jennifer the spy

When I was a little girl, I read Harriet the Spy. Have you ever read it?

It's a book about a girl named Harriet who writes down her thoughts in a journal that she calls her "Spy Notebook". As a young girl, Harriet completely fascinated me.

One of the first Alfred Hitchcock movies I ever saw was Rear Window. I was intrigued with how Jimmy Stewart's character, L.B. Jefferies, knew everything about everyone on his block: the ballet dancer, the pianist, Miss Lonely Heart, the newlyweds... I loved that movie. I still do.

Growing up, I watched Murder She Wrote every Sunday night with my mom. My mom always figured out who the killer was before the first half of the show was over. I was convinced that my mom was even more brilliant than Jessica Fletcher (a.k.a Angela Lansbury).

In High School and College, I soared through every Mary Higgins Clark book I could get my hands on. After reading quite a few of her novels, I could peg the killer before the first half of the book was over. Pretty brilliant, right? I loved a great mystery. I still do.

Young Jennifer's innocent interest in Spies and Crime Solvers has caused Adult Jennifer to morph into something completely horrifying. Something I've only recently discovered. Brace yourselves. It's pretty sad:

I'm Mrs. Roper (minus the mu-mus).
I'm Harriet the Spy (with an online journal).
I'm L.B. Jefferies (without the broken leg).
I'm Jessica Fletcher (minus the cool, Brittish accent).
I'm that creepy old lady in the neighborhood who knows everyone else's business (without the "old" part).
I'm...totally obnoxious.

It's a disease. A terribly lame disease. A disease that has caused me to become obsessed with knowing things like:
1. Why the older lady across the street never waves back at me
(Does she hate me? Is she blind? Is she an undercover agent for the CIA?)

2. Why our across-the-street neighbors are always watching concerts on their large, flatscreen T.V. in the middle of the day.
(Make your own conclusions)

3. Why our next door neighbor's dogs are always outside barking. Always.
(Do they hate me? Do the dogs have an illness that causes them to bark non-stop? Do they hate me?)

The thing that I'm most obsessed with, however, is this:

I had to do some super-sleuth dodging around to get this picture. Grace Kelly would be proud. Very risky, but very necessary.

Upon viewing my detective recognizance work you might be tempted to say, "Wow. Those sure are responsible, environmentally sensitive Party People living next door to Jennifer."

That's where you'd be wrong... at least about the "responsible, environmentally sensitive" part.

These bottles, although placed in the correct type of container, have been in the recycling bin next to our neighbor's house since we moved in LAST NOVEMBER.

I wrestle with the following thoughts almost daily:
Is it wrong for me to drag that bin to the corner for them? CAN I even physically drag that bin to the corner? It looks really heavy. If I DO drag that bin to the corner, should I wait until they go to work/school? Would they be offended or relieved if I dragged that bin to the corner? What if they catch me... what would I say to them?

My concern isn't for myself, people. My concern is for the environment. This is about showing poor Mother Earth just a little bit of love. This is about being a good neighbor and a sweet, servant-hearted person. This has nothing to do with my annoyance. Whatsoever.

The bottom line is that every Tuesday, Trash Day rolls around, and I always chicken out. I just can't muster up the courage it takes to do the deed. Perhaps one day....one glorious day...the bottles will "mysteriously" disappear on their own.

I'm pretty sure that there's no real mystery here. Just a few ladies who don't like to take out the trash. I'll keep you posted on what I find out.