Crazy May...

I am going to preface this post with saying that I do not take mental health lightly.  I have had my experiences with depression and have family members who deal with worse, so please don't take offense to the term crazy.  I mean it in a "bless her little heart" kind of way, but still with fear.

May lives in our little community.  Everyone knows May, in fact there are actually TWO women named May in our little community- "Sweet May" and "Crazy May".   At over six feet tall and so many pounds, May cuts an intimidating figure.  She's been known to walk into people's houses uninvited and then help herself to their yard equipment or jewelry.  She obviously missed manners school the day we all learned about personal space and how to keep some of it.   One early morning a neighbor was out walking and found May asleep in the gutter.   The police are not only on a first name basis with May, they refer to her as Crazy May.

I'm no psychologist, but I've watched enough daytime self help television to assume that May is bi-polar and that she self medicates with alcohol.  Oh, and throw in some prescription drug abuse for good measure.

Last week I had a run in with May.  I didn't mean to, it just sort of happened.   May is "friends" with a widower named Mike.  Mike is a sweet man, but very lonely and May latched onto him like a newborn to a fresh nipple.   Speaking of nipple, she also sucks him dry of money, gas, food and anything else he will hand over to her.  

May and Mike had a huge blowout about a month ago.  After tearing off his mailbox, keying his car, and threatening to kill him, Mike finally called out the police.  We were all relieved, but before we could break out the champagne- they started talking again, and after falling to her knees and asking forgiveness, Mike took May back.  *shoves cork back in the bottle*

So last week some of the neighbors and I were visiting in the courtyard and we saw May walking away from Mike while holding his elderly poodle.  Jackson is the oldest poodle I have ever seen.  He defies chronological reasoning in that he's not dead yet, but Mike loves this dog fiercely, so seeing May walking off with it was concerning.   She was yelling at Mike while he followed behind.  Back when we were living at my parent's house on the water I saw an alligator take off with a duck.  The duck's mate followed that alligator- probably as dessert.  Watching Mike follow May while she held poor decrepit Jackson reminded me exactly of that duck.

So I followed too.

Upon reaching her garage (and I will spare you the hoarder's description of that space) she started yelling again.  At that point I asked Mike if he was okay and if he needed any help.  He said he was fine and that it was okay, and I didn't think it was, but I took his word for it and walked away.

Crazy May followed me.  Still holding onto the dog, and yelling at me in a monotone voice- "Mam", "Mam", "Mam", "Mam", "Mam"....all across the courtyard.  I would like to mention here that May and I ARE THE SAME AGE.  Mam??  Seriously?  Finally, I got to my little courtyard and shut the gate behind me.  Thankfully, she retreated.

Yesterday I heard May screaming at Mike outside his door and demanding that he give her five dollars.  He opened the door and gave her the money, and she sped off in her car.  As she does.  This cycle will not change- it is a highly abusive, toxic relationship that feeds off of mental illness.  I feel sorry for the both of them, but to be honest I am scared of May.  Sure we have an alarm system and a small arsenal of weapons at our disposal, but the woman is not mentally sound and seems desperate to me.  I feel for her, I really do.  Untreated mental illness has to be a living hell, but it's become a bit of a living hell for the rest of us as well.  People scatter like roaches who just saw the light switch flip every time she comes out of her house.

It only takes one person to stand up to a bully.  I sure hope that person moves in soon.

Lead foot Larry...

No community would be complete without a resident ex-con.  Seriously, we have one.  He is a thin wiry little man who walks around with a permanent twitch- probably attributed to the extensive drug use that led him to a stint in state prison.  Thankfully he lives on the other side of our community and is not in the direct vicinity of us, because let me tell you- it's a total Amtrak situation over there.

Larry grew up in the town home he now lives in.  After his parents died, they left the town home to him, probably because Larry was still living with them in his 40's and the squatter's rights must have kicked in.   So Larry lives there rent free with his equally colourful wife.  When they are not screaming at each other on their tiny front patio, or knocking on doors asking for money- they can be found racing through the cul-de-sac.  You might ask how does one exactly race through a circular drive- he manages.  Speeds of 40-50 mph have been noted as he peels out to run "errands" and is back within thirty minutes.

We first met Larry on one of his errand peel outs.  Only this one led to him crashing into two vehicles and knocking down a lamp post instead of leaving the area.  Don't get me wrong, he tried to leave, he even asked Travis to help him move his truck (Travis gave a definitive, NO- so not helping you flee the scene answer).   When leaving wasn't going to happen, Larry decided to run back to his house and get his wife to come sit in the driver's seat- because Larry didn't have a license or car insurance.  Classy, I know.

At this point several other neighbors were beginning to gather around for the mid-day entertainment.  Larry was gesturing wildly and pacing back and forth.  We had already called the authorities and they were on their way.  This gave Larry and his wife time to come up with a story- one where she was driving the truck and not him.  Never mind the fact that several of us witnessed Larry plow into both vehicles and knock over the lamp post.   Details.

Finally the officer showed up.  They know Larry.  This is a small town and apparently Larry is a frequent flyer in our local police station.   Larry began to explain how his wife was pulling out and some belt on the truck snapped, she panicked, pressed on the accelerator and ran into the cars and took out the lamp post.  The officer took notes.  Then Travis walked over to the officer and simply said, "I saw the entire thing if you need a witness account".   The officer then took down Travis' story- the one where Larry was driving, and the officer turned to the wife and said, "If Larry was driving why did you tell me it was you??"  They both shot us looks that told me right away we would not be getting a fruit cake from them for the holidays.

Larry ended up handcuffed, the truck he hit was totalled since it was hit so hard that it jumped the curb, hit the lamp post and ultimately bent the frame.  Larry was fined $200 for lack of insurance and the poor truck owner was out any help with repairs.  The officers let Larry go after they took down the information for their report, and I'm really not sure if anything else came from it.    Needless to say NOBODY parks in the cul-de-sac anymore, except for Larry.  Wide berth.

The lamp post is still missing, and all that covers the still live electrical wires is an orange rubber road cone.   We were told by the city that we would be getting a new lamp post, but that was back in June.   I'm not holding my breath.

We still have Larry though- and I imagine we will for some time to come, because really he's like a cockroach, and what is a community without a resident ex-con?

Inside the courtyard of good and evil...

If you get the title reference to this post you may know where I am going with this.

We love our tiny tudor townhouse, but folks- we have moved right into One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.  Maybe it's the close proximity to our neighbors, but we have some interesting characters living near us, so many in fact that I think I may write a book.   (well, more likely I will just blog about it)

I'm going to start with the woman who lives directly beside us.  I will call her Garbage Can Girl (GCG for short)  I first met GCG while we were remodeling this past summer.   I was in the house and painting- brush in one hand and a lollipop in the other.  Don't ask me why, but I suck on lolipops when I paint.  I was mid brush dip, when I heard a rather terse "Hello??".  Walking into the garage I saw a woman wildly gesteruring to two trash cans and she began acusing me of stealing them.

Yep, totally busted.  I lift trash bins.  It's what I do.  Breaking bad.

I tried to explain to her that when we moved in they were in front of our garage, and maybe one of the contractors pulled them in and used them, but before I could get through my explanation she began TIPPING the cans over into the garage and DUMPING the trash onto the garage floor.

I wish I was kidding.

I just stood there, lollipop in hand, bewildered and waiting for the camara crew of Pranked to pop out.

They didn't.

That was our first interaction with GCG.   The second is ongoing and involves her little dog that she leaves in the atrium area next to our atrium area for extended periods of time.  Do you know what little dogs do when they are left alone and bored?

Bark.  Non-stop.

Travis is sleeping days, since he is working nights- so I tried ringing her bell so I could ask her to please take the dog in.  She peeked out, but wouldn't open the door.  I did this three times.  Finally, I wrote her a polite, but sternly worded note asking her to find someplace else to stash the dog.   All's quiet at the moment.

Next up:  Bumper cars in the cul-de-sac...