Would you be mine?

I am a huge proponent of neighborliness. Mr. Rogers taught me well. Being a good neighbor like State Farm is a great thing. Almost as pleasurable as being in Good Hands. The pinnacle of my own personal neighbor-satisfaction was a few years ago, when BFF Biology Girl lived down the street with Baby Jenny (not really a baby, but really a Jenny), and Neighbor J and B lived right next door. We called our building The Commune, because it was all about the open-door-policy. It was like all those sitcoms where all your friends are right there all the time and you traipse in and out of each others' apartments, unlocked doors and all. Friends and Seinfeld and alla that. Neighbor J and I would talk on the phone, and when we'd laugh really hard we could hear each other through the wall as well as through the phone. I'd flip channels and if a really good Doris Day movie came on (as if there could be a bad Doris Day movie), I'd knock on the wall and Neighbor J and B would come right over, Red Rover, and Biology Girl would walk over within 10 minutes. We'd all eat ice cream in the yard on summer nights. As Edith and Archie would say: "those were the daaaaaaays."

Lately, I've been in a bit of a neighbor dry spell. All my neighbor pals have moved away, but Neighbor J and B will always be Neighbors Emeritus. Now, to the left of us, we've got Meatman. No, this is not anything as interesting as a porn star. We call him Meatman because he grills a big slab o' meat on his front balcony EVERY DAY. Rain or shine. Winter or summer. He also has two sons. One named Hunter and the other named Gunner. Meaty names. (Biology Girl was quick to point out that had Gunner been born a girl, she may have been named Gatherer). To the right of us we have Scittish and Scaredy. A cool looking couple about my age, who I thought maybe had friendship potential. But every time Nordic Boy (my paramour) or I would approach them for a friendly neighborhood "hello," they looked at us like we were Chucky and Bride of Chucky, mumbled "hi," looked down, and scurried inside. And trust me, Nordic Boy and I are not scary people. I chalk it up to my blinding beauty. It's like looking into the sun.

Scittish and Scaredy have recently moved. We've got new neighbors. They've invited us over for dessert. Could it be neighborly meow meow neighborhood time again, meow?

Stay tuned.
Kiss the rings, I'm out.
Librarian Girl