I better first explain that I live in the 2nd most expensive zip code in the US. Of course no one wants to actually live in the newly-crowned numero uno zip. It’s in a forest. Or a desert. Something that doesn’t have a major symphony/opera/ballet/top-rated, street-people-free university (that’s the other major school. You know who you are).
I started my walk off the de rigeur 1 acre minimum property and onto the street. No sidewalks of course. And there was Catwoman, leaning against her Bentley, which was parked outside a massive new home. She was with her husband (I only assume this because of the matching cars and cutey-poo license plates) and a man leaning on his Panamera Turbo (wonder if he’s on the list for the plug-in hybrid Porsche 918 Spyder, available for order at $845,000, not including shipping and taxes. Deliveries begin November 2013, and Porsche only plans to build 918).
Her nails were perfect and glowing, whereas mine look as though a fish had painted them. Her hair sleek and glossy like a pampered cat and that’s what gets me about the rich – they always look so CLEAN (kinda like Kristin Scott Thomas looked after lying around that cave for days? weeks?)
The house was one of six newly built/almost built could-be hotels I saw on my walk. Five of them have turrets. TURRETS.
I hate them, hate them, hate them. If you really want to make a point add a flippin’ battlement or moat. That I could understand. And might even admire your gall (or Gaul if vous etes Francais)
I live in what can only be described as the Grey Gardens of the West Coast. And, yes, I live with my mother. And cats. And a maniacal lodger whose husband lives ‘elsewhere’.
I haven’t succumbed to turbans yet (unless you count those microfiber towel things) but I sure looked as though I should have been picked up for trespassing. I had no idea if it was going to rain, be cold, hot, so I ended up dressed in a clothing mixture of Saks 5th Avenue, Timberland and clothing worthy of my deceased Polish grandmother.
The police dept. used to drive Volvos but then Aspen wanted them (the cars not the cops), and we have to settle for regular cruisers. The PD has little to do except calm homeowners who call them when they are scared by their computer screens changing (true) and a twig that bonked poor Fido on the head and who can they sue.
Mercedes are a dime-a-dozen and usually driven by the maids. BMWs are for the Nanny. Audis are for the dunderhead offspring who just got into Chico State.
I drive an old TDI Jetta that I fuel with bio-diesel just so I can, when in rotten mood, feel superior to Prius drivers (and the car smells like french fries/apple cider).
And to finish the rant – I remember when the wife of a very famous QB gave an interview to the local rag and said that she was so disappointed in the friends she had here. Why? Because they didn’t recognise the exact replica of the Sistine Chapel that was painted in their entrance way.
Don’t know whether I would rather be stuck on a desert island with her or her dim-bulb friends.
On the plus side of my amble – I saw a peanut, a tire gauge, a seashell and a spent 1lb packet of Peet’s Sumatra Blue Batak.
Signing off from ALDIP
(Another Lousy Day In Paradise)
p.s I blame this post on my kidney. Ouch
