Love Thy Neighbor

Somebody just got shot! Somebody just got cut! Somebody just got hit by a car!

I didn't know what exactly had happened. But, the manly screams and moans coming from the driveway of my condominium complex told my wild imagination that something of the like was going on.

I took my usual nosy neighbor position: Standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows of my Florida room, backed to the corner as to remain inconspicuous.

"UGH! AUGH! [MOOOOOAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!]," it continued.

I couldn't quite spot the source of the commotion, but could hear another neighbor shout out, "Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

"NO!"

I've now pinpointed the screamer's voice to be coming from behind the large pine tree that stands in front of the neighboring building.

I felt safe enough to move to the Adirondack chair that is placed with its back to the window. Closer to the "danger", but out of sight with my nose peering above the back of the chair.

"Where are you?!" the helpful neighbor hollered out. It was after dark.

I could hear him now shuffling behind the tree. He found him! The source of all the belly-aching!

After some clattering and grunting, I finally saw something. A thirty-something year-old man walking a bike to the other side of the complex, with a late-teen/early-twenty-something male limping slowly behind him.

No one was shot. Someone had fallen off of their bicycle. I was safe from any crossfire.

The Good Samaritan would continuously stop and wait until the injured party could catch up to him again. G.S. (Good Samaritan) walked I.B. (Injured Biker) all the way home.

Mystery solved (although anticlimactic...) I smiled at what a good neighbor G.S. was.

But, what kind of neighbor was I?

I could have just as easily hollered down to see if I.B. was okay. I just didn't want to get involved. I was willing to risk bullets whizzing by the nose I had stuck into his business, but not the inconvenience of getting dressed and going downstairs to actually check on things and offer some assistance.

Let's break down what kind of neighbor I am.

These are the things I like about my neighborhood: 1.) Awesome location. It's walking distance to a small downtown with a city park and decent enough smattering of shops and restaurants. 2.) There are enough neighbors around to not feel isolated. As a single woman, it's assuring to know that if I ever needed to shout for help, someone wouldn't be too far away. 3.) These neighbors seem to keep to themselves. Which, for an introvert like me, is ideal.

No one brought pies to my doorstep when I moved in. No one has tried inviting me to dinner. And, this is fine! I'm not expected to provide dinner in return.

I've been to two board meetings, but only remember one board member's name. (I think I remember what it is, at least.)

I've met three neighbors since moving in two months ago. Only one of them offered a name (after a month-and-a-half.) It's not an American name and begins with an "N" sound. I'm pretty sure with two syllables.

The neighbors I've met are:

1.) "Pitbull". I don't know his real name, but he looks, dresses and acts like the rapper Pitbull. He wears tinted shades like Pitbull. He talks with the Hispanic swag of Pitbull. He rides his bike low, as I imagine Pitbull would, were his Mercedes ever to break down on him. And, I honestly think he would answer to "Pitbull" were he ever to be beckoned by that.

Pitbull has a sweet-natured girlfriend. She is also Hispanic and she always smiles and says "Hi!" if we cross paths. She even smiles and says, "Hi!" when Pitbull's bickering with her in the doorway and not letting her inside. Pitbull was wearing his bathrobe that day. Pitbull thinks he's God's gift. I'm not sure that he is. I once saw his girlfriend bring a plate of food to another neighbor. I'm not sure his girlfriend even lives there. But, she does seem like God's gift. And, a good neighbor. Whatever her name is.

2.) The blonde hermit, next door. I've seen her three times total. She writes lengthy letters to the Homeowners Association but doesn't come to the meetings, even though they take place in the room directly beneath her unit. She left a note on my door one day. How sweet! Oh, she was just inquiring about the paint fumes coming from my unit. I was painting kitchen chairs at the time. She almost rolled me over with her car in the parking garage later that same day. It was just an accident. I'm sure of it.

3.) N-something. She's a Muslim woman. Maybe my age or a bit younger. Her unit is like a clown car, with countless relatives always pouring out of it. She has at least three children, one husband and maybe a mother or mother-in-law who live with her. With the constant stream of visitors, I'm not really sure who goes where. She was the first to offer her name. But, her accent was so thick, I only caught the opening "N". I need to find a better code name for her. She is nice. And, loses alot of little socks in the laundry room.

There are three other units in my building. I have not bumped into any of these neighbors in eight weeks.

There is another building adjoining mine. I share a bedroom wall with a Middle-Eastern family. They have a baby who cries sweetly at night. Only sometimes. And, never a screamer. He's a good neighbor.

His parents fight once every week or two. Sometimes light murmuring. Sometimes shouting matches. Always at night. Sometimes at 2:00 or 3:00 am, jolting me out of my sleep. They're not fighting in English, so I can't really eavesdrop. Which is all I have left to do once I'm awoken and can't go back to sleep. If only I could take sides. If only they didn't wake the baby again.

This leaves me to wonder which neighbor I am. Only one of them knows my name. I'm probably the American girl who starts with a "K" sound.

I'm probably the one who sings too much in the kitchen and who is talking to who-knows-who in the shower*. The lady with the big white SUV. The one who walks upstairs too loudly. The woman with the nosy cat.

I'm the one who made too much noise moving in and will never be forgiven.

The lady who yells at her nephews on Sunday afternoons. Why doesn't she close the windows at least?

The girl whose still in her p.j.s at eleven a.m. on the weekend. What kind of slacker is she?

She hasn't even introduced herself. She watches that TV all night. Blogs about her neighbors. And, I saw her watch that boy who fell off his bike out her window and not even offer him a Band-Aid.

The Bible says, to "...Love your neighbor as yourself. No commandment is greater than these." [Mark 12:31]  I love myself, no doubt. But, for now, I'm at the stage were my neighbors are just a'ight.

I'm glad I.B. is okay. And, I'm glad there's at least one G.S. in the hood... just in case I fall down one of these days.

One day I'll be the G.S., I think.

Maybe. One day...




*Answer: Myself or the cat.

Shopping While Hungry

If there's one thing I'll never learn my lesson about, it's going grocery shopping while hungry. 

I usually stick to the micro "grocery store" located in my local Target for weekly trips.  Once a month I'll drag my feet to an actual grocery chain to stock up on the remainders on my list that Target doesn't carry (Whole Grain Pringles, meat... fresh fruit if I'm feeling health-conscious.)  Every now and again I'll stumble into the super-mega-gigantico store located seconds from my office and get lost for days among the abundant selection of pasta, Pop-Tarts and frozen meals.  And, I usually tend to do this around dinner time when everything looks especially delicious and as absolute necessities to be added to my fridge.

I actually landed home in my kitchen with three different varieties of granola bars last night!  Sorry, make that six varieties, three different brands.  I don't even think Target carries six different granola types, so I have no choice but to experiment when given the fleeting chance.  Right?

Well, when finding yourself not quite lost but wandering though the fluorescent lit aisles of a super-mega-gigantico chain, you're all but forced to people-watch as well as make obscene purchases.  Like it or not, in order to get to the granola aisle you must first wade through a sea of super-mega-gigantico shoppers.

My first memorable encounter cut me off in the dishware aisle.  (Hey, I needed a cup!)  It was a teenage daughter whining at breakneck speeds to her mother about her best goodest friend that had the nerve to not confide in her about some issue I couldn't catch before they rounded the next corner.  My wish was not granted as I crossed them again, "She couldn't tell me this, but she could tell the lunch lady?!?"  And, again, "The lunch lady is more important confidante than ME?!?"  And, again, "THE LUNCHLADY, Mom???!!!" for the next four aisles.

I began to share the same forward-glazed stare of her poor mother, quietly tolerate, but offering no insight to her daughter's woes as she pushed her cart solemnly up and down each aisle at a robotic death march pace.  The only difference was that, on my end, I could escape to the dairy aisle and poor mother could not.  In her shoes I might have piped in with the suggestion that maybe Best Goodest Friend was simply defining her right not to have her business broadcast across the local super-mega-gigantico store.  But, I think poor mother's only take on this was a deep-seated yen to trade places with the lunchlady, if only for the moment.

The dairy aisle alerted me to an egg thief on premises.  I had to open three cartons to find one with all egg slots full!  I only can hope the burgled eggs found their way to a hungry child's stomach and not to the windshield of my SUV parked out front.

It was around the breakfast aisle I came across the annoying sound of human whistling.  Bird whistling is fine in my book.  Even children's whistling I can live with.  But, the sound of a grown man forcing spittle through his lips and out into the inhaled oxygen of the general public is just a pet peeve I rank right up there with nails on a chalkboard.  Don't argue with me that it's a sound of jolliness.  Any jolly spirit-choosing-to-whistle's jolliness is negated by the robbery of the audience's jolly.  (Got that?!)

Even more annoying than the general whistling, was the chosen tune!  It was a repetitive loop of what started out to be the Jeopardy theme song and ended up segueing into the first two lines of "Deck the Halls."  He'd seemingly forget the next lines, pause for twenty seconds and then launch back into The Jeopardy theme... wait for it, wait for it... oops it's Deck the Halls again!

This went on through my insane granola purchase and then four subsequent aisles of frozen food.  By aisle three, the peeve-ranking got raised a notch when the small child in the seat of Whistler's cart started chanting "Hi. Hi. Hi. Hi. Hi. Hi. Hi!" into his face.  Whistler just kept on whistling as if he was oblivious to the fact that he had, at some point in his life, procreated.  'Tis the season to be jolly... "Hi. Hi. Hi! Hi!"  This may have been the only word the young one had learned so far in his short life. But, I'm pretty sure it could be interpreted as, "Hi Dad!  Remember me?  I'm that kid that loves you and I'm twenty-four inches from your face.  Do you see me down here?  Hi!  I think I've inhaled just about the right amount of your spittle for now.  Thanks for the jolly tune!  Hi."

By the time I exited the frozen section, I was pretty much done.  I had just the bread aisle to go as I gazed into the trappings of my cart.  Holy smokes!  This is just food for one?!  I had visions of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman taunting, "Big mistake!  HUGE!"  But, instead of holding Gucci bags up in the air, I had processed cheese, real cheese and cheese by-products (...if those exist.  Do they?  If they do, they were in my cart.  "HUGE!")  I even ended up with a frozen ham and cheese sandwich that comes with it own small vat of cheese dipping sauce.  Yes, I'd even selected cheese that you heat up and dip into more cheese!

This is the point where you're supposed to come to your senses and start dropping things in the candy and magazine racks that are conveniently located near the checkout for the purpose of discarding unnecessary items.  But, nope, I was still hungry, it all still looked delicious and every thing ended up on the conveyor belt.  Three brands of granola bars in six varieties, cheese sandwiches you dip in cheese and all!

I didn't let the cashier boy (who made very clear in body language and facial expression that I had ruined his day by choosing his register) ruin my food booty high.  I even helped him bag my purchase.  Then I drove right home, nuked a frozen mushroom burger (with Swiss!) and proceeded to have a slightly severe bout of indigestion for the next 24 hours.  That's where a trip to the super-mega-gigantico store will get you!

You'll find me at Target next week.

Pacifically Speaking

 

Axe me where "ask" has gone

  for it's been harder and harder to find

 

Why come "how" has died away

  when it was still very young

 

Supposebly they were killed away

   by the one who coined "pacific"

 

He should have left that ocean out of it

  when getting down to specifics

 

He then voted for his favorite team

   instead of rooting like the others

 

Then claimed, aloud, "we're winning you!"

now "beating" is killed, another

 

[explanation point]

 

More "Normal" Talk: Who Needs Lasers Edition

It's Sunday so, of course, I found myself in the company of my brother's kids again which, of course, found us in the car at some point which, of course, once again led to silly little boy talk.  (It's better than the radio on a good day.  On a bad day, not so much.)

We were driving down a country road as Fourteen-year-old Sister blissfully watched the scenery of pretty houses go by and began to describe her own dream home.  This led Ten-year-old (previously referred to as "9YO" but, he just had a birthday, so you'll have to adapt) to ramble on about his own dream residence. (Funnily enough, each of their dream homes have only one bedroom.)  Which left the coda to this fantasy-spilling session to the six-year-old (yes, previously "5YO" and also with a recent birthday.)

"I just want a normal house.  Normal normal normal.  One bedroom, one bathroom, one kitchen and one laser to keep the bad guys out."

You could almost audibly hear him ponder whether or not a house with the security of a sizzling laser-zapping system was allowed under his definition of "normal", so he quickly corrected himself:

"No, wait.  No laser.  Just a normal house with one bedroom, one bathroom and one cat.  If a bad guy comes in I'll just ask him, 'Will you please leave now and stop terrorizing my cat?' If he doesn't listen I'll give him one knuckle.  If he still doesn't listen I'll give him another knuckle.  If he still doesn't listen it's a knuckle to the balls and then I beat him up." (five second pause) "Oh.  And, I'll have one dog too."

The price of admission to my Trailblazer has just gone up.

Not Normal

The fifteen minute drive between my brother's house and mine turns out to be the ripest setting for amusing conversations between my nephews, ages five and nine.

Today's was no different:

9YO: "When I grow up, I'm going to have five jobs. 1.) a D.J. I'm going to look so cool! I'll have awesome sunglasses, you know? The kind with the stripes. I'm going to wear a green jacket and have ginormous headphones, 2.) a zookeeper, 3.) a paleontologist, 4.) a fifth grade teacher and 5.) Ummm... a mega party animal, I guess."

5YO: "I'm going to be a gator wrestler when I grow up."

9YO: "No!"

5YO: "Yes. I'm going to have one job.  Wrestling gators and I'm going to wrestle them down!"

9YO:  "Well, when you die from a gator attack, I guess I'll see you at your funeral!"

5YO:  [thinks it over for another moment or two] "No.  Never mind.  I'm just going to be normal.  No wife.  No kids.  No job.  Normal."

ME:  [finding the perfect timing to interject with a teaching moment] "No, no, no... Normal people have jobs."

5YO:  "Fine.  I'll have one job, but no wife.  No girlfriend.  Just normal."

9YO:  "Don't you know that normal people are the most boring thing in the world?!  If there's one thing this family is not, it's normal.  We're too hyper.  We're not boring, we are not normal.  Normal people just sit up straight and watch way too much TV with either a dog or a cat sitting next to them.  Boring!"

5YO:  "Yeah, you're right.  Normal people are pretty boring.  That's not us.  We have fun."

9YO:  [launches into a three-minute diatribe against the lameness of normalcy and ends it with...] "Kimmy?"

ME:  "Yes?"

9YO:  "Just so you know, you don't have to worry... we're not talking about you.  You are NOT normal."

ME: "Thanks?"

9YO: [stares out the car window, watching the traffic going by and seeming content with his speech for the moment.  Then he dreamily footnotes:] "Normal people have the nicest cars."

All the Noise, Noise, Noise, Noise!

Why is it that some noises can drive us climbing up the wall by our fingernails and others can be the sweetest sounds to kiss our eardrums?  I have a fickle relationship with noise.  I may sometimes be the noisiest thing in a quiet room but I'm---more often than naught---the quietest thing in a noisy space.

I've heard alot of noise lately.  We're having flooring installed at home and every bad noise that could possibly come with that followed.  By Day Two I had to escape!

Then, I heard more noise.

First, I packed a lunch (because noise and digestion are not compatible) and went to the park.  There I found alot of sounds I liked.  I was amazed to find that one dead leaf brushing against the armpit of a tree was, not only audible, but loud enough in this peaceful environment to make me spin around and "What's that?!"  The bullfrog I thought I heard was nothing more than a detached branch caught midfall and rubbing against a tree trunk, creating such a ribbit.  And, that very peculiar noise that sounded something like a waterfall---only one whose molecules had shifted, causing it to sound more like a solid-fall than a liquid-fall---ended up being two adorable baby squirrels chasing each other around the base of a tree.  Toenails clamping onto the bark in a downward spiraling motion.

I accidentally disturbed quite a few pairs of birds enjoying the Spring mating season.  I was merely hiking down the marked trails in an innocent manner, not wishing to offend.  But these avian flew away from me with such speed and attitude, you'd think I was an overprotective father busting up their session at Inspiration Point.  Wings wildly flapping, twigs violently swatted out of the way... now that was a sound!

Then I went to the library.  For a place whose national motto is, "Shhh...", there's certainly alot of noise going on in there.  There's guy who thinks he's obeying the "Do not hold cell phone conversations at the desk" sign, by slipping into the entry hallway and holding a thirty minute conversation loud enough to echo through the rest of the building.  The book cart with the squeaky wheel.  The shuffling of feet.  The schooching in and out of chairs.  The phone ringing.  The kids running by.

Then I went to my beloved Target to grab a few grocery items.  I'm now noticing the decibel level increasing with each bulletpoint of my day.  We all know the shopping noises.  Hundreds of conversations blurring into each other and taking place all at once. Cash registers, shopping carts, babies wailing, the "beep beep beep" that those tiny stock vehicles make.

I finished my quick stop and then proceeded homeward, only to find the flooring truck still in the driveway.  My peaceful sanctuary was still being molested by the sounds of power saws, vacuums, clunking and hammering.  The walls were practically vibrating, so I escape with my mother for a quiet walk around the neighborhood.

Boy, are those neighborhood kids noisy...

Things I Overhear: "Nakie Men" Edition

I overhear alot of things when shopping at Target.  It is my favorite discount chain.  And, since they started carrying groceries a few years back, I now find myself there at least once a week.

In visiting so frequently, I tend to overhear many things.  Newly cohabitating couples, grocery shopping together for the first time, deciding how on earth to make dinner for two.  Babies alerting their parents that they've been shopping too long.  One-ended sides of cell phone conversations.  Mothers demanding, "Put that back!"  Kids pleading, "But, I really really need it!"

Today's ditty was overheard over the tops of the shelves and took place one aisle over from where I shopped.  I was in the feminine hygiene aisle (don't snicker, we're all grown-ups here...) and we all know which product is kept one aisle over from feminine hygiene.

Little Girl:  [apparently looking at some sort of product packaging]  "Ew mommy, why is that guy naked?!"

Mom: [half listening] "Hmmm..."

Me: [in thought, and catching on quicker that Mom] Oh goodness, that little girl's first trip through the contraceptive aisle.

Little Girl:  "He's naked mommy.  Tee hee hee."

Mom: [paying better attention now] "What?  Oh... put that back!"

Me: [in thought] Don't shop for condoms with your kid, lady!

Little Girl:  "I can't believe this guy is naked.  Why in the world would he be NAKED???"

Mom: "Come over here by me."

Little Girl: "Hee hee.  He is sooo nakie!"

Mom: "Shhhh...

Little Girl: "But, he's NAKIE!!!  WHY would he be NAKED??  Hee hee hee hee."

Me: [In thought]  For goodness sakes, get that kid out of there before her innocence is stolen and lost for good!

Mom: [Obviously embarrassed now and sounding as if she's finally decided to shuffle along]

Little Girl: [Manages to blurt out, while being dragged out of the aisle] "I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY HAVE NAKIE MEN HERE!"

And, away they finally go.

Being the good blog reporter that I am, I decided to coast my cart over one aisle to see what all the fuss is about.  (They sell first aid in that row too, y'know. Who's to say I'm not shopping for Band-Aids?)

I round the corner and, lo and behold, what lay before me?  Three full shelves of nakie men!  From the waist up, that is.  With towels around their bottom halves.  Clutching their backs, as if in pain.  With an odd rectangle of white slapped onto their backs.

Yes.  The poor little girl's innocence was taken by the IcyHot medicated heat patch display.

I'll give her another month or two before her radar kicks in.  That's when she'll turn around, discover the other side of the aisle and really come up with some extra loud questions to embarrass her mother with.

Until then!