Big houses

I have decided that the most interesting people I know live in the smallest houses.
Part of this thought pattern has something to do with the size of the house I live in, but actually if I really think about it...it's totally true.
I have one friend who lives in a tiny ranch house with 3 bedrooms and she has 3 kids.
And they only have one bathroom. She is, by far, the most giving person I know who has the least amount of resources from which to give. (That is a p.c. way of saying that they don't have lots of cash.) She's got a happy marriage, really great kids, good friends and a huge heart. Maybe she wakes up every morning wishing she had a huge house and Merry Maids coming in once a week and the money to have steak dinners every other night...but I doubt it.
Conversely, I know another woman who has a huge house and all she does is complain. She wants a fur coat, the contractors screwed up her laundry room remodeling (no kidding...she actually had her laundry room remodeled. I know this because she showed it to me and told me how much everything cost. Her laundry room is as big as my entire first floor.), her kid didn't get the biggest part in the musical, blah, blah, blah. She never has anything interesting to say. Everything is all about her and the rest of the world is background noise. When I was in college, I had a Walkman and my boyfriend said to me that he couldn't stand seeing people walk around with Walkmen on. When I asked him why he replied that he felt like it was their way of saying that the world around them just wasn't interesting enough. At the time I took it very personally, but now I sort of see what he meant. I didn't give up my Walkman though. I needed a soundtrack. I was like John Travolta at the beginning of Saturday Night Fever...I needed to hear Stayin' Alive all the time while I was walking.
Anyway, this woman is sort of like that. The world around her isn't interesting enough. To use another fabulous John Travolta movie as an illustration...she's like The Boy in the Bubble. Only her bubble is self imposed unlike poor John in the movie. He was like, I don't know, allergic to everything so he had to live in a big bubble in his parents backyard or something. It would be like living inside one of those blow-up Santas that are on everyone's front lawn lately. I hate those things, by the way. Our neighbor on the corner has 3 or 4 of them in their yard; Scooby Doo with a Santa hat on and the Grinch, etc. They also have all kinds of mismatched lit up crap everywhere and lights hung half-assed all over the house. They're bringing down my property value by the second. I told Tony that if we ever list our house we better not do it close to any holiday because they have tacky lit-up lawn shit for every holiday.
Back to the house thing...I'm totally jealous of all the people I know that have huge houses, but I don't really ever want one because it would suck all of the intellegence out of me. (I think I may have spelled that wrong. See! Even talking about big houses makes you stupid.) (By the way, spelling is not a good indicator of how bright you are.)