The Rest of January 2006 - It Was a Crazy Month

Friday, January 6, 2006

I have spent my entire week dealing with maniacs and thankfully today is a little more peaceful. I have just learned from some Club employees who smuggled non-cafeteria food over here to our trailer to eat in secrecy that there is a new ban on garbage at the Clubhouse. GARBAGE IS PROHIBITED. What this actually means is that taking home garbage is prohibited. Being that the club is extremely wasteful, they are often throwing away things which are perfectly good, things from kitchen supplies, office equipment, and the most popular item of all, plants. They change out the plants in the clubhouse ever couple of months and they throw out the old ones, which are still perfectly healthy houseplants, so the employees always looked forward to taking them home and saving them from death. Now Kevin Gray, Club General Manager has decided that this is no longer acceptable and they have placed a guard at the trash pile to keep employees from getting to the plants. No reason was given for the prohibition.


January 9, 2006

There are many reasons why working at Wide Lawns Country Club can be considered a pretty crappy job, but none as good as what happened at the guard gate Saturday night. Our poor guards really put up with a lot and for this one they definitely deserve more than a deli platter, a la Sadie and Jack.

On Saturday night a very, very old man, who lives here got stuck in the line at the gate house, to get into the community. He was having an emergency, which necessitated him getting home as quickly as possible and backed up traffic at the entry way prevented this. In a moment of desperation, which I can totally understand, the old man abandoned his vehicle and ran, well, not ran exactly, but did what could be described as a very fast shuffle, into the guard house. Imagine how you would move if you were 90 and had diarrhea. He begged to use their bathroom, and the guards said that was fine, but the poor soul didn't make it and crapped his pants right there in front of our horrified guards. This was a very messy situation, as it didn't stay confined to his underwear and went all over the floor. The old man then stepped in the poo and tracked it all over the floor on the way to the bathroom. The guards had no idea what to do, so they didn't do anything. It is reported though that the old man was not nearly as embarrassed as he ought to have been about this, and when he was finished, he went back to his abandoned vehicle and drove home with crap all over himself like nothing ever happened.

This left the horrifed Wide Lawns security staff with an office full of poo and no one who wanted to clean it up or to go anywhere near it. They put newspapers on top of it, sprayed Lysol and tried to avoid it, but this was only a temporary solution, until our favorite guard, who we call Robocop came along.

Robocop lives for Wide Lawns and his entire sense of self and his identity are all hinged on the fact that he works here as a security guard. He is an effeminate born again Christian who has no idea that he is flaming, flaming gay. He even highlights his hair and had a metallic gold bike helmet made for when he does bike patrol. He takes his job way too seriously. You would think he was running the FBI from the degree of seriousness he shows from handing out fake traffic tickets in here. He is widely hated by all of the residents, who perceive his strangely robotic, business like behavior, as rude and insensitive. He doesn't mean it that way, he is obsessively trying to not do anything wrong, but I can definitely see where he mechanical mannerisms would be unsettling. Robocop is also an aspiring musician. He has his own website, which I am dying to link to, but I just couldn't do that, though the temptation was hard to resist. He refers to himself as a "Psalmist", a sort of folk singer for the Lord. He is like something out of a Christopher Guest movie. Robocop also adores Broadway musicals, and apparently has designs on being in one some day (again, an umistakable sign of his denied homosexuality). A few months ago the richest man in Wide Lawns requested that Robocop be placed outside of his home as his own personal security guard. He requested Robocop because of his committment to the rules and his steadfastness at enforcing them, but then later came to our Head of Security and asked that Robocop be removed from duty because he was bothering one of Richest Man's frequent guests, who was known to have invested in some Broadway shows, and trying incessantly to pitch his idea for a gay, Christian musical. So Poor Robocop was placed back on traffic patrol, where he keeps me very busy by writing entirely too many speeding, stop sign and parking on the street tickets. This is from where Robocop had just returned when he discovered the guard house full of poo and no one wanting to clean it up.

Robocop didn't really want to clean it up either, however, he had long coveted the award of Employee of the Month, and kept getting passed over. He wanted the plaque and the $25.00 gift certificate to Winn Dixie. He wanted that special, close parking spot that says "RESERVED FOR EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH" and it is all he has dreamed about since getting this job. He knew if he was the one to step in, to save the day by cleaning the poo, that he would be a shoo in. So he got down on his hands and knees with a can of generic Comet and started to scrub.

January 11, 2006

It has to be a full moon. I haven't seen the actual moon out yet, but I know it has to be full. Today I endured so much abuse and witnessed so much freakish, insane behavior that I know something out of the ordinary is going on. Dont get me wrong. Of course, insanity is par for the Wide Lawns golf course, and I take abuse from the residents on a daily basis, but usually I get a few minutes to breathe, to heat up a Lean Cuisine, write this blog, gossip with coworkers and watch FoodTv. Not today. It was nonstop.

To make it all a lot worse our main server burnt out and something went catastrophically so wrong with our computers that I had no Internet, which is just not fair. I need the Internet to write this, to shop, to look stuff up, do my homework, correspond with friends who live far away and in general, I need it to avoid actually having to do any work. That caused me to have to deal with actual human beings all day, all of whom were raving mad.

I came in early today, which is a miracle because I am chronically late. I don't think I have ever come in early. The reason I came in early was that we had a DDB meeting. That stands for Design Disapproving Board, the most evil entity on the planet. The DDB is made up of people who live for no greater pleasure than to prevent their neighbors from doing things to their houses and to inflict dire punishments on them if they do. I have to dress up for the DDB, so I was sporting my sexy librarian look, with a pencil skirt, red lipstick and high heeled mary janes. I had some quiche and sat down to see if Angelina really was pregnant (she is!) and then I found the computers were down. You can not imagine my disappointment. Then the DDB Gestapo arrived along with the people who a.) wanted something done to their own home, or b.) Wanted to start fights with their neighbors for their wanting something done. It was mostly people who wanted to fight their neighbors. Neighbor fighting is up there in popularity with golf, tennis and extra- marital affairs when it comes to Wide Lawns recreational activities.

In walk the Wide Lawns version of the Hatfields and McCoys, our very own Mr. and Mrs. Pomme and Mr. Fistook who was sans Mrs. Fistook today. These lovely folks reside in the maligned subdivision, The Marble Arch, of which I have often wrote. The Marble Arch is home to the worst of the psychos, with Mr. Pomme being the very, very worst lunatic of all. We have two resident nut cases who are continually competing to see who can win the title of Official Craziest Man in Wide Lawns. Luckily they don't know each other. At present, Mr. Pomme is winning by several lengths. He is clearly not taking his medication. He has been at war with the Fistooks for several years now and has done everything to make their lives miserable and is literally stalking them. This is not to say that the Fistooks are innocent victims, because they arent either. They are less guilty than Mr. Pomme, in my opinion, but they are not without some degree of culpability in these matters, because they love to bait Mr. Pomme's paranoia and instigate his irrational behavior. But maybe this is just because he has driven them mad and made them miserable for 6 years. They came to fight today because Mr. Fistook wanted to put some pavers in his backyard and since Mr. Pomme hates him, and for no other logical reason, he showed up to object and cause a scene and make everyone, especially me, really miserable. It was awful. Nothing got done. Mr. Pomme, who I describe as a big, red, psoriasis ball of psychosis, is loud and annoying and held everything up and told us all how we would do in depositions because we were all getting sued and we are all in a big conspiracy against him. Mr. Fistook didnt really do or say much of anything. Mr. Pomme yelled at me for getting Mr. Fistook a cup of coffee. Now I promise that I will soon tell you the entire saga of the Fistooks and Pommes, but I simply do not have the energy or the room or the time to do it in this post. It will have to be a post in and of itself.

Once we got that lot shuffled out of the trailer we tried to finish up and I took to answering the phone. I received numerous calls from a woman who insists that we don't cut her trees and I tried to direct her to the right party for this complaint but she kept calling me back and repeating word for word what she had already said as if I were a new person each time and wouldn't realize she too was the same person.

Next Mr. Snitchberg flew into my office screaming and yelling because he received a parking ticket. A few days ago he came in and called us all classless because we couldn't charge his barcode to his club account and of course that was all our fault and this entire club is a disgrace. Mr. Snitchberg is like MY age, and a lawyer and way too young and hip looking to be this big of an asshole, but, sigh, he is that big of an asshole. He never takes off his sunglasses and goes around yelling at people all of the time. He keeps parking his BMW in our spots so I called Robocop to give him a ticket. Had he not yelled at me a few days ago I probably wouldn't have done this, but he pissed me off and ticket giving is the only power I really have around here.

While Mr. Snitchberg was yelling at me I noticed that Madeleine Flax was shrieking into her cell phone out on our wheelchair ramp. She was there a good 20 minutes and I could hear her entire conversation. Madeleine Flax looks great from about 50 feet away. From that distance you think shes a hot twenty year old with an amazing body. The closer you get the more you realize that she is actually 60 and has had enough bad plastic surgery to be a member of the Jackson family. Up close she is positively horrifying. I may have nightmares tonight just from looking at her this morning. Madeleine is going through a terrible divorce, probably our most violent one at the moment. She has been married to Mr. Milton Flax for the past four years. Milton is a horrible man, probably 70, which is not only his age, but his waist measurement as well. He is loud and belligerent, intimidating and sleazy. He kicked Mrs. Flax out a few months ago in exchange for an 18 year old mail order hooker from Indonesia who he makes out with in public each day. Mrs. Flax is still on the deed to the home, so although she doesn't live here she is still welcome to come and use the club and charge things to Milton's account. Mrs. Flax has decided that the best revenge is financial. She has taken up residence at the Palm Beach Ritz Carlton. She comes here every day to eat on Milton's account, get massages, have tennis lessons and get her nails done. She has amassed thousands and thousands of dollars of bills, which he is responsible for. Mrs. Flax was yelling at Mr. Flax because he was holding her mother's set of china hostage and she believed he was "treating her like a two year old" and she wanted him to put the dishes on the front step for her to pick up and I guess he wouldn't do it. Every day he comes in to change the access code to aggravate her and then she comes and changes it to something else. So they go back and forth and forth and back and nothing ever gets accomplished and no one ever settles the score.

At this point we began to keep an insanity log to keep track of all the madness so that I could remember to write about it all.

After Mrs. Flax departed I was cussed out over the phone by a woman who had one of her guests turned away at the gate. Before I was off the phone another woman was here to yell at my coworker because the garish shade of pistachio pudding green she wanted to paint her home in Plymouth was not approved at the DDB meeting. The shade was so vile in fact that my coworker said that the only way that Mrs. Puce, who is from France (aren't the French supposed to have better taste than this?) would ever get this color approved would be for her to have sex with Mr. Rottenberg, who you may recall has the penis nose from the greyhound and is the head of Plymouth DDB. Madame Puce was irate and insulted that no one else liked her idea for a pistachio home with mint trim and said that Wide Lawns is full of "riff raff" and she went on and on at my coworker for so long that eventually she got tired and left only to be replaced by Mr. Flick, who lives in Surrey Quay and is a reason why we call that subdivision Cheaters and Beaters. He's the beater, his wife's the cheater.

Mr. Flick was trying to register his golf cart. If you get a new golf cart you pay 25$ to register it for the first time and then $10 each year thereafter for renewals. Mr. Flick had an elaborate tale as to why he had no numbers on his golf cart and claimed he had it for years. It was a new one and looked nothing like the description of the old one we had on file, and all this to save 15 whole dollars. He became very defensive, which I called him on and sarcastic, saying maybe chipmunks chewed off the old stickers. He had an attitude, was difficult and was a liar. It pissed me off. The whole time I was thinking how Mrs. Flick has been having a very public affair with one of our spa masseuses, and how I couldn't blame her because Mr. Flick was so nasty that I would seek my happy endings elsewhere too. Finally Mr. Flick gave in and paid the $25.00 and suddenly remembered that yes, he HAD gotten a new golf cart recently. Jackass.


January 25, 2006

I am absolutely thrilled to let you all know that the Wide Lawns HOA is no longer trailer trash. You can blame my lack of posts as of late to the fact that we were indeed, after a year and a half in a trailer, MOVING. Yes, we were all pleased to be out of the trailer, but the move was not without its fair share of problems. Of course. Its Wide Lawns, remember.

To start, they have been building our new building forever and we moved in without a CO. That is a Certificate of Occupancy. Its illegal to occupy a building without one, but we're Wide Lawns so were doing it anyway and we'll all run and hide when the inspector comes. The building has huge gaping holes in the roof and the AC is leaking so we have rigged up what looks like a crude Zen fountain out of styrofoam cups and paper bowls, which leads out of the AC unit and into a bucket where it drips all day and makes passersby have the sudden urge to pee. Then they delivered our refrigerator to the wrong building who sent it back. When it finally got to the right building it didn't fit, but we were desperate for it so now it sits in the middle of the kitchen floor which means you have to shimmy by it in order to get in and out of the kitchen.

Best of all though, I have a bathroom again. I have privacy. I don't have to sneak to the clubhouse or pretend to clean. I can poo in peace if the need arises.

The move started off poorly. No one ordered the furniture for the new place in time so we had to take the old nasty stuff with us until the new furniture comes in several months. We packed up a bunch of boxers but no one had hired movers for us. We carted some stuff over there but that got old fast and there's only so much that 3 women can really do. Our bosses asked the construction workers to help us. Now the workers aren't really employees. They are people the contractor picks up on the work line each morning. This day that consisted of a Mexican guy, a 300 pound black man with one eye and an afro, and a hillbilly who was about 70 and smelled like an ashtray that someone had spilled a beer in three weeks ago. The trio started to move some boxes. About five minutes later they had all disappeared. We found the foreman a while later who informed us that the hillbilly had gotten something in his eye and decided he wanted to go to the hospital (I smell workers comp) and the black guy had to drive him. The Mexican guy didn't want to work alone so he left. The foreman had to go find some more people. This time he came back with a pack of Brazilians, men and women who were very loud and who wanted to sing and dance more than they wanted to move our things. Finally the foreman and the roof guy moved the furniture and the Brazilians samba-ed over with the rest of the boxes.

We were left with a catastrophic mess of boxes and chaos to try to put into order and that is why I haven't had a lot to write lately. I cant exactly get away with blogging at work just yet. Im writing this from home.

January 28, 2006

We have a new resident in Wide Lawns who is fast wreaking havoc in the community, and quickly becoming known as The Black Widow of Wide Lawns. 

A few months ago, Rob Kayt began seeming a bit more agitated than usual. Remember, we love our boss, and he is normally a pretty laid back kinda guy. Something had obviously gotten to him and we inquired as to what it was.

"God Dammit," he said in his South Carolina drawl, "My wife's got this friend who is driving me up a wall."

You may recall that Rob Kayt has a problem keeping the reins in on his wife Monique, who has recently become a world traveling jet setter and refuses to ever stay home. On her journeys she met and befriended a woman named Carrie Brider, who is truly one of the moist heinous individuals any of us have ever seen. Why Monique Kayt would see fit to flit around the world with this woman no one can understand, because she is truly horrible. And this is coming from a group of people who have all too vast experiences with heinous individuals. Carrie Brider is truly evil.

Mr. Kayt gave us fair warning. Last August Ms. Brider, who was staying at The Breakers in Palm Beach, visited his home every day and made him drive her all around Wide Lawns in the heat and humidity to look at houses for sale. Monique had persuaded Ms. Brider who hails from Grosse Pointe, Michigan, to purchase a vacation home in our lovely community. When she finally found a home that suited her needs, after she had driven Rob to more than a few drinks at the Clubhouse lounge, and given him several migraines, she decided that something was wrong with the paint on the door frames and wouldnt buy the house if this minor thing wasn't fixed. The home was owned by some of Rob's friends and he was mortified to tell them that the contract may fall through because of door frames. He told Ms. Brider that he would go into the house himself and personally paint the door frames for her. This was not good enough for her though. She made him sign a contract that promised he would paint the door frames. Well he was fit to be tied, because his word is always gold and this woman, his wife's friend had dealt him a serious insult. He painted the door frames and vowed to wash his hands of this awful person.

We first met Carrie Brider when she had her closing. New owners always visit the HOA as soon as they close, and we give them a little orientation and get them set up in our computer system. She was like a human tornado. She was agitated and rude, abrasive and wanted no part of the orientation and didn't want to full out the necessary paper work because she was hypoglycemic and needed lunch. She asked us hundreds of stupid questions, wouldn't sit still and got on everyone's nerves. Then she blew on over the the membership office and got on everyone's nerves there and managed to insult several people in passing.

Ms. Brider explained to us that she was currently involved in a bloody divorce dispute that has lasted seven years and wont settle. She then explained that this was her third husband and that the first two had each died. Oh my God, I thought. This woman is the black widow! She was from then on, known in my mind as Scary Spider.

Scary Spider has done nothing but cause problems. When a new owner moves into Wide Lawns they are required by the club to pay a $70,000.00 non-refundable initiation fee for membership. Normally this is included in the cost of the home and is taken at the closing as part of the mortgage, if there is a mortgage. Scary Spider didn't have a mortgage. She paid for her home in cash, which is fairly common around here. She threw a fit and refused to pay the $70,000.00 at the closing and wanted to write a personal check herself to the club. This had never been done. Rob Kayt called from the slopes of Beaver Creek and implored the Club to allow this exception. Then Scary Spider, having gotten permission, gives an incorrect phone number and disappears to lord knows where for a month with no check. When she got back she was mad that the club called and asked for the money. She came in and wrote a personal check. Then she decided to go to my coworker's husband's business. 

You may recall from the tale of the Jones's that coworker's husband is a locksmith and has a safe shop. Scary Spider wanted a safe installed in her home. She wanted the husband to make a housecall, because she didn't want to drive to his shop. She asked him to bring a sample of one of each of his safes to her house so she could pick one out. He refused. Safes are big and heavy and this was a ridiculous request. Scary Spider was livid and came to the shop begrudgingly. Once she had picked out her safe, which was another ordeal, she scheduled a date for installation. She then cancelled three times. On the third time, coworker's husband cancelled the entire order and said he didn't need her business and didn't want the hassle. She was beside herself with rage.

Next Scary Spider came to the HOA to get a barcode. While there she told us that she didn't know why the Kayts were so family oriented (they aren't, by the way) and that she thought it was ridiculous that they took both their children to Vail for Christmas. She said she had her kids shipped off to boarding school as soon as they were in first grade and hasn't seen them since. She sends them to camps in the summer and to friends houses in Europe for all holidays. They probably wouldn't even recognize here if they passed her on the street.

Two weeks later we find out that Scary Spider's $70,000.00 check has bounced and once again she is nowhere to be found. I foresee some interesting developments with this woman. I will keep you posted.

January 29, 2006

Here are some funny stories from last week. Once we got our phones back people went out of control calling us with all sorts of ridiculousness. You will love this.

Here is a good story from Friday. Anonymous Rich White Lady calls up and asks for permission to park her maids car at the clubhouse parking lot every day and overnight. There is no overnight parking at the clubhouse because it is closed. Parking is in short supply and its mostly valet, so this was not an option for Rich White Lady's maid. We say the maid should park the car in the driveway of RWL's home or in front of the home on the street. RWL says this is just not an acceptable option because the maids car is disgusting and beat up and she cant have that eyesore sitting in front of her house. The maids car is an embarrassment to her. I said too bad. Get your maid a new car or live with it.

At the beginning of the week I got several calls from different RWL's complaining about various types of wildlife. These are usually my favorites. RWL1, a realtor who is in her 30s and living with a 60 year old man called to complain that every day there are two rabbits nibbling grass in her front yard and that they look at her when she is walking her dog. She described them as being very menacing and scary and said she wanted them removed because she was afraid that they may be rabid and attack her and her dog. This caused me uproariously laughter because I could not stop thinking about Monty Python's Holy Grail and the attack bunny.

RWL2 called to notify me that there was an alligator in her yard and that she knows someone has to be feeding it because it is getting bigger. This may sound like a very real concern, but we are in West Basura after all and there are numerous alligators in the ponds and lakes in the area and no one ever feeds them. There is a law that alligators can not be messed with until they are over 6 feet long, at which time someone comes and hauls them out to the Everglades. You could say that this is a sort of Alligator Nursery. RWL2 expressed grave concern that the Alligator was going into and coming out of the water. I said this is what they do, they are amphibious. She was shocked to hear this. I told her about the 6 feet rule and she swore it was at least 10 feet. I know this is not true because we have people who patrol the lakes every day looking for this very type of thing and there are definitely no 10 foot lake monsters out there. In fact, our lakes could not support such a leviathan creature anyway. I asked the lake man and he said he knows the alligator and its only a few months old and is about 2 feet long and completely harmless.

RWL3 telephoned to report a snake in her yard. This too could be a real concern. She asked if I could personally come to remove it. Snake removal is not in my job description here. I inquired as to the size of the snake to see if it was a real problem. The snake was described as light green and the length and width of a shoelace. It seems to me that this is your ordinary grass snake. RWL3 said she was afraid it would bite her and was poisonous. I said no, this would not happen and that grass snakes were not venomous. She then said that she was shocked to see a snake in the community at all and did not know snakes were native to Florida. She did not know that snakes were native to Florida. We aren't Ireland here. This is the tropics and a heavily wooded, swampy area. OF COURSE THERE ARE SNAKES!!!!! (You may recall the Python incident, apparently this lady missed that event, thank God). She went on to quiz me on my snake knowledge and ask what other kinds of snakes she might encounter and was just shocked beyond belief that there would be a grass snake in a country club community. The nerve of this snake. Didnt it see the gates? How did it ever manage to get through security. I comforted her by telling her that the grass snake will eat bugs like mosquitoes and flies."Mosquitoes and flies???" she exclaimed, "We have those in here too??!!"

January 30, 2006

On Saturday night, Wide Lawns was treated to its first major car accident. Actually, I guess its the second really, after the New Years Eve sex in the SUV driving into the lake incident. This one was worse than that though.

Saturday must have been a long day for Ms. Lisa Chairmont, because she clearly started drinking very early. Lisa Chairmont is one of the Wide Lawn's concubines, as I like to call them. There is a pretty extensive group of ladies who have been lucky enough to shack up with older, rich men here in the community. Occasionally some of them even become wives, although this is more rare. Usually the men let them move in for a few months here and there and then the men either find some new young tart, or the women trade up for men who are older and richer. The ultimate goal for the gold diggers is to find a man who is as old and rich as possible because they all hope to be with a man when he dies and then get everything he has to leave behind. Think Anna Nicole Smith. As you can imagine most of the gold diggers and concubines are trashy and low class, a large majority were picked up in strip clubs or from escort services, and all of them are trying to act like what they think rich women act like. This means that once they get in here they are even more demanding, even meaner, ruder and bitchier, with an even greater sense of entitlement than the rest of the JAPs, the WASPs, the trust fund brats and the bridge club bitches. The concubines all have a lot of plastic surgery, fake boobs, fake lips and they all have eating disorders and dress and look like Posh Spice, I mean Victoria Beckham.

Anyway that basically describes Miss Chairmont. 

At 9 pm on Saturday Miss Chairmont was driving home, in the BMW that her rich old man bought for her, from partying all day and was obliterated. Whoever let this woman drive home from wherever she was should be shot. Miss Chairmont was coming around the circle at a very high rate of speed and instead of turning with the road, continued straight on into a tree. The security guards at the scene, in my opinion, saved her life because they got in the car with her and propped up her head. If they hadnt done that then she would have died from not being able to breathe. When the guards tried to talk to her she was incoherent and told them to "Shut off that noise!", whatever that means. The ambulance came and took her to the hospital, but then it turns out that a few hours later she just got up and walked out because she didnt have any insurance.

Miss Chairmont has been involved in a few other controversies. A few months ago at the Season Opening Gala, Kevin Gray actually witnessed her arguing with her rich old man and then saw her bitch slap him across the face. They proceeded outside where the rich old man was seen putting a choke hold on her. Mr. Gray then interrupted them and asked if they needed security, which they said they didn't and then acted like nothing ever happened. It also turns out that Miss Chairmont is not a US citizen and is, in fact Canadian. Personally I don't normally think of Canada as a land of gold diggers, but apparently they come from everywhere. Perhaps the reason why she fled the hospital was also because she is here illegally.

In any case, please dont drink and drive or you too will end up gurgling unintelligibly with a mouth full of blood just like Miss Chairmont.


January 5, 2006 - New Year's Shenanigans

Just a quick little addition here to yesterday's post before I get on to a bigger and better story that happened today (which will take me a while to write, so bear with me here).

I mentioned to a few people, some co workers and residents, about Pinky Flyby's new business venture with the dogs and every person had the same response. It seems that Pinky has made a lot of enemies and is a real bitch. On wheels. (Sorry, I couldn't pass that one up.) I still stick with my opinions from yesterday though. I would probably be a bitch if I were her too. But nobody seems to like this woman and no one's opinion seems softened by her wheelchair bound state, which means that she has to be a real nightmare, because normally people are hesitant to say mean things about the handicapped.

Apparently Pinky's dog sitting service is not her only business. She is also a real estate agent, albeit not a very successful one. I imagine she can only show one story houses, and she cant drive people around like most real estate agents do. I'm sure she makes people enormously uncomfortable as well. I can totally empathize, you know, you don't want to make a big deal out of the chair and her drooling, and you want to act like its all perfectly normal, but it isn't, so acting like its all perfectly normal is awkward too, because everyone involved knows perfectly well that it isnt and everyone is falsely trying to act like it is anyway. Then you try not to look at the wheelchair and the drool too much, but then you realize that its obvious that you are purposely not looking, so you look, and then you feel like you're staring. The whole thing is terrible, especially if you're trying to buy a house, and that's why Pinky hasn't done so well in real estate sales.

Last year Pinky caused a war with a fellow resident because her house looks out over a lake and she can see the back of some of the houses in The Marble Arch. She was offended that one of the homes across the lake had an overly visibly grill right in the way of her view, and that the same home had hedges that were cut too short to properly conceal the air conditioning unit. She turned the poor guy in for all kinds of violations that she could find and caused a heap of aggravation for him. In return he ended up not really getting penalized for his grill or too tall AC, but he went through a lot of unnecessary red tape. Pinky was pissed that he didn't get in more trouble and in retaliation she decided to ruin his view by having a massive mural of a fish painted on the backside of her house for him to look across the lake at. He turned her in for this violation and she did get in trouble and had to paint over it and she has been mad ever since. See how petty these people are? I swear. Now let me get back to the long and involved story of the psychosis which defines The Marble Arch, where I visited today on a little field trip, which I confess was not entirely necessary, but I went anyway to gather writing material.

In other news...

I am finally just getting all the good dirt from New Years Eve in Wide Lawns. I admit, I was a little busy these past few days and I didn't have time to actively collect all the stories and write them down for you. But now I have, and after having lunch out with my friend Jenny in the Clubhouse, I got some more.

Wide Lawns went wild for New Years Eve. There were accidents, arrests and illicit sex acts. It was a regular red light district in here last weekend, and I missed it all, sitting home watching Dick Clark slur his words and make out with his wife (eww) while sipping pink champagne.

Last Saturday, before the clock struck midnight, the men in white coats were here to cart off Ms. Samantha Skrank, a recent divorcee, and long time lunatic who lives in a townhouse with her two children in St. James Park. A little background information on Ms. Skrank reveals that she has battled a lengthy eating disorder which gives her the BMI of a cornish hen, and that she assists her anorexia along with a generous helping of cocaine. She ate so little and did so much cocaine in fact that she was rendered infertile and had the children, back when she was married, with the help of a surrogate mother. Then she got divorced and had to move to a town house, while her husband moved far far away, unlike most of the Wide Lawns exes who choose to stay. While Samantha Skrank doesn't have an ex-husband in Wide Lawns to torment her, she does have a whack job of a brother and a truly evil sister in law to create drama and turmoil in his place. Storm Skrank and his wife Cyka don't get along with Samantha and love to find ways to mess with her already delicate head. Apparently they were finally able to drive her over the edge, which I imagine wasn't so difficult.

Storm and Cyka Skrank live in a sprawling mansion in our second fanciest subdivision, Exeter Commons. Storm owns a company which sells "nutritional" supplements - things like herbal Viagra, and "natural" body building aids or weight loss tablets. Its one of those shady companies you get a lot of spam from. Mr. Skrank is about 5 foot five in Nikes and never wears anything except over sized tank tops. He is spray tanned and has a bouffant of black hair that would rival a rabid cockatiel. Cyka Skrank isnt much different. She has a poodle mane of frosted curls and loves mascara. The best thing about her though is her habit of not ever wearing any undergarments whatsoever, and a bad, not so recent boob job has calcified her breasts into a state of eternal nipple erection. She also, like her husband, is never seen without gym attire and loves very small, skin tight leggings, which give her a massive and frightening camel toe situation that she actually seems to enjoy showing off ( note to Mrs. Skrank - no one likes looking at your crotch cleavage). Of course Mr. and Mrs. Skrank have procreated and have two rather unfortunately named children - Rock and Brick. God help them. I have often wondered if the four year old twins were named after each of their mother's breasts.

But back to poor Samantha. On New Years Eve, something happened between the Skrank siblings which caused Samantha to go off the deep end. No one can seem to find out exactly what it was, but it drove Samantha to a suicide attempt which resulted in her being led away, handcuffed and strapped down to a gurney and subsequently Baker Acted ( a 48 hr involuntary institutionalization).

Today Samantha got out and came home and called the HOA crying hysterically. She wanted to know how many times the police came to her house in the past month. We keep records of these sorts of things, if only to gossip about, and we knew that had only been this once. She began to cry more saying that her brother is lying to her and saying the police had been out to her home 7 times in the past month, but since she is insane and on drugs she cant remember it. We assured her it was only once and she began to choke and sob wondering why her brother would lie to her and make her think she is more crazy than she already knows she is. I wonder why too, but obviously the entire family is nuts and one cant apply any sort of logical reasoning to the things these people do. Samantha then told us that she was going through menopause and her hormones had gone awry and made her lose her mind. We advised counseling and stronger medication. She promised to look into it.

Next on our insanity agenda for New Years Eve were the Fishygills in Plymouth who threw a blow-out of a New Years Eve party, blow being a key word. These Wide Lawns people do love the cocaine. I swear to God there are a lot of Colombians driving around in Bentleys solely because of this country club. The Fishygills went all out and were partying like it was 1999, which ired their cranky elderly neighbors, who called the police for the noise. They turned down the music, waited til the police left, and then turned it back up. The police returned. Mr. Carl Fishygill, a not as quite as hip as he thinks he is 30-something with a trust fund, tried to charm the tight blue pants off of a similarly aged, African American female officer who was short on patience that night and not amused by his lame attempts at reasoning with her in his embarrassing, Caucasian version of Ebonics. I imagine he said something along the lines of "Come on girlfriend, you needs to just let us get our party on in the crib here. You want a gin and juice or somethin' baby?" Well, naturally this offended the officer who got really mad when he tried to touch her arm and responded with a "NO YOU JUST DITIN TOUCH MY ARM, RICH WHITE MAN!" This act gave the officer a valid reason to claim she felt threatened so she could arrest Mr. Fishygill and take him into custody. This is where the story just gets stupid.

Other party guests present at the scene report hearing the other officer, a male of undisclosed race, say "These rich white people think they can just do whatever they want, we need to teach them a lesson." Now there could be some merit to the story because I know we employees do think and say similar, if not exact, things every day, but we have enough sense not to say them TO the residents. I cant believe that an officer of the law would be that dumb, but you never know. It annoys me so much that whenever rich white people get into trouble doing some idiotic crap they shouldn't be doing that they always then throw out the reverse discrimination card, saying that all those not rich and/ or white are just jealous and have it out for them.

Lets just get one thing straight right now rich, white people. We don't hate you because you are wealthy and privileged and have nicer things we do and don't have to work. We hate you because you are arrogant, self centered, ignorant, wasteful morons with a disgusting sense of entitlement and a complete lack of respect for your fellow human beings. In other words, we don't hate you for your BMWs. We hate you because you are assholes. That said, Mr. Fishygill rang in the New Year in a holding cell, where I'm sure he quickly gave up his pathetic Snoop Dogg imitation.

Next we have my favorite story from the first hours of 2006. What a way start the New Year. Mr. Jack Hornberg and his girlfriend Sadie Puttanesca are pretty new in their relationship. They are still in that stage where things are fresh and exciting and they have sex constantly. Jack Hornberg has lived in Wide Lawns for a few years, since his parents bought him the home and paid the club dues for him. Jack is in his early 30s and has been trying to pass the Florida Bar exam for a few years now. He met Sadie on Jdate, although she is actually half Italian. She went on Jdate, an online Jewish dating service, because she heard that Jewish men were all rich. Jack agreed to date her because she was hot and had big boobs and he thought Italian girls were all good cooks. All seems to be going well in their relationship.

Last Saturday night, Sadie and Jack were speeding home, both probably too drunk to be driving, in Jack's Escalade. Once they entered Wide Lawns and headed back to Jack's house, one of them got the brilliant idea to really kick things up a notch in the booty department, by having sex in a moving vehicle. This is a move that can get you a quick Darwin Award here, which Jack and Sadie nearly did, so please don't try this genius idea in your own car. They both stripped down until they were stark naked (another note here, if you want to do it in the car, moving or not, leave as much of your clothing on as possible, okay?). Sadie jumped on top of Jack facing him, as he continued to drive. They got so excited that when Jack came to the end of Wide Lawns Blvd, he did not turn, as he should have, onto Wide Lawns Circle, and drove straight through the dead end and into Wide Lawns Lake, which is huge, cold, filled with weeds, alligators, duck crap and golf balls. It is no warm, clear spring. The Escalade quickly began to fill with water and Sadie and Jack could not get themselves untangled from one another. Luckily our security guards had a vehicle parked at the edge of the Circle watching out for New Years Eve drunk drivers. The guard called for back up and dove into the water, breaking out the trucks windows. Another guard dove in too, and together they pulled the naked, shivering and deeply mortified couple from the soggy vehicle and took them home, where they probably sobered up very fast. The next day the SUV had to be dredged out of the bottom of the lake.

This afternoon, I am pleased to tell you that Sadie and Jack repaid the heroes who saved their lives by sheepishly treating the entire guard staff to deli platters from the local grocery store.

And that, my friends, is how Wide Lawns welcomed 2006. If this New Years was any indication of the year to come, I think we will be in for some great future posts.
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New Years 2006 - The Wheelchair Dogsled
February 27, 2015

Well Happy New Year everyone. After a nice extra long 3 1/2 day weekend I arrive to another good divorce story.

A few years ago the Flybys were just like any other normal Wide Lawns couple. They were in their 40s, happy, active, athletic, rich and white. They lived together in an opulent home in Caledonia; a home set up on a little man made hill with a wide, circular driveway and immaculate landscaping. Pinky Flyby, the wife, kept horses just outside of Wide Lawns, and her husband Herbie loved to play tennis. All was perfect for a long time until poor Pinky suffered a terrible accident, a la Christopher Reeve, and took a nasty fall from her horse. Pinky became a quadriplegic. Because this was obviously a horrible tragedy, Herbie Flyby had to at least act like a decent human being and take care of his wife for a few months. He then became bored and wished to get back to his old life of tennis, jogging and martinis at the clubhouse, so when he thought enough time had passed that people wouldn't think he was a complete jerk and instead just kind of a jerk, he hired a nurse to care for Pinky so he could resume his lifestyle. The problem is that he hired a very hot, young nurse to care for her.

It took more than a year, (so I guess we are supposed to give Herbie some credit for sticking it out for two years, but it is my personal opinion that he only held out that long so that people wouldn't be quite as horrified as they were already), for Herbie to pack it up and run off with the nurse. Sadly though, like all the Wide Lawns exes, he didn't run very far. He and the nurse now reside in Islington, which is the Wide Lawn equivalent of exile. Poor Pinky Flyby, without the use of her arms or legs was left all alone to fend for herself in the big opulent house, on the now regrettable man made hill, with the very regrettable elaborate winding staircases, both of which are very precarious to navigate in a wheelchair. Herbie Flyby allowed Pinky to stay in the house, as long as they could sell it as part of the divorce settlement and split the profits. Pinky has no use for homes on hills or winding staircases now and needs a smaller abode, however, she does need the money and we can hope that she is getting a massive settlement and that the split is more in her favor than his, but I don't know the details on that. So the house in Caledonia Park is for sale and Pinky has a new nurse, and it seems, a new job as well. She is boarding dogs in the massive home they have up for sale.

Herbie called the HOA to issue a complaint about his immobile ex wife, saying that she is running a business out of her home, something that is strictly forbidden in Wide Lawns. We couldn't imagine what kind of business a quadriplegic could be running, and that's when he told us that Pinky, who had always loved animals, was using all that space in the house to keep dogs for people who were traveling. Instantly my mind generated an unusual image. How does she feed them all, I wondered. So we asked. The nurse feeds them. So then how does she walk them, we inquired, thinking that Herbie had to be the meanest man alive, first to run off with his paralyzed wife's nurse, and next to start trouble and file complaints against the poor soul who is just trying to make a living and entertain herself with some canine companionship since she no longer has a spouse and her friends have all forgotten her in favor of people who could actually go to the bathroom without help. Sure she had a a lot of friends when the accident was fresh. They couldn't all abandon her right away because that would look disgusting and uncharitable, but it was just so uncomfortable for them all to see poor Pinky that way. It was hard to look at her and they just didn't know what to say. So eventually, when a reasonable amount of time had passed so that they didn't all look selfish and politically incorrect abandoning their crippled friend, they went ahead and abandoned her and met up with Herbie for martinis at the clubhouse. You can't blame Pinky for wanting the unconditional positive regard of dogs, even if, if Herbie is to be believed, she has at least 20 of them running around her mansion at any given time.

Herbie Flyby went on to explain to us that Pinky is even walking the dogs, or wheeling them might be a more apt term. Since Pinky does not have use of her hands, I couldn't exactly picture this either, but apparently the nurse attaches the leashes of several dogs to Pinky's chair and the dogs then pull the chair all up and down Wide Lawns with the nurse in tow to make sure nothing goes terribly awry, as it definitely could with five or six dogs of various breeds and sizes pulling a quadriplegic around a million dollar country club subdivision. The whole thing sounds like a twisted, snowless version of a dogsled, and as bizarre as this truly must be, it is my belief that if a person has to be a quadriplegic, and then has the even worse luck to have her husband run three streets away with her very own nurse, then daggonit, if she wants a wheelchair dogsled, she should damn straight be allowed to have one and an ice cream cone too.

Herbie Flyby disagrees with me. Why you ask? It would be simple enough to say that he is the meanest and most selfish person in Basura, but that would not explain his motivation. He doesn't want Pinky messing up the house with slobbering, chewing, growling, Frito smelling dogs because then its resale value would decline or no one would want the house and it would be difficult to sell, and he wants it sold fast.

Mr. Flyby has asked us, the HOA, to intervene on his behalf and to stop Pinky's dog sitting service. I dont think I will do a damned thing. Too bad I don't have any dogs to board, because Pinky Flyby would be the first person I would call.


New Years 2006 - The Wheelchair Dogsled

Well Happy New Year everyone. After a nice extra long 3 1/2 day weekend I arrive to another good divorce story.

A few years ago the Flybys were just like any other normal Wide Lawns couple. They were in their 40s, happy, active, athletic, rich and white. They lived together in an opulent home in Caledonia; a home set up on a little man made hill with a wide, circular driveway and immaculate landscaping. Pinky Flyby, the wife, kept horses just outside of Wide Lawns, and her husband Herbie loved to play tennis. All was perfect for a long time until poor Pinky suffered a terrible accident, a la Christopher Reeve, and took a nasty fall from her horse. Pinky became a quadriplegic. Because this was obviously a horrible tragedy, Herbie Flyby had to at least act like a decent human being and take care of his wife for a few months. He then became bored and wished to get back to his old life of tennis, jogging and martinis at the clubhouse, so when he thought enough time had passed that people wouldn't think he was a complete jerk and instead just kind of a jerk, he hired a nurse to care for Pinky so he could resume his lifestyle. The problem is that he hired a very hot, young nurse to care for her.

It took more than a year, (so I guess we are supposed to give Herbie some credit for sticking it out for two years, but it is my personal opinion that he only held out that long so that people wouldn't be quite as horrified as they were already), for Herbie to pack it up and run off with the nurse. Sadly though, like all the Wide Lawns exes, he didn't run very far. He and the nurse now reside in Islington, which is the Wide Lawn equivalent of exile. Poor Pinky Flyby, without the use of her arms or legs was left all alone to fend for herself in the big opulent house, on the now regrettable man made hill, with the very regrettable elaborate winding staircases, both of which are very precarious to navigate in a wheelchair. Herbie Flyby allowed Pinky to stay in the house, as long as they could sell it as part of the divorce settlement and split the profits. Pinky has no use for homes on hills or winding staircases now and needs a smaller abode, however, she does need the money and we can hope that she is getting a massive settlement and that the split is more in her favor than his, but I don't know the details on that. So the house in Caledonia Park is for sale and Pinky has a new nurse, and it seems, a new job as well. She is boarding dogs in the massive home they have up for sale.

Herbie called the HOA to issue a complaint about his immobile ex wife, saying that she is running a business out of her home, something that is strictly forbidden in Wide Lawns. We couldn't imagine what kind of business a quadriplegic could be running, and that's when he told us that Pinky, who had always loved animals, was using all that space in the house to keep dogs for people who were traveling. Instantly my mind generated an unusual image. How does she feed them all, I wondered. So we asked. The nurse feeds them. So then how does she walk them, we inquired, thinking that Herbie had to be the meanest man alive, first to run off with his paralyzed wife's nurse, and next to start trouble and file complaints against the poor soul who is just trying to make a living and entertain herself with some canine companionship since she no longer has a spouse and her friends have all forgotten her in favor of people who could actually go to the bathroom without help. Sure she had a a lot of friends when the accident was fresh. They couldn't all abandon her right away because that would look disgusting and uncharitable, but it was just so uncomfortable for them all to see poor Pinky that way. It was hard to look at her and they just didn't know what to say. So eventually, when a reasonable amount of time had passed so that they didn't all look selfish and politically incorrect abandoning their crippled friend, they went ahead and abandoned her and met up with Herbie for martinis at the clubhouse. You can't blame Pinky for wanting the unconditional positive regard of dogs, even if, if Herbie is to be believed, she has at least 20 of them running around her mansion at any given time.

Herbie Flyby went on to explain to us that Pinky is even walking the dogs, or wheeling them might be a more apt term. Since Pinky does not have use of her hands, I couldn't exactly picture this either, but apparently the nurse attaches the leashes of several dogs to Pinky's chair and the dogs then pull the chair all up and down Wide Lawns with the nurse in tow to make sure nothing goes terribly awry, as it definitely could with five or six dogs of various breeds and sizes pulling a quadriplegic around a million dollar country club subdivision. The whole thing sounds like a twisted, snowless version of a dogsled, and as bizarre as this truly must be, it is my belief that if a person has to be a quadriplegic, and then has the even worse luck to have her husband run three streets away with her very own nurse, then daggonit, if she wants a wheelchair dogsled, she should damn straight be allowed to have one and an ice cream cone too.

Herbie Flyby disagrees with me. Why you ask? It would be simple enough to say that he is the meanest and most selfish person in Basura, but that would not explain his motivation. He doesn't want Pinky messing up the house with slobbering, chewing, growling, Frito smelling dogs because then its resale value would decline or no one would want the house and it would be difficult to sell, and he wants it sold fast.

Mr. Flyby has asked us, the HOA, to intervene on his behalf and to stop Pinky's dog sitting service. I dont think I will do a damned thing. Too bad I don't have any dogs to board, because Pinky Flyby would be the first person I would call.


Mid-December 2005 - Card Thieves and Dirty Laundry

Card Thieves

So it seems our crime spree continues. Now they are stealing the outgoing mail out of mailboxes in the middle of the night. Again, its the neighborhood's rotten and vile kids. People place mail in the boxes (holiday cards and the like) and then put the flag up and go to bed. Then the vile kids come by and steal the mail, presuming that a good percentage of the holiday mail may contain cash. I would be willing to bet though that most of it actually doesn't contain any cash, and some might even have checks inside, which are useless to thieves who cant cash them, so its seems a great risk and tremendous inconvenience for very little actual payoff. And plus its just mean and now there are a lot of people who wont get a card or a picture of their grandkids or their nieces and nephews because someone thought maybe there was a twenty in the card. It's truly horrible.

There is an added element of maliciousness involved here too because if the thieves wanted to be more stealth and discreet about their crimes they would just close the mailbox and then the people would think the mailman took the mail and it was en route to its final destination. But no, these kids leave the mailbox open and the flag up still so the people wake up and definitely know that someone stole their cards. What jerks.

The Shrimp Prince, being a minor, was let out of jail again and so I figure it's probably him and his lot of thug middle schoolers again.

Dirty Laundry

At any given point there are always a few good, bloody divorces going on in Wide Lawns, and this holiday season is no different. For the past few months the Worstles have been going through a bitter dispute which provides us with excellent incident reports every few weeks. The Worstles split up over the summer. Mr. Worstle, who is fat and bald and nebbishy somehow got a new girlfriend and moved her in, right after he kicked out Mrs. Worstle, who decided, like many jilted wives in here, to remain in Wide Lawns.

I cant figure out why these couples who break up decide to live on as neighbors. I think they like the drama. That's the only logic I can come up with. This way, they can run into one another at the Clubhouse, in the dining room, in the fitness center and at the front gate. These run ins give them numerous oportunities to spy on their ex spouses and their new significant others, and to cause scenes in public and entertain all the other club members and we, the bored employees. It is beneficial to everyone involved.

Mrs. Worstle responded to her break-up by going on the Atkins diet and losing a ton of weight so she is significantly less frumpy than she was before, although she is still not exactly what one would call hot. She then went out and got a younger periodontist to be her boyfriend and so she would have someone to flaunt around with at the Clubhouse herself. He also does a very good job at confronting and starting fights with Mr. Worstle when he sees him.

The sad thing is that the Worstles have kids. The kids remained with their mom, but go over to their dad's house quite often, but strongly dislike their new stepmom. Apparently Mr. Worstle married his girlfriend and now there are two Mrs. Worstles. Old Mrs. Worstle and New Mrs. Worstle.

Over the summer Old Mrs. Worstle coincidentally passed by Mr. Worstles house and saw him and New Mrs. Worstle in their SUV in the driveway getting ready to go somewhere. Old Mrs. Worstle got out of her car and asked Mr. Worstle if he could pick the kids up at school For some reason his answer was no and this made Old Mrs. Worstle mad. A spat ensued and somehow Old Mrs. Worstle blamed New Mrs. Worstle for Mr. Worstle's not being able to pick up the kids at school. Old Mrs. Worstle was in Mr. Worstle's driveway on foot and Mr. Worstle was in the SUV. He then tried to pull out and somehow caught Old Mrs. Worstle's tee shirt sleeve on the sideview mirror of the SUV and dragged her down the driveway. She then fell down and Mr. Worstle backed over her leaving a large black and very distinct tire print on her shirt. Luckily, due to the fact that at that time Mrs. Worstle had not yet made very much progress on the Atkins diet, she was still fat and had a lot of padding over her organs, and thus, being run over by an SUV did not actually hurt her at all. She did, however, freak out (understandably) and called Basura PD who came and chalked it all up to an accident. Mr. Worstle swears he did not mean to back over Old Mrs. Worstle, but I beg to differ. He seems exactly the type to do such a thing and I think he was disappointed that all he did was ruin her tee shirt.

This weekend I received this report:

At 1637 hours, security arrived at the scene and met with the resident Mrs. Worstle who stated that she left her home at 8am this morning and and returned at 8:30 to find a bag of dirty laundry on her front step. Her son Ira stated that his stepmother Kathy would not do his laundry for him. Mrs. Worstle took the laundry back to her ex husbands home and left it on his front door. At 4:30 pm when she returned from taking Ira to his tennis lesson she found the dirty laundry scattered all over her front yard and driveway. Mrs. Worstle called Basura PD to make a report of this incident. Basura PD arrived at the scene and collected the clothing and returned them to Mr. Worstle who did not want them. Basura PD then returned the clothes back to Mrs. Worstle, who took them back.

Talk about airing your dirty laundry.



December 9-11, 2005 Paranoia Will Destroy Ya

DANGER!!!!!

The Wide Lawns folks never cease to amaze me with the levels of paranoia to which they regularly succumb. I dont know how people live this way, but this is one of my favorite stories here lately.

Suddenly after the Hurricane we began receiving numerous calls regarding some graffiti which seemed to spring up all over the neighborhood. This was puzzling, as our rotten Wide Lawns children had never before done something so ghetto, at least not in here. Their usual weapon of choice is more along the lines of toilet paper and old eggs. Eggs were so popular for a while that one hysterical resident even suggested with utter seriousness that we install a security camera in the Publix dairy case to see who was buying eggs. Publix was not cooperative with this plan.

We couldnt figure out what the residents were talking about. Whenever we get a complaint like this we have to go drive out in person to check it out, but we never saw any graffiti, yet the calls kept coming. People were getting angrier and angrier about this supposed graffiti problem. One man who was abolsutely incensed came into the HOA trailer, after playing tennis, literally dripping sweat all over the place (eww) , and scarlet with rage to scream at us for not taking care of the problem, saying that Wide Lawns now looked like the New York City Subway. We had no idea what this man was talking about. We still saw no graffiti anywhere.

It got to the point where I wanted to go tag something myself just to see some actual graffiti. The other day we received another irate phone call from an individual who claimed she was calling on behalf of her subdivision and this had to stop. She claims that there was a gang war going on in Wide Lawns between rival gangs, a gang called "Danger", and a gang menacingly titled simply "X" and that they were running amok in Wide Lawns spray painting everything in a garish orange. Hmmmm, I thought, and asked her where she was seeing these tags.

"Oh, they're everywhere!" she replied. "They're all over the trees and electrical boxes."

Supressing my mounting hysterical laughter, I assured her that this would be taken care of and hung up as quickly as possible to avoid peeing in my pants from how absurd this truly was.

The graffiti mystery had finally been solved.

You see, after the hurricane we had a lot of damage in this lovely community. Florida Power and Light had to come by and assess the situation in regard to their power lines, electrical boxes and transformers. Some of our trees were beyond repair, though still standing, and had become a hazard to power lines. These trees were marked with large, spray painted, orange X's, meaning that when the extremely backed up tree cutters were able to get in here in the next few months to remove the trees, then they would know exactly which ones were marked for execution.

Secondly many of the electrical boxes in the community were also damaged and contained exposed wires and other perilous things. In order to keep the jackholes who live in here from killing themselves by messing with, sitting on, or otherwise going near the electrical boxes these too were marked with a big orange "DANGER!!".

Apparently FPL overestimated the intelligence and good sense of those who live within these gates.

And Speaking of Paranoia...

I just learned that the Joneses are moving out of Wide Lawns.

This is kind of sad actually, because the Joneses have provided us with years worth of entertainment and now we will no longer have them around to do really weird things that we in the office can laugh about and ponder.

The Joneses are old. Really old. Like a hundred. They are so old that perhaps it is evil of me to even write about them in a humorous way, except that they are genuinely funny and I have never been known for my political correctness, so why start now, right? The most interesting thing about the Joneses is that they share the same dementia and the exact same delusions, which then reinforces the illusion as completely and utterly real to them. I have never heard of two people having the exact same hallucinations, but they do.

The Joneses have loads of money and one daughter who is a dentist or something and lives very far away. We have, in the past, tried to talk to her about her parents, but she had no interest in what they were doing, which leads me to believe that they were always as crazy as they are now and she just wants no part of it. I could hardly blame her, and so we don't bother her anymore and we all indulge the Joneses in their hyperbolic degrees of paranoia and their raving lunacy because there is just no reasoning with them.

A few years ago the Joneses began reporting that their home was being broken into on a regular basis and odds and ends were missing, though nothing of any real value. They fired their maid and then insisted the home was still being robbed. The thieves were rearranging Mrs. Jones's dollhouse furniture (not taking it, just rearranging it) and they were stealing clothes hangers. Now I cant imagine what sort of thieves would do such a thing. I can just see them now -

"No Leonard, I think the tiny couch should go there, not in the sitting room, but in the miniature den!!"

"Curtis, lets really screw with her head and put the little fake plastic pie on the teeny weeny doll bed instead of in the kitchen!"

And then I guess after they get tired moving around minuscule furniture they decide on the way out they are running low on hangers. The two things - redecorating doll houses, and hanging shirts - naturally are two actions which go together. The Joneses refused to see the absurdity of this and insisted that it was happening, although there were never any signs of forced entry, except in the dollhouse. They decided to have the locks changed. Every week.

My co-worker Stacey's husband was the lucky locksmith who got to perform the weekly changing of all the locks in the house, and I mean all the locks, doors, windows and everything. Every week. The Joneses urgently insisted the house was being robbed. They blamed the neighborhood, they blamed security, and they blamed every housekeeper they had ever had. We kept trying to tell them that nothing was happening and they became frustrated and belligerent and threatened to sue Wide Lawns for their suffering which they believed was caused by our lack of security. Guards patrolled the home several times a day and of course no one ever saw anything. The Joneses were getting frantic because still, with all the padlocks and deadbolts and alarms someone was still taking hangers and moving the dollhouse furniture. They were petrified because these things were happening and they hadn't even left the house. The thieves were coming in while they were home!! They then had security cameras installed all over their property, but somehow the thieves were still smarter.

The Joneses hired an attorney who called us to try to make sense of the situation. He said he thought they were nuts and we confirmed his suspicions. He told us that the Joneses had hired a private investigator to follow around the old housekeeper Josefina Matilda Corerro de la Santa Maria and to presumably catch her in the act of breaking into their house and moving things and taking hangers, however when the P.I. tried to do his job he discovered that Josefina Matilda Corerro de la Santa Maria was long dead. The attorney said he would try to reason with them.

The Joneses then decided to pay a very nice and resourceful Brazilian man named Rodrigo to sit in his car in their driveway all night long to keep watch over them. Sometimes Rodrigo comes into the HOA to visit us, as he house-sits and does odd jobs for a lot of people in Wide Lawns. He told us at first he felt guilty taking their money, because obviously they were insane and no one was breaking into the house, but he then realized that if he refused to do it they would just hire someone else and he figured he needed the money after all, so he just sleeps in the car and they never know the difference.

But even Rodrigo could not stop these crafty thieves. The Joneses called the locksmith again and asked that he seal the entire house closed so that the front door and all of the windows could not be opened. I don't know how they thought they themselves were going to get in and out, and perhaps they hadn't considered this. In their mania to keep others from getting in, it seemed that they were willing to not be able to get out. Luckily the locksmith refused and luckily the other 23 locksmiths in town who they had also called refused too. They threatened to sue every one of them, but all the attorneys they called refused to represent them.

The Joneses now feel that the entire world is against them in one grand conspiracy to threaten their safety and their sanity. We are all breaking into their home and moving the dollhouse furniture and stealing their clothes hangers, all of us, from the HOA employees, to the security guards to the 24 locksmiths and 36 attorneys. Wide Lawns is a scary and terrible neighborhood where two old people cannot live in peace hanging up their clothes and decorating their dollhouses as they please, and so they are moving next week.



December 7th, 2005 - I Return After a Long Hiatus

You'll notice that I didn't write for almost a month without explanation. Almost ten years later, I'm ready to to tell you why. I got married! Wow, I can't believe my tenth anniversary is coming up this fall. That's crazy. We had Thanksgiving week off at the HOA, which was perfect because I got married Thanksgiving weekend. I actually went back to work for a couple of days after the wedding because we didn't want to leave from the wedding and go straight on our honeymoon. After that, I took a few vacation days and my new husband and I headed down to Jamaica to relax for an extra long weekend, which was amazing. The flight to Jamaica from here is only about an hour and it was really neat to see how they get ready for Christmas on the island. We had an incredible time there and by December 7th, I was ready to get back to work and see what had transpired while I was away.

Here is what I wrote that day!

After a two week hiatus (actually one week doing Thanksgiving and another sunning in the crystal waters of Jamaica) the author of Wide Lawns and Narrow Minds has, thankfully, returned to work again, ready to document the sordid and bizarre activities of the country club lifestyle.

My first day back at the HOA was Monday. I expected to come in to all sorts of scandalous tales, but alas, little had actually happened during my absence.

The Shrimp Prince was arrested AGAIN, but really this is old hat by now and we all just expect it. Seems his dad, the King, had bailed him out only to have him steal yet another car and be pulled over while driving it. Idiot.

HOA Master Board elections are ongoing, but wont be finished until January and nothing all that exciting is happening with that anyway. We just hope Nolan Goldrich doesn't beat out Rob Kayt for President, or we're all quitting.

This morning I found myself having to poo at work. As promised a month or so ago, I will now write a post about poo.

Pooing at work is a difficult and troubling thing. We are still in the trailer and the bathroom is small and in the middle of the trailer. There is no privacy in there at all. There are at least five people in the trailer at any given time and with so little privacy you may as well just take a crap in the middle of the floor. To make matters entirely worse we recently had a freak power surge that not only destroyed our computers, but also blew up the light socket in the bathroom. We cannot work without our computers, so those were immediately fixed, but the lack of light in the bathroom was not viewed as a major crisis, alas, and our employers suppose that what with the hurricanes and all that we are just used to peeing in the dark and don't mind it a bit, and therefore no one is in any hurry to send a maintenance man to restore light in the bathroom.

When confronted with having to poo at work we used to go run over to the new building that is under construction and go in there, but it became overrun with construction workers, dirty and eventually unsafe and out of order. That was a sad day. Then we decided to go over to the fancy clubhouse. This too presents a problem. You may recall that I mentioned that the admin offices over there only have one unisex bathroom which is in the copy room, which is always crowded. Therefore if you are going to use that then you should have just stayed in the trailer. We have to sneak into the swanky resident's bathroom - The Ladies Cardroom Powder Room. It is so big and gorgeous that you could live in there. Its like the Ritz Carlton. Each stall is its own little room with walls all the way down connected to the floor and a full door. Its completely private. You can go in there and do your thing and no one would ever know. It is bathroom heaven. And get this, they don't even have paper towels. They have real terry cloth towels, little cushioned benches, marble, flowers, nice smelling soaps and mouthwash. I love it. I could spend hours in there. Except, I'm not allowed. Going to poo in The Ladies Cardroom Powder Room is strictly forbidden and if I were caught in there I would get a fierce talking to by someone. Residents would complain if they recognized me. This doesn't necessarily stop me. I think I enjoy the risk I take and normally no one is ever in there anyway. The danger is if one of the bosses or nosy residents sees me coming out the door and wants to know what I was doing in there. It's happened a couple times. Now, before I go out I usually crack the door and make sure the coast is clear. If Kevin Gray saw me in there I shudder to think what would happen, especially since he is now at war with the HOA and doesn't want us over in the Clubhouse at all. A few times I actually got stuck in my stall after going in there to an empty bathroom, settling down to do what had to be done and then all of a sudden finding that a bridge game just got through and fifteen eighty year old women all had to pee and reapply their hot pink lipstick at the same time. When this happens I have to be really quiet and stay put for as long as it takes for them to clear out. If I were to emerge and be seen I would be in a heap of trouble. The Card Room Ladies are among the most vicious predators in all of Wide Lawns. They would start a petition to have me fired for contaminating their bathroom with my low class proletariat germs.

Today I really had to go, and the trailer was just not an option. It was crowded in here and as I mentioned, the trailer bathroom is still without light. Usually we are without water too, and we only ever have cold water if we have water at all and it has no water pressure. We have to wash our dishes in there which takes an eternity, as you can well imagine. I went over to the clubhouse and was met with not the usual 15 Card Room Ladies, but a terrifying mass of over 200 of them!! It was the strangest thing I have ever seen because they all looked exactly the same. There was some kind of bridge tournament going on and they had turned out in force for the event.

It looked as if these women had been churned out of some Card Room Lady Clone Machine. I have never seen so many tweed, Chanel suits and strings of pearls in my life, and they all had the same pinched expressions and blown out, thoroughly shellacked, extremely rounded, bobbed hair-dos which would not budge in even a Category 5 Hurricane.

Naturally I could not use the bathroom.

I checked the new building but some men were in there laying tile and the bathroom was still out of order. I had to go in the trailer. In the dark. With seven people having what amounted to a small party in my pseudo office space. Now this was an emergency. There really was no other option and believe me, I even considered driving off property, but my bosses were in my trailer and surely would have questioned why I was leaving in the middle of the day and where I was going. I had to poo bad. It was the kind of having to poo that makes you break out into a cold sweat. I could not have waited the 3 hours til the end of the day plus the hour commute home in traffic to make it to the safety of my home bathroom.

I went in the dark bathroom and decided to create a distraction. I began to make a lot of noise in there, kicking things around, making it sound like I was doing anything in there other than what I was actually doing, since I am perfect and not actually a real human being, and of course I never poo and if I were to poo, which I wouldn't, it would not ever smell. I went quickly. I flushed a lot and when I emerged, hugely relieved, I notified everyone that was I was doing in there was cleaning the bathroom. I was definitely not going to the bathroom. God Forbid.

I think they believed me.



Weekend Crime Spree! November 7, 2005

It appears as though we have had a bit of a small crime spree at Wide Lawns over the weekend. In my hands right now I have 5 incident reports that detail, quite amusingly, what happened.

The first report was made by a Mrs. Roberta Pike who has on previous occasions called me 15 times in one day for the same thing. When I told her that we had already added so and so to her guest list she informed me that she has no short term memory due to some sort of injury and that she can't remember much of what happens in her present. Perhaps this is the reason she left her keys in her car, sitting unlocked in her driveway. The incident report states that Mrs. Pike went out Sunday morning to get "beagles". I presume the guard meant "bagels" but we can never be sure. Maybe Mrs. Pike wanted some new dogs. When she went to get in the car to get the "beagles" the car wasn't there.

The next three incident reports are much of the same thing. Three other individuals left their keys in their cars, unlocked in their driveways and the cars were stolen in the middle of the night. In one case there was a Mercedes unlocked next to an Odyssey. The keys to the Odyssey were in the Mercedes, so they stole the Odyssey. They also took a Navigator. In all 4 cars were stolen. In the fifth robbery, the thieves did not take the entire car, but stole the $2,000.00 Chloe purse which contained a $400.00 Prada wallet, filled with $250.00, a few tampons, an old lipstick, some mints that had come unwrapped, a coke straw, four pennies and a stick of Extra wintergreen gum.

It is my opinion that this was a crime of oportunity. Here in Wide Lawns we have some particularly awful teenagers who are lonely, spoiled and misguided. They sit home and smoke weed while their mothers ski in Innsbruck and their fathers screw their secretaries and various 19 year old gold diggers. They have no supervision and run wild throughout the community on weekend nights looking for some form of subversive entertainment (they should try blogging, like me), and I think they found one car with the keys and realized there were probably more of the same. They went all the way around Wide Lawn Circle, in order, and had a good old time, but of course the people who live here think it was black people who somehow broke into the community (nearly impossible to do) and not their own progeny.

You may recall that we had a "robbery" during the Hurricane, as well. I forgot to mention that this happened in Surrey Quay, "Cheaters and Beaters." I have the actual police report from the "robbery", which is so BS. I am just about certain that this is a case of insurance fraud, another crime of opportunity, made possible by the chaos of the hurricane. Here it is, for your reading pleasure:

Residence was burglarized by unknown person(s) while family was away due to hurricane. The rear master bedroom door lock was discovered to have been pried to gain entry. The rooms were ransacked and the items reported stolen included, a ladies & mans watch, misc. collection of crystal figurines, a desktop and two laptop computers
with accessories. The master bedroom carpet was also stained throughout with an unknown substance, possibly chlorine bleach. Crime scene was processed for evidence,
a canvas of neighbors proved negative. The house alarm was inactive due to power loss.


Its not that interesting. I have to say that my version is far more entertaining. So now people are freaking out. I got three emails this morning about the alarming escalation of crime in Wide Lawns.



Halloween 2005 - My 1st Day Back to Work After the Hurricane

In the midst of the Python Scare, another, even greater terror loomed offshore, swirling in the Gulf of Mexico, seemingly far, far away from the gates and royal palms of Wide Lawns Country Club. There was a hurricane. The Python has been long forgotten. It may have even died in the storm, but after this devastation, no one is, luckily, remembering that there was once a snake on the loose.

One week ago, Hurricane Wilma tore through Wide Lawns and its surrounding areas and just made a complete mess of things. Today is my first day back to work in over a week, which is why there have been no recent postings. We didnt have power, or TV, or any Internet access at all, and actually, most people around here still dont. Wide Lawns just got lucky. Where I live, in a normal neighborhood, without gates and armed guards, I just got power back, but I still have no cable or computer. Its so bad that most people's cell phones dont even work.

That said, theres nothing like a fantastic disaster to really get the Wide Lawn residents in a tizzy. There are plenty of tales to tell of Wide Lawns in the aftermath of Wilma, and I am proud to announce that a full scale war is brewing between the President of the HOA and the General Manager of the Club over how the hurricane was handled (badly, naturally). Wide Lawns sustained a lot of damage and many of the trees are down and blocking the roads.

For the first time ever, Wide Lawns was without power for four entire days. This is particularly notable because the Wide Lawns denizens falsely believe that they are on a special power grid which is guaranteed to never go out. Obviously this is not true, or even possible, but they all believe that because they are the richest and the whitest in Basura that FPL actually affords them some privilege to maintain electricity in even the most dire of natural disasters. They were outraged that their electricity was out - I mean, isnt this what they pay such high dues for? My God. Forget the hospitals and old folks homes, Wide Lawns should be the priority. There were many complaints and many inquiries about what happened to the "special power grid" of urban legend.

In the midst of Hurricane Wilma all sort of panicked dramas played out, many of which I am still trying to catch up with. Perhps the greatest drama of all is taking place between the General Manager of the Club and the President of the HOA, the dear Rob Kayt. The General Manager is a weasely looking, late 30 something, typical Basura type of guy. You know, the sort who would never do his own yard work and whose toddlers already wear Louis Vuitton and love sushi. His name is Princeton Grating and he is, in my opinion, an all around jerk. He seems like he would live in Wide Lawns, but surprisingly he doesnt. I think he has been raised in the world of County Clubs and loved this lifestyle so much he made a career out of it. I just found out the other day that he makes $250,000.00 a year. Can you imagine? As soon as I found out that figure I starting working it out in my head how much per week, per month, that really is, and what I would do if I had that kind of a salary. He makes my entire year's salary in like 6 weeks. Maybe 5.

Anyway, Princeton Grating is a tyrannical idiot who forces his employees in the Clubhouse to eat in the employee cafeteria which only serves food leftover from banquet affairs days before. They dont make them any new, fresh food. There have been several instances of food poisoning and he still wont relent. They cant bring their own food and he doesnt provide any refrigerator or microwave for them if they wanted to bring something else. They also arent allowed to use the nice bathrooms in the Clubhouse and have to use this one industrial, prison type of facility that is unisex and in the middle of the admin offices, so if someone poos it smells up the entire copy room and everyone knows who did it. Thats just a travesty to me, a person who values poo privacy. For a Christmas bonus they each get $25.00 with taxes taken out which ends up being about $16.37. You could maybe order a pizza with that. Since they were out for a week for the hurricane, if they want to get paid they have to use their vacation days. It makes me very happy to work in the HOA with Rob Kayt as my boss, who pays us for disasters, who lets us eat whatever we want and poo wherever we have privacy (which needs to be a whole separate post in and of itself sometime soon).

Rob Kayt is a do it yourself kind of man. I have often wondered why he lives here, but I know the answer. Its his wife Monique. Rob married into the Club life. Before this he was a good ole southern boy in Georgia, making his own money and really working for it. In the hurricanes he goes out with his chainsaw and starts cutting down limbs instead of calling someone and whining about when are the landscapers coming. Last year he cut his leg open with the chainsaw and didnt even want to go the hospital. He's just a good, down to earth person. His wife is another story altogether. After the first day with no power she jetted off to Palm Springs and left him with their 15 year old daughter, to fend for himself.

So Mr. Kayt is ticked at Mr. Grating because during the hurricane Mr. Grating would not let our security guards have any gasoline for their security vehicles. Now mind you, the whole time, the security guards were here at Wide Lawns instead of home with their own families. They were freeing people trapped in their houses by downed trees and they were clearing the streets in case firetrucks needed to pass. They were doing real work and they were genuinely helping and protecting people who needed it. Mr. Grating put padlocks on all the cabinets and refrigerators in the Clubhouse so that the guards couldn't get anything to eat. There were no places open to buy food during the storm so they had nothing to eat. Their trucks ran out of gas from constant patrolling to make sure everyone was safe. The Club actually has some gas tanks, but refused to allow security to fill up their trucks because the golf course lawn mowers needed it!! Can you imagine. I dont think anyone is going to be cutting the lawns or for that matter, playing golf any time soon, and if Mr. Grating hadn’t noticed there really isnt much grass left because it was all stripped away by 130 mile per hour winds. Then the Club got 700 gallons of gas a few days later and only let the security guards take 20 gallons, which is all of about 1 1/2 trucks. It was awful. If Princeton Grating had been on The Apprentice he would have so been fired for this debacle.

Ron Kayt is on the war path. He wants Mr. Grating fired for this and I think he is right. Mr. Grating needs to go. Even I could have handled the situation better.

Now someone is saying that during the hurricane there was a robbery. The sad thing is that we all know it’s not a real robbery. Its insurance fraud, however, now we can use that and say that if the trucks had been given gas they could have patrolled more and prevented the "robbery".

On my first day back to work I have received numerous calls from hysterical people wanting me to personally come out and remove the remaining debris from their yards. They demand to know when it will all be gone. They live in Wide Lawns after all, the city of Basura should come immediately and make sure this place is back to its original state of landscape perfection. I have not seen one single person out doing their own yard work. They just cower inside and wait for someone else to tidy it all up so they can come back out again.

The funny thing is, there seem to be a whole new generation of Muscovy ducks parading around. I wonder if the storm blew them back in this direction.