Did you know that I live on Wisteria Lane? If you think I'm being facetious or if you think I'm lying, here is photographic evidence:
Yep, I live right next door to Orson and Bree Van de Camp-Hodge on the right and Carlos and Gabi Solis on the left. Perhaps you've heard of them? If you have, then you most likely know a thing for two about a few of my other neighbors, Tom and Lynette Scavo, Edi Britt, Mike Delfino, Susan Meyer, Mrs. McClusky, and the new Gay Guys Down the Lane. They're all pretty desperate, especially the housewives. And me? I'm not a housewife but I'm certainly desperate at times. Maybe you've read a little bit about it here. Or here. Probably here. And chances are, here, here, and even here.
We aren't the only ones on Wisteria Lane. There is also the Jensen family, the Lindstrom family, the Cranes, the Brands, and the Franks. They all have their own desperate stories to tell, and I have taken it upon myself to tell these tales of desperation. . . the ones you haven't heard.
Let's start with the Cranes. The Cranes bought their house last summer, and at the time the house was only four years old. They completely gutted it, tore out all landscaping and hardscaping to the dirt, and redid the entire interior and exterior. This process took them well over 8 months, countless work trucks and Andy Gumps, and certainly a couple hundred thousand dollars. (During this time we met Mr. Crane, with whom Giancarlo fell instantly in lust.) The Cranes finally moved in, along with their grand piano, their two Porsches, one Bentley, and a completely decked out gigantic four-door pick up of some kind. Some of the neighbors were not pleased with the new neighbors because of all of the construction and all of the cars, and apparent unfriendliness of Mr. Crane.
I mentioned the following segment of this story in a previous post. One day, I looked out the window, and two police cars were parked in front of the Crane's home. Officers escorted Mr. Crane in cuffs to a cruiser, and put him inside. Mr. Crane's wife followed them out, then went back in, then went back out, pausing to stare at her husband in the police car. Of course, I needed to get a better look so I realized that I needed to check the mail. I donned my glasses and walked down to the mailbox in my bare feet, soaking it all in.
The situation continued like this for around 30 minutes. Then suddenly, as I peered through the blinds, they let Mr. Crane out of the vehicle and took the cuffs off. And they all chatted and laughed for another 15 minutes or so.
Being the good neighbors that we are, we invited their daughter, Kayla, to Diego's birthday party in hopes of making friends. Well, that and we thought maybe we would get the scoop.
A few days later, they stopped by with a birthday gift. How nice! However, standing at the front door, Mr. Crane said,
"We won't be able to come to Diego's birthday party because that is when Kayla's birthday party will be. You know, the one we didn't invite your son to? That one."
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Whatever. I won't let that make me desperate. I have enough desperation of my own to keep me busy.
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Stay tuned for more dirt on the other residents of Wisteria Lane!
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