Won't you be my neighbor?

Yesterday Sal and I found a house we adored. It was the first place that seemed to have almost everything we were looking for, and at a great price. We loved it so much, in fact, that we returned last night to check out the neighborhood after dark. The moment we get out of the car we hear this ear-blasting holler from across the street. "CAN I HELP YOU???"

Um ... no? We turned around and saw this woman with long stringy hair standing in her yard glaring at us. I responded that we were just looking and had been at the house earlier with our agent. But she seemed agitated, and we wanted to show her we were harmless, so we crossed the street to introduce ourselves.

First thing we notice is, she's wearing this tattered old George Strait/Coors Light T-shirt. (Now, to me, that's a plus, but Sal not so impressed.) I think she felt bad for yelling, because she tried to make us feel better by pointing out that she was just protecting the house. Because a few nights ago, she caught some people trying to break in. "They were MEX-icans," she said with a sneer that told me she hadn't paid much attention to my husband's ethnic background.

Then she went on to tell us all sorts of delightful things. Like how the house down the way had been broken into twice last year. And how she "gets sunstroke really easily," so that's why she works in her yard at night, and, you know, keeps an eye on things. Oh, and she loves animals. All animals. She "makes sure everyone has a home," and has helped raise lots of wildlife, including cats, dogs, owls, monkeys and ocelots! Oh, except four of her pets died last year. You know, because of the cancer in the water.

So, the block busybody is also a racist, ocelot-loving vampire. And she still finds time to be in charge of the Neighborhood Watch! Seriously, how soon can we move in?