This isn't really a hobby, at least not a respectable one, but sometimes I enjoy wondering about my neighbors. The house stage right of and next to mine contains an odd assortment of people. There are a few leering men, who hang out in the garage sometimes and leer and say hello. There is an older woman who has been known to stand outside and stare at you as you park your car, as you get out, as you stop and smile in an attempt to make things less awkard, as you flee when you find things have not gotten less awkward. And a younger woman lives there too. They seem the most likely candidates to have a meth lab in the house.

Across the street there is a garage drummer. Stage left somewhere is an open window or open air singer. Did she want to be a singer when she grew up? Maybe she took a train cross country to try out at the Juilliard only to be sent home. Maybe she sings in a choir.

Down the street there is a yard of endless treasures. Out front we've got a strange formation dubbed by way of a hanging sign "The Wishing Well." The Wishing Well has a round, perhaps 3-feet tall, base of brick or fake brick. Four pillars hold up a roof above the base. The roof is adorned with party lights, the base with an SF 49ers bucket and some duck figurines. Between top and bottom is the Wishing Well sign, which now wishes you happy tax returns.

Not only that, but if you need someone to do your taxes, my neighbors have a tax return service in their garage.

Many happy returns, folks.

My neighbors have nothing on yours, but I wonder about the people in my building. Right next door to us, there are at least five adults living in a two bedroom apartment. I've seen inside their living room several times while walking by and there is no furniture in there at all. I wonder if they deal the good drugs.

Then there is the guy with the deep, deep voice who talks right next to our office wall all night long. It used to be our bedroom, but we switched the rooms around because his constant monotone noises kept us up. Is he talking on the phone? To himself? To a pet? We have no idea.

I always wonder what my neighbors think about me, too. I play roller derby, so I leave the place fairly scantily clad (short skirt, tank top, hose) twice a week when I go off to practice. I bet they think I'm a hooker.