Tonight, while coming back from the gym, I drove past the KGB house and saw that the lights were on and the blinds were open. Now, the lights came on this weekend when the realtor lock appeared, but it wasn't until it was all dark out tonight that I realized you could see right into the house. I nearly drove off the road.
Parking in my own driveway, I was left with a dilemma. I really wanted to walk past the house and see what their living room looked like. But I'm not going to lie: the fact that I blog about my neighbors is creepy enough. Walking up, staring, and turning around takes it to a whole other level of stalker crazydom. Nonetheless, it was dark out and no one was around, so I decided to stroll past. Inside, I could see neutral furniture, and that was about it. To my disappointment, there was no Soviet flag on the wall. There's wasn't even a ushanka on the mantel.
At this point, I realized I couldn't bring myself to stop and turn back around. So, I kept walking down the sidewalk toward the mailboxes, figuring getting the mail would make it seem like I had a purpose for being out there. As I was walking back, the HOA president who lives near me arrived home. I like to think of him as Bob, though that's not his name. Bob apparently doesn't share my qualms about staring at someone's house because as soon as he parked his car, he got right out and headed over to examine the KGB place. After a few of moments of standing there, he turned back toward his own place. We passed on the street, and this conversation occurred.
Bob: Looks like you're getting new neighbors.
Me: I think it's being rented. The lights went on this weekend, and there's a real estate lock on the door.
(I decide Bob probably isn't interested in hearing about the deer statue's movement).
Bob: You know the story behind the house, right?
Me: What is it?
(I actually know most of it but figure it can't hurt to hear more. I have a blog to write, after all).
Bob: The guy who owns it used to live there but then had to move for work. He's still kept it, though.
Bob: His wife's a Russian beauty queen. She used to wash her car out there in a thong. All the guys in the neighborhood would find reasons to come out and work on their yards when that happened.
(This is not part of the story I know, and flashbacks of 1980s beer commercials start playing in my head).
Bob: Then they moved. House has been empty ever since.
Me: Well, except for last summer, of course.
Bob: Right. Those were his friends, I think. But I wrote a letter to the owner and got rid of them. Let's hope somebody nice moves in now.
Me: Let's hope.
As you can see, my role in this conversation wasn't all that big, but it didn't need to be. So, I guess all we do now is wait and see. Considering I live in the heart of Microsoft suburbia, I'm really not expecting much more drama. Maybe we could get some Navy SEALs, but don't get your hopes up. Probably in the end, this will all turn out to be a good thing because let's face it, guys: if I'm doing this at 33, God only knows what I'll be doing when I'm twice this age. I think it's best to get out now.