Tuesday, August 24, 2010

First Day of School

As most of you are now aware, I have some paranoia issues. And OCD. And probably a good dose of ADD thrown in for good measure. At any rate, I'm also married to a man that has yet to be run off by my...quirks...and takes my panic attacks about various situations (mostly imagined, but could totally possibly be real & happen, so it totally counts as legitimate!) in stride. Usually he's very supportive & understanding.

However, sometimes he doesn't fully grasp the severity of the potential threat about which I'm panicking, and thus ends up being snarky and sarcastic instead of supportive. I guess no one's perfect. Anyway, today was the kids' first day of school. They are now 7th & 10th graders. Every year since they've started school, I was able to either walk them to the bus stop, or when they got too "old" to be escorted, I would watch obsessively from our kitchen window to make sure they did indeed get on the bus and not kidnapped by crazy puppy & candy-weilding ninjas intent on abducting my children and throwing them into the back of a rape van so they could be sold off into slavery never to be seen or heard from again.

Seriously, there are times where I cannot sleep at night because of the horrific things I imagine happening to them, all because I was too lazy or falsely secure in my feeling they were safe to watch them physically get on the bus. And would that be any comfort to them while they are being repeatedly drugged & tortured in some dirty, smelly shack? NO, it most certainly would not. Nevermind the fact that the bus stop is literally 10 steps from our door. Or that even if I did see puppy & candy-weilding ninjas abducting my kids, I'd still be too far away to stop them. Or the fact that both my kids are black belts. Or that my 13 year old son is bigger than some of the 16 year olds in our neighborhood, and that my 15 year old daughter dresses like such a freak I'm fairly certain most folks in the area are afraid of her. It could happen, and that's all that's needed to get me all worked up and incapacitated at the thought of losing my children.

Anyway, this year, because of my crazy commute to work, I was unable to perform my annual task of making sure they weren't kidnapped and sold into slavery of some sort. However, my beloved husband reassured me that he would take over this duty and be ever diligent to make sure they made it on the school bus safely. I went to work, my mind at ease in knowing my husband (who is also a 2nd degree black belt, thus much more capable of catching and disabling any potential ninja kidnappers) had taken me seriously and would prevent any wrong doing from happening. I should have noticed him rolling his eyes...

So, I go to work this morning, and upon opening my email, I received this from my dear spouse:

"The kids are off to school. Both got on their busses okay and only had to fight off 2 or three waves of puppy and candy wielding kidnapper ninjas before doing so. Here is a picture I made for you to remember the kids first day of school this year! Have a Superwonderful day!

P.S. Just be aware this is an artist's rendering of this morning's events, not an actual photograph. Also it is only *based*on actual events...some liberties may have been taken, and names have been changed to protect the innocent."

And this is why I'll be divorcing him for mental cruelty.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Fortunately/Unfortunately: A Tale of Misfortune, Paranoia and Stupidity

Once upon a time, there was a woman who suffered from terrible paranoia and fear that one day she would be murdered in her sleep. She has, on several occasions, awakened her husband from a sound sleep just to check the locks on the doors, convinced that one was left open, thereby allowing murderers, rapists and pyschopaths (or - her worst fear - a combination of all three) easy access to their home to inflict unspeakable amounts of violence and mayhem. However, when her husband is unavailable for door-checking, she makes certain to check, double check & triple check the locks herself. She also goes through this same ritual with her stove, because what good is it to lock all the doors to keep the psychopaths out only to burn to death in your own home because you forgot to turn off the stove or oven, and maybe there was a piece of paper or something that somehow got stuck on the stove or in the oven and then it catches fire, which then catches fire to the oven mitt you accidentally left out, which then catches fire to the wooden spoons (and let's face it, they might as well be kindling!!) and the next thing you know you've become your own personal deep fried wanton? It could happen, people. It could happen!

*Ahem* Anyway...

Recently, she found a job that requires her to commute long distances (160+ miles round trip), but fortunately she was able to work out a plan with her in-laws where upon she could stay at their house a few nights a week in an effort to save gas money and extra wear & tear to her vehicle. This worked out nicely because they no longer lived in the house and had put it up for sale. By staying in the vacant house, her in-laws had someone who could keep an eye on things and make it look as if it was still occupied. And of course (especially because she was All Alone in the house), whenever she stayed there, she was sure to lock all the doors, including the one that opened from the garage into the house, despite the fact that one can't actually enter the garage once the garage doors have been shut, thereby negating the need to lock the door into the home but you just never know.

One day her father in-law kindly asked her to check their basement for water damage, as it had stormed the night before. She agreed, and upon arrival at the home, proceeded to bring all her belongings (a rather hefty skate bag, her overnight bag & her giant purse) into the house, where she (of course) promptly locked the aforementioned garage door. After having checked to make sure the other doors & windows in the home were securely locked (she didn’t want someone to sneak in & murder her while she was in the basement, because you can get murdered during pre-dusk hours too, you know), she went down to the basement to see that, fortunately, no water damage had been done. What a relief! Her father in law would be so happy! She went to send him a text with the good news, only to discover her phone battery had died. So she plugged her phone in to charge it and left it on the nightstand next to her bed (so it would have enough charge to dial 911 if that was needed at some point during the night - always prepared, that one!), as she did nearly every night she stayed there.

Then she remembered that he also wanted her to check the gutter by the basement to make sure it wasn’t clogged up with leaves. Fortunately, the door to get outside was right next to the gutter so she slipped outside, remembering to close the door behind her (there were bugs flying about, and it would be just as traumatic for her to awaken with bugs crawling/flying on her as it would to be murdered. Yes, she knows she’s completely crazy), when she heard an ever so faint “click” that turned out to be the automatic locking mechanism to the door. Unfortunately, she had no key to the home in order to get herself back inside - she always used the remote key pad on the side of the garage to get into the house. More unfortunately, ALL her things were in the house, including her cell phone (which was dead anyway, so that really didn't help, but the idea of her phone being in the house and her current position of being out of the house was making her panic) and any kind of implement she could have used to maybe pick the lock to the garage door, because she could get into the garage, just not the house once she was in the garage.

However, wanting to complete her requested task, she quickly checked the gutter (fortunately leaf-free because she really didn’t like the idea of having to dig out leaves in all that muddy guck), and then walked round & round the house, checking all the windows and doors in case one may have been inadvertently left open but they were (of course) securely locked. She was nothing if not thorough in her quest for safety. Eventually she noticed the little basement window on the side of the house that was surrounded by dirt (okay, a flower bed, but it was still dirty and gross. Did I mention her great dislike for the outdoors and the dirt that goes with it?), and covered in cobwebs, spiders and other unidentifiable yuckiness. She also noticed the window lock was up.

She knew what she had to do. So she squatted down to the window and tried to pull the window up. Nothing. She cursed. A lot. She tried again to pull the window up, nearly giving herself a hernia in the process. Nothing. She took her shoes off and threw them. Obviously the shoes were not allowing her to get a firm stance in the dirt. Pulled some more. Still nothing. In fit of anger, she shoved the edge of the window while profanity poured out of her mouth faster than a runaway train. Miraculously it opened. Just a smidge. Because the window in question was not the kind of window that pulled up or pushed down to open and close. It was the kind one pushed in or out. Had she bothered to really look, she’d have noticed that a lot sooner, and before her feet were covered in dirt.

So she shimmied and squirmed her way through the window, fairly certain her sizeable bandonkadonk wasn’t going to make the trip. Visions of Winnie the Pooh came to mind and she thought how no one at work would believe she wasn’t able to make it in the next day because she managed to get herself stuck in a window. Fortunately, her ability to measure accurately is just as faulty as her observational skills, so she was able to get through the window and into the house, where she cleaned up the dirty footprints on the bathroom sink (fortunately for her, the window was directly over it because falling onto the tiled floor in a heap wasn’t a fun thought) and closed the window all the way, but didn’t lock it. After all, she figured, if a murderer is going to go through all the trouble of getting dirty and squeezing through a tiny basement window just to slit her throat in her sleep, then he earned it.

And the next time her father in-law asks her to check the gutters for leaves, she's going to tell him to check his g-damned gutters himself.
The end.