My Own Melrose Place

So it has been a while since I have posted and it is because I just didn't find anything that was quite interesting to say.  Sure, in the month I have been away from this blog a lot has happened.  The political world keeps getting turned upside down, hurricanes have struck, someone named Drew Peterson (not to be confused with Scott Peterson, as I did) was convicted of killing his third wife and most importantly Kris Kardashian got herself another boob job.

the fact that I only know about the last one of these sometimes worries me.  Jeff tells me all the time that if it doesn't happen at 2901 Grant Street, I really don't seem to have a use for it.  Unfortunately for myself I have found this to be somewhat true.  Only because GREAT things happen at 2901 Grant Street.  In fact, it could be my break out bestseller....if I would ever write a break out best seller....

Our across the parking neighbor and Jeff apparently have waged all out war against each other and I must say that I am taking a fair bit of delight in watching this play out.  I have no idea our neighbors background but I truly think that she is Hilly Holbrook from "The Help" who has moved to our complex because she still has quite gotten over eating that sh*t pie.  She complained about everything and I mean everything that happened in Unit 601 until finally he lost every bit of southern grace and charm he was raised with and told both her and the board of directors that if she uttered one more word in our direction he was suing her for everything that she had.  As this equates to a 1993 powder blue Bonneville, and invalid husband, and the most wretched cat on the planet I don't think we would be winning end if we won said lawsuit.  Anyway, this was enough to have Hilly (or Miss Hilly as I have had Chloee start calling her...to her face) slink inside her courtyard, or dumpster area, pool, or clubhouse every time we see her.

Recently we also had a complex resident pass away after she fell down a flight of steps and broke her neck.  While I don't find the death of anyone humorous, the way the members of our complex reacted to it was priceless.  Everywhere I looked there were people who were tearlessly crying into perfectly ironed handkerchiefs all trying to catch a glimpseof the tragedy which has befallen complex 1703.  All you could hear were quiet whispers and all you could see was the mournful shaking of heads.  Chloee and I hugged everyone and told them how sorry we were, letting them know if there was anything we could do to let us know...then we got our towels and went to the pool.  The next day of course her parking space was happily occupied by her neighbor because it was, after all, closer to her house.

My newest neighbor though is the one who gives me the greatest since that I truly do live in my own Melrose Place.  She is a doll of a woman who frequently comes over to borrow cups of vodka.  Not sugar, not milk, not cream...vodka.  Said vodka is usually poured into a styrofoam cup containing a little melted ice with a  straw and off she goes.  Recently separated from her husband she also has stored (and by stored I mean hidden) many things in my own Unit and even hid her Mercedes from her soon to be ex-husband as a bargaining chip to get her divorce taken care of quicker.  She freely walks on my courtyard and taps on the glass before entering to get her vodka, lament about her day, and then sway back home.  This would normally get on my nerves, but I find it to be comic relief to an otherwise work filled day.  Until two o'clock comes and she is screaming on her cell phone on her court yard, throwing up, and sobbing.  We woke up a few Sundays ago and the entire front end was ripped off her Tahoe.  When I asked her what was wrong she said it involved "a light pole and bad decisions."  Common sense dictated that I not take the conversation any further.

The reason I can talk about all of this is because I, or course, was the cause of our biggest tragedy when I burned the top floor of my complex down.  That's right.  Nothing says re-sizing like a fire and when you can pretty much end up sweeping the contents of your life into a plastic bag you are pretty humble. It has been nicknamed "the Incident at 601", which I actually kinda sorta really like.

This is simply the tip of what goes in My Own Melrose Place.  Some buildings are quiet, some are not.  Some residents are amazing and I can tell you that based on the way some act they are going to straight to hell when all is said and done....You know, if anyone knows how to forward my life to the "E" Network, I would be happy to let them follow me around with a camera for a couple of weeks....you know, to show those Kardashians and that damned "Honey Boo Boo" what a true unscripted reality series is!