Monday, September 17, 2012

Red Alert, Hull Breach!

I was busy working out last week, having already volunteered my services in the library at Princess's school, when someone knocked on the door.

Intruder! It's GO time, I thought, running upstairs - still with my weightlifting gloves on.

I usually think that someone knocking on the door in the middle of the day is an intruder, by the way. It's usually my neighbor - as it was this time. (It might also be a dirty solicitor who tries to sell me carpet cleaning products, but I don't open the door and we yell unintelligibly at each other through my door until the solicitor gives up and goes away.)

She had dropped by to tell me that the two cop cars at the OTHER neighbor's house the previous day were investigating an attempted break-in. The kids were home and two men tried to get in the back door. The kids...were home. HOME invasion.

Dear sweet Jesus.

I think we all have anxiety, to an extent. It's part of fear and what could have once saved your ancestors from a saber-tooth tiger attack. Now, it just messes up your day and causes you to OCD check your door lock. And/or your shotgun.

You have anxiety about your dental appointment, I worry about Stranger-Danger. (Okay, and dental appointments. Flossing = ::shudder::)


Also according to my neighbor, the same night someone tried to break in to my other neighbor's car and take the garage door opener.

Tom Cruze lives outside until the Great Kitchen Concrete Project of Twenty-Twelver is complete. I removed my door opener from Tom Cruze right after my neighbor left.

I am all about preparedness. Usually, when I hear about Stranger Danger or Home Invasions, I immediately check my fall-back plan in my head. I can't give you ALL the details, in case you'd like to home invade me, but it involves the following:

Alarms
A dog
An armed and most assuredly dangerous Your Favorite Writer
Phone calls to the po-lice
Boiling Oil
A moat filled with vicious and underfed snapping turtles
The Man on codeine (why? because he's like The Hulk on that shit)
Etc.

I check all elements of my plan, including which floor I might be located on When Shit Goes Down and how to best defend Me Casa against the Forces of Evil. Then, after I've worked myself into a mentally suitable lather of fear, I check my alarm and the location of the newest box of the Home Defender shotgun shells my dad brought me (your dad brings used copies of Time, mine brings me shotgun shells) and drink a Coke Zero.

I read once that obsessive (why bandy THAT word around?) worries about Stranger Danger could possibly indicate an OCD personality. First off, I'd have to stop obsessively organizing things to even *deal* with that concern. Then I'd have to pencil in some time in my Anxiety Schedule. The good news? If you are miiiiildly OCD and worry about Stranger Danger, your OCD helps you plan. Win/win homies.

I grew up in the Valhalla of the Midwest - or at least Indiana. The big news crime there that happens once every 6 months happens once a day on each side of the city here. My WalMart routinely has cops there, and don't even ask how they score on the internal WalMart success chart because the answer is: badly. My WalMart has the worst ratings in the state - and that's their OWN admission. (I know this because I have a bff in management at the Wally World down south.)

I have to use all my Stranger-Danger ninja skills just to buy my bargain ibuprofen. Head up, look around, no eye contact, keep moving, brisk pace, keys in hand, one key through the fingers for maximum eye-gouging ability, car doors locked, leave quickly. I'm a level 5 black belt in Ghetto WalMart shopping.


Since I'm happily at home (briefly) today, my doors are locked, my alarm is on, and my beta-dog is slumbering vigilantly upstairs on her dog bed. (My obese house-cat is on main floor guard duty. I bribed him with whipped cream. He would cut you for whipped cream.)


I'm safe. For now.


Comments, questions, are you prepared?

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