We’re pretty spread out here in western New Jersey, and there’s a kick-ass balance between “what you do is your business” and “but I am curious about that package, so I’ll help you carry it inside.” Our next door neighbors, Dave and Judy, threw us a welcome party when we first moved in, complete with a homemade banner, and, more importantly, Sangria.
Our neighbor around the corner, Linda, dropped off a bushel of apples from her orchard this fall, while the ones across the street gave us a discount on our Christmas tree (yes, there’s a Christmas tree farm across the street! It’s amazeballs out here, Chipmunks, I’m telling you…even if you do lose power every time an owl sneezes).
As if that wasn’t enough, then there’s our neighbor, Jeff. He’s close to our age, and lives behind us in a gorgeous house. He’s the quintessential neighbor: He owns every power tool under the sun and knows how to use them all, helped us clear trees post Hurricane-Sandy, and leaves delicious food in the mailbox. Peppermeister doesn’t even mind the pepper-growing competition, with Jeff’s garden in plain sight.
This Valentine’s Day, I thought it was time to show Jeff how I really felt. It started with my famous homemade double-chocolate cookies:
And ended with this note:
I must be quick, for Peppermeister does not know of this!
Your seafood sauce was the greatest thing I’ve ever tasted. Bestill my heart!
I’m slowly poisoning Peppermeister.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
-Go Jules Go
Psst…between you and me, Peppermeister is looking a little worse for the wear. It’s only a matter of time, Jeff.
What’s the nicest and/or creepiest thing a neighbor has ever done for you?
Or I am, at least, and I hope you’ll join me over there to read my guest post, which is part of Renee’s #SoWrong (embarrassing stories) series.
This is a very personal story I’ve hoarded like a pile of nuts for winter, and I can’t tell you how excited I am to finally share it with you.
Here’s a sneak peek:
I was 18 years old when my life began.
One balmy summer day, after the Y2K dust finally settled, a young, auburn-haired woman walked into the local book store where I worked. Jenn. The new hire. Nearly half a foot shorter than me, her sundress flapped against ivory legs as she took the new hardcovers to the front of the shop.
We were fast friends, chatting in between placing orders and ringing up customers.
“You were maaaade for retail,” she teased, quoting one of our recent patrons.
I rolled my eyes. I’d gotten the full-time job at the book store at 16, the same year I earned my GED. I was taking classes at the local community college, my sights set on screenwriting. Bullied for glasses, braces, a few spare chins and a penchant for white tights, I was eventually home schooled. I sometimes wondered if ‘old soul’ really meant ‘late bloomer.’
I found the most perfect Valentine’s Day card for you. In fact, words cannot express how perfect it is (other than the words in this card), so, I made you this video. (Sorry about the swearing; I’m just so damn passionate about our relationship.)
This week, Jenn forwarded an email from her mom, and trust me, there’s more where this came from.
To: Jenn (a.k.a. “Butter”…because, well, Jenn won’t tell me why)
From: Jenn’s Mom (a.k.a. “Moth”)
Butter: I understand you sent a reply to my last email, but someone (I won’t say who) Managed to delete it—-I’m sorry, could you please forward it again–thanks!!!Not only does someone (I won’t say who) read my emails, but deletes them (unintentionally), I’ m sure!!!!”Retirement in winter “—–leaves a lot of time on someone’s hands, while your mother is at your grandmother’s cleaning her apartment…..Hope you’re having a good day Butter !!!!I pray to the dear Lord for winter strength-(-till someone has more to do )…….THANKS—–Hugs
And a few minutes later:
No need to send it again sweetheart, just found it in “trash” …..
Got any emails from your old lady you’d like to share? Jenn and I think there could be a new blog feature here. Send them to: Julie.Davidoski@yahoo.com!
***BONUS BACON-FILLED POST: Rachel’s Table is showcasing my spicy turkey meatloaf recipe today!I know. All this [facial hair] and I can cook. I figured I needed a fall-back plan in case my Glee audition doesn’t pan out. Oh, also? If you’re not subscribing to Rachel’s Table, you just made a baby chipmunk cry.***
While mustaches are kinda my thing, and I constantly wax poetic (pun totally intended) about the merits of the handlebar, the Groucho, the walrus, etc., there’s something that’s bothered me for years.
Let’s take a closer look, shall we?
“It’s probably just a shadow,” I told myself. But it continued to eat away at me. For the next five years. I could have been curing cancer, saving tigers Britney, learning sign language, but I was simply too busy worrying about It.
So. Last week I went to the drug store and picked up this:
The instructions mandated that I test it out and wait 24 hours to see if it caused an allergic reaction.
“That’s probably wise,” I thought.
Two seconds later, I was mixing the cream and slathering it on my face.
“If it starts burning, I’ll wipe it off,” I thought.
I waited the recommended 10 minutes, killing time by wondering if horse really tastes as good as people say, and whether Adam Levine’s tattoos make him more or less more sexy.
I don’t think that shiz worked at all. Look!
No but seriously. I think it did the trick. Thank gawd. Now I have time to learn how to sign, “Is Adam Levine a vegetarian?”
Sooo… how about sharing your embarrassing personal grooming stories? No? Um, okay, well, gosh. This is awkward.