I'm feeling so blogeois this evening, we're getting new neighbors! Look at me doing the happy dance.

Not that our neighbors are horrible or anything, they're just blah. We live in a large duplex (4 floors, lots of room-which we of course have filled up with innumerable amounts of shit) so our next door neighbors are really next door neighbors.

The people that live there now, let's see there's Dave, and Donelle (I know!) and about 4 other people that I don't know. It's like a big roomate in-and-out thing that I can never keep up with. There was another guy named Sean, but after my Elantra melted his Subaru to high heaven, he moved out. It would be fun to get a family in there, maybe with some kids for Emma to play with. It would also be fun to have a houseful of male naked dancers that practice in the backyard, but I'm not holding my breath for that one.

So today I am sitting on the patio reading a book (I read an entire book in one day, 150 pages but still!) and I hear the absolutely, positively unmistakable voices of..the Grannies. The elderly lesbian landlords. Did I mention grouchy? How are lesbians so grouchy? I've never before met a grouchy lesbian.

So I hear them talking to some landscaper dude about my trees. My ex-trees, that is. They want to liven them up a bit before they start showing the house. Heh, liven them up. They're black..call it dead, honey. They did leave a new lease in the mailbox, which I was glad about, because I still didn't really know if they were going to renew it or not. Now, moving itself is bad enough. But we have eight thousand books in the basement. You can get what, maybe 30 books in a box? Don't even do the math, and if you do-don't tell me. I don't want to know.

Besides, we have already decided that barring anything unforseen (like breaking up) that we will be in this house at least until Daniel graduates High School...which I estimate to be oh...6, 7 years. Ha! -- No, he's only got 3 years to go. After that, who knows. I like this area, I wouldn't mind buying something right around here eventually.

The tv is on downstairs, and I don't know what the hell is on but I have heard motha fucka and the N word about 60 times now. Whatever it is, has got to go. Time for some Food Network, baby.