...so full of eight-ball...

I have a crazy neighbor. And when I mean crazy, I don't mean like wacky Mr. Roper or Steve Urkel. I mean, borderline restraining order scary.

She seemed harmless enough when I moved in...until speaking to her for 5 seconds when she revealed that the people in my apartment complex were siphoning gas, dealing drugs, and knocking over her plants ( the most egregious offense in her eyes, I think). For the record, I haven't seen a shred of evidence proving any of this happens in my little complex.

She already scared off one of my neighbors by constantly calling the cops on them for stuff they didn't do. When they still lived there, I would often see her peering through a crack in her door at me while I was trying to get into my apartment. Yeesh.

I don't think she works, or owns a car...but she is married. Her husband has that defeated, senile look about him. I guess that's the only way you can look in his situation. I also think he's extremely hard of hearing, or at least he's pulling off a good acting job.

The frightening part is...she likes me. She even gave me a Christmas card in which she said "I hope you never move". I'm afraid if I try she might go Single White Female meets Misery on me! Luckily she's old, slow, and fat, so I should be able to fend her off. She thinks I'm a wonderful neighbor, even though I've never spoken more than 5 times.

Anyway, the point of this is that she managed to add to the craziness this morning by posting a note on her door (one of her favorite things to do). I'm paraphrasing, but it said something to this effect:

"I do not have an eight ball . I do not even know what an eight ball is
Do not knock on our door. All we have here is the Holy Spirit."

Picture this all in crazy old lady handwriting...and you get the idea.