We don't have a great reputation among the nuevo-enviromentalists in Boulder. In the late 80s, see, Superior was a sleepy little ranching community of 250 residents, replete with hawks, prairie dogs, grazing cattle, and a big problem: no water. Towns all 'round us began making noises about annexation. The old Superior residents, most of whom had lived here their whole lives, had too much pride to go Louisville, much less Broomfield ((shudder)). So they agreed to let Richmond Homes come in and build Rock Creek, a planned community of 35oo homes in exchange for a water treatment plant. Good plan, except Richmond Homes is a crappy builder. I should know; I live in a house in which the basement floor is literally falling away.
Rock Creek is widely regarded as a travesty, since it overtook massive amounts of open space owned by the Town. Most in Boulder resented this influx of people and houses, mostly for enviromental reasons, even though it happened at a time when home prices were skyrocketing in landlocked Boulder due to favorable economic conditions. (Ahh, the 90s.) Now that the town is largely built-out, as well as home to many former-Boulderites, and now that trees have overtaken the rooftops, animosity is gradually fading. And we do have some open space, in which
We fondly call Superior Stepford, because a full half or more of the affluent mothers stay home with their children, gaining them plenty of gym-time. Oh, they might take a job at the nearby Pottery Barn to pay for their new boobs, but mostly they spend their time at playdates, volunteering at the school (can't throw a rock without hitting a mommy) and "returning" things to the mall. It's an act of courage just go pick up your kids from school; the women are seriously beautiful . Well, they're beautiful in the rest of the county, too, except they wear makeup, shave, and are better dressed out here. (We're close to the mall.)
We also have a collection of the hottest firefighters around. They'd make a damn fine calendar. And they are nice, too. They go to the grocery store for dinner in their truck and wave at all the little kids (and blushing mommies) screaming after them. It was a sad, sad day when I saw the firetruck and said, "Hey, firetruck!" and waved, and then realized I had no kiddos in the backseat to wave with me. Does it mean I was flirting with the firefighters at that point?
Conscientiously absent on Thursday evenings (neighborhood Bunco night), the sheriff has got nothing on Nottingham's. Not much happens but speeding and the occasional break-in, and the police wear frowns of boredom rather than disapproval. I see them every year at this party my friend has down the street.
This is the park I drive through to get to my house.
Speaking of streets, I live on a well-known street in the area. We drive through a park to get there. Not only that, most people know my house as well. We bought it the day it came on the market for full asking price (it was a fair price) and we've been here 8 years. There are at least five other houses of the same model on my street alone. But I can't tell you how many times people say, "I know where you live. I love your house."
Must be good chi. I love it, too. Our neighbors are wonderful, the school is top-notch (I've spent some time in schools so I know a good one when I see it), we have world class health care, shopping, and entertainment mere blocks away, and there are lots of big boobs to ogle. The surgeons around here really are very good.