Won’t you be my neighbor?

The other day we received a friendly little postcard from our real estate company, letting us know that another house in our neighborhood was using their [real estate] company to sell their [our neighbor's] house.

"Who's number 1030?" I wondered.

Chris, being the crack spy that he is, went outside to survey the other 12 houses' addresses in our cul-de-sac. (Not that it took a lot of investigative work mind you; we're number 1024.)

"It's Jennifer and Matt from next door," Chris informed me.

"Oh, Danielle and Bill?" I asked.

And then I wondered what I always wonder: Is this because of me? Now before you're all, "Geez Sarah, get over yo' self already!" allow me to explain to you that while Chris and I are awesome, quiet, rarely-home neighbors, maybe-kinda-sorta didn't come off that way from the start.

So. Moving is stressful, right? No matter the massive planning and packing that you do, you're ultimately stressed by the end of it. Especially when you're moving 500+ miles north from San Diego to Northern California with a stop in Berkeley, whose streets aren't exactly 29-foot-moving-truck-with-trailer-attached friendly. As I said. Stressful.

By the time we finally moved into this-here joint, after spending hours upon days packing and loading and cleaning and then unloading and unpacking and cleaning again, we were tired. And we'd managed to get our hands on some muscle relaxers (and if you're judging right now, I know it's only because you're just jealous that you didn't get muscle relaxers after you moved.)

And so there we are, sitting on the couch - me, Chris, and Chris's brother Drew - watching Pulp Fiction and drinking G&Ts (them) and Moet & Chandon (me) and thoroughly enjoying being...Relaxed.

And then the doorbell rings, and I look around like, What? Do I answer that? Is that what I'm supposed to do? Apparently it is. So I get up and answer the door and it's Jennifer/Danielle and her three small children, presenting me with a handmade Welcome to the Neighborhood! card and homemade cookies. And I'm very unlike myself in that I'm gracious and nice and all the other things I think a neighborly person is supposed to be. At least...I *think* I am.

And so after the graciousness, I thank Jennifer/Danielle and her little kids and shut the door and then, because I'm hiiiiiigh on muscle relaxers, start to laugh uncontrollably. And then the three of us start to giggle and giggle about how hiiiiiigh we are and OMG, do people really bring their new neighbors cookies? They must! It just happened! And then Chris, Drew, and I eat the entire plate of cookies.

And then the next morning after we all wake up, Drew nonchalantly mentions that our windows were left open. All day yesterday. And all night.

And then Chris and I are MORTIFIED. Jennifer/Danielle didn't hear us...Right? I mean, I said nice things...Right? And their kids wouldn't know what was going on anyway...Right? And OMG, we're those people...Right?

Which brings me back to a couple days ago, when I received the friendly notice from our real estate company and though to myself, "Is this because of me?" But instead I looked at Chris and said, "Maybe the new neighbors will be the crazy ones now!"