I Go Crazy, Crazy, Crazy for You, Baby

Since I'm stranded at home, waiting for my husband to come pick me up... I blog.

In case you haven’t yet noticed, my life is quite full of adventure.  Recently, while regaling a friend with yet another one of my cooky stories, she pointed out something to me that perhaps I hadn’t quite realized before – I’m a magnet for crazy. 

Crazy Me, the Crazy Kid, and the Crazy Mother-In-Law

So I stopped to consider this – and all mother-in-law jokes and, well… Jamie jokes aside, I have had a fair amount of crazy encounters in my life.  Many can’t be shared at this time – you can’t risk ratting out crazy people who might read your blog AND know where you live!  But there are a few stories I can safely share, like:

Hug me tight, my little pirate!  Things are about to get crazy!

1)      The Time a Crazy Man Tried to Get Into My House:  It was Halloween night several years ago.  It was just Micah and I at home, so after trick-or-treating, I put him to bed, turned off the TV for fear that I may accidentally view some type of imp or hobgoblin that would keep me up all night, and started perusing the internet for tips on how to create that smoky eyed look.  Suddenly, at nearly 10:30 p.m., my doorbell rings.  I glanced at the clock and stopped to consider whether or not some older kids could still possibly be trolling the neighborhood in search of candy, and before I could even get my thoughts together, the door bell rang again, quickly followed by incessant knocking at the door.

Okay, I think, well, this is where I die. 

I crept over the baby gate, stepped into the foyer, walked up to the door, slowly turned the dead bolt to lock myself in, then, pressing my body against the door and standing on the tippiest part of my tippy toes, made a futile effort to reach the peephole as I said, in a not-at-all-shaky voice, “Who is there, please?”

The aforementioned crazy man was apparently very offended by this question, since he started to scream, “Just let me in!”

I responded, “Sir, if you need help, there is a policeman who lives across the street.  Go there and he can help you.”

See how I pawn my problems off on my neighbors?  I figured it was okay though – there was a probably a gun in that house if worse came to worse.  Sadly, this suggestion did not please said crazy man.

“Let me in, you –insert terrible word-,” he yelled.  “I’m not a –insert different terrible word – criminal!” 

Oh yeah, I thought, that’s the way to convince me!  So instead of being a good hostess and letting the crazy man in for coffee, I ran, hopped the baby gate, grabbed the phone, dialed 911, and told the all-too-calm lady on the other end to send the coppers STAT. 

Then I spent the next 45 minutes sitting against the front door, recording this entire incident on MySpace (give me a break!  I said it was several years ago!) so that just in case I got hacked up into tiny pieces, there would be an accurate account for the Lifetime movie.

            Luckily for me, the police arrived to save the day (and in just enough time for the would-be serial killer to have killed me, buried me in the backyard and cleaned up all the evidence).  I told them what had happened (I left out the part where  Candace Cameron would have been perfect to play me in the movie) and waited while they shined their super-powered flashlights all around my yard.  They informed me that the man was no where to be found – shocking!  I thanked them for their time and the great amount of comfort they provided, offered them some kit-kats (shouldn’t they have said, “No thank you, ma’am.  We’re on duty?” They didn’t.  They totally ate them) and sent them on their merry way.   

We were a much closer match in her chubbier days

I, figuring I’d be up all night anyway, curled up on the couch and turned on the television.  But I kept in on the Disney channel. Just to be safe.

2)      Then There Was That OTHER Time a Crazy Man Tried to Get Into My House: Jay and I were sound asleep in bed, when at about 3:00 a.m., the doorbell rang.  We both sat up in a panic, then sat there a minute longer, trying to decide if we both had simply heard the doorbell in a dream (because that’s likely).  A moment later the doorbell rang again, so we both slid out of bed and crept to the front door.  As Jay looked through the peephole (he’s 6’6, I’m 5’2) I stood to the side, whisper-yelling at him to NOT open the door.  He, of course, opened the door.  This has perplexed me for years!  Doesn’t he watch the same amount of Criminal Minds as I do?  WHY would he open the door to a crazy man?  I am clearly safer from serial killers when I’m on my own.  Note to self – should an axe murderer show up, step one – lose Jay.

The man, who was completely covered in blood, explained that he had been dancing the night away at The Electric Cowboy, an obviously super-sophisticated night time hot spot, when he met some very classy chick who claimed that she and her friends needed a ride somewhere.  He offered to take them, but once they got out in the middle of nowhere, which was exactly where our neighborhood was located, they beat him up, threw him out of his truck, and took off.  He’d apparently been to several other of our neighbor’s homes, but no one had answered the door (which is PRECISELY why I tried to send them that ^ crazy man a few months later).  Jay called the police, fixed the man a glass of water, and sat out on the porch with him until the cops came.  Of course they sent two cars and were there in 8 minutes.  Whatever.

This looked like a quiet, peaceful neighborhood.  Deceptive.

3)      Lastly, There Was That Time a Crazy Lady Tried to Eat My Face:  I didn’t notice this particular woman as I was greeting people before church, but afterward, as I stood at the back door, shaking hands and wishing people a good week, this lady came up to me.  She had never been at church before, but she was giving me a great big smile and reached to shake my hand.  I took her hand , and she leaned in toward me.  I thought that she was attempting to kiss me on the cheek.  This is not odd among older women in the south.  I get smooched often following church.  So, I leaned in back, ready for a peck on the cheek, but instead, she opened her mouth and bit my face!  And not just a nibble.  A big ole’ chunk of my cheek was in her mouth.  And she was not letting go!  I let out a little involuntary shriek before pushing the woman away.  She stared at me for a second, lifted her fist in the air, mumbled something about the revolution and ran away.  Luckily for me, the lady was entirely toothless and didn’t break the skin, but I was left with a slobbery bruise to remember her by.

Looks harmless, but beware!

Crazy, right?  And I’ve got so many more of these… so keep reading!  Kisses!