When buying a home, you hear this phrase time and time again, "don't buy a house across the street from a crackhead" and there's a reason for that.
Sadly, this is advice I chose to ignore. The price was right and the house was old and weird and we bought it. There's not a day that goes by, usually about the time my neighbor's calling me a douche bag and throwing her smelly garbage into my yard with commendable accuracy, that I don't regret the purchase.
I've mentioned this neighbor before, right here as a matter of sad fact.
Turns out three people on our street have restraining orders against her. The girl can fly right off the handle, it seems. It's the deadly combination of crazy and crack that gives her that edge.
She's still fond of sitting on her porch and making long winded, curse filled calls into a cell phone that is invisible to the naked eye. The emotional range of these calls is breathtaking. She usually starts small, just meat and potatoes chatter about murder or UFO's, then she moves into some dark rages that include hurling C-bombs and N-Bombs my way. She's also taken to listing certain states - Utah, New Mexico and Rhode Island in particular. No idea what's going on there, but if I lived in those states, I'd start packing. Heat.
She's still fond of sitting on her porch and making long winded, curse filled calls into a cell phone that is invisible to the naked eye. The emotional range of these calls is breathtaking. She usually starts small, just meat and potatoes chatter about murder or UFO's, then she moves into some dark rages that include hurling C-bombs and N-Bombs my way. She's also taken to listing certain states - Utah, New Mexico and Rhode Island in particular. No idea what's going on there, but if I lived in those states, I'd start packing. Heat.
I've spoken to her sister, an exhausted woman who is just trying to get this lunatic locked up again. She stops by the house pretty much daily to make sure the knives are dull and the crack pipes are cold, I imagine. The sister kindly offered me a crumpled business card with the number of a detective who's handling the case. Let me repeat that, the detective who's handling the case. (Sweet mother of all that is holy, why did we buy this house?!) Turns out what you hear on Lifetime Television is true, we have to wait for our bug eyed neighbor to get violent before the authorities can step in. Fantastic. And calming.
Listen, I'm sure she has a sad story, but don't we all? We've all been through the wringer, but we don't smoke crack and make fake phone calls about it. Or if we do, we don't swear at our neighbors while doing so. Listen, your life is your own, but don't be an asshat.
So here I sit on this sunny morning, curse words falling like petals, the scent of freshly smoked crack giving me a contact high, as I eagerly await a violent attack so I can, at long last, call the authorities.
Home sweet home.
