I am just minding my own business, enjoying my dusk-time stroll in my neighborhood on this crisp Superbowl Sunday and sure enough, my city paranoia sets in within five minutes. I have to admit it, I have always been a little freaked out by the woods and the ‘Great outdoors’ in general. Don’t get me wrong, I like them a lot and strangely consider myself a nature-girl, but I’ve always said that I’d feel more comfortable at 3 a.m. alone in Times Square than in some Blair Witch-like woods in the afternoon. A little too vast for me. But, since moving here, I’ve been determined to kick my issue. I even got past my freak-out last week when I got up at 4:18 a.m. to feed Chase and was convinced I saw a To Catch a Thief Hitchcockian burglar pass by our sliders. I think it was my shadow but poor Steve had to calm me down for about an hour afterwards. I was ready to kill a bitch. I was like “no one fucks with my flock” and got all Mama Bear protective of my family and house. Somehow, I got over it and finally fell back asleep. It probably helped a little that it had been snowing and Steve tried to convince me we were safe because there were no tracks in the snow out there. Deep down, however, I was sure that some crazy person was still out there wearing special snow-gliding shoes.
So, back to today. I’m walking along, looking at houses and trees (a novelty still) and I hear some whistling. It’s loud and shrill and intermittent and I immediately think it is catcalls from construction workers (who are not even there) and was ready to start cursing people out (I’ve gotten catcalls since I was about 9 years old…probably thanks to my large can) but it turned out to be BIRDS. After laughing at myself for being such an idiot, I thought, “what the hell are they doing back from the South?” My ass would still be down there if I were their ass. Dumb clucks. Anyway, I move past the imagined catcalls in my mind and two seconds later, a blacked-out Escalade pulls up next to me with Giants flags on their roof and those undercover silent siren lights going and I am convinced they are going to kidnap me. I concoct a plan where I will hide my cell phone inside of my vagine (I did have a baby last year) so they think I have no phone when they pat me down and then I will whip it out later and call for help. Issues. It turns out, they missed the house they were going to for a Superbowl party and were backing up around the corner. So I laugh that one off too but make a note in my mental Roladex to use my vag tuck trick God-forbid I should ever need it. I managed to enjoy the remainder of my trek, silently judging or admiring each house and curb appeal (or not) and decided that I need to write this shit down. Can anyone relate to my insanity? Well, thanks for reading. And thanks to my fly writing partner Tamar for encouraging me to blog this type of stuff. More to come soon. Love, Gab
No comments:
Post a Comment