Apparently I was foreordained to be surrounded by crazy people.
There's the neighbor whose son can't go to the cemetery, because all the spirits talk to him and drive him up a wall. Too many requests, that sort of thing.
There's the neighbor who puts about a thousand whirligigs up in his front yard, and then gets mad when I take the weeds out of mine.
There are the meth labs. That seems crazy to me, to open up a meth lab.
There's the neighbor who shows up screaming drunk at our house and wants to know what Moroni did with the plates. He also wants to know if his pants are on, and tries to drag daltonboy back down the street with him for a drink. (DB refuses, in case you're wondering.)
And that's just on my street. You'd think I could get away from it if I left the neighborhood. Maybe there's just a little Vortex of Cuckoo right here. No. That's where the foreordination comes in. I know this because most people can go to the temple to relax, contemplate, and meditate. They go there to feel closer to God. Me, I go there to feel closer to more crazy people.
So I'm sitting there, attempting to meditate, and this older woman with harsh black eyeliner about half an inch wide all the way around her eyes starts talking loudly to her young companion. She points up at the painted decoration on the wall above the door. (The one that looks like water, and, I always thought, was representative of Living Water. Turns out I was wrong.)
"So that's another one of those dream catchers. They put them all over this temple because it's an Indian thing, and there used to be a lot of Indians that lived here, and the temple was built on sacred Indian ground, and so they wanted to honor that. So they decorated the temple with dream catchers. They catch all the good spirits, you know."
Uh, huh. You know, I think I'm just going to go home and take my chances with the drunk crazy people. And they follow me. The minute I get home, some nut starts pounding on the door, ringing the bell, and yelling, "Hey! It's your friend from Down Under!" I didn't answer it. Instead, I got online and started looking up realtors. In the Yukon. No crazies there, I hear.
6 comments:
Hear I thought it was going to be about the m-w chickens...
Sorry to hear about your unfortunate foreordination...
AND...you're stuck with me checking your blog periodically. That's got to account for any online craziness you may experience...
Too bad about the crazies. There aren't many people in the Yukon Territory, but I am willing to bet that almost all of them are crazies. So good luck with that one.
Yay we're moving to Canada! Prescription drugs for everybody, my treat!
Hmmm... Maybe you better hold on to that drug test kit...
Stupid: I'm so surrounded by craziness that I visit YOUR blog to feel a sense of normalcy.
Jenny: I bet we can find a little 500-acre parcel of land and never have to see another human being. That's a little far to walk when you feel like cutting down a neighbor's tree during a drunken binge. I feel we'll be safe.
Jared: Uh . . . don't you mean their treat?
White Rabbit: Excellent advice.
I think there's something in the Utah water. I've been saying it for years. The government is putting things in the water. They say it's just fluoride, but if it's just fluoride, then why are there so many people in Utah who are crazy?
And you know what else? The Democrats are building secret labs in the desert. Meth labs. And they're going to offer free abortions there, too. And then, they'll steal your children.
It's all a conspiracy. The only way to be safe is to avoid eating that French beef.
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