I guess this is why they call me a yenta
So I live in this neighborhood now, a really cute old neighborhood with great little side streets and interesting-looking houses. When it's nice out, I like to walk around for a half an hour or so as it's getting dark. I happened to mention this at work at the other day.
"So, I went for a walk last night and it was so cute, these old people were having a little dinner party with electric candles on the table. And, oh, my gosh, I saw the GREATEST bookshelf in this one living room ..."
Wait, wait, WAIT A SECOND, they said. You walk around and LOOK IN PEOPLE'S WINDOWS?
"I mean ... well, yeah. What else am I supposed to look at when I walk around the neighborhood?"
How about the SIDEWALK, they replied.
"But it's so interesting! I love seeing how different people's houses are decorated, and what they're doing ... they're like little snapshots of life."
You're crazy, they said.
"I am not. I'm CURIOUS. I'm a STUDENT OF LIFE."
You're a stalker, they said.
"Whatever. It's not like I stand there and stare. It's not like I go up there and press my nose up against the glass. Their windows just happen to be open and I just happen to glance over as I walk by. There's nothing wrong with being OBSERVANT."
Until you get slapped with a restraining order, they replied.
(I work with a bunch of rotten boys, have I mentioned that?)
I know it's probably just a nice way of saying I'm nosy, but I think people are SO interesting. Once I was in a career development seminar and they made everyone write down what they were most passionate about, and I wrote down that I am fascinated by people's stories. I love hearing them and telling them and even sometimes making them up.
The other day, I walked past this girl complaining to her friend: "It is total bullshit that she didn't invite me. I mean, give me a break, she KNOWS I have no friends. I go home every night and literally do nothing. Like Friday? Nothing. Saturday? Nothing. Nuhhhhhh ... THING."
And then overheard this conversation between two coworkers at a sandwich shop:
"Yeah, so Texas wants to be its own country."
"WHAT? What do you mean, its own country? Like not part of America?"
"Yeah, they'd break off or whatever. They're really big on that there."
She thinks about this. "So, like, what would they call it? The country of Texas?"
"I guess so."
"That is SO messed up."
I was walking home a few days ago when a couple tumbled out their front door with their dog. Their arms were wrapped around each other, and they were so close, they were kind of tripping over each other's feet. They couldn't stop touching. He'd touch her hair, she'd touch his waist. They were probably in their late 40s. I followed them down the block, trying to figure out their story. Did they meet on the playground in third grade and, four decades and two kids later, were still completely and totally crazy about each other? Or did they just find each other? Maybe one was divorced, maybe one was holding out for that big love, the love of her life, and they just felt so lucky to have found each other that they didn't want to let go.
I thought about it for a while and decided I hoped it was the second one, because I think there's something really beautiful about finding something giddy and unexpected once you've lived long enough to become a little cynical about such things. At any rate, I'm dying to find out. Maybe I can get the CIA guy to look into it ...