Won't You Be My Neighbor?

So in my fleeing of the Ex so long ago, I made the swift and not very well thought out decision to take a studio apartment on a tiny peninsula in my tiny town. The peninsula itself is beautiful, and each side is lined with gorgeous multimillion dollar beachfront homes. But, sandwiched inbetween all these stunning properties are a bunch of funky apartment buildings.

Like mine.
Eight units, all the same - all tiny rooms with a kitchen attached.
The Poor Man's Melrose Place.
And speaking of early 90's references, the residents are quite the Motley Crue.

Apt A. The Shut In. He came out to chat with us last weekend and after a weird conversation about punk rock & Nazis, Apt F looked at me quizzically, & asked, 'Where'd he come from?!' Um, he lives here.

Apt B. The Hoarder. My Ex's sister once asked, How's the old man in Apt B?, and my response was, 'Ah, you know... Usually drunk & pants-less.'

Apt C. The Most Beautiful Girl in the World & Her Supermodel Cat. Ahem.

Apt D. The Sassy Chicadee. The only other woman in our entire complex, and the one who told me that the general consensus (okay, between her & Apt E) was that I was not friendly unless I'd had a glass of wine. I told her I was just shy. She has since rescinded the statement.

Apt E. The Mountain Man. Sweet yet very odd guy with great taste in music and an even better sound system. Provides the soundtrack for the weekends. Once asked me out. I said No, I don't think its a good idea to date my neighbors. Oops.

Apt F. My (Accidental) Boooooooooooooooyfrieeeeeeend. Enough said.

Apt G. The Cute Surfer Dude. He does not mingle. Pretty sure he thinks we're all insane. We might be.

Apt H. The Family. Oh yeah, two kids and their Dad aaaaaaaaand his girlfriend. They live above me in a tiny room with a kitchen attached and they vaccuum. A lot.

Apt I. The Old Man. He works nights in an orange reflective vest. For a long time I thought he was a crossing guard, but then realized that isn't really a position that requires a night shift.

Apt J. The Lakers Fan. He is a big black guy who has decorated his entire place with Laker's memorabilia and drives a Lexus with a vanity plate that reads NOH8N. I wouldn't dare.

We all get along just fine, especially us 'kids' in C through F, throwing in some patio time with Bijou for kick. (Though do I suspect that they had some BBQs over the summer I was not invited to.) We're an odd bunch in an odd place.
But it's Home. Capital H. And, much to my surprise these days, I'm okay with that.
Our next plan is to find a video projector and play old movies on the giant white wall that backs up to our parking lot. Or have a dance off. Not sure.