Sorry I haven't been around. No time to go into why at the moment. But I am so P-I-S-S-E-D off that I am going to take the time to vent.

Here in this complex where I live are some 200 of the biggest gossips and know-it-all's with whom it has ever been my displeasure to associate.

Included among them is our maintenance man Ron, who is lazier than a pregnant cow and twice as ugly. Last fall we had a gentleman who was hired to trim all the trees. I specifically requested that he trim off the limb of the tree that was growing into my crepe myrtle tree, killing one side of it.

I was informed to be patient--that he would eventually get to it. Well, he managed to trim every tree in my back yard but that one. He also did not trim the huge oak in my front yard that hangs across my walk so low that I have to duck to get to my front door. Now, keep in mind that I am 5' 2" tall. HOW COULD HE MISS THAT? Do the tree gods hate me?

But, back to Ron. Since the tree trimmer deigned to ignore me, I trimmed the branch myself. Ron came walking by and told me he was going to report me because I was not supposed to trim branches without permission. He then informed me that I would have to pay a fine for sawing off a tree limb. Kenna was sitting inside, heard him, and came out to tell him not to bother--that we would tell her ourselves.

I got out my rental agreement to see if, in fact, I had committed the unpardonable sin. I could find no clause which forbade me from sawing off a tree branch, so I told Kenna to H--L with it. We would wait to see what happened. So far, I have heard nothing. It will be a cold day down under before I pay a penny for doing the work that should already have been done.

Then, last night--the crowning blow. I have a gentleman who lives directly across from me. I use the term "gentleman" loosely because I don't know that he is. What I do know is that his taste is all in his mouth. He insists on wearing white socks with dark pants and dress shoes. I just want to scream every time I see him with those WHITE socks flashing below his dress pants. Next to socks with sandals, white socks with dress pants and slippers grate on my nerves as badly as any fashion faux paus that I can recall. I equate it to something like a 200 pound woman in skin tight shorts(we have a couple of those too).

He spends all day, every day down at the recreation room putting puzzles together. He glues them down piece by piece, then has them framed, and I assume hangs them on his wall, as I see him carry one in about once a month. I shudder to think what his unit must resemble with these garish puzzles swinging from wall to wall.

But I digress. Last night I turned the water on my front yard for about thirty minutes. As I was winding up my hose, I heard him behind me saying, "What is all this?"

Some of the water had run into a low spot on the sidewalk.

"I was watering. There's a low spot there," I replied.

"Well, you don't have to water the entire neighborhood!", he retorted. "This HAS to stop."

Now, I cannot begin to tell you what a mess my yard was when I moved here. I have spent hours and hours working on it. I finally have all the weeds and long-stemmed grass out of it. I have spent bunches of money on fertilizer for it, and I intend to water it to finally finish covering the bare spots. The unit does pay our water bill, but they encourage us to care for our lawns, though they do have them mowed.

I thought, "What is it to you?" But, as usual, I could not think of a quick, clever comeback.

Kenna said, "Next time he pops off, ask him if he had a bad day. Ask him what is the burr up his arse? Are his hemorrhoids acting up; or worse yet, did he lose a precious puzzle piece?"


So, now, I am ready for him!!