
Larry, our clipboard-wielding HOA dictator, had no idea who he was messing with when he fined me for my lawn being half an inch too long. I decided to give him something to really look at, a lawn so outrageous, yet so perfectly within the rules, that he’d regret ever starting this fight.
For decades, my neighborhood was the kind of place where you could sip tea on your porch in peace, wave to the neighbors, and not worry about a thing.
Then Larry got his grubby hands on the HOA presidency.
Oh, Larry. You know the type: mid-50s, born in a pressed polo shirt, thinks the world revolves around his clipboard. From the moment he took office, it was like someone handed him the keys to a kingdom.
Or at least, that’s what he thought.
Now, I’ve been living here for twenty-five years. Raised three kids in this house. Buried a husband too. And you know what I’d learned?
Don’t mess with a woman who’s survived kids and a man who thought barbeque sauce was a vegetable. Larry clearly didn’t get that memo.
Ever since I skipped his precious HOA meeting last summer, he’s been out for blood. Like I needed to hear two hours of droning on about fence heights and paint colors. I had more important things to do — like watching my begonias bloom.
It all started last week.
I was out on the porch, minding my business, when I spotted Larry marching up the driveway, clipboard in hand.
“Oh, here we go,” I muttered, already feeling my blood pressure spike.
He stopped right at the foot of the steps, and didn’t even bother with a hello.
“Mrs. Pearson,” he began, his voice dripping with condescension. “I’m afraid you’ve violated the HOA’s lawn maintenance standards.”
I blinked at him, trying to keep my temper in check. “Is that so? The lawn’s been freshly mowed. Just did it two days ago.”
“Well,” he said, clicking his pen like he was about to write me up for a felony, “it’s half an inch too long. HOA standards are very clear about this.”
I stared at him. Half. An. Inch. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
His smug little grin told me otherwise.
“We have standards here, Mrs. Pearson. If we let one person get away with neglecting their lawn, what kind of message does that send?”
Oh, I could’ve throttled him right there. But I didn’t. Instead, I just smiled sweetly and said, “Thanks for the heads-up, Larry. I’ll be sure to trim that extra half-inch for you.”
Inside, though? I was fuming. Who did this guy think he was? Half an inch?
I’ve survived diaper blowouts, PTA meetings, and a husband who once tried to roast marshmallows using a propane torch. I wasn’t about to let Larry the Clipboard King push me around.
That night, I sat in my armchair, stewing over the whole thing. I thought about all the times in my life I’d been told to “follow the rules,” and how I’d managed to bend them just enough to keep my sanity.
If Larry wanted to play hardball, fine. Two could play that game.
And then it hit me: the HOA rulebook. That stupid, dusty old thing Larry was always quoting. I hadn’t bothered with it much over the years, but now it was time to get acquainted.
I flipped through it for a good hour, and there it was. Clear as day. Lawn decorations, tasteful, of course, were completely allowed, as long as they stayed within certain size and placement guidelines.
Oh, Larry. You poor, unfortunate soul. You had no idea what you’d just unleashed.
The very next morning, I went on the shopping spree of a lifetime. It was glorious. I bought gnomes. Not just any gnomes, though, giant ones. One was holding a lantern, another was fishing in a little fake pond I set up in the garden.
And an entire flock of pink, plastic flamingos. I clustered them together like they were planning some sort of tropical rebellion.
Then came the solar lights. I lined the walkway, the garden, and even hung a few in the trees. By the time I was done, my yard looked like a cross between a fairy tale and a Florida souvenir shop.
And the best part? Every single piece was perfectly HOA-compliant. Not a single rule was broken. I leaned back in my lawn chair, watching the sun set behind my masterpiece.
The twinkling lights came to life, casting a warm glow over my gnome army and the flamingo brigade. It was, in a word, glorious.
But Larry, oh Larry, was not going to take this lying down.
The first time he saw my yard, I knew I had him. I was watering the petunias when I spotted his car creeping down the street. His windows rolled down, his eyes narrowing as they scanned every inch of my lawn.
The way his jaw clenched, his fingers tight on the steering wheel — it was priceless. He slowed to a crawl, staring at the gnome with the margarita, lounging in his lawn chair like he didn’t have a care in the world.
I gave Larry a little wave, extra sweet, as if I didn’t know I’d just declared war.
He stared at me, his face turning the color of a sunburned tomato, and then, without a word, he sped off.
I let out a laugh so loud it startled a squirrel in the oak tree. “That’s right, Larry. You can’t touch this.”
For a few days, I thought maybe, just maybe, he’d let it go. Silly me. A week later, there he was again, stomping up to my door with that clipboard, wearing his HOA President badge like he’d been knighted.
“Mrs. Pearson,” he began, not even bothering with pleasantries, “I’ve come to inform you that your mailbox violates HOA standards.”
I blinked at him. “The mailbox?” I tilted my head toward it. “Larry, I just painted that thing two months ago. It’s pristine.”
He squinted at it like he’d found some imaginary flaw. “The paint is chipping,” he insisted, scribbling something on his clipboard.
I glanced at the mailbox again. Not a chip in sight. But I knew this wasn’t about the mailbox. This was personal.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “All this over half an inch of grass?”
“I’m just enforcing the rules,” Larry said, but the look in his eyes told a different story.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Sure, Larry. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
He turned on his heel and strutted back to his car like he’d just delivered some life-altering decree. I watched him go, fury bubbling up inside me. Oh, he thought he could win this? Fine. Let the games begin.
That night, I hatched a plan. If Larry wanted a fight, he was going to get one. I spent the next morning back at the garden store, loading up on more gnomes, more flamingos, and just for fun, a motion-activated sprinkler system.
By the time I was done, my yard looked like a carnival of absurdity. Gnomes of all sizes stood proudly in formation, some fishing, some holding tiny shovels, and one, my new favorite, lounging in a hammock with a miniature beer in hand.
The flamingos? They’d formed their own pink plastic army, marching across the lawn with solar lights guiding their way.
But the pièce de résistance? The sprinkler system. Every time Larry came by to inspect my yard, the motion sensor would activate, spraying water in every direction. Totally by accident, of course.
The first time it happened, I nearly fell off the porch laughing.
Larry pulled up, clipboard ready, only to be met with a stream of water straight to the face. He spluttered, waving his arms like a drowning cat, and retreated to his car, soaked to the bone.
The look of pure outrage on his face was worth every penny I’d spent.
But the best part? The neighbors started to notice.
One by one, they began stopping by to compliment my “creative flair.”
Mrs. Johnson from three houses down said she loved the “whimsical” atmosphere. Mr. Thompson chuckled, saying he hadn’t seen Larry so flustered in years. And soon, it wasn’t just compliments. The neighbors started putting up their own lawn decorations.
It began with a few garden gnomes, but soon, flamingos popped up all over the cul-de-sac, twinkling lights appeared in every yard, and someone even set up a miniature windmill.
Larry couldn’t keep up.
His clipboard became a joke. The once-feared fines became a badge of honor among the residents, and the more he tried to tighten his grip, the more the neighborhood slipped through his fingers.
Every day, Larry had to drive past our gnomes, our flamingos, and our lights, knowing full well that we’d beaten him at his own game.
And me? I watched the chaos unfold with a smile on my face.
The whole neighborhood had come together, united by lawn ornaments and sheer spite. And Larry, poor Larry, was left powerless, just a man with a soggy clipboard and no authority to back it up.
So, Larry, if you’re reading this, keep on looking. I’ve got plenty more ideas where these came from.
Ty Pennington Hits Back with a Stunning Response After Body-Shaming Comments!
Ty Pennington is famous for being the handsome carpenter on *Trading Spaces*, the DIY show that inspired fans everywhere to try designing their own spaces.
After 20 years on TV, some fans are now suggesting that Ty should get a makeover himself.
Ty Pennington Hits Back with a Stunning Response After Body-Shaming Comments!
Ty Pennington is famous for being the handsome carpenter on *Trading Spaces*, the DIY show that inspired fans everywhere to try designing their own spaces.
about:blank
After 20 years on TV, some fans are now suggesting that Ty should get a makeover himself.
about:blank

Born Gary Tygert Burton, Pennington, now 58, is known for his playful side. He loves sharing funny videos of his dance moves on Instagram, often with his new wife laughing in the background.
Pennington is a natural entertainer. He used to be a model for J-Crew and initially wanted to be a graphic designer, working in construction to support himself while he was in art school.
After a serious car accident at 27 ended his modeling career, he decided to switch to carpentry.
“I thought my career was taking off, but then I had a terrible car accident,” Pennington says. “I put away my modeling headshot, grabbed my tool bag, and went back to construction. Nine years later, I got a call to audition for *Trading Spaces*… and the rest is history.”

Pennington first got noticed in Hollywood as a set designer for the 1995 film *Leaving Las Vegas*, starring Nicolas Cage. But it was his role as a builder on *Trading Spaces*—a show that changed how people think about home renovations—that made him famous.
After *Trading Spaces*, Pennington hosted *Extreme Makeover: Home Edition* from 2003 to 2012, winning two Primetime Emmy Awards for the show.
When Jesse Tyler Ferguson from *Modern Family* took over hosting in the show’s 11th season and for part of the 2020 revival, Pennington admitted on Instagram that it was tough for him. He felt his ego took a hit and started doubting himself. But he acknowledged that the job was never just about him and still considered it one of his best experiences.
Pennington didn’t let this setback stop him. He returned to *Trading Spaces* for its revival from 2018 to 2019.
Now, he’s a mentor and design expert on HGTV’s *Battle on the Beach*, which is in its third season, and he hosts *Rock the Block*, now in its fourth season.

Pennington has written two books: *Good Design Can Change Your Life: Beautiful Rooms, Inspiring Stories* and *Ty’s Tricks: Home Repair Secrets Plus Cheap and Easy Projects to Transform Any Room.*
He is also open about having ADHD and works to raise awareness about it.
In 2007, when he was 41, he was charged with a DUI. He was put on three years of probation and had to complete a 90-day alcohol program.
“Drinking and driving is never okay. I’ve admitted my mistake and will follow the court’s decision. I hope this experience helps others as much as it has helped me,” he said.
In November 2021, the popular builder married Kellee Merrell, a social media manager from Vancouver, who enjoys his daily funny posts.
Last year, after he posted a funny video of himself on the beach with his shorts hiked up, some fans criticized his now bigger stomach compared to his old six-pack abs. He responded with, “…by the way, I’m pushing my stomach out, but okay…”
The *Extreme Makeover: Home Edition* star, who still looks great, has faced negative comments about his age and appearance.
In a long Instagram post titled “Thoughts on Aging,” Pennington responded to the criticism he received. He reminded people to be kind to both men and women.
He wrote: “What started as a funny moment to make my wife laugh ended up being torn apart by strangers. With lots of views comes a lot of hate! Comments like ‘disgusting,’ ‘gross,’ ‘oh, he’s so old now,’ and ‘he’s gotten fat’ made me wonder if I’d get the same comments if I was still young and fit. There’s a strong movement to accept all body types and aging for women, which is fantastic, but maybe we should offer the same kindness to men?”
Pennington, known for *Trading Spaces*, mentioned that he was much younger when he first appeared on TV.
He said, “I often get comments like ‘What happened to him???’ Someone even said it’s due to ‘lack of exercise,’ which isn’t true. I work out harder than ever—seven days a week (being over 50 is no joke). What happened is that it’s been 22 YEARS since I first appeared on TV! No, I don’t have a six-pack or the same hairstyle, but I have gained wisdom, empathy, and life lessons. At 57, I’ve never been happier! I’m human and I have feelings. Yes, I’m older, but I think it’s pretty cool.”

We think Ty Pennington is still hot and we love watching his silly Instagram videos. What is your favorite show with Pennington? And did you catch the DIY bug after watching Trading Spaces?
Leave a Reply