If you're not living in one now, chances are you've lived in one in the past: those enormous, impersonal residential affairs that advertise state-of-the-art fitness centers and multiple swimming pools. I've lived in five different large-size complexes of varying quality, from places that featured mold to places that featured fresh-baked cookies daily. All were significantly different from each other, save for one characteristic: my neighbors simply didn't interact with each other.

Despite all my friendly smiles and greetings, my neighbors at these complexes never seemed to want to enter into conversation. They were content to keep their heads down, avoiding eye contact when we passed on the stairs or at the mailboxes. Defeated, I abandoned my efforts and began to accept the evident reality of anonymity. And then I moved into my current residence.

I just might live in the best apartment building ever. Okay, maybe not, but it's pretty damn great. It's old and not well maintained, and crackheads regularly wander through the neighborhood, but no matter. As long as I live in Houston, I'm not moving out of this place. Seventeen units are arranged around a courtyard – "It's like a ghetto version of Melrose Place without the pool," a visitor has noted. Instead of a pool, our courtyard sports a deck with ample outdoor furniture. It's a popular gathering spot for residents and friends, even though the cheap, untreated wood used for the deck is rotting and full of holes. A simple night of hanging out quickly turns into lounge roulette, with everyone wondering whose chair will go crashing through the planks next. Welcome to Montroach Place.

"Uh," you might be thinking, "I thought she said this was the best complex, not the worst." I just haven't described the awesomeness yet – my neighbors. I'd rather risk falling through a deck than move away from the unique atmosphere that thrives here. Everyone is very different from each other; many of us would not be likely candidates for friends in the world outside of our little haven, but in here it doesn't matter. Of course, there's always an exception – one girl doesn't speak to anyone else, perhaps out of shyness or lack of interest. But the occupants of all the other units are friendly to the point that I was a bit taken aback when I first moved in. Now that I've become accustomed to it, I can't believe that I put up with anything else. We all know each others' names, occupations, relationship statuses; we hang out with each others' friends; we borrow each others' stuff. If someone's car gets towed or is in the shop, we don't hesitate to turn to each other for help. If I'm leaving town for a few days, I know that I can easily find someone to look in on my cats. If I'm bored and in a social mood, all I need to do is sit in the courtyard for awhile and someone is bound to join me. I love this place.

On election night, Eggs and I dragged a TV outside and sat on the deck to watch the voting results roll in. Before long, ten neighbors had joined us and an all-out celebration ensued. When Hurricane Ike hit a couple of months ago and we were without electricity for a few days, we all staved off our boredom by playing board games in the candlelit courtyard. It's definitely not an ideal environment for the anti-social, but it's perfect for those who crave an alternative to anonymous living situations. If that describes you, I encourage you to scout out a similar place. They might be harder to find than generic corporate-run complexes, but they're out there. Believe me, the atmosphere is worth the search.