You may remember when I bemoaned the fact that I would potentially have to interact with neighbors when we finally settled down and bought a house. In a way that doesn't involve calling the cops and peeking out through cracks in the blinds while giggling when the po-po arrive to rain on their late night party parades, of course. That's generally the most contact I like to have with the people in my 'hood. Then again, I grew up in the 'hood, so when bitches weren't throwing wild, drunken parties and having fist fights in the parking lot, they were stealing my mail and/or scheming on my man.
Naturally, I resolved that I wasn't going to accept any offers of homemade goodies as a welcome to our quaint little village. I was convinced that they'd be poisoned or, at the very least, given with ulterior "I want to bang your husband" motives. Well, my thick skinned, tough girl, anti-social city girl ways have weakened over the last month. First, there was the friendly old lady that stopped over with homemade jam. Now, I haven't actually tasted it yet... but it's in my freezer, not the trash, so that's a step in the right (or wrong) direction.
Then, hubby somehow managed to strike up a cordial enough relationship with two other sets of neighbors (one family with small children directly next door to us and another couple one house over) to invite them over for beers and snacks during our housewarming party last weekend. Needless to say, I was leery about it... but I figured since I hadn't caught either couple in the act of robbing my vegetable garden or allowing their pets to defecate on my lawn by that time that it would probably be a nice gesture. Even if I felt a little nauseous when, to my surprise, they actually showed up. And were friendly.
Amazingly enough, both sets of neighbors turned out to meet all of the necessary requirements that I use to determine if they're people that I'm even willing to so much as wave to when I see them on the street.
Truly, I thought the buck would stop there. Well, with couple # 1, it did. They're nice folks but they're definitely not buddy-buddy material. Couple # 2, on the other hand, are making a genuine effort to befriend us. In fact, they invited us over to their little holiday BBQ last night. Um, can you say DREAD? Having them over to our yard is one thing. Going over to theirs, and meeting yet more people that I couldn't possibly care any less about, is quite another.
I actually had a mini panic attack about the prospect. I was completely ready to decline the offer and be marked as a snobby bitch forever. Seriously. I bug out about walking into unfamiliar social situations. I hate being surrounded by strangers that are judging me from the very instant they lay eyes upon me. All I can think about is what they must be thinking about and it's just never an enjoyable experience for me. I feel like I have to be "on." Like I'm walking out onto center stage as an entertainer. I put so much pressure on myself to perform. I'm sure I come off as a bubbly, talkative, fun loving, comical extrovert when I'm in the moment but, on the inside, I'm FREAKING THE EFF OUT. Every time.
Of course, hubby wasn't going to let me escape the experience. So, I slapped on a pair of sunglasses and did my best Lively Lily. For as little time as I could possibly pull off. The second there was a moment of silence, I invented a not so graceful excuse about wanting to go blow stuff up in honor of Memorial Day in my own backyard and we hightailed it out of there. Much to hubby's social chagrin. I survived, though, and I figured that was the end of it. Until they stopped over a few hours later with a bit of wacky tobacky and a whole lot of "let's be best friends forever" bullshit. Uggh. Apparently my little act was more effective than I expected.
Now, don't get me wrong. They're really cool peeps (or at least they seem to be so far. I still haven't ruled out the possibility that they're swingers and are plotting to have us naked in their hot tub by the end of the summer). I just don't think it's wise to get all fast friends furious. First of all, they're a lot younger than us and are unencumbered by kids or any other overwhelmingly tangible sense of responsibility. Secondly, I see a lot of ourselves (eight years or so ago) in them. Which, to be honest, is a scary fucking thing. They are absolutely hilarious, for sure. For every ounce of funny, however, there's a pound of immaturity. It's easy to see that they look up to us, aspire to be like us one day... and that spells trouble. Such a sentiment can quickly transform into jealousy and spitefulness. Even if that doesn't happen, I'm still not keen on being a role model or mentor to these adult children. After all, I have a kid of my own to raise and that's enough of a challenge already.
We've gone so long without having a regular group of kick back, hang out, stay awhile friends in our lives that I'm not really sure if we need any. Much less ones that are able, and apparently willing, to come and knock on our door without receiving a written invitation. I guess it boils down to this: At the end of the day, I just want to sit out back with my close knit family and roast some freaking marshmallows over our fire pit without having to endure a whole bunch of hopeful expectations and dewy eyed admiration. Is that really too much to ask?
