Friday, June 6, 2014


Okay, so I've been off the blog scene for a minute. SO MUCH has happened. Oh wait, no. Almost nothing has happened. But, I DID make it through the toast at Madeline's wedding with zero drama. It was short, sweet, and only sort of awkward. It was...a non event. Score.

So back to real life. Geo and I actually drove into the Cities tonight to have dinner with some pals and I had a lobster roll that did NOT taste like it came from the ocean then loaded onto a boat, into a truck, into a freezer, into a restaurant warmer and then into my mouth hole a week later. It was DELICIOUS.

We drove back to Rochester afterward and I was a bit (super) bummed and missing Minneapolis. As we pulled into our little complex, I saw the lights on at our neighbors' house. I was intrigued. Thurs. night at 11 p.m. and they were still up. I wish we were friends.

See, there are a couple guys who live two doors down from us. The only things I know about them are that they have a giant TV (the box is in their garage), grill, drink a lot of beer, watch football in the fall and one of them has devil sticks that he likes to play with after work on his balcony. I've wanted to be friends with these guys for MONTHS.

Geo thinks they are on weird and on serious drugs. He cites, primarily, the devil sticks. He tells me they are bad news and we don't need to mess with them. That only makes me want to be friends with them EVEN MORE.

I've always loved knowing my neighbors. I mean, my first friend in life was Claire, who lived right next door to me growing up. From there, I went to the dorms where no one ever closed their doors and everyone was always welcoming guests. Then I moved back to Minneapolis in an apartment building where I knew my neighbor was a hoarder and caused the major mouse infestation in the building. When I moved in with three guys, we knew our neighbor was CRAY and would start fights with her boyfriend only to chase him out into the street and fight in public for our amusement.

I love knowing who my neighbors are.

But here, I am left to make my own assumptions because no one wants to talk to me wants to socialize.. The 50-year-old guy to the right of me has a baby who cries all day long and the dude tears out of the parking lot listening to very loud hip hop. I assume he is the most terrible parent of all time...or the deafest person who can't hear his child screaming bloody murder at 9 a.m., 11 a.m., 2 p.m. and then at 4 p.m. because his World's Worst Rap album is set on 11. The people immediately to the left can't figure out their garage door and always leave it 25 percent open. That's all I know about them. I assume they are in some sort of cult because I've never seen them and they seem pretty stupid.

Then there's the two-doors-down guys. They are young and have a bunch of friends who come over and watch sports and barbecue all in the comfort of their front patio overlooking everything. They are out there for the world to see. Hiding nothing. Are THESE the kind of guys that are on drugs? I think not.

And yet, Geo frowns on the idea of me strolling over some afternoon and asking them to hang out. Maybe it's their tie-dyed "curtains" that hang askew in the front of their house or maybe it's the strong "LSD-y" vibe he gets from them, but I don't care. They seem like the best time I've seen in Rochester ever and I need to make it happen.

So tell me: How does a gal approach a house of dudes with whom she'd like to hang out without her husband getting mad or coming off as a creep? I'll admit, I'm a tiny bit afraid of the devil sticks, but I'm 100 percent sure I could get used to it. And I'm 200 percent sure I wouldn't regret getting to know them. What do you think? Should I head over there?


Grandmaman said...


Kimberly said...

Go over there--introduce yourself! Find out what they do for a living and see if they want to BBQ sometime?

peter said...

Keep an open phone line when you go over.

Anonymous said...

Oh my, Pharon. I don't know what devil sticks are, but they don't sound good. I'm with Grandemaman and/or Peter. --Mom