What is happening to the neighborhood?

CRAZY SHIT. Not sure if you saw this on the news, but I came home after working late
last night and the road our street is off of was closed. There were a ton of police cars, swat vans, fbi jackets, helicopters... This is not the normal course of things when I get home from work. It's a nice quiet neighborhood. Anyway, a 20 year old guy murdered his two half sisters, aged 6 and 10 and tried to kill his mom and his one year old half sibling. The murder weapon was a hammer. That is terrible. A hammer? Poor little girls.

This caused quite the stir in my neighborhood. Pretty much every neighbor called us and these were thestories I got:

There is a crack house on G street (around the corner) and the FBI is breaking up a drug ring. I admit to being unobservant sometimes, but I hope to god that I would recognize crackheads in my neighborhood.

A guy killed his mother and fled the scene and was running around loose in the neighborhood. Super. Homicidal maniac on the loose. I double checked all the locks on the doors and windows.

A guy killed his whole family and was in the house threatening to set off a bomb. That is just super. Explosives not even a quarter of a mile away.

A guy killed his whole family and was in the house and finally killed himself. There was a loud crack that was probably something being dropped. Two of my neighbors called convinced it was a gunshot. I have no idea what a gunshot sounds like, so I could not advise them.

Turns out this guy killed the sisters. The baby is okay. The mom is hospitalized, but alright. She got away and called the police. The guy did not kill himself, but he threatened to for an hour and a half before the police nabbed him. He is in police custody. And they thought he may have explosives on or near his person, so they evacuated all the surrounding homes.

So there I am, thinking there may be a homicidal maniac on the loose and here is what goes through my mind: Why is my husband not here to protect me? How am I going to take out the trash and the recycling?

My new non-smoking technique is to clean obsessively. Not pick up my husband's crap in the living room or anything like that. That's still a big old mess. I mean, take everything out of every kitchen cabinet and drawer, discard unused items and expired food, clean the drawer or cabinet and neatly put back the keepers. So I had an unusual amount of trash.

Anyway, Marty had to go to a teachers convention in Atlantic City. He left at 5:45 am and took the train. I tried to call him several times to give him the scoop on the local homicide, but got his voicemail every time and made a mental note "if homicidal maniac ever breaks into house, do not call husband because he does not answer cell". So as I am going over the trash and recycling dilemma (I could take it out and carry around a golf club for protection or I could call the neighbor and ask him to watch my back as I take out the trash. He is very chatty though normally and with the added drama of murder, he would have had me out there for hours talking. I decided it wasn't worth it. Hmmm. What to do?) when my cell rings and the caller id
reveals it is Marty. "Imatdatrainsation. Needcomegetme. Threwuptrain. Threwuptrain." Huh? Slower honey. I have no idea what you are saying. After a couple more attempts, I finally got it!
He was wasted, at the train station, had thrown up due to the final shot of tequila and needed me to pick him up. NICE. So I called the most dependable person in the world (she'll be the #1 call if I encounter a homicidal maniac by the way), my Mom and she came and took me to the train station. Thanks Mom.

What in God's name happened to my husband? I have seen him drink at tailgates from early morning to late night before and function just fine. He could not speak. He could not walk. He was a total mess. Apparently the teacher convention winded down about 1 in the afternoon. Then they drank for 7 hours straight. And there was tequila. I'm not sure how he didn't see this was a recipe for disaster from the beginning.

I gave Marty the 411 twice on the way home. Yet, when we pulled up, he still said "Wazzgoin on here? Assiden or sumpin?" Yep. Accident honey. I am leaving your vomit on the top step. You can hose it off in the morning. Love ya.