Crazy Lady, Fire, and My New Role as Sole Zombie-Killer

I have a neighborhood report, and this time it is NOT EVEN a result of me spying from my front porch.  I mean, I did learn all of this information by looking out my bedroom window, but I think by the time you have reached the end of the story you will agree that it does NOT, in fact, constitute spying.


Anyway, hold on to your hats, biotches, because this story is ZANY and TOTALLY REAL AND FACTUAL.  No embellishments or additions.


I am sleeping, snug as a bug in a rug as is possible for a pregnant lady, when a fire engine rouses me.  And it is not far away, like usual, it is CLOSE, and I turn and look out the window, and it is ON MY STREET.  And then it is STOPPING DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF MY HOUSE!! You can imagine the panic.  I shouted Jeremy's name (about an inch from his ear -- it was effective) and he immediately ran downstairs.  My first thought was "Is MY house on fire and I'm not aware of it yet?" but we quickly learned that the firemen were running toward the house across the street, not ours.  That house is home to Crazy Lady.


Crazy Lady.  How can I summarize her quickly and effectively?  She is 92, in perfect health, possesses all of her faculties, but ... is not so nice.  Apparently the other neighbors used to take turns visiting her and bringing her food and checking on her, which I find VERY KIND and unusual, especially in a city this large.  However, Crazy Lady only likes one of our neighbors, and hates all the others for various reasons, such as the colors of the clothing they wear and the cadence of their voices.  


At first she starting pretending that she had been struck deaf and mute when those neighbors knocked on her door.  BTW, I think this is super-clever, and I may utilize it myself one day.  Her acting was very realistic because she would take out her teeth and gape open-mouthed and wide-eyed at people.  If it had been me, I probably would have smiled, waved, left cookies and the porch and just run away.  My nice neighbors were persistent.  They waited, and she would finally give in and let them in the house.  Apparently she would then excuse herself and go to a back room and call 911.  When the cops arrived she would ask the neighbor with cookies to be removed from her house.  Then she would walk across the street and brag to the one neighbor she likes about how she got the "harlot with the red shirt" removed from her home.


So, apparently Crazy Lady's house is on fire, because now there are FOUR fire engines.  These are followed by two police cruisers, and finally an ambulance.  There seems to be some confusion and running back and forth from the house to the scanner to talk to dispatch.  I finally hear over dispatch (because it is louder than the firefighters' voices), "Well, if she is just standing there starting at you through the front door and won't let you in, threaten to use the ax."


This is when I realized that Crazy Lady was likely totally safe and this was not going to be a scary and sad night.  Lots of talking and head shaking later, I hear the story (like all of my other neighbors, who are of course standing in the street at four in the morning to be in the front row, and not peeking out of their bedroom window like me) -- Crazy Lady has awoken to discover that her power is out.  So she pushed the fire, ambulance, AND police buttons on her lifeline alert system.  When she finally let them in, she simply stated, "My power is out, and that is unacceptable."  


Sure, she alerted us to the power outage, which we would not have known about and would have slept in and been late for for.  Sure, she is a ballsy bitch and uses the term "unacceptable," much like yours truly.  But I was DISGUSTED to see my street full of emergency workers who came out to save a life, and could be needed elsewhere to REALLY save lives, all because Crazy Lady was mad that her power had been out for a few minutes (the power was back on in another 10, by the way).  I will save the rest of this rant, because I am sure you are all filling in your own version yourselves.  I don't care how old she is -- I hope she gets a big, fat bill from the city.


What I did not expect from this incident, however, was what I learned about my husband.  While I was lying there, adrenaline still rushing, heart still racing, and mind full of horrible thoughts, I turned over to find Jeremy DEAD ASLEEP.  Less than five minutes after four fire trucks pulled up in front of our house in the middle of the night.  Seriously?


I shook him awake to tell him, "This is startling evidence that you have no heart."


Jeremy:  Did you just wake me up to tell me I have no heart?  At four in the morning?


Veronica:  Yes.  I wanted you to sit with this realization, much like I have been forced to.


Jeremy:  How do you figure I have no heart?


Veronica:  If you had a functioning heart, it would be racing.  It would be pumping adrenaline throughout your body, and you would be unable to nod off moments after such a shock.  


Jeremy:  Well, it wasn't a real fire.


Veronica:  Your body should not know that yet.  You should still be in fight or flight, not REM.


Jeremy:  Can I go back to sleep now?


Veronica:  You know, I don't fear for you Jeremy.  I fear for me.  One day you will have to save me and the baby from a monster, and in the middle of defending us, you will just collapse and take a little cat nap!  


Jeremy:  *SNORE*


Crazy Lady might be crazy, and she wasted the taxpayers' money, and I will never bake her any cookies, but she did make me realize *I* will have to be the adult in charge of emergency plans in case of zombie invasion, bear attack, or shark bite.  Duly noted.