Wednesday, March 26, 2008

I’ve Died and Gone to Mayberry.

So yeah, I know I said I was “taking a break” and all. Well, the truth is I was dealing with a bit of a crisis, namely that guy I’m sorta married to but not allowed to talk about online’s new job . . . the new job he got over an hour away . . . the new job I had a week to find a new place to live and pack and move for. Yeah, I know. Give me a cape and call me SuperChick.

While I’d like to say I was taking a vacation or enjoying a spring break, in reality, I disappeared because I was neck-high in newspapers and cardboard boxes.

The good news is: it’s done . . . I’ve moved. Day three and things seem to be going smoothly. The bad news is: I’m not quite sure where I am, or if I’m even on planet Earth anymore.

Seriously. I’m living in this Utopian Neighborhood . . . with a Main Street . . . and a post office . . . and activities and walking trails and pools and parks . . . and children who walk to and from school. No . . . I’m not talking about the CITY I moved to . . . I’m talking about the NEIGHBORHOOD. LITERALLY. The neighborhood.

I swear. I’ve even actually met The Neighbors. I keep waiting for apple pies. It’s like, this crazy, surreal Stepford world where kids can play in the street and Moms talk on the corners and the Dads pull into the driveway at 6:00 pm sharp. There are Tyson chickens, and golf bags, and mommy groups, and people who share their kid’s play equipment…

If I didn’t need groceries, I’d never have to leave . . . like, ever. Well, there isn’t a bookstore . . . but it wouldn’t surprise me if we got one soon. There’s still storefront space available.

And yesterday, I was completely minding my own business when I heard this strange sound. It was music, but it wasn’t coming from the TV; it was coming from outside. So I walk over to the window, and there, in the street, is . . .

An Ice Cream Truck.

A freakin’ ice cream truck with music, and these little kids all running out of their houses. I just stood there; staring in utter disbelief . . . I think I’m stuck in 1954 or something.

It’s a crazy world, I swear it is.

So the good news is I really like this whole Stepford neighborhood . . . I even kinda dig the ice cream truck. My neighbors seem like really cool people, and I really can’t imagine a safer, more convenient place to live. It’s creepy, but I like it.

My house is great—a lot of storage space and windows. I have a great big kitchen that I’m actually thinking about cooking in. (I know, right? That is nothing short of Miraculous.) At this point the only downside is that it’s two-stories, which means stairs, which means after four days of moving/unpacking my calves are about to kill me. The good news is I’ve been sleeping pretty well the last few nights.

So it looks like I’m back, at least for now. I have to say, though, if I’m ever unaccounted for for more than two weeks, please send help. It could mean I’ve been re-programmed . . . blonde, and wearing an apron with trimmed with antique lace, and saying things like “Sure, honey, whatever you need . . .” and . . . Ew. Just send help fast. Please.


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