They call me MISSS Hot Wings

My new neighborhood nickname is Hot Wings.

Which has to be better than the old one, whatever it was: Married to the Mob, Invisible Girl... Carmen Sandiego.

Because I certainly am invisible, if by "invisible," you mean "not nosy." Recently I was at a party where a couple -- temporarily in a condo while house renovations are done -- complained about their condo neighbors who never stop and talk to them. I raised my hand.

"I'm that neighbor."

It is not surprising to me that condo neighbors do not interact often -- we have no yard work (and precious little yard), few children, garages, and lives. It was not surprising that my neighbors have no idea who I am. What surprised me was the ease with which they told me so. In fact , in response to my house number, TWO of them used the phrase, "You're sh****ng me."

The 100-block of Del Boca Vista, the retirement community where I live, held a block party. And forgetting my track record for disappearing in time for the annual meeting, pancake breakfast, and Halloween, I said I would attend.

Those are 3 separate events I just used as examples. Let me make that clear.

Why did I say I would go?

1. The hostess/organizer had always been nice to me. "Always" here means the one time she spoke to me 4 years ago when I was new and chipping the ice from my neglected driveway.

2. It was going to be outside my door in the guest parking lot.

3. I thought it sent some kind of message if I didn't go, and I should just prove how boring I actually am.

I brought the hot wings

And was an instant hit with the menfolk -- because let's face it, married men dig me -- and it was an icebreaker.

Like this:

Guest #1: "Are those hot?"

Me: "They are hot, yes. They're Buffalo."

Nearby guy with beer-buzz: "Why do buffaloes have wings?"

Me: "To escape from the Indians." to the first guest, "Did you get a Wet-Nap?"

Because I brought Wet-Naps. As long as everyone thinks you're weird, be whoever you want.

First Guest: "Are they super hot?"

Me: "I don't know. I'll admit I didn't make them."

"Cause I can't eat super-hot."

"Then you'd better not, because I don't know."

Next guest approaches, "Are those hot?" and so on.

I mingled

My immediate neighbors are* * if you read this blog, you know these are not their names

Mrs Barla - lonely divorcee with dog, who walks dog as an excuse to spy, and talks through dog to express herself. See also Crazy Lorraine.

Big Brother house - containing a middle-aged man who wears a fanny-pack and shares a dog-walking relationship with Barla. His mother, a very hard-scrabble Scotch-Irish looking stringer missing some fingers. Her man, snow-white hair and black socks. Other parts I don't notice much. Their insane ratdog.

Dapper Don and the Stripper - 50-ish couple made up of a once-handsome engineer and his tranny wife. Or I should say trannish, because I have no facts in this case. I am just saying that only in Vegas does that look make sense.

I don't really care for the make-up of my building, but I talk to them, to prove there is nothing there they want, then I passed my hot hors doeuvre and plopped down next to couples at tables and made them tell me their life story.

"Oh, did you bring the hot wings? Are they super hot?"

Mrs Barla flew over, no doubt fascinated that I was talking to people, and forcibly asked if anyone played poker. "I've been wanting to start a poker night. Once a week, and we can move it around to people's houses, low stakes, just change." Sounds like you've figured it all out, chief, what will we serve? I shrugged and said, no I don't play, and the wife at the table cut her eyes at her husband to tell him that he doesn't either, and Barla said, "Then do you quilt?"

You're sh****ng me.

I played 6 Degrees
I discovered mutual acquaintances with one of the couples I met, and mutual environs with another. Then it began to rain and the menfolk busied themselves making a tarp canopy over a driveway. This forced us into an awkward triangle all facing each other. In a setting where people get me, I might have said, "Hi, I'm Carrie, and I'm an alcoholic." Another I enjoy is, "One of you here will betray me." But these people don't get me, so I sat politely listening to the karaoke.... I sh** you not... looking for an opening in the fence.

Poker did indeed break out, and that quieted Barla, Tranny, the guy whose wife doesn't want him to gamble (she stood behind him to monitor his stakes), and one of the bald husbands (because they were all big guys with shaved heads and goatees, and how am I supposed to know?). Seems like there were others there, but I had begun to chew on my leg.

I bolted
Thunder started (thanks be to God) and I said my good-bye to the hostess (and no one else, so I should slip away Batman-style) and got inside just before the downpour came. Checked the clock: 2 hours.

Of course I sent my thank you note. You have no idea who you're dealing with.