Grass With a Side of Weed

Dear Crazy Grass Lady~
Please stop calling me. Yes, I am sitting at the desk at the Homeowners Association. Yes, my Title, Unfortunate Though It May Be, is Customer Service Representative*. This does not mean that I share in your landscaping obsession. I have 500 units to worry about with only 4 hours per day to deal with them. The fact that you are tormented by the less than perfect lawn near your house is miniscule compared to the fact that Mr. Disney's roof may cave in if we have too much snow or that Ms. Whiskey's shed roof was damaged by our employee.

I don't want you to come into my office with your bugged-out eyes and your musty, dog-furry clothes and explain to me for an hour how YOU think we should route the drainage near your house. I couldn't care less. And while you are in my office, do not so blatantly try to read the papers on my desk or tell me how you think that building 8 got better dirt for their regrading than your building.

You cannot bully me into giving you the plans for the project. It was approvd by the Committee and is a Go. The specifics are none of your business.

It is not my responsibility to call you to tell you what will be discussed at any meeting. It's a public forum and if you had any concerns, you knew this project was coming up and you should have gotten off your fat ass and attended the meeting.

And for the record:

• I don't have a "Poison Ivy File" in which to put your 4 hours of "Poison Ivy Research". You are the only one who cares.

• I will not make a public service announcement for the others on your block to "secure their peanuts" when they throw out their trash. I am not a babysitter.

• You are saying V's name wrong. How many times to I have to slip it into general conversation for you to hear that you are mispronouncing it? It makes you sound like an idiot.

• When you tell me that you "don't want to toot your own horn", but that you "used to be a researcher for congress"...no worries! That doesn't impress me.

• I will not call the landscapers to tell them how you think the leaves should be blown. You are not an expert. I don't believe you've ever blown anything in your life.

• Do not bring me a 5 month old chocolate favor from Stephanie and Bill's wedding. God only knows where it's been since last September. That is NOT the way to bribe me. Try tequila next time. In a sealed bottle.

*Recently changed, by the way, to Phone Answering Goddess. Makes my boss a little uncomfortable when I make her address me as such.

Speaking of Grass!
V burst into the office yesterday amid a billow of smoke. So I let him flit about for a few minutes until he actually sat down and shut up. Then I asked him. "Why do you smell like Weed?"

Shocked the hell out of him. I only look like a virtuous-country-club-cheerleader-sorority-type-doe-eyed-princess.

But don't fuck with me. I've been around the block a few times.