It's a Beautiful Day in the Neghborhood

Wow. That was FAST. In five days flat, I've turned into one of those women who is out in her (tasteful) PJs at 8 a.m. watering her landscaping. Ask anyone who knows me, or who knew me at my old house, and they will tell you that I hate gardening. I hate it with such a fiery passion that my best friend once gave me a yearlong gift certificate for her gardening services for my birthday and it was seriously like the best gift ever.

But I bought this house from a Rabbi with a green thumb. And I know that Rabbi. And the Rabbi stops by frequently. And the Rabbi saw his precious flowers dying. And he guilted me the way only a Rabbi can. Am I going to be the one to let his pansies commit hari kari on the front porch? Hell no! No way am I going to squeak by with good deeds and truthfulness only to get to the Pearly Gates and have Ol' Pete tell me that I would have been golden except that I let the Rabbi's posies go to pot. Nosiree. My butt is out there in the A.M. drowning the damn things just to be sure.

Also, I am a walker now. My poor, obese dog has no idea what hit her. "WHAT?!," she thinks, " We are walking again? Surely, Mommy, you cannot be serious. We walked yesterday. " The poor thing will have to beg twice as many Cheerios off of the toddler just to maintain fighting weight.

Still, I have nothing on the gal that goes past my window every morning with her dog on rollerblades. To clarify, SHE is on rollerblades. Not the dog. Although, that would be mighty impressive and I would not put it past the overachievers in this neighborhood. I love the new digs, but this place gives a whole new meaning to keeping up with the Jonses.