Ah, the Joys of Neighborhood

I have decided that I officially love my neighborhood.

Granted, most of the women I see who appear to be within 5 years of my age are all carbon-copies of each other, but that just means I stand out all the more, right? Because, unlike my neighbors, I don't have long bleached blonde or not-so-subtly highlighted hair. I don't have a tan, and I don't drive a Mercedes or a BMW. My little Honda - especially in its currently dusty state - definitely gets some looks as I cruise past a group of soccer-moms-in-the-making chatting in their front yard. They're not hostile looks, just ones of intense confusion.

So why do I love my neighborhood?

1. Trees - there are tons of them, and they're big and shady and create this amazing dappled light as I drive to and from Target in my little Civic.

2. Kids - they're everywhere, and they're unfailingly beautiful and joyous, running, playing, chattering to each other, and setting up lemonade stands along the road I take to get home from work. I'm a sucker for a lemonade stand, and have, to date, spent $3 on lemonade at 50 cents per glass.

3. People walk - mostly because of the trees and the children, but there's a street of shops just up the road, and people walk to and from those shops for coffee, etc. When my health is eventually completely restored, I, too, shall walk to get coffee on Saturday mornings. Unless I went to Happy Hour the night before, and then it will be more like Saturday at 1-ish in the afternoon.

4. Ladybugs - ladybugs are nothing new, to me, really, but I like that I have them in my new apartment. At my parents' house, there was a small colony of them that lived in my shower and occasionally flew at me when I was bathing. This usually provoked flailing and harsh epithets on my part, and more spasmodic fluttering on their part until they reattained their perch on the shower window.

5. My neighbors are friendly - I'm talking about the people that live in my complex, like the good-looking fellow who waved to me from his car today as I went to get my mail. Of course, he may have just waved because I was staring at him. But other people are friendly, too, like the funny middle-aged woman who always dresses in one hue, be it pink or purple or blue (yes, that is intended to rhyme). And there is that one couple that rushed to the elevator and hit the button so they could - I am assuming - continue their make-out session in the elevator while I trudged up three floors of stairs with my shopping bags from Le Target Boutique.

Ok, they're not friendly, and I will shoot them dirty looks through the door of my apartment, knowing that said looks will bore through their door, which is directly opposite my door on the other side of the courtyard.

I will give them ojo every chance I get.