For those of you who were wondering what the latest is with our crazy neighbor, allow me to enlighten you while I pack my bags for hell. A few weeks ago, I pulled up to the house and almost as soon as I walked in the door, the crazy neighbor rang the doorbell. The conversation that ensued when I answered the door was nothing short of bizarre:

Crazy Neighbor: And you are...?

Me: ... Emily

Crazy Neighbor: Emily who?

Me (wondering if this bad knock-knock joke might end with my head in a bag): Emily Casey

Crazy Neighbor: And do your parents own this house?

Me (wildly confused): No... I own it.

Crazy Neighbor: Oh. Well, I wanted to tell you that (mumble mumble) died today at noon.

Since he was gesturing at the house across the street, I assumed that our other old neighbor had died. Considering that we've lived in this house for two years now, and he knows my name and the fact that I don't live with my parents, I have to assume that he's going senile. Which makes me the biggest asshole in the world for griping about him. I'll send you my new address once I get to hell...

Driving around Gainesville, you see some weird proclamations on church signs. I won't bore you with a laundry-list of all the ones I've cataloged so far, but one that John and I saw the other day was a real head-scratcher. It said: "Don't wait for six strong men to take you to church." Now, not being a church-goer myself, it took a while to sort that one out. In fact, I wasn't even the one to crack the code; it was John. I thought it was some reference to The Sopranos, and I silently gave kudos to the pastor who came up with that one. But no. John tells me that it's a reference to pallbearers. Someone at the church was feeling cryptic when they put that one up...