Armed to the Tentacles

Yesterday my middle sister called me, and instead of hearing her voice on the line when I answered, I heard a bunch of screeching static noises. I hung up, and assumed I’d been ass-dialed. But she called back almost immediately, and the following conversation took place:

Me: Are you being molested by a robot?
Megan (simultaneously with my previous question): Are you being kidnapped by an alien octopus?
Megan: So you heard the same noises I did?
Me: Yeah . . . wait . . . what? An octopus?
Megan: Yeah. It sounded like tentacles.
Me: Oh. Um . . . what do tentacles sound like?
Megan: You know. Sucky.
Me: Right. And you weren’t being molested by a robot then?
Megan: Heh. No.

This conversation tells you 2 things about me: I possess a wild, ridiculous imagination (as does my sister), and I assume terrible things are happening.

I come by the fear of terrible things naturally. As far back as I can remember, my mother has been absolutely convinced that I will certainly die at the hands of a modern day Ted Bundy. She continuously warns me that my behaviors will lead me to be mass murdered (even after having it pointed out to her that it would be difficult to mass murder one person). So she really shouldn’t be so surprised by my insane paranoia. I’m always absolutely convinced that all people are out to get me, and that I’m basically just living my life in wait for my horrible fate at the hands of a serial killer. This is a bad trait to have when one also possesses a ridiculous imagination.

Take, for example this past summer, when I was living by myself at my cousin’s home in San Antonio. There was a constant stream of people on and off the property making improvements and cleaning up the land and stuff like that. I somehow became convinced after hearing a noise one night that one of the landscapers – who were all very nice during daylight hours, by the way – had gotten into the house one day, bypassed being seen or setting off the alarm, stolen the spare key, had a copy of the key made, replaced the original so no one would be suspicious, then used his new key to break into the house and kill me.

Clearly, logic played no role in this. I didn’t take into consideration the facts that I lived over the garage, and would certainly hear someone either open the garage to come after me, or set off the alarm in the house to go through the garage to get access to me. It made perfect sense that he would steal a key, and copy it, rather than just use the damn stolen key. Being a murderer, he already had low levels of social propriety, and probably wouldn’t have had any qualms about using stolen property. Nor did I consider that probably my murder is an insufficient reward for going through so much trouble and forethought as stealing a key, copying it, replacing it, and then coming back yet again to do the dirty deed. I still spent most of the night lying awake in wait for the coming attack, surrounded by whatever weapons I could get my hands on – kitchen knives, blunt objects, and hairspray. My only defense for this asinine behavior is that I was in the midst of studying for the bar exam, and my mental capacity was seriously damaged. A valid counter to that defense is that this was hardly the first time my paranoid imagination has gone from zero to CSI: Miami in less than a minute.

I carry two types of mace, a knife, and am getting my concealed handgun license in March. I have one handgun already, but as it is large and doesn’t have a safety, it remains in my bedside table, loaded with hollow point bullets, and I am in the market for one more appropriate for concealed purse carrying. Maybe once in my life have I ever been in a situation where there was arguably the slightest possibility that even being lightly armed was necessary – I’ve certainly never been in a position where Fort Knox levels of personal security is required. Still, though. I’m ready for that damned alien octopus if he does show up.

Sarcasmo

Currently Excited About:  Ru Paul's Drag Race!! Season 3 started on Monday.  This is absolutely the most ridiculous, awful, and terrifying thing to ever be put on TV - and it is awesome.  What's not to love about a competition between drag queens, hosted and judged by Ru, where the bottom two competitors each week have to "lip sync for their life"?  Best.  Trash.  On TV. . . Ever.