I like my house. I don't l-o-v-e it, but the kitchen makes the cramped upstairs worth it. What I do NOT like is my neighborhood. I can hear the Sesame Street song in my head now "Oh, who are the people in your neighborhood, in your neighborhood, in your neigh-bor-hoo-ood..." Well, Snuffy, they are snobs.
I knew I was in trouble one day last summer, shortly after we moved in, when I pulled into our driveway and spied my next-door neighbor watering her landscaping (more on this later). She was outfitted in a tennis skirt, cutesy matching top, cardigan around her shoulders (hey, Muffy, you missed a spot!) and - the clincher - those little tennis socks with the balls at the heels. I didn't even know you could BUY those anymore! As I was wearing khaki shorts and a grungy t-shirt, I thought "Hmmm, this reeks of yummydom, no?"
Cut to the first cool day last fall, when the Central Bexley uniform was revealed to me: Capri-length yoga pants, a turtleneck and a North Face vest. I counted no less than 4 women on my block marching their kids to school in said uniform. Shouldn't they include this info in the closing? If the neighborhood association requires a North Face vest, than perhaps I can figure that into my closing costs (or, at the price of North Face, maybe my monthly payments).
We bought the house from our former rabbi, who loved to garden. I love the man still, but I have completely ruined dudes landscaping. I know he drives by every once in a great while and prays for my eternal soul and my black, black thumb. The summer we moved into the house - and this is not hyperbole - I replanted the damn flower boxes 5 times between Memorial Day and Labor Day. DeMonye's Greenhouse loves me. To make matters worse, the guy across the street owns a landscaping company, so I am quite sure we are a pox upon the neighborhood, what with the wilting and the dying.
I DO have to say that the one part of our neighborhood that I do love lives right next door. The Vitarteses (and I still can't figure out if there is more than one of them if they are "Vitarteses" or "Vitarti"). Until recently, mom had long-ish braided hair. They frequently wear tie-dye. The high school chic has a super-cool bohemian-style coat. They have giant dogs and more cats than I can count and their yard looks as bad as ours. They are unruly - for the Central Bexley crowd. I ADORE them.
"Come, Vitarti,"(that's what I'm goin' with) "Let us form a Hippy Uprising against these Prada-wearing, Beamer-loving maroons!" Screaming that from my front porch one day is my dream. The result being that the Zimmers and the Vitarti will rise up with our non-North-Face-having selves and convert the weaker yuppies into hybrid-driving, granola-munching hippies.
Hey, a girl can dream, yeah?