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Our association president called the City, and turns out that the City law is that any man-made dividing wall structure may not go beyond a maximum height of 6 feet. Plants and shrubs are not subject to that rule, so it’s okay to plant a tree or row of shrubs that reach beyond that. However, in order to change the height of a shrub wall, both parties on either side of the wall must reach a written agreement. Obviously this wasn’t done when our older neighbor decided to just have the portion before her front door hacked, violating both Association and the neighbor’s rights and properties. And yet we can’t put up a higher permanent wall like the biker neighbor proposed. The City said that if both parties can’t reach an agreement about a shared wall, then it has be brought to the Courts to decide.

GREAT. I did not want my work to come that close to home. It’s enough to make me turn to WINE.

I had plans to meet up with MOH Vicky, her boyfriend, and James last nite for dinner. But as I was starving and still had another hour and a half before meet-up time, I put a marinara sauce and some Italian meatballs on stovetop at a low simmer, took out some pasta, and went to get my mail. At the mailbox, I was confronted by a large, very angry biker who looked like he may have been a Hell’s Angel.
He stormed up to me and towering overhead, huffed, “Is there an association here?!”
I told him there is.
He went on a rant about how his bushes were chopped down and who the hell authorized that and left a mess in his yard, blah blah. I was lost for awhile until I asked him enough questions for him to realize I had no idea what he was talking about. Turned out he’s the next-door neighbor of the other units in my Association, and he shares a block wall with them. A dense ivy-like shrub with hard branches grows over this shared wall on both sides, ending 2 feet above the wall like a high hedge. Apparently, one of the older neighbors (a single woman) unilaterally called for some tree trimmers to come yesterday morning and chop off just the portion of hedge in front of her unit. Now, if you look down the walkway, it’s green, then a brown square with no leaves and a huge square gap of overhead shrub, then it continues as it passes her house. The angry neighbor said he’d knocked on her door but she didn’t open it. I told him I couldn’t imagine that our regular gardener had done this as the rest of the shrubs on the wall were neatly trimmed back, and told him I’d talk to our Association president to see if anyone authorized for tree trimming of this portion. He said they’d left branches and debris on his side of the yard, too.

I called the Association president and asked him to meet me between our houses, and quietly explained the issue to him. No one on that side of the project typically uses the walkway, their primary ingress and egress being through the garage facing the opposite side of the buildings, so he was as shocked as I and the angry neighbor were when he walked around back and saw the ridiculous gap. He rapped on the older female neighbor’s door and now she was home and answered it.

And very proudly announced that she had indeed spent $220 of her own money to have this chopped down. Our president (with my intermittent attempts to help talk to the female neighbor) spent almost a full hour explaining to her that she shouldn’t have done this, that this was not her property to alter, that it was shared association property, and one that was shared with another neighbor who was not part of the association. She was stuck on that the shrub, 18 years ago, was planted on our side of the wall and hence belonged to us and that gives us the right to chop it or whatever we want, regardless of the fact that now, 18 years later, it half grows out of the other guy’s yard. She also claimed that she’d spoken to our president and requested that the shrubs be trimmed closer to the wall as she’s scared of potential lizards or whatever (altho I know she uses the garage on the other side as her main entry/exit, too), and that he’s done nothing. Our president was like, “You told me this weekend! It’s TUESDAY and this morning you already had the shrub chopped down! You didn’t give me a chance to discuss this with the gardeners!” I told her trimming back against our wall is one thing, taking two feet of height off the center of a wall that half belongs to someone else so that his yard now has a giant gap in the middle, which decision she made unilaterally on shared Association property, was wrong. We’re just hoping that the guy doesn’t want to sue the Association. He was really ticked off.

When I got back in my house, the sauce was dried and burnt and my house stunk. And I was late for meeting up with everyone for dinner. But I still had to quell this fire.

I called the guy back after taking the sauce off the stove and explained to him that we’d spoken to the female neighbor whose house the tree trimming was in front of, and that she did indeed call the tree trimmers but that she’d done it without Association permission or knowledge, and that we apologize for his inconvenience on behalf of the Association (since I’m still Secretary). I asked what remedy he’d like, and said we can pay for additional trimming to be done to even out the hedge or leave it and let it grow. He said he wanted to sit on it and calm down and think.

He called me half an hour ago. He wants to add a length of chain link above the wall to give it the height back, cover the chain link portion with green tarp, and let the hedge grow over it or not, but he wants his privacy back up. He said yesterday, he was able to see the older neighbor’s walkway light which glared from the gap into his living room, and he could see people walking up and down that walkway if they’re tall. Plus, it’s cosmetically displeasing to see that 10-, 12-foot gap in the middle of his shrub. I told him that technically, legally, the height of a block wall between property lines is as high as a dividing wall is permitted to be, and that to add height would likely be against City laws. He said, the shrubs grew 2 feet over that, so what’s the difference? I said the difference was that the shrubs were not permanent additions to the height and no one had a problem with it so no one complained to the City, but to add permanent height to a wall would require City permits. Plus, now we know that this neighbor apparently has a problem with the height of the wall. Not to say the way she addressed her issue was correct. (I can still hear her wailing, “So he likes privacy. But what about ME? *I* don’t want it that high. So it doesn’t matter what *I* want?” Well, it’s not HER wall. And even if she did live there alone and it WERE her property and not an Association’s, she’d still have to deal with that neighbor before changing shared property. The difference is that *I* wouldn’t have to deal with it then.) I was SO NICE to the neighbor during this phone call. I put it out there that I believe the city would prohibit the wall addition, but I surrounded it with sugar and understanding and commiseration so that he’d swallow the pill, and he was pretty nice to me in return, altho he was obviously still upset about the whole thing. I thanked him for his brainstorming idea, promised to bring it to my Association so that we can work on a compromisable solution, and told him I couldn’t tell him yea or nay because 11 other units share that wall and may have opinions on how they’d like it to change or not change. He said he understood and knows I can’t give him an answer, and expects there to be some back-and-forth for awhile. I said he may be right, but it has to start somewhere and his open communication with the Association through me is an important and appreciated action, and promised to keep him in the loop.

I’ve passed the neighbor’s requests to my President, who’s going to look into City laws and if it’s as clean as, “No, you can’t alter dividing wall height,” then that’s easy. But we’d still have a ticked off neighbor.

Mr. W thinks the older female Association member should pay for anything we’re gonna have to do now to remedy the problem she caused.

Hi Cindy,
Quick note with good news

The pap test returned as “NEGATIVE”

Great!

We”ll continue paps every 6 months for a Little while.

See you in January or so.

Dr [K]

Well, I didn’t eat the giant chocolate chip cookie last nite. At about 11:30p I turned off the big screen satellite TV downstairs and went to watch the tiny static-y analog TV upstairs in my bedroom to remove myself from temptation. And promptly fell asleep. Disaster averted. Or rather, postponed.

What did I do with my first day of food freedom? The cupcake was still there in the courtroom when I walked in. I ignored it. For about an hour and a half. And then I thought about this poor loner cupcake sitting by itself, unwanted, and felt so bad for it that I ate it. But just as a public service. I did not enjoy it. I had instant reflux very quickly after the cupcake so I thought I’d even out the sugar with a cup of fresh coffee, no sugar, just unsweetened soy milk. And then I realized that coffee is acidic, and wondered what the hell I was doing to myself. I had a few animal crackers the remainder of the day and that’s it. When I got home I ate the giant chocolate chip cookie which was not that good, either. OH, and I was on a giant caffeine kick, all jittery and crazy the rest of the day from the coffee.

I think I’m over the junk food now.

Since my birthday is over the weekend, my staff threw me a birthday shindig at work today. My reporter brought an amazing cake from the Great Dane Bakery that looked like a wedding cake. It was a delicious moist four layered white cake with strawberry and cream filling, and the outside of the cake is a fondant-like covering of white chocolate hand-decorated with grape vine design around the top circumference, metallic gold swirls airbrushed across the top as the background to a script “Happy Birthday Cindy”. The sides of the round cake had elegant hand-applied whorls and curlicued flourishes in a white puffy cream. I wish I had a photo of it. I didn’t think to take a cameraphone picture like I did last year.

People gathered, sang and made me feel good, I reminded everyone that I’m not 32 for a couple more days, and then I opened cards and presents. My judge had a great card that is worth commemorating. The front reads:

If you want to be HAPPY, be!
-henry david thoreau
HAPPY BIRTHDAY

On the blank inside he’d written simply:

Cindy,
Be as you are and have been.

What a concept, huh?

While I was in the jury room with everyone reminding them I’m not 32 yet, my realtor called. The #1 house’s agent got back to him, and said that altho they’d received some calls of interest, they’re not in offer/counter offer mode with anyone, and they’re willing to resume negotiations with us where we’d last left off before the #2 house’s sleaze screwed us. My realtor faxed over our acceptance to their counter offer, which was signed and faxed back. We should be getting our financing and entering Escrow soon! YAAAAAAY! (almost)

I was talking to a girl friend the other day, asking how her life’s going, what’s new with her social life, etc. She told me she’d recently had a date with a new guy. He’s British and she’s digging the accent at dinner, and then as the night wears on, he thought it appropriate to disclose his sexual fetish. The way she put it was that he said his “thing” sexually is…”having a girl pee…IN his mouth.” I’m holding my tongue and reserving judgment, letting her continue. She clarified that he’s NOT referring to the typical “golden shower,” if golden showers could even be considered typical outside of Japan. He was referring to pee…in his MOUTH…while the girl is sitting on his face.

So instantly I’m imagining that I could never sleep with a guy who’s just disclosed this to me, cuz it opens whole new worlds of concern re the phrase “not knowing where his mouth has been”. But because my friend is already clearly distraught about this detail, asking me whether this truly is freaky or if she’s just a prude, I couldn’t be anything but nonchalant and supportive. I wasn’t gonna make her feel worse shrieking, “OMG, EWWWW! Who the f are you dating?! You need to SCREEN, man! Don’t just go out with the first cretin who hits on you!” Cuz that is not being a good friend. The first neutral thought that came to mind was that at least urine’s sterile. That’s what I heard, anyway. She quashed that real quick. “It’s not as sterile as you think. There’s bacteria in urine. And some people have MRSA in their urine.” I think I asked her what MRSA is, but I don’t remember what she told me. I just remember it was like, “Mrs. A?” So here’s what I told her.

I said that I guess mentally, golden showers are less gaggy than sucking on the faucet directly (haha, I slay myself) cuz at least it’s external and you could always wash it off. But the pro to sucking on the faucet is that it creates less of a mess on your body/bed. So you don’t constantly have to change your sheets or buy vinyl bedcoverings. Or be subject to people going into your bedroom, sniffing the air, and saying with a wrinkled nose, “Are you a bed-wetter?” I told her that if she truly likes the guy and truly can’t handle his fetish, maybe she could retrain or untrain him. Like, eat lots of asparagus. Bundles and bundles of steamed asparagus. For days. And then she only has to do it once. Or she could always wait for a bladder infection or UTI and then while he’s chugging away, she could say thoughtfully, “You don’t suppose the bacteria in my bladder infection would infect your mouth or throat, do you?”

Am I a good friend, or what?

I spoke to Dwaine briefly on the drive home earlier. He said he’d taken a peek at this blog earlier in the week and saw all the photos posted from Mr. W’s niece’s wedding this past weekend. He said he wanted to comment but didn’t want readers who don’t know who he is to me to take it the “wrong way,” but that I looked great in that dress in all the photos I’m in, and that he could tell I’ve been working out and he wanted to give me props for being in the current shape that I’m in. I thanked him heartily, said that my regular readers know who he is to me because I talk about him fairly regularly and reminded him that he’d commented before. He’s even had comment rapport with my regular readers. So he went online and commented after we hung up. Cuz he’s cool and generous like that.

I was too guilty and sheepish to tell him that I’ve only been to the gym once this week, and that just in the past 2 days alone, my food intake consisted of:
Wed lunch, Employee Appreciation Day free food:
3 slices of Costco pizza (cheese; pepperoni; everything)
piece of cake
Wed dinner at Claim Jumper:
half a rotisserie chicken
steamed veggies
basmati rice (which sounds okay, until you get to my dessert)
3 flavors of creme brulee (lemon amaretto; green tea & ginger; chocolate mocha)
Today at work:
rehydrated vegetable soup from a packet
2 handfuls of minty rice M&Ms
giant chocolate muffin
another piece of Costco cake (brought up by my courtroom assistant from a coworker’s housewarming luncheon today)
a bite of donut
like 8 lardful spring onion crackers

Dwaine didn’t know it, but he’s guilted me into going to the gym tonight, as soon as the evening crowd dies down.

Great news! The Great German Teacher Hunt of 2008 is now officially over! We’ve found Mr. Englyng! After the search for our high school German teacher was announced in March, a few readers emailed me some research with some potential addresses and phone numbers and in April, Dwaine and I had the contact information narrowed down to 1 possibility. The address seemed to match the area we vaguely remember going to when Mr. Englyng invited a bunch of students to his house for a summer backyard party in the early 90s. It was Dwaine’s job to call, but he kept chickening out. I’m not sure what he was nervous about, but it was probably a multitude of factors: being out of touch for so long, not knowing the circumstances under which Mr. Englyng left our high school, trepidation over what state of health, mind, and/or attitude we’d find our favorite former teacher in. Yesterday, another former student of Mr. Englyng’s who was googling him in his own search for this unforgettable teacher led this student, Andrew, to my post (see link above). Andrew commented with the address and phone number he’d found (which comment was sent to my work account via email), so while I was waiting for my child molestation jury trial to begin, I thought, “What the heck” and called.
Clear male voice: Hello?
Me: (dismayed to realize I sounded like a telemarketer) Hello, may I speak to Finn Englyng, please?
Clear male voice: (suspiciously) Who is this?
Me: (overly chirpily to make up for sounding like a telemarketer) I’m actually a former student of his, I’ve been looking for him. (Now realizing with more dismay that I sound like a stalker.)
Clear male voice: This is he.
Me: Mr. Englyng, this is Cindy [last name]! I don’t know if you remember me, I took your class in high school over 10 years ago…
Mr. Englyng: I remember you!

Not only is Mr. Englyng well and happy, having retired a year ago with what he called a district “golden handshake” that was too good to pass up, but he’d gone and purchased a sailboat after retirement and has been sailing. His memory is sharp as a tack, although he is indeed diabetic like Dwaine remembered, he’s got it under control and is presently healthy, and is preparing for a month-long road trip with his wife to visit his grandkids and attend their high school graduations through the month of June. So for any of my readers or random strangers who may stumble on my site in their own search for Mr. Englyng, know that he is well and happy. *whew!* I must admit, I was scared as I prepared to call, that I would find him in failing health or in a state of senility. We reminisced for awhile, I caught him up on a few students that he remembered, and I think I surprised him as to just how big an influence he has had on the daily lives of so many of his students. Great men almost never have an idea of their own gravity, right? He’s also apparently never googled himself or he would’ve found this site.

I told him I recalled the summer party we had in his vast backyard. He chuckled and informed me that actually, his backyard is quite small. I was shocked. I remembered it as humongous. “Or maybe I was just smaller back then,” I said thoughtfully. Everything appears smaller than you remember when you revisit it, or maybe it is that memory makes things larger than life. But he is every bit as smart as I’d remembered (even though I was likely dumber back then, too). “I had no idea you’re diabetic until Dwaine told me; I remember you always having a Pepsi on your desk.”
“I had to stop doing that,” he said. “I stopped having sodas and sugar 12 years ago. People lose hands and feet and legs from diabetes.” He’s right; diabetes is serious stuff but so many people don’t bother making lifestyle changes to prevent such preventable effects of this disease. My courtroom assistant is overweight to the point she’s borderline diabetic but she claims her blood pressure’s normal and doesn’t have cholesterol problems so she’s not bothering to lose the weight or eat better. I’m glad Mr. Englyng is smart enough to know he doesn’t have to go out like that. I told him that was great because if he went into a state of denial over his health like so many people do instead of taking the bull by the horns like he did, he may not have been around to get this phone call today. I told him of all the people looking him up, both people I know and strangers who’ve found my blog, and he was surprised and touched.

On my Quotes page, I’d written long ago this little gem from Mr. Englyng:
“Go to the wedding. Because you have to go to the funeral, you should go to the wedding.”
Guess who I invited to MY wedding. He said he’d do everything in his power to be there.

When Mr. Englyng returns from his summer road trip, Dwaine and I are gonna meet up with him for lunch. I can’t wait!

I think women think about this moment more often than men. Men talk about it using crass four-lettered terms — more a complaint than the shock and detail that women use when describing losing our innocence.

For me, it started at a movie theatre. He’d called and asked if I wanted to watch a movie with him that evening, and I made a joke about his lack of flowers and chocolate when asking me out. He cleverly joked back that men don’t ask women out with flowers and candy because if we say no, he’s now wasted money. The flowers and chocolate come when he picks me up, he clarified. I argued that offering flowers/candy sweetens the deal so that if he asks us out with such enticements, we’re more likely to say yes. Ah, but what if we women are just using the guy for free stuff? Then we’d take the flowers/candy and still say no. It was all a moot point, really, because when he showed up, he did so empty-handed. But he did pay for dinner — a peanut butter smoothie for him, a chicken wrap for me. And he paid for the movie like a gentleman. And like a gentleman, he also let me pick the movie, so I selected a romantic comedy I’d been wanting to see. At some point during the early part of the movie I leaned on the arm rest that separated us and my left shoulder nudged his right bicep. I looked up at him. He looked down, grinned and lifted his right arm out of the way. I was happy moments later to feel that arm rest around my shoulders and I watched the rest of his movie in his half-embrace.

On the way back home, I knew what was coming. I’d seen it coming for months, and was keenly attuned to how quickly it grew the closer to home the car got. I literally watched it get higher and bigger. And you know what sucked? I didn’t even want it. As much as I knew that (*rolling eyes*) I “needed” it, I didn’t really welcome it. Isn’t it strange how a car door slam echoes, how loudly the footfalls on hard asphalt punctuate the time…

I remember looking and thinking, “That’s gonna hurt.” Those were my exact soundless words. “That’s gonna hurt.” You’d think it would hurt going in during insertion, you’d think it would hurt during all the pumping, but you know when it REALLY hurt? When it was over. It was huge. $56 big ones for 13 gallons at $4.29 a gallon. Holy crap.

Welcome to adulthood. This is the real world today. We’re being raped by our gas companies.

I got some good news in the mail today. The IRS sent me notice that I’m getting the full stimulus payment amount, $600, which means I paid a lot of taxes to qualify, BUT still didn’t make enough income to be exempted from the full amount. I’m a true middle-class-er. I’ll bet college roommie/bridesmaid Diana doesn’t even qualify for a dollar of it because of her brilliant career. Lucky girl. 🙂

Driving home after work today, I heard a caller on the radio complain that his current wife’s tax refund (maybe he meant stimulus payment) was being held hostage by the IRS. Apparently, this dude has a 9-year-old kid with his ex, and the ex lives in NorCal so she has full custody, and he’s paying $700/mo toward child support which he’ll have to pay for the next 9 years. He said that he owed some backpay for child support early on. Because of his prior debts, he and his current wife file their income taxes separately and the wife is entitled to a refund but the IRS refuses to give it to her because of his owed back support and they want to give his wife’s refund to the ex to cover the backpay. The wife is so pissed off about this that she wants to get a divorce to prevent her personal money going to pay his ex.

I never thought I’d relate to something like that. Poor current wife.

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