A Question of Time
We don’t know anybody here. I mean, I know that’s obvious, but we know NO ONE. Other than Boob Lou and Chrissie across the street.
Chrissie, by the way, is a short, stumpy hardcore New York Yankees fan (she spied my Sox hat and made sure to inform me INSTANTLY that we had a “rivalry.” Gee, thanks, Chrissie. I had no idea!) with a penchant for heavy gold chains and cutoff sweat shorts. Upon our first meeting, she came into our garage yelling in a terrifyingly deep voice, “Hello? Yo! YO!” and then promptly asked us what we had “done with the woman who used to live here,” as if we’d absconded with her then stuffed her into the garbage bins.
In other words, we have no friends. It’s a very weird feeling. I should point out that despite my raucous storytelling and outgoing nature, I have grown into a less-than-social adult. I like to be alone a lot, and can’t remember the last time I was lonely. I can spend hours and hours tinkering away on random projects in the house without talking to anyone. I prefer to shop alone, and no, I’m not afraid to eat out alone. But this is kind of different – usually, when I’m alone I am not alone [insert dramatic music here]. Like, there were people nearby that I could call or visit, I just chose not to. And when I did, it was nice, and usually with my small circle of carefully chosen family-friends I’ve known most of my adult life. I’m spoiled, I know.
No such thing in Florida, I’m afraid. Oh sure, I could call my in-laws – stop laughing – but I don’t think anyone would argue it’s near the same thing.
I’m surprised that this isn’t bothering me more than it is, but it’s not. However, we are taking extremely amusing steps to remedy it, as we can’t go home to our family and friends four years from now still knowing NO ONE in Florida. First of all, we are smiling our asses off. Again, I’m not a major smiler, but there I am smiling to everyone I see in the neighborhood like I’ve just had my teeth bleached (except for Lou – don’t want to give him the wrong idea). Adam is NOT A SMILER, but there he is, elbowing me in the ribs, “SMILE, DAMMIT!” and waving like Princess Diana on a parade float. And looking probably just a little too long to see if the Smiling Victims are our age.
We noticed a new family moved in up the street, and when we drove by, I recognized that “I’m new!” smile on their faces. Except theirs had the added bonus of also being the “Oh my god, hi, we’re new and we don’t know anyone and are trying to figure out if you are normal or not or are that crazy flasher lady we heard about,” smile.
Secondly, we have signed up for committees in our development. COMMITTEES. I am now on the Grand Opening Committee (Grand Opening? It’s OPEN. WE LIVE HERE) and the Social Committee (people who know me in real life are LAUGHING at this moment, I know it), while Adam, ever the yin to my yang, joined the Rules and Regulations Committee. He’s already driving around the neighborhood commenting, “That truck is illegally parked, per regulation code 45679, no commercial vehicles overnight. I wonder who I should report that to?”
That is more endearing than it sounds, I promise.
Anyway, the buck stops here, people. I stopped short of signing up for the Scrapbooking Club, as the idea of gathering little scraps of paper and making halos around photos of the cat with pages titled, “Our Little Sweetie” or such nonsense honestly makes me want to give myself papercuts all over my body and dive into a bowl of lemon juice. It would be less painful.
And so begins this strange adventure of finding companionship in a strange state. If I start telling everyone that I’m wearing Lilly Pulitzer and joined the Scrapbooking Club, send help, okay?
22 comments September 21st, 2005