While I was in my junior year of college–my first year at Sonoma State University–there were a lot of major, major changes in my life, all of which I strived throughout each to handle with grace and patience, as if I carried a title similar to an Expert Life-Change Specialist. One of the changes my husband and I were blessed enough to encounter was a highly-successful new business, which we started the same year, and which was so incredibly fruitful for us that we went from two of us, my toddler son and me, using food stamps to get groceries for the month; to being my husband, his daughter, my son, and me–right after we were married the previous year before Christmas up in Lake Tahoe, living in a chosen just-after-the-wedding home, making thousands of dollars per week…it was like nothing I had ever experienced and it was absolutely amazing. Things changed quite fast for us because of our business. It was remarkable how quickly things were moving along for us. It seemed one day we were buying the first thing we spent money on from the profits of our new business, then there we were, seven years later, packing up our things and moving to Alabama…
Why you ask? Why move from California to Alabama? You won’t believe this, who does what we did? My husband couldn’t stand to go from chic to geek while my family, who made the same amount of money we did, still had a glowing business and new cars and a new Master Ski boat and was able to spoil their kids with expensive toys and clothes, and send them to private school if they wanted. My husband hated the idea of being looked down on. I was very surprised at the surprising turn of events; it was me who raised by people who most would consider ‘uppity”~not because of the money but because of the attitude~ they just reeked of upper-class. My husband unusually quickly became accustomed to the “good life”. And by good life I’m talking about things like, being able to reschedule all of your jobs for the day the morning off so you can go play a round of golf with your buddies. Or, for ladies, you take the day off or you answer your business calls while walking around the mall; in essence you’re spending it as you make it. Taking last minute weekend trips to Tahoe with $2,000 in your pocket. Being able to spend $1,000 on your three children for school clothes. Not counting the shoes. Or the undergarments. Or coats. Just the clothes.
We moved to Alabama to an extremely upper-class neighborhood, again, why you ask? We sold our home on the golf course for $630,000 after paying only $457,000 less than 18 months before. And we found a custom home in a little town called Spanish Fort which was beyond gorgeous and amazing. The way a standard, cookie cutter home looks in Alabama is how the high-end custom homes look in California. So just imagine what custom home in Spanish Fort looks like. It was a 3,800 square foot home with granite and 18-inch slate tiles throughout; the walls were all custom painted in four different shades of brown; it came with a beautiful wine refrigerator in the kitchen and a custom built wine rack above it. Asking price for this home? You won’t even come close so don’t even try….we paid asking price, $199,000. It was the most amazing deal we’ve ever made. (And the biggest ego booster of all? My name was the only one on the house deed, they wouldn’t allow my husband’s name to be on it…hmm..hmm.hm…KA CHING!)
We hadn’t been there two months before I started noticing how snooty the people were in Spanish Fort. It was like being on another planet. The first time I met one of our neighbors, for example, this is how she introduced herself to me (keep in mind she drove a brand new BMW SUV and her husband drove a gorgeous Jaguar, so it wasn’t that she had no class; she was just a bitch): Extends and shakes my hand before speaking, then looks down at my mouth, “Ah. You’re the one with a tongue ring. I’m Adrienne”…Uh, hello! Rude! And every encounter I had with her after that was a little ruder than the time before. It wasn’t until nearly a year later that I had had enough of the sneers, smirks and grimaces. I decided to see what the problem really was around here: was it that they didn’t like me? Or was it that they didn’t want their husbands to like me? I was the youngest woman in the neighborhood. I was just barely 29 when we moved there. The closest to my age was next door, nicest woman ever, Angela was her name–she and her husband were from Southern California, major USC Trojan fans. Angela’s husband was my age, within a month. She was three years older. She and I became friends right away and until the day we left Alabama she was one I had gotten closest too. She fully supported my decision to do what I did next. It was a rather bold statement but I decided to give those bitches a dose of their own medicine.
Saturdays in Alabama is the day every man in the entire state just about, is outside mowing the lawn, trimming the yard, weeds and roses, it was usually a 4-5 hour job for most guys. I put my sexiest, sluttiest bikini on, I greased up my body to make it extra shiny, and I put short-shorts on over the bottoms of my suit. When I say short, I mean short like panties. I was in excellent shape then, worked out every day, 5’8″, 130 pounds, blonde hair, tan skin and muscular body. I walked out with my sunglasses on, my bikini top with shorts and flip-flops, and I bent down as sexily as I could and began pulling weeds. I was out there for about twenty minutes when I heard my husband busting up laughing so hard he couldn’t contain himself. He was over on the other side of the yard! I didn’t know what that was about so I went over to where he was cutting weeds. I asked him why he was laughing. He said, “Look!”
Across the street from our house was where all the snooty women in the neighborhood (actually, to be honest I would have to say every woman in the entire neighborhood were included) would regularly gather to do their daily dose of talking shit, backstabbing, gathering gossip for tomorrow’s work session with each of them, and the newest thing seemed to be, and I had to try really, really hard to fight back tears, was standing there huddled up, looking across the street at my house. These women didn’t mind openly standing there talking about me and pointing to my house, if I was standing there, all the better in their eyes. Now these women were what you would call ruthless. The funny thing is, these people had money! They all were beautiful! I said that to my husband and he rolled his eyes and said, “Not one of the women is half as gorgeous as you, and half would be giving them a compliment”. Except that this time, there was a gathering of “snooty bitches from hell” standing there with their mouths dropped open, talking back and forth with each other as if they didn’t care that I could hear them. So you know what I did? I had to literally force myself to do this, it’s totally not in my nature (well, it didn’t used to be) to be confrontational with people. But this situation warranted it.. I marched right over to them standing there talking shit about me and I said, “Hey Ladies! What are we talking about over here that you ladies aren’t doing your chores!”…there was a bunch of mumbling and stuttering and contradicting themselves they were so nervous that I had, basically, right out in the open in front of everyone, called those bitches out and made them stutter. That was priceless!
We lived in Alabama just over two years. In the time that we lived there, guess how many times we were invited over to people’s homes for dinner? Regular for us in our old neighborhood was once or twice a month, and vice versa In two years, we had never been invited to anyone’s home. You know what made the wound sting even more? I found out that every Wednesday night since a month before we had moved there, one woman would host Ladies Dinner Night at one of their homes and the they would make the attire “dress casual”; sometimes they even did cocktail-type parties. Even Angela had been a part of it. I asked here why they treated me that way, she said the exact same thing as my husband: they were jealous and didn’t want their husbands looking at me. From that moment forward, I took every opportunity I could to flirt withtheir husbands–every single one of them–right out in the open. There were several that had no qualms about flirting back, either. I enjoyed. I enjoyed it very much. When we were pulling out of our driveway for the very last time, two of the neighbor guys came over and hugged me. I watched as the little “snooty bitches from hell” crowd started to form. I could go to sleep tonight knowing that while those awful, awful women never warmed up to me, I had handled their reprehensible behavior in a very mature and classy manner.
I would never be a part of their group…C’est la vie! Bon vent! Au-revoir bitches!