Rocks Off loves Houston's adorably scruffy, formerly sketchy hipster 'hood long ago known as "Neartown," but sometimes you have to go beyond Allen Parkway or 59. We asked a few of our writers exactly when they know that.

You envy the comparatively walkable sidewalks of Fallujah.

You have five different pools to swim in, but don't know a soul who lives in any of the complexes.

You've come up with approximately 700 viable business plans for the former Blockbuster space at Westheimer and Montrose.

You've memorized precisely how long it takes to get to Baba Yega from your house so that you can sleep in as late as possible on Sunday.

You don't actually have to walk inside of Catbird's, Boondocks or Royal Oak to be recognized and welcomed -- just walking past their respective patios results in a chorus-like ovation of salutations and/or catcalls.

You've ended so many Ice House nights at T.K. Bitterman's that you can now name the Chicago Cubs' pitching coach.

You forget that pungent smell is actually marijuana.

You remember when the mayor wouldn't be caught dead riding in the gay pride parade.

You know what La Casa del Caballo used to be. EVERYTHING it used to be.

You are shocked when you see a woman without tattoos.

You remember when Mango's served Mexican food.

You're saving up money because your girlfriend's tattoos are nicer than yours, and it's become a problem.

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