another building and told us to "use that bathroom."
Excuse me?
There are so many things wrong with me walking all the way across a dark parking lot without security--oh, and no lights, since they never turn them on--in the middle of the night, just to go pee.
"Six sparkling swimming pools"--if a pool full of topsoil is sparkling, alrighty then.
That's the newest development. They've decided to finally do something about the pools. They've filled them in with dirt, and have let them just sit for three weeks. Nothing else has been done. I have half a mind to start a garden. That is, if it was safe to go out of my house.
On October 27, 2006, one of our"security guards" apparently got into an argument with a "friend" and shot out one of his back tires--in the parking lot. How safe is that?
Ugh. Too much to go on. Long story short, we've given our notice. I can't take it anymore.