Okay, so here’s the thing. It’s not utterly uncommon to hear the rattle of a shopping cart being pushed down my street. On the other it’s also not out of the ordinary for a neighbor or friend to leave us muffins or cookies on our front porch. I drive nearly everywhere (in a station wagon) and kids wade through the stream at our farmer’s market a few blocks away. Now, we DON’T eat at Applebee’s (I don’t even know where one is) and we are super close to a BART station.

On the East Coast anyone who I tell that I live in Oakland thinks I’m either in a gang or have random gunfire across my front lawn every night. And only one of those things is true.

I think we’re some kind of urban-suburban hybrid. Through the tunnel is no doubt suburban. That’s were moms use that weird paint stuff to write Go Badgers! on their mini-vans and have stickers on their rear windows showing how many kids and pets they have. Not that I judge them. Okay, I do.

As for that person smoking a joint on Heather’s front steps? That was me.

Found you through my wife’s good friend, the Bearded Iris. Yo, girl, you are one funny motherload.

Kristen, I sympathize with your crise de coeur and wrestle with the same job-related see-sawing.

If it’s any help, I think you already know where I stand on the topics of exercise and schools – happy to work harder to convert you to the other side on either of those Since my kids are a bit older, I got over the sudden urge to volunteer a couple of years ago. Yours will pass, too, I promise.

As for the peri-menopausal symptoms, those may be here for a while, and you have my complete support. I highly recommend the Mirena.

Yours in suffrage…I mean, suff’rin’…

Heather and I have had a prior disagreement on urban/suburban. Let’s discuss.

I went to pick her up from her house and there was a stranger sitting on her front steps, smoking pot without concern for his lack of relationship with the homeowners. Therefore, I say urban.

I can talk to my neighbors on both sides through open windows without shouting. Therefore, I say urban.

I can walk in 3-minutes to buy fancy coffee, liquor, fresh fish, and cheeses from around the world. Urban.

True, it’s not San Francisco. But we can take buses and trains to our own downtowns. We fuss with parking meters and other bewildering street signs all day long. And, it is Raider Nation. Urban.

I think the medical diagnosis for what we have is called something like Grass Is Always Greener Syndrome.

Good luck battling your case, and call if you want to go for a hike some time!