Trouble in Paradise

Things have been going way too well at the Glendale Manor. It was inevitable that something would pop up to ruin it. This time it’s the landlord. She’s a woman in her 60’s that has an emotional attachment to the house, as it was the house her immigrant Spanish father worked hard to attain when she was a child. Well, this is the story she gives when she’s trying her best to make us feel guilty for not maintaining the outdoors to her liking, but if she loves the house so much, why does she live in Laguna Beach?

Before each of us moved in she asked if it would be a problem to water “a small area of the yard,” but as of late she’s asking more and more, and wanting us to sweep and rake… I didn’t sign up to be her gardener and Tyler is pretty indignant that she’s trying to get “something for nothing” out of us. She is relentless lately in her nagging and it’s starting to piss me off.

Yesterday afternoon I was blissed out after a sweaty vinyasa yoga practice with one of my favorite teachers at Yorkworks Larchmont. At the end of class, she led us through three rounds of overlapping Oms. It sounded absolutely heavenly – a room of 35 yogis unleashing their most soulful Oms from the bottom of their hearts. I floated out of that class without a care in the world. Then I pulled out my iPhone and checked my email. There in my inbox was yet another mile long email from the landlord with "feedback" from her recent visit to the house, which included:

Last but not least.............the fruit trees were really dry. I know you just got this responsibility......but please water them regularly until we get some substantial rain. It is better to use the sprinkler head and let it run about a half hour on each of the three trees....there doesn't have to be a lot of water pressure........deep watering is the best.

Um, yea, okay Lady – Let me spend an hour and a half 3 times a week watering your trees and then ooh, oooh! Can I pay the water bill too??

Needless to say this sent my vinyasa zen calm right out the window. I was livid. I tried to talk myself out of it. Do not let this broad undo what took an hour and a half of sweat and breath to achieve… but it was too late. My panties were all in a wod. I obsessed about it all the way through my after yoga snack and continued to obsess over it all the way to my next destination, fantasizing about sending her an email telling her where she could shove those fruit trees.

After I calmed down I sent a very bland two line return email acknowledging receipt, but with no comment on the watering. I ended it with “Have a nice week.” Translation: “Get a life you old bitch.”

Hmm. PMS? Is that you?