Hello Guy

Doing dishes made more fun by watching the neighbors

It's raining this morning. The unusual rain helped George sleep in till 6:30 because of the cloud coverage. When the kids and I stumbled into the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast, George kept repeating, "It's nighttime."
I let him know it's morning, but this unfamiliar state is called overcast. We took our time eating breakfast. After singing a song about scrambled eggs 500 times, I looked at the clock to see we had 2 minutes to get to school. By the time I had Kiki dressed and in the car, we were ten minutes behind schedule.
Usually, I would worry about bringing Kiki to school late, but the rain is a fabulous excuse, and I knew we'd still be one of the earliest to arrive. Rain makes Californians's clocks stop working. The disappearance of the sun makes everyone move in slow motion, so I could be sure the majority would be 20 minutes late.

Even the bus is running late

As I loaded her into her car seat the neighbors were outside smoking cigarettes in their pajamas. I gave a wave, and Kiki shouted, "Hello, neighbor."
When I was buckling her into her seat, she kept asking, "What are the neighbors's names?"
I don't have faintest idea, so I just said, "I'm not sure, lets call them neighbors."
Since it's been over two years living here, we are beyond the point of reintroductions. I'm pretty certain they don't know my name either, and even if we had another introduction, we'd likely just forget each other's names again.
Our neighbors are nice, and I am not sure how old the kids are, because, from what I can see out my kitchen window, it doesn't look like they work or go to school. I had to stop remarking on how they smoke weed in their driveway, their lax outlook on day drinking, and having no standards for dressing up for the day because my daughter can be a little parrot at times.
One time they came to the rescue with a fire extinguisher when my mom was watching the kids and my air conditioner started shooting out smoke.
My mom told me that when he walked through the house trying to find where the smoke was coming from, my daughter ran up to my mom and asked, "what's the goofball doing here?"
Luckily, he didn't hear what she said, and my mom shushed her and sent her back to our woman made tropical oasis in the backyard, a paddling pool with the slide propped over the edge.
Since then, I stopped calling the neighbors goofballs, dorks, stoners, or questioning why they're so underwhelming to their parents who seem to be hardworking people.
We always wave to each other since we are equally amused by each other, but in disjoint worlds.
My dad's reaction when saying hi to someone who he is blanking on is to say, "Hey, guy!"
The last time I saw him do this, I almost spit my drink on the table from laughing. It seemed so obvious my dad drew a blank when searching his brain for this man's name, and my dad just filled in the blank with "guy."
Commonly, people say, " Hey man!" But I guess, "guy" works. I don't think the "guy" even noticed. My dad is like Mr. Popular in our hometown, and at Steamers, the quaint bar down the street, there is always someone who comes up to have a chat. This drives my mom nuts. She finds the stop-and-chat agonizing, not because she isn't happy for people and their grandkids, but because her grandkids are better so she doesn't need to hear about any one else's. 

Like Ned Flanders calling to Homer, "Howdy, neighbor!" It keeps things simple and cordial. We acknowledge each other, but don't need to put a name to the face. It creates unnecessary stop and chats, and unless it's raining, I won't have the time for it.

Rainy day = inside play (and time to write a blog)