Neighborhood News Flash

I absolutley adore my apartment complex. Most importantly, it's called Abbey Road apartments and is located on Penny Lane...coincidence? I think not. Have you ever seen my list of "Favorite Music" on any social networking site? It is, essentially, "hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop, old school rap, hip-hop, hip-hop, gangsta rap, hip-hop, hip-hop, Beatles, hip-hop." I grew up listening to Beatles, in fact the first CD I ever bought was Sgt. Pepper's. I just love 'em. And here I am, living in a complex entirely devoted to them. They even had a cheesy sign up on the fence that said "Abbey Road Apartments--Let it Be Your New Home." How cute. But there are a million other reasons why. My building, and several others, are completely vine-covered, and there are all of these little "green spaces" with picnic benches, grills, etc. that give it a really open, green feel. They offer environmentally friendly grocery totes at the leasing office, throw neighbor appreciation BBQs, and to top it all off I'm located right next to the gorgeous, sparkling blue pool, adorned with blooming flowers and palm trees. What else could I ask for? Well, there is the corner store within walking distance of my front door--which is owned and strictly dictated by the notorious Mr. Kim, who wears a permanent scowl and resells generic HEB products, among a long list of other laughable offenses. When I moved in, this was a BP gas station that had more shit on sale than the HEB down the street--I'm talking vacuum cleaners, spring water by the gallon, designer watches and wallets for upwards of $100, produce, printer ink, you name it. More recently, Mr. Kim was stripped of his BP sign and credentials for selling generic gas under the BP name, so it's now "Major Brand Gas", but still offers anything you could possibly need--including a very impressive wine selection which I happen to have sampled extensively :) Anyway, the point is I love my place. And ever since I started letting Chango outside, he freakin loves it too. I think everyone in the entire complex must know him, because I'm always running into someone else who says "Oh, is that YOUR cat?! I love that guy! He just comes and hangs out with me, he's so funny!" He knows every tree, every nook and cranny, and judging from what's been showing up on my doorstep (and, unfortunatley, bedroom floor) lately, every bird. But alas, not everyone loves my lil Changito. Just last night, I was stepping out to do laundry at C-Red's (ahhh the convenience!!) when I heard some rickety old lady complaining about him to another woman in the pool.

"That CAT!" she said, and I knew exactly who she was talking about as Chango's bell rang nearby. "He used to come into my house and start fights with my Kitty!" she moaned. "My Kitty is so terrified every time she hears that darn bell..." Part of me wanted to claim him and apologize, but another part of me wanted to tell her the truth--

"you know lady, your Kitty is an annoying, prissy ball of fluff that I would start fights with if I were him too. I'm sorry that you couldn't find a badass cat like Chango who thinks he's a dog and punks bitches like your Kitty." In the end, I didn't say a damn thing, but telepathically encouraged Chango to continue harassing Kitty.

Not too long after that, I was walking to the other side of the complex, where C-Red and Half used to live, and passed by another neighbor. As usual, this wrinkly-faced old man who's name escapes me was seated in his F-150, one arm hanging out the window and the radio tuned into some seedy sounding talkshow. Just about every night, this guy will sit in his truck for a few hours, listening to the radio and making conversation with anyone who walks by. He knows C-Red, Chango and I all pretty well, and I could see his eyes fixed on me in the sideview mirror.

"Where've YOUUUU been!" He said in his wheezy voice. "I ain't seen you or that catta yorn 'round here in weeks!" I explained that C-Red had moved out and that I hadn't been walking across the complex as often as I did before. He screwed up his face in confusion. "You..er...you still livin' on the secon' floor there?" He caught me off guard. How did he know I used to live on the second floor?
"Erm...no...I live on the first floor." I said.
"Whereabouts?" he asked. I hesitated.
"Uh...erm....over there, by the pool," I said, pointing in no particular direction. He looked off in the distance, squinting in concentration. Before he could say anything else, I waved goodbye and continued toward a friend's apartment nearby. About an hour later, on my way back to the crib, I found him in nearly the exact same spot. He didn't even wait until I was within earshot to say something that sounded inquisitive and garbled. "What's that?" I asked.
"Ah said, do ya park yer car over in that lot there?" he nodded in the direction I was headed.
"Yes, I do..."
"What kind is it?" he asked. Visions of him watching for my car and monitoring my coming and going sent a slight shiver down my back.
"It's a....a, um....a Jetta." I said quickly, already regretting it.
"A Jetta!" he said excitedly, "Well I'm workin' secur'ty here now, so I'll make sure don't nothin' happen to 'er." It was just then that I noticed he was wearing a generic black cap with "SECURITY" embroidered in yellow letters. This isn't his first attempt at feining some position of authority--according to C-Red, he's often posted up on the street corner with a fake sherriff's badge, claiming that he's monitoring neighborhood activity. What a character!

Of course it's people like him, and Mr. Kim, and the cute little Phillipino family across the way, and Dustin the half-Mexican, half-Italian aspiring chef, that really make the neighborhood what it is. As I packed up my gym bag and got ready to go to C-Red's for the night, I couldn't help cracking a smile for grumpy old ladies and delirious old men. So many neighbors in so many flavors--just the way I like it.