Wide Open Spaces

When we first married, the Ty-man and I lived in a small apartment in Kennesaw. After listening to our neighbor pee in his toilet every morning, we decided we were finished with close quarters and we bought our first home in Cumming. Four months after saying I do we moved into the freedom of our land, our garage, our grass, our kitchen, our day lillies, our home.

We knew it wasn't permanent. That first house was to be our learning curve. We would figure out how to deal with busted pipes and a backyard full of kudzu and then, we would be ready for the big league. That first house was just that, it was a house, but it wasn't a home. We never painted the walls and we only hung up a few pictures and curtains in one room. We treated that house as our way station.

This house where I'm sitting right now is our home. We've lived here for almost 11 years and it's all ours. It's got paint, wallpaper, pictures, tchotchkes, and the laughter of children. It's all here and it's the reason why, when we moved here, we said This is ours.

And if I had an offer on the table and a pile of money in front of me, I'd leave it all in a heartbeat.

Four years ago, we transformed our ugly, down-hill, hard-packed-Georgia-clay backyard into a grassy oasis. In one corner of our newly-fenced and level, grassy yard, we created a play area that, two months later, housed a little plastic sandbox, picnic table, slide, and play house for our toddler kids. During the construction of this backyard, I was a new mom again. I had just given birth to J-man one month before construction began and trying to nap through all the noise was impossible. But, I was happy because we would finally have a safe place to play.

But our neighbor wasn't happy. I'm not talking about Jodi, I'm talking about the lady on the other side of us. We'll call her B (for bitter). She scowled, she grumbled, and she made our lives hell. When the Bobcat accidentally cut off her cable TV, Ty-man immediately scoured the neighborhood for a Comcast truck, found one, bribed the guy to fix the cable NOW, and gave B five movie gift cards for her entire family as recompense.

And for these last four years, B has refused to speak to us, wave, say "Hello" or communicate in any way. Oh, she'll complain about our imagined infractions to Jodi all day long, but she won't ring our doorbell to let us know about her problems with us. It's been four years of textbook passive-aggressive behavior and I can tell you unequivocally, honestly, and forthrightly that we've done nothing, NOTHING to her or hers.

Two days ago, we had a playset from this company delivered and constructed in the backyard. It is NOT visible from the road. It IS visible from B's front stoop. This means that when she goes into her house, she sees it. It's not in her yard. It's within our property boundaries, inside the fence of our backyard. And B has complained to our property management company. I also have it on very good faith that she is attempting to get the HOA Bully (who is still on the board) involved. She specifically asked for his involvement, knowing what I went through with him two years ago.

When I found out that last tidbit, I had a full-on panic/anxiety attack. On top of taking pot-shots at my kids (which, let's face it, that's what she's doing when she complains about a playset), she's attempting to make our lives hell FOR NOTHING. For absolutely nothing, for no reason whatsoever, simply because we exist, occupy the space next to her, have followed the rules, and have bent over backwards to be quiet, unobtrusive, nice neighbors, she wants to stir up old anxieties.

I'm at a loss. I don't know what to do. I'm pacing the house absolutely terrified that THAT MAN will be within feet of me and mine. I had to call the sheriff on his ass the last time I was near him and then I was worried the moment would end in violence. I don't go anywhere near his part of the neighborhood. There is this barrier of 1/4 mile of streets between our homes and that gives me solace. But to have this woman GIVE HIM PERMISSION to re-enter our lives has me in a panic.

I was never bullied as a child. I didn't experience my first bully until two years ago, at 37. It was, I think, as bad as if I had been bullied as a child. I don't want my children to see me reacting like this, but I can't help it.

Thank God for the Ty-man. He's handling this in a way I couldn't even fathom right now. All I want to do is curl up in bed with back issues of National Geographic and emerge when the smoke clears. He? Is taking care of business.

I'll be OK. This whole situation will be OK. It just has to be. But, seriously? Why? Why is she doing this? Because this playset is all about childhood laughter


wonder


and fond memories,


not anxiety, upset, and tears.

Seriously, if she pushes my buttons any further, I may just join a nudist/swinger group, install a jacuzzi where the playset currently resides, and REALLY piss her off with Thursday night orgies.

Letting Go

It was several things that brought about this post. I'm standing at an intersection of many lines and it is right here, at this very moment, that has brought me to this epiphany.

Would you like to know who brought me here?

1. LL Cool J
2. a neighborhood bully
   
3. Blogography Dave
4. a Facebook/West Virginia friend from many years ago

What the hell do a rapper/movie/TV star, a bitter man, a blogger, and an acquaintance of old have in common?

Little. Ol'. Me.

You all know what I've gone through the last ten months with the HOA bully. As of 3PM this past Sunday, my term was up, two new board members were elected, I turned in my binder and keys, and I suddenly was no longer obligated to face this man or have any contact with him. As is my usual M.O., I stewed on the whole thing. I simmered over the fact that I never did get to punch him in the jaw or put flaming bags of dog poo on his front doorstep. I fantasized about the myriad of things I could do to make his life miserable and all I got in return was a headache and a foul mood.

Last month, LL Cool J tweeted the following:

Hanging onto resentment is letting someone you despise live rent-free in your head.

And that stopped me. Wow. I have allowed the HOA bully to squat in my brain for ten months. I let him come in, rolled out the red carpet, gave him the keys, showed him the refrigerator and my amygdala, and gave him free-reign to trash the joint. Me. All me.

I have a revenge book in which I've written four stories about four people I hate. Amazingly, just four. But still, four. Blogography Dave blogged about his Anarchy List:

A special list that you will act upon ONLY if going to jail or getting killed won't make much of a difference? A list filled with people, companies, or even places that deserve to be obliterated for the betterment of all society? A list so nasty that you'd be willing to give up your pacifist beliefs for the sweet, sweet taste of revenge?

So, yeah. I guess I have an Anarchy List, a list that once contained four people but now numbers five. Oh! I guess I can call mine the Death List 5! Hey, you didn't think I'd leave HOA bully out in the cold, did you? In the midst of all this self-induced angst, I unwittingly received an update on one of those on my Death List 5, the first to ever make the list. The daughter of this person posted an update about her mother on her Facebook wall and the update wasn't good. Lots of medical problems, in and out of the hospital, and I realized at that moment that the first is getting old. I lost my anger for her a long time ago and when I saw her daughter's update, I didn't feel anger or even satisfaction. I felt pity. And that's when I figured it all out.

Time deals the final hand to the people on all of our Anarchy/Death/Revenge Lists.

Huh. I didn't need to stew. I didn't need to give those five people the keys to my emotions. I didn't need to do a damned thing. Time takes care of us all. I'm pretty sure I'm on someone else's Anarchy List and guess what? Whoever you are? No need to roll my house/cut my brake lines/hack my blog with naked pictures of Ernest Borgnine. I'm going to die, all on my own, without your assistance.

So, I've decided that my Death List 5 now becomes my Who Cares 5. Who Cares? I don't. And I'm going to live without you five constantly rattling around in my brain.

So get the fuck out.

Asshole

I tried so hard to be good. I really did. I spent most of the HOA meeting facing the cynics, thoughtfully telling them what I felt and knew to be true, glancing at the Ty-man for strength, and looking for those few homeowners I knew supported us. Every time the bully said something ridiculous, I would look down at the 2010 budget, clench my fists, look at my husband, and bite the inside of my mouth.

I performed in the drama. I yet again voted no for the volunteer nominee for a fifth director. I listened to detractors make snide comments about Jodi and myself. But we stuck with it. We conducted business, approved the 2010 budget, made valid points, asked thoughtful questions, and conducted ourselves with dignity.

I explained my actions and reasons for voting as I did to the community. Many shook their heads in disbelief. And then I said it.

I think what would be really healthy for this community is if all four board members resigned and a completely new board were to be elected by you.

They applauded. The room erupted. And the bully? Speechless. Especially when Stacey, someone the bully thought to be on his side, agreed with us and presented a paper she had prepared for all of us to sign.

Our property manager is checking with our lawyer as to what our next steps need to be, but by November 15th, I will be off the board, Jodi will be off, Stacey will be gone, and Larry? The bully? History. The crowd, the peer pressure, the number of people in that room, pressing on all of us, forced Larry to begrudgingly agree to sign the resignation paper. It was a moment of sheer triumph, to see the bully get his just desserts.

Then we adjourned to executive session. The crowd was gone. My Ty-man was driving back to the house. And Larry lit into Jodi over some nonsensical piece of business that was serving only to belittle her and make him feel big.

And I lost it.

What came out of my mouth resembled the following (punctuated with jabbing fingers, a backing-up property manager, the gathering of my bags, the slamming of doors, and lots of Jerry Springer-type shouting):

Larry, this is nonsense! ACP is no longer our pool company! Why does any of this matter? No, you shut up! I'm tired of you! I hate you! We had every right to send that e-mail to the residents this morning! We had every right to tell our side of the story! Because you have told horrible lies about Jodi and myself to the community! Yes you have! You're a nasty person and you have said horrible things about me to people I don't even know and you don't even know me! Leave me alone! I can't wait until this is all over! I can't wait to never have to look at your face ever again! I don't ever want to talk to you! Look at you! See your e-mails! Don't talk to me! Don't talk about my family! Don't come to my house! Don't talk about me ever again! This is ridiculous!

By this point, Jodi was up and packing up her things. Our property manager was cowering. And Stacey? No idea. I was halfway to the door when ridiculous! came out of my mouth and Larry said What was that word?

Lost it again.

Ridiculous! I shouted, Here's another word for you, Larry! How about ASSHOLE! Here's another one. SONOFABITCH! BASTARD!!!

Upon the screeching of bastard, I was out the door, shouting at the top of my lungs. Turns out, Larry was baiting me, getting the whole thing on tape. But you know what? Whatever. I'm done. I got what I wanted. He's off the board, he's disgraced, and I called him a few names.

And my fellow residents? They now know not to fuck with me.

God, I'm glad it's over.

Safe, But Not Sound

We're home.

And I'm not pleased.

We had a fabulous time in Orlando. We partied. We spent time with family. We got our geek on.

And the whole time, all I could think was When I get home, I have to face the bully. I have to face neighbors who don't know me but feel free to speak ill of me. I have to sit through an ugly meeting, a nasty situation, and grit my teeth, and act civil, and be nice to these people who have enjoyed the drama of the last month at my expense.

Each time I hugged and laughed with friends, I wished they lived in my community.

Every time I kissed a family member, it was with sadness because they live there while I'm here.

As we got into our car yesterday to leave Florida, all I wanted to do was run to the home of the loved-one closest to me and hide.

Tonight, I'll be clenching my teeth, gripping my seat, and looking at the Ty-man in the back of the room, shivering with nervousness, anger, and adrenaline.

Wishing to be with the people I love.

Dear Good Old Boys' Club and the Bus Stop Gossips:

Yeah, it's long. If you have time, read it and give me your opinion of this extreme rough draft. If you don't have time, I understand. Names have been changed to protect those who don't deserve protecting. Jodi is truly Jodi. Thanks.

I’m not quite sure where to begin. I’ve stared at the blinking cursor on my computer screen for the past hour, wondering how to begin this letter to you, where to bring you in, and how to tell you all that you need to know.

The first thing I want to say is that I am fully aware of what occurred during the protracted meeting on Wednesday, October 14. My husband, Ty-man, was gracious enough to attend in my stead, to speak for me when I could not. From what I understand, the meeting was drama-filled and the discussion heated. What I am asking from you, no…begging really, is for civility to reign. Much of my credibility has been damaged by one man and by a lot of gossip, assumptions, and heresy. Turning our community into a pitchfork-wielding mob will not exactly help this situation and it certainly won’t help answer your questions. Let’s not get carried away in the moment. You may disagree with me, even after you finish reading this. That’s fine. I’m not here to please every one; I’m here to do the business of this community. In the midst of all this high emotion, let us try our best to not resort to name-calling and ugliness. Passion does not have to equate disrespect.*

I have attended every HOA Board meeting since coming on-board on January 7, 2009. In fact, I attended the annual Board/Community meeting on February 4, 2009, my husband’s 37^th birthday. While I took minutes and counted proxies, he stayed at home with kids. I get that serving on this Board is a sacrifice of time and sanity. What I had no idea is that serving on this Board would also mean a loss of dignity and ten solid months of being bullied and treated as less-than-human.

Jodi was an acquaintance in November, 2008, when she asked me to serve on the Board as its fifth member. I came onto the Board knowing no one. I don’t socialize in the community because I’m pretty much a hermit. In fact, I attended Jodi’s New Years party spending most of the evening with a spinning head, trying to keep names and faces straight. I didn’t know my fellow Board members and I would find over the next four months that one member in particular takes it personally when anyone disagrees with him. He gets ugly, nasty, and hits way below the belt, something I never thought to experience in my adult life. I guess I’m naive that way.

Since the re-hiring of Property Management this year, Larry’s attitude toward Jodi has gone from positive to negative. Around that time, everything Jodi said to Larry, any direction she gave him, he took it badly and lashed out at her. I saw Jodi doing her job as a Director of the Community and as President of the Board. Larry saw her as the enemy and began treating her as such. I cannot stand to see someone being treated as Jodi was being treated by Larry, and I did what I always do in those situations, I stood up for Jodi, I stood up for the office of President, and I stood up for a fellow Director. I told Larry that he was being a bully. Since then, Larry has treated me poorly as well and has managed to tarnish whatever name I have in this community. Me, a person you don’t even know. A person you’ve probably never even met.

There are two sides to every story and I present the other side to you now in the form of e-mail exchanges between Larry, Jodi, and myself (please refer to Attachment 1**). I will never apologize for what I’ve said to Larry. I’ve always been truthful and I hope these e-mails will speak for themselves. What these e-mails say is that this Board is extremely dysfunctional. Larry, Jodi, Stacey, and myself are all a part of this dysfunction. We’ve all had a hand in it and to say that one person has had less of a part to play than the others is incorrect.

I wouldn’t wish this situation on my worst enemy. For the past six months, my blood pressure rises, my heart thumps, and my mind races each and every time I open my Inbox. I dread Board meetings like I dread trips to the dentist. It is that painful for me and I wouldn’t wish this experience on any of you. Not at all. And that is why I voted Nay in regards to the motion for Mr. D to fill the fifth Directorship left vacant by Mr. B's illness. I will continue to vote Nay regarding any volunteer who steps forward to fill this position. I refuse to vote for anyone whom I don’t know. I don’t know how any of you will react to this situation and none of you needs to jump into the middle of this ridiculousness. At this point, the Board is extremely volatile. Larry refuses to listen to either Jodi or myself regarding anything. Jodi, Stacey, and I are ready and willing to do the work that needs to be done to move this community forward to the annual homeowners’ meeting in February. We have a budget to approve, we have a clubhouse in need of drastic repair, we have a pool that needs to be resurfaced, and we have an HVAC system that needs to be replaced. In the midst of a struggling economy with some of our homeowners losing their jobs and many of us tightening our belts, we’re looking at the need for a dues increase. That is what the four Board members need to be focused on, not on the question of why a volunteer was voted for or against. Larry is continuing to push this issue to the point that he is declaring my filling of this particular Directorship illegal and without merit. This has become personal for him as it never was for me and that is something that is a detriment to this community and in no way helpful to the business at hand.

The second question/problem many of you had was with the October 14^th meeting itself. You all showed up to a meeting, wanting to ask questions and receive answers, only finding that quorum was not met and two directors missing. Larry made it seem as though we didn’t show up at the last minute, that he had no idea as to why we were absent. Actually, Larry knew on Monday, October 12^th, that quorum would not be met (please see Attachment 2***). To be precise, he knew sometime between 7:35 AM and 8:04 AM that morning. Jodi had stated the week before that she would not be attending. She asked Larry to reschedule and he refused. She then stated that she would turn her voting proxy over to me. On Monday morning, October 12^th, Larry sent an e-mail stating that, according to Property Management and our lawyer, Director proxies were illegal and if we were to be absent from meetings that we could not give proxies to other Directors to vote on our behalf. This meant that during an important discussion of the 2010 budget, one of our members would be absent with no ability to vote or to have a say. After reading that e-mail Monday morning, I knew I could not attend because I could not allow this discussion to occur without all members present. I stated that I would not attend in order to protect the integrity of this community and force a lack of quorum. The other reason I did not attend is that I was truly sick with a cold. I fought illness all summer and with this year’s flu season upon us, I didn’t want to push myself or possibly make my fellow Board members ill. Those are the reasons why I didn’t attend the meeting. As you can see in the attached e-mails, even after knowing he would not have quorum for the meeting, Larry continued to state that the meeting was scheduled for October 14^th and that it would go forward on October 14^th without us, with no warning or notice to the community. That is a disservice to you and to the business that needs to be done and I want you to truly know why you were not alerted.

Translate this letter as you will. Absorb it, please. Read it a few times. What I want you to take away from this is that I’m a real person, with real feelings, real emotions, and a passion to do what is right, not what feels good. And what is right is that this community needs to go forward without drama, without second-hand gossip, and with integrity. Larry is all about drama, he’s all about gossip, and he lacks the integrity necessary to properly serve you as a Director and to serve the Board as its President. If it were up to me, I would collect the signatures necessary to schedule a Special Association Meeting and then collect the bodies and proxies necessary to hold a vote to remove ALL FOUR Board members (yes, me included) and start this community fresh, but I don’t have the time. Between caring for my children, home, and husband, working from home, and taking care of myself, I can’t do it. But that is what I feel would truly get our community back on a healthy track for 2010 and beyond. Not to argue about a volunteer being turned away. Not to get upset about a meeting that should have been rescheduled. But to start fresh.

If any of you have questions, please feel free to call me, e-mail me, or stop by my home. My number and e-mail address have always been available on our Web site as is the contact information for every Board member. Please remember, in the future, that the President or Secretary is typically the first point of contact in the Board chain, but they aren’t the only contacts. If you truly want to know about the health of your volunteer leadership, you need to talk to all of us, come to meetings, find out about each person, because we are ultimately the people who decide how to spend each of your $585 (or more) and if you can’t trust us with that, then you need to do something about it. I hope I’ve answered your questions and cleared up any misconceptions.

Sincerely, Heather

*Loralee, your post inspired me and I pretty much lifted those lines from your blog. Thank you and I hope this serves as a proper citation for your original work. You're a wonder with the words and now even my community knows it!

** Said attachment isn't here. If I included all the e-mails, this post would stretch to the Moon and back.

*** Ditto.

Answers, Part 2

I just want to apologize for my extensive use of the baser language in this post. I'm really hot under the collar about this and seriously just needed to drop a few s- and f- bombs. If it offends you, I apologize.

I've heard a lot in my short 37 years about things that are harmful to women, things that objectify those of us of the "gentler" sex, and make it more difficult for us to be taken seriously:

beauty pageants
bikini contests
strip clubs
porn
Hannah Montana
(OK. Maybe not that last one.)

To be honest? None of that stuff bothers me. As long as the women participating in said activities are doing so because they want to, because they have voluntarily signed up to do it, are OK with being slobbered upon, and they don't need Xanax to do it? It's not turning me personally into a sex object*. This is a free country; show your tits through a wet, white t-shirt. I couldn't care less.

BUT...

Being told by our property manager that responding to the VP/bully in a logical-'Scuse me but you just asked me what?!? That's wrong and you need to admit it!-in-his-face manner is OK if we (the HOA prez and me) happen to be men, but as women we need to present softer, sweeter, more joking-type responses. Wow. Seriously? Are you kidding? No? Because that, ladies and gentlemen, that is the objectification bullshit I'm talking about. You can kiss my glass ceiling Mr. Property Management Company Owner because that shit right there? That is what makes it hard for my side of the human race to be taken seriously by anyone with a penis.

Jodi and I have sat for six months and watched the vice-president of our HOA treat us like the mud on his shoe just because our mamas didn't raise us to be a doormats. He accuses us of saying things that aren't true, we tell him he's wrong, and when he responds with baseless accusations and over-the-top emotion? Then back the fuck up, because you don't call someone a liar, you don't accuse someone of things they haven't done, and then expect either of us (or any woman, for that matter) to complacently smile, nod our heads, and reply That's OK. I know you didn't mean it all while stroking his arm and ego. I think we're allowed to respond honestly and, yeah, a bit aggressively, based on our statuses as human beings, all gender aside. And when we sit for the same six months, watching this abuse unfold, receiving no support from the other two officers (one man, one woman), and being told by our property manager to be softer in our responses? To be sweeter? All because we have vaginas? Then I realize that the game is lost. Completely.

I'm finished, guys. I absolutely refuse to be a party to this double-standard crap of He's sowing his wild oats./She's a ho. OR He's assertive./She's bitchy. OR He can hold his liquor./She's a lush. And I hate it that after all these years of "following the rules" (i.e. Get the college education. Don't flash the boss. Don't sleep with everybody and their brother. Yadda. Yadda.) I'm still viewed as someone who needs to interact differently with my fellow man in order to achieve the result I'm hoping for, that I have to bat my eyelashes, that I have to show a little cleavage, that I have to wink when I say what I mean so it won't be construed in such a harsh manner. That right there is some of the stinkiest bullshit I've ever encountered. People, if you're bad, you're bad. If you're good, you're good. And if someone is abusing you based on your responses to them? Then it's still abuse. Period. End of the gender discussion.

As of next Wednesday, I will be resigning my position as secretary of the HOA and Jodi will be resigning her position as president. Oh, we'll still be directors, but we will no longer be officers with official responsibilities. Because if the vice-president wants all the power? Fine, he can have the 30-hours-per-week Jodi puts into the job. If he wants to scream and holler that my minutes are lies? Then he can keep notes on the meetings and write his own version of the history of the HOA. And the other two directors who have sat back and said nothing, therefore making the actions of the VP acceptable? They can deal with him as the new president. And I certainly hope they get two in-boxes, four earfuls, and two bellyfuls of his antics.

Because I? Am done.

*Me. A sex object. This is for to laugh.

Scream

On June 25th, Michael Jackson died and I was immediately sad for his children. No matter what you thought of him, right or wrong, he had three children and they obviously love him. What I didn't realize is that one of his songs would so very suddenly speak to me.

The next day, on June 26th, my HOA had a special meeting to remove the Vice President from his position. I was able to get a lot of anger and frustration off my chest. I was able to tell him that I can no longer comfortably work with him after being threatened by him with a lawsuit, and after watching him threaten other members of the Board and Association, I had had it. But, of course, the motion didn't pass. He's still VP, because the other two members voted against the motion and dissented.

I was never a huge Michael Jackson fan. I enjoyed his pre-Thriller stuff, but I was definitely a Janet Jackson girl. Her music is what got me through many late-night college study sessions. And when Michael and Janet collaborated on his 1995 song Scream I knew I finally had a modern Michael Jackson song I could enjoy.

Michael Jackson's death has brought back so many of those old songs to the forefront of my memory and after 14 years, I reacquainted myself with Scream. And, my word, has it spoken to me as of late. I just finished another HOA meeting where I realized that Jeff doesn't get it, never will, and will always be a jerk to whom I have to stand up to for another seven months. He makes me want to scream until I'm blue of face and hoarse of voice. I have never truly hated people. I either love/like you or I don't care. But him? I hate. With a passion.

I know when Michael wrote Scream, it was because he was angry with the constant media attention he was receiving (good and bad) and he was angry that the world was full of negativity and unhappiness. But for me? Right now? This song is about people who don't have backbones, who refuse to stand up for themselves and others, it's about a system that supports said people when no one will confront them, it's about people who are mean and rude to others because they've never been taught otherwise and who continue to treat others as less than human just because they can.

Tired of injustice / Tired of the schemes / Kinda disgusted / So what does this mean? / Kicking me down (and I) / I got to get up / As jacked as it sounds / The whole system sucks (dammit)

Peek in the shadow / Come into the light / You tell me I'm wrong / Then you better prove you're right / You're sellin' out souls but / I care about mine / I've got to get stronger / And I won't give up the fight

Stop pressurin' me / Just stop pressurin' me / Stop fuckin' with me / Make me wanna scream

Patriotic Spam

A few of you may have noticed the following tweet on Friday:

Person I don't know sent me spam about the military with a poem. Asked them not to, they got nasty, called me unpatriotic. I hate idiots.

That one tweet devolved my Friday into a series of e-mails, phone calls, investigation into HOA financials, and general fussing and faffing about.

This all started when I received the usual image-heavy/God-Bless-Our-Country/pass-this-along-to-9,000-of-your-closest-friends spam mail. I hate spam. And I especially hate spam that has been forwarded to 19 other people before getting to me, so that before I can even see the tear-jerker images and read the cheesy poem, I have to view the To:, From:, and Subject: lines of everyone else. And I really hate spam sent to me by total strangers who just assume everyone in their contact list loves spam of all shapes and sizes and just forwards this crap along willy-nilly.

So I did what any self-respecting hater-of-spam would do in this situation. I replied to the sender, informing them that I didn't know them and would prefer not to receive future spam chain letters.

And this? Is what I received in return:

I don't know how you got into my address book but I thought those therein (my friends) would be interested in patriotic information regarding the state of our wonderful country. Evidently you are not. Rest assured, I shall remove you from my address book immediately. Enjoy your life.

What? The frak. Like I snuck into his address book and tried to pass myself off as a friend. And then accused me of a lack of patriotism because I don't like forwarded spam e-mails that clog up my Inbox.

I? Lost it. And out of my keyboard came the following:

You know what? I don’t need your nastiness about my supposed lack of patriotism just because I don’t care for unsolicited spam in my Inbox, spam that contains large image files and clogs up my Internet connection. Spam that I didn't sign up for. I attended a military college. As did my husband. Several of our good friends serve in the military. We vote in every election and fly the American flag on the front of our home. We are about as patriotic as you can get. That is the last I have to say to you. Please, buggar off and don’t make assumptions about people simply because they request “No spam.” You, as well, enjoy your life.

Yeah. I was pissed. And then I racked my brain, trying to figure out who the heck this idiot was and how he got my address. I called my mom and let her know I'd ticked off a Red Hat friend. Nope. Wrong. And at that moment I paused and thought What if it's one of my neighbors? And sure enough, when I checked our HOA financial statement for May, there was the name of my culprit.

Yet another reason for me to want to run screaming from my neighborhood.

Do You Want a Beer?

I grew up in a typical, residential neighborhood in West Virginia. They were sixty-year-old homes (your typical three small bedrooms, one bathroom, single-level houses) that were nothing special, except for the people who lived in them. Across the street from us (and still living there to this day) were Clyde and Goldie. Seriously. Those are their names. They met as young barely-out-of-their-teens at the beginning of WWII and are just the sweetest people ever. And on their front porch is just the most awesome swing. We would sit on the swing and talk about WWII and Clyde's years in the Navy, and dish on the neighbors (GOD! Could Mrs. Hubbard's hair get any BLUER?). When I moved to Georgia I envied my mom and dad, and later just mom, and their time on Goldie's and Clyde's porch swing.

The Ty-man and I are currently in our second house since our wedding 14 years ago. And in neither home have we had our own Clyde and Goldie. We've never sat on our porch with neighbors or on the porches of others, sharing news of our lives, neighborhood gossip, and experiences.

Until last night. The HOA President (and my immediate next-door neighbor) and I have a lot to talk about and not just HOA BS. We both have interests in science (Me=physics, Her=chemistry), we read the same books, we have similar political philosophies, and we laugh about the same stupid crap. When I noticed that she and her husband were on their porch, I just damned the torpedoes and went over. And Mr. HOA President asked, Hey! You wanna beer?

And I drank that beer. I talked and commiserated and laughed and so did they. We sat on their front stoop and just were.

It wasn't a porch in West Virginia. There wasn't a swing. Neither Clyde nor Goldie were there. And we didn't talk about WWII or Mrs. Hubbard's blue hair. But that moment last night was just as good as all the other moments from my fading memory.

And I can't wait to have more.

Open Letter 10

Dear Nasty Neighbor:
I'm sorry you couldn't drag your better-than-everyone-else ass down to the Clubhouse at any time during the seven separate sessions totaling 13.5 hours that the HOA board offered during May to sign off on your pool keycards. I'm sorry you didn't thoroughly digest the e-mail which stated If you don't make it down to one of these times, you'll have to turn in your pool form at our property management office and the activation of your keycard could take up to two weeks. I'm so very sorry that you turned your form in to property management yesterday and expect the keycard to be activated today. I'm sorry that you think I and the other board members are here for your verbal abuse and servitude. I'm sorry that you must assume we're being payed an extravagant amount of money to put up with your bullshit. I'm sorry that you're a mean, nasty bitch who has nothing better to do with her time than belittle others and make them feel less than you.

But?

I'm not sorry that I can't stand your bitch ass and I'm not sorry that I can smile with glee knowing that no matter how many nasty e-mails you send? The HOA President will make damned sure your keycard activation will take three weeks.

Because she's as deviously evil as me.

Love,
HOA Goddess

Dear Northside Hospital and Atlanta Center for Puppetry Arts:
I appreciate that you're thinking about kids and wanting to do fun things for them over the summer. I appreciate the invite, Northside Hospital, to Zoo Atlanta to celebrate that my kids are alumni of the Northside NICU. And it's sweet, Puppetry Arts, that Thursdays this summer are free.

BUT...

Your party at the zoo, dear Northside, is from 6:30 to 8:30 PM. The time when my kids start to lose their minds because we're close to bed time. And your free shows, Puppetry Arts? Are Thursdays 1 to 3PM. My kids' nap time. I've tried to go without nap time for outings before. Not good. Thermonuclear meltdown not good.

I get that you guys are trying to make this convenient for the parents? But guess what. It's not convenient for me when my kids are losing. Their. Shit.

Please. I beg you. Start making these activities available in the morning. Before lunch. When kids are typically at their happiest.

Love,
Insane Mom of Three Who Desperately Needs to Get Out of This House

Dear Sweet Children of My Loins:
Thank you so very much for quietly playing in your pool this morning with no trauma of He took my Nemo!!! or She's got my dump truck!!! and allowing me to catch some sun and read my Wonder Woman comics.

I greatly appreciate it. From the bottom of my ovaries.

Love,
Mama.

What? The Hell.

Last Wednesday, the HOA bully didn't attend our monthly meeting and the remaining four of us decided I would take him on. E-mail, face-to-face, phone, whatever. Anytime he became confrontational or overly emotional? I was on it. And I'm fine with that whole "sergeant-at-arms" thing because I'm absolutely tired of being treated like a second-class citizen when I've done nothing to deserve it. I even volunteered for the job.

We celebrated J-man's birthday on Saturday and as I was sweeping up the kitchen post-toddlers-with-lampshades-on-heads, I see this in my Inbox:

I understand each Director got a packet with information from DPM Wed night at the meeting which I could not attend. I would like to know why I wasn't told about this and why I have not received mine or someone who has it didn't tell me about it and make arrangements to get it to me. I want it.

I don't know. To me? That's confrontational. In my face. A smidge douchebaggy. And so I called him on it:

If you want an answer regarding your packet from me or anyone else on the Board, please change the tone of this e-mail as it is very confrontational and uncalled for.

And for the next 48 hours, I endured a never-ending diatribe of which the following is just a glimpse:

• You don't tell me to do anything at any time do you understand me.

• You are doing no more than trying to bait me into another confrontational e-mail and I will not play to YOUR CHILDISH antics.

• Your outlandish, derogatory, slanderous, cut throat and down right nasty and sarcastic e-mails towards me, and the cursing towards me, and me alone, have been sent to the other members of the Board.

• I feel that your demeanor, your constant harassment and baiting towards me, your sarcastic e-mails to start a constant e-mail flaming war towards me, is in no way a good thing for the other two Board members and I think you should resign and let someone who really cares about our community take your place.

• You need to resign from this HOA Board for your outlandish, child like antics.

• This constant harassment towards me has got to stop.

I. Swear. To. God.

Was I cussing at him? Showing up at his doorstep, taunting him with cruel words and lewd gestures? Was I running around the neighborhood, shouting The HOA VP is a total wanker!? Was I leaving flaming dog poo in the front seat of his car? Was I standing on a balcony, shouting Rise, my fellow bloggers, and fill his Inbox with Viagra spam! Mwhahahahahah!?

(Hrm. That last one isn't a bad idea.)

No, actually. For every e-mail I received from him over a 48 hour period (10 in all), every single response from me read as follows:

I will be glad to answer your question regarding your DPM packet if you will please rephrase the question in an non-confrontational and unemotional manner.

Cut throat? Slanderous? Childish? Harassment? Baiting? I should resign?

Seriously, people. I'm not making this up.

And on top of all of this, the HOA Treasurer (who just five days ago was completely behind me calling out the VP on his bullish antics) called the President and informed the President that I'm the one being childish and that the President needs to tell me to stop. Isn't that request right there rather, um, dare I say it...

Childish? (Not to mention passive-aggressive?)

I'm surrounded by infantile bullshit and I'm not even talking about the three well-behaved toddlers currently sleeping 10 feet away from me.

Please, all of you reading this, give me your thoughts. I'd appreciate it.

Leap

I just stepped outside my shell. I absolutely hate, despise, loathe, conflict and I will hide away rather than face it.

And just now? I entered the fray. I knocked on Conflict's door and walked in without an invitation.

I told someone he's a bully. And told him he's an asshole. And I stepped outside my comfort zone and stood up for myself and others.

And I'm now waiting, edge of my seat, knees jiggling, nails bitten, for the shit to hit the fan.

And for the bully to come out swinging.

I Hate Swimming Pools

I have discovered, during my five-month stint as a director for my homeowners' association, that swimming pools are the bane of humanity.

And I'm not exaggerating.

There's the whole We have to be compliant with county codes! and then there's Those landscaping wood chips are clogging the drains! and lest we forget The slide sign is out-of-date and must be replaced! and dang-nab-it we can't leave out The pool furniture looks shitty and we need new stuff! And the biggest headache of them all? The Virginia Graeme Baker Pool and Spa Safety Act. Ugh.

And our inspection is May 8th. And opening day is May 23rd. And we are so far from being ready that it's almost comical. And our ex-cop of a pool chairman is losing his mind and in doing so is being a complete and total plonker to everybody. All the long meetings and drama as of late have been because of the frakking pool and his lack of attention to detail. To top it all off, his I treat everybody like I just pulled them over on a speeding violation and whoa! It turns out they have blow in the glove box! attitude is such that for the first time in my adult life I have the urge to bury someone alive. Preferably him.

I once dreamed of having a swimming pool in our backyard. I pictured a 15-foot deep end where I could teach scuba, beautiful blue water with my kids splashing and frolicking all summer long, and beautiful teak lounge chairs around the deck on which I could sunbathe my pale, white, flabby stretch marks in splendid privacy.

And now? All I want to do is volunteer for pool chair next year, back up a dump truck full of dirt onto the pool deck, and fill that sucker up because the only good neighborhood pool? Is a pool filled with dirt and perennials.

The Letter I Should Have Written...

... To That Skank-Ass Ho Who Rented Our Neighborhood Clubhouse, Trashed It, And Bullied Us!*

Ahem.

Dear Ms. Douchbagette:
Are you frakkin’ serious? You rented our clubhouse. You didn’t clean it properly. You broke a doorknob. You were rude to a Board member who had every right to come into that clubhouse at any time (including during your white-trash birthday party), and then you turn psycho on us?!? And expect us just to bow to your bullying whims like little pussies, apologize for making you clean up your mess, and send you a check to pay you for your “sweet” disposition?

What. Ever.

First? Kiss our asses. Second? Quit sending out your childish, freakish, ridiculous e-mails that serve to not only validate your stupidity, but to piss us off. We have $200 of your money (a.k.a. deposit - what we like to think of as blood money). Keep this shit up and you’ll never see that money again. Small claims court? Bring it.

We’ve got news for you, chickadee. There are 169 homeowners in this neighborhood who own that clubhouse and I’m pretty sure that if we forward all your bullying e-mails to the remaining 164 homeowners who don’t know what’s going on with you? There would be a rallying cry of WOLVERINES!, pitchforks brandished, and torches lit and your ass? It would be grass, sweetie-pie.

We don’t appreciate our property being trampled on and disrespected and we certainly don’t appreciate your bullish tactics. We can talk smack about our own. We’re allowed. You? You’re just an outsider who’s going down.

You will not be receiving your $200 deposit in return. You’re e-mail account will, from this moment forward, receive extremely large (shut down your server large) quantities of Viagra and penis enlargement e-mails. In fact, just go ahead and apply for the bullybitch@aol.com address. I’m pretty sure that account is available since only techno-weenie losers like you have AOL accounts as their primary addresses. Finally, all residents have received your photo, name, address, phone number, e-mail, Social Security number, and blood type information. We will be watching.

You have been warned.

Bow and exalt,
The HOA Empress

* But noooooo! I have to be all professional and crap in our official letter. Silly HOA President has no idea of my power!

Dialog, Part 22

HOA President: So, little Miss So-and-So e-mailed me complaining about the tennis courts AGAIN and I told her that instead of asking the Board to fix it, she should volunteer and fix it herself. Much more proactive, don't you think?

HOA Vice-President: Well, what is So-and-So's problem, anyway? She's always stirring up trouble, complaining about something.

Prez: She's a stay-at-home-mom who walks around with her little Starbucks coffee cups and has way too much time on her hands.

VP: Oh.

Me: Looking down at J-man on my lap and the Starbucks travel mug in my hand. Well! She should just start a blog, shouldn't she?!?

The E-Mail I Should Have Sent

Dear Homeowner Serfs,
This is your HOA Empress speaking. According to our By-Laws, I'm supposed to allow you pitiful nothings an annual meeting where you get to vote in new figurehead board members and approve a budget.

Yeah. Whatever. A budget. SNORT! The budget may say that we're using your money to pay for landscaping and pool maintenance. But actually? I'll be parking a Chevy Corvette in my garage and putting a down payment on my vacation home in Bonaire.

The only problem is that I need a quorum of homeowners to vote on this nonsense and you idiots? Aren't giving me said quorum. That little slip of paper? That you found in your mailbox last week? That says "Aw, shucks! I can't make it to the meeting! Just let Empress Heather vote on my behalf because she's just swell!" You must sign your name to it (or an X, you uneducated buffoons) and hand it over and don't even bother coming to the meeting. I'll approve the Bonaire/Corvette budget and vote my three best friends in the director positions. Even though said friends don't live here. But I don't care. Because I'm the HOA Empress.

So, just stay at home, eat your gruel, and live in fear. After all, isn't that how dictatorships work?

Sincerely,
Her Imperial Highness Heather

Trial By Fire

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

Remember? A few weeks ago? How I told you all about my Madame Secretary gig?

Well, our first meeting was last night.

THREE. HOURS. LATER. And I have learned one thing.

That I wanted to plant my Dr. Martens up on the table, knock four heads together, and scream, "OH MY GAWD! Could you people just agree on one thing?!? No?!? Well, then, in that case I elect myself Empress of this here homeowners' association. I hereby disband you miscreants. You will do as I say and there will be NO WHINING!"

And then I wanted to firebomb the rest of my neighborhood.

But, I instead made a few valid, adult points, keeping my Air Waves under the table, promptly hurried home, and sat in the tub for an hour.

The lesson learned from all of this is that if you're a masochist, then by all means, join your HOA board. If not? Run away. Run far, far, far away.

I wish I had.

Madame Secretary

I'm a wuss. Total, complete, utter wuss. If you ask me to do something? And I'm too busy? I'll say no.

But if you bat your eyes, stick out your bottom lip, squeeze out a tear or two, and beg in a whiny voice?

I'll say yes.

And thus I, Coal Miner's Granddaughter, have found myself one step away from becoming Secretary of our Home Owner's Association. An organization I hate, despise with every fiber of my being. An organization that prides itself on its fascist ideals of "No ham radio antennae on your house!" or "No flamingos!" or "No painting your house puce!"

And not only am I about to become a member of this august group, but I'm about to become Secretary. As in, "Yo! Bitch! Take notes! And while you're at it, get us some damned coffee! Cream, no sugar!"

And not only am I one step from becoming Secretary, but I had to nominate myself. Because no one stepped up to nominate anyone else. And the HOA President, my immediate next-door neighbor, and a sweet lady, pitifully begged me to nominate myself. And so I did. And I felt like the loser girl who nominates herself for homecoming queen, knowing she'll never win but wants to at least be on the ballot*.

But this time, I'll probably get elected. And there's no tiara.

I'm such a loser wuss.

*Yes, yes. I did do that. Pity me.