Keeping Abreast of Our Neighbors

While still mourning the loss of our beloved Ocho, we have decided to take an uncomfortably close interest in our new neighbors. After all, Z's New Year's Resolution for 2010 was to make friends, so obviously that meant having to uproot ourselves and all the bad blood we caused in Chelsea and start fresh in a new land that has no knowledge of Zane's history with little boys and trenchcoats.

First, we met our Landlord, a young hot Greecian who could only be dubbed "McGreece-y". Oh, that sounded better in my head. Well, needless to say, I'll be glad to call his cell for any problems I might have.... apartment or relationship related. Then we met Old Man Greece-y. You guessed it! McGreesey liked me so much he wanted to introduce me to his parents. Sure, they live downstairs from us and just so happen to be the Supers of the building, but that's all semantics.

So, with our things in place and the friendliest of Supers in the history of the world, we've been enjoying our new digs. Yes, Old Man Greecey has taken the welcome wagon and parked it a little close to our hydrant, but sometimes it's nice to come home to a little old man in your bathtub caulking. And he has found a way to be considered charming when I come home from work and catch him napping in our bed. Come to think of it, maybe I shouldn't have given him a spare key to my car.

In the first week we made friends with our fellow second floor dwellers, Drake Cakes and ????? okay, we only made friends with Drake Cakes. But is it possible to want to be friends with someone so badly, you feel like you know them? 2B is compiled of 2 late-20s professional chefs. So far the smells coming from their door have been nothing short of amazing and my attempts to compete have left the halls wishing I'd stop.

In the midst of moving a giant piece of furniture we met our upstairs gal pal Shannon Dougherty and her roommate Princess Fiona. They are both awesome girls who invited us to a party we ended up not being able to attend. I have high hopes for future Girls' Nights In and Sex and the City-ish brunches in the neighborhood. If those fail, I've developed a way to befriend the girl who lives in the building across from us. Our windows line up exactly, so it's like looking into a mirror. Only her side is a bit girlier and comes with a half naked man who shows up on Saturday mornings. I think we'd be great pals in different circumstances, but every idea I have to initiate contact just comes across as creepy.

1. Sign in the window. "Hi, my name's Julie. I like your couch pattern. Want to be my friend?"

2. "Your boyfriend's cute. So is mine. Want to all hang out? No, we aren't swingers."

3. "Call me. 555-1234."

4. "I see in your fridge that you have some butter, can I snag a stick? I'm out."

I'm still working on that one... definitely will keep you posted.

One of our favorite new neighbors is a furry little critter that keeps following me home. No, not Zane. His name's Gato and he's the neighborhood bakery's cat. He is quite possibly the friendliest little pal anyone could ask for and he literally followed us home, into our building one day. He loves to be pet and meows up a storm. A girl on the street informed us that the bakery lets him out at night to wander and make friends and people "borrow" him and bring him into their apartments. "Don't worry," she says "he'll let you know when he wants to leave. He just scratches at the door." Zane and I melted inside at the thought of a part time pet and have been anxiously waiting for his return so we can scoop him up and steal him for an hour or two. Hopefully he won't pee in our bathtub like our last cat did. Unless that was Old Man Greecey...

So now that you have met all of our fun loving neighbors and have grown to love them as we have, let me tell you a quick tale of late. Casually going to the recycle barrel the other day, I was sorting my plastics and papers when lo and behold, in the barrel alongside my corrugated cardboard and old news lay a collection of magazines. Now I am not much of a magazine thrower-outer and always welcome more materials for collages and bathroom literature. As I flipped over the recycled rag I discovered something new about my loving neighbors. They like porn. Lots and lots of porn. And not like normal porn. We're talking boobs that would make "Jugs" blush. How these ladies manage through the day without backaches and shoulder strain is beyond me, but they appear to be very happy. Buoyantly happy. But why on Earth they'd choose mesh lingerie as their preferred method of support is beyond me. You'd need a forklift to maintain any semblance of perkiness.

Of course I brought one of the magazines up to Zane as a little present for making me bring out the recycling. We enjoyed flipping through the pages and laughing our heads off at what any other magazine would have the title "Morbidly Obese Women Who Only Gain Weight in Their Chests." We laughed and laughed until we realized the pages started getting a little crinklier. Then we cried a little and vowed never to speak of it again. After 10 rounds of hand sanitizer and 3 sessions with a neighborhood shrink, we've returned to our definition of normalcy. But still, that lingering question.... who, oh who, is the Watermelon Wanton?