It’s Like A Bad Rockwell Video

Are you tired of my excuses for not posting?  Well, only that one excuse – the thesis.  Are you tired of it yet?  Yeah, me too.  So we won’t talk about it, shall we?  Okay, since you asked, just one more thing:  It’s almost done!  It’s been approved by my first and second readers and is on its way to my third and final reader right now.  Knowing that the deadline is rapidly approaching, I wanted to nudge my third reader a little but not seem overbearing.  I left her a nice little note with my draft that says, “Thank you for your time.  If you do not approve this thesis, I WILL CUTCHU!” And there’s a smiley face at the end.  Do you think the smiley face is a bit much?  Too in-your-face maybe? 

I feel as if I’ve been in a bubble the past few weeks.  A bubble occasionally burst by important stress relievers like pot excessive amounts of booze Grey’s Anatomy and Top Chef.  Unfortunately, my social life has been very limited.  I’ve seen the laundry guy and Bean, the Mexican food delivery dude, but that’s about it.  With Mr. Dingo working so much, Dingo Girl has been my connection to the outside world.  We’ve spent so much time together that I’ve started to sniff people’s butts in greeting rather than go in for the obligatory air kiss.  You’ll have to forgive me for another Dingo Girl post because right now, folks? It’s all I got.

Anyway, taking Dingo Girl out for her frequent constitutionals is sometimes the only thing that gets me away from my paper and out of the apartment.  For those of you who don’t have a dog in the city, let me tell you, you will be amazed how your circle of associates and psychopaths expands when you walk your dog.  Everyone knows Dingo Girl and wants to pet her.  Dingo Girl, however, is like her mama.  She’s a snob.  If you smell like patchouli, or wear socks with flip-flops, or push a shopping cart laden with bells, wind chimes, and questionable organic matter, she gives you wide berth.  Sometimes, however, interacting with the crazies of this world is unavoidable. 

There’s this one guy who acts as some sort of security guard for the store on the corner.  I say he acts like a security guard because most of the time he’s in front of the store smoking and drinking coffee.  He always says hello to Dingo Girl.  Hearing her name, she’ll pause and in the brief millisecond before she realizes that it’s Creepy Security Guard Wannabe and that he’s one of those people her mama has warned her about and she should run, he engages me in chit-chat.  I would love to ignore him and breeze right by, but my gnarly New York City exterior belies my Southern Girl Heart.  I just can’t be rude.  It’s like the Eleventh Commandment or something: “Y’all, Don’t Be Rude”.  It comes right after the Tenth Commandment: “Eat Grits, Y’all.”

I can’t say exactly what it is about him that gives me the creeps.  It might be his knock off Members Only jacket, or how he pops the collar of his security guard shirt, or it just might be that he monitors my every activity.  Every time I walk by he has something to say.  Something beyond the normal, “My, Dingo, you look stunning today.  And smart.  You look incredibly smart. ” See, that type of normal stuff I’m used to and can smile graciously while offering to sign an autograph or two.  Creepy Security Guard Wannabe, however, notices odd stuff. 

“You’re carrying your backpack on your left shoulder today. You usually carry it on your right.”

It’s true.  I do usually carry it on my right shoulder but why does he know that?!

”You look good in blue.”

Innocent enough, right?  Wrong!  My black coat was buttoned up and I was wearing a lavender scarf.  If Creepy Security Guard Wannabe has X-ray vision, I may have to buy lead underwear.

But perhaps the eeriest comment of all:

“I noticed Mr. Dingo leaving the apartment this morning with suitcases.  He must be going on a long trip. Do you like to be alone?”

That is just fucking creepy.  I didn’t think anything of it (other than the creepiness factor) until later that evening.  The night before Mr. Dingo left on his trip we watched The Strangers.  I don’t want to give the story away so let’s just say that it’s a scary-assed story about a home invasion.  But merely saying it’s about a home invasion is like saying Saw is about a man who liked puzzles. 

So there I am that evening taking a study break and playing tug-of-war with Dingo Girl when she suddenly stops and perks up her ears.  I didn’t hear anything and after a few seconds she went right back to playing.  The next thing I know, Not a Dingo comes barreling out the bedroom past me and Dingo Girl as if Curiosity is chasing her with a sickle.  Now, my back is facing the bedroom.  The moment I see the blur of fur and claws that is Not a Dingo run past me, Dingo Girl sits straight up, growling, hackles raised, death in her eyes, and looks behind me.  Toward the bedroom.  *cue horror movie music*

I freeze.  Just freeze.  And I whisper to Dingo Girl, “You are not about to tell me that someone is behind me, are you?” My rational self is saying that no one is in the apartment.  My irrational self is saying that, somehow, Creepy Security Guard Wannabe scaled five flights on the front of a building that faces a busy street and entered the apartment through a locked window.  That would not be the astounding part.  What would have amazed me is if he had managed to climb through the window without knocking over the stack of books, laundry, and moldy coffee cups on the nightstand.  So, I did what every horror movie heroine does.  I pretended that all was right in the world while saying oh so nonchalantly, “Well, Dingo Girl, I guess it’s time for your dinner.  I’ll just go into the kitchen….” Where I immediately grabbed the biggest knife I could find and huddled against the kitchen window.

Yes, I realize there are several things wrong with that scenario.  One, my back was against the kitchen window.  Stupid, stupid, stupid!  Everyone knows the bad guy is going to reach through the window and grab me.  Two, there’s not a clean dish in the house.  The knife I grabbed was crusted with whatever I had for dinner the night before.  My intruder was more likely to die from botulism than blood loss if I ever got within stabbing range.  Three, my study break was over and I had to get back to revising my thesis.  So, with knife in hand I braved the living room once again where I found Dingo Girl and Not a Dingo asleep on the couch.

Bitches.

It seemed that Creepy Security Guard Wannabe was somehow thwarted in his efforts, but there’s always tomorrow.  I just know that he has a cellar somewhere and wants to add me to his collection.  I watch all the serial killer movies, I know how this stuff works.

Leave a comment....