Pimping Out Something I Have Absolutely No Ties To (AKA I Don't Really Understand Pimping)

I realize that I talk about a lot of different subject matter here and it's probably hard to know what to expect from a new post.  But I guess this place is kind of like my Mary Poppins bag.  Some things I post are silly, some are serious.  Some things are obnoxious and some are tragic.  

But at the very heart of this space is my desire to maybe, possibly, somehow, someday say something that someone will relate with - something that will make someone feel something or think something that maybe they hadn't before.  None of us wants to believe that we are alone on this planet and I know that there are things that I might be willing to say here that maybe someone else will understand or enjoy.

I love to pass hope and happiness on whenever I find them.  

I believe we need to pass on positivity whenever we find it because we are inundated with negativity - from our peers, from TV, from the news, from strangers on the street - from the thoughts inside our heads.

Which leads me to - 

You guys have gotta start visiting Upworthy.

It's meaningful things minus all of the pomp, circumstance and Sara Machlachlan songs that plague most things that claim to be meaningful.  This is real, honest, good stuff from people who understand wit and sarcasm and understand that sometimes life isn't pretty but because of that you have to pass on all of the goodness you can find.

Check it: HERE.

I've been following them on Facebook for a few weeks and I've already seen some things that have inspired me or caused me to look at life in a new way.

What's inspiring you today?

Much love,
Annie Jay

Because Everyone Needs a Confidence Girl Every Once in a While

This morning my apartment looks like a scene in a movie. You know the scene I’m talking about: 

As soon as you walk in the front door there is a shoe kicked off to the left.  After that there is another shoe, then a trail of clothes leading directly to the bedroom.  The pillows are a mess and some even lay banished on the floor.  The blankets are tangled and hanging haphazardly off of the bed.  You know the scene now, right?  Giggity.

Ok, I’m kidding about the giggity part. 

If I had told you what the scene looked like a few moments ago it would have included a girl sleeping mouth-first on her pillow, her mascara smeared.  Her long back-combed hair is sticking up and out at impossible angles.  She’s wearing old jogging shorts and a ratty t-shirt and is cuddling with a stuffed gryphon hatchling she calls Henry. 

That, my friends is what Confidence Girl looks like when she sleeps.  It’s pretty much the unsexiest thing in the world, but damn did that girl go to bed happy!

No seriously, there was no giggity. 

Confidence Girl is not the kind of girl.

Well… usually she’s not that kind of girl.

*ahem*

So who is Confidence Girl?

Well, you know how when you walk into a room full of people your heart stops beating and you get the overwhelming urge to run out the door? Yeah, man, I effing hate that feeling too.  I become sure that every person in the bar is looking at me and judging me – for my shirt, my hair, my waist line, my jeans, my purse, shoes, necklace, earrings, slightly curved toes...  well, you get the point.

Understandably so, being afflicted with this overwhelming anxiety every time you walk into a place is not a good way to meet new people or have very much fun. 

Or breathe normally when walking down a busy street.

Confidence is a funny thing.  One day I’ll be full of confidence and I’ll be sure that I can do anything.  The next day I’ll be sure that everything I do is wrong and that everyone knows it.  It amazes me how sometimes my self-consciousness can be such a handicap.

In 99.999% of the cases where my confidence is lacking, it will be as a result of negative self-talk.  I tell myself the world is against me and therefore I act in a way which makes the world be against me.  My self-conscious thoughts are self-fulfilling prophecy.

In order to get around my anxiety, I decided that I just need to STOP second guessing everything I do. 

I need to stop reprimanding myself for those silly little things I do that almost no one notices and even fewer people remember.

That’s where Confidence Girl comes in.

When I know I’m going to be going into an unfamiliar or uncomfortable situation – one that is highly likely to trigger my anxiety – I give myself a pep talk.  Before I even leave my house, I forgive myself for the mistakes I’m going to make (because I know I will make them but since I’m already forgiven I’m not allowed to stew and berate myself for those things).  I admit right away that I am not perfect so I’m not trying to live up to that standard the whole time. 

The next thing I do is tell myself that everyone I talk to is going to love me.

Gods - even writing this now, it all sounds so cheesy.  But it works every time.

I tell myself that my skin is thick and that I won’t let the sideways stares or the eyes scanning the size of my ass keep me from being absolutely fucking fabulous. 

I won’t misinterpret the laughter at that corner table as laughter about me and will recognize that the world doesn’t revolve around me and those people were just laughing at something else entirely.  I won’t let my paranoia get the best of me and automatically see everyone I don’t know as an enemy or a person whose sole mission is to ruin my time.  

My idea for Confidence Girl (who has most certainly cornered the market on lame superhero names) came this summer when I started hanging out with my Wild Girls – these gorgeous party girls who are fun, sweet and incredibly inclusive yet frequent all of the “cool kid” places I would have never felt secure going to before.  When I realized that I was denying myself new friends, who were quite literally begging me to be friends with them, I realized that I was holding myself back.

The first night I hung out with them, as I got ready I began telling myself that no matter what the night held in store, I would go along for the ride.  I told myself that I would pretend every person I talked to was already my best friend and I therefore had no reason to worry about anything.

And it worked.

From then on, whenever I know I’m going to be in a place where I would normally feel vulnerable in some way, I try to address those concerns before I’m even in the situation so that the girl who goes out into the world is the very best version of me I can present. 

That girl is Confidence Girl – not exactly an alternate persona – just me stripped of my anxiety and determined not to be held back because of fear.  Confidence Girl doesn’t care what anyone thinks of her and isn’t ashamed of anything she does.  I don’t allow myself to second guess anything once the time has passed either – what happens with Confidence Girl stays with Confidence Girl.

Confidence Girl is fun, intelligent, witty, brave, tough, a little bitchy (but only when she needs to be) and even just a little bit of a man-eater. 

I owe her a lot.

Have any tricks that you use to overcome your own anxiety? 

Hugsnkisses,

Annie Jay

Soon We Will Know the Course of the Future

This Saturday I sat in a park that is as familiar to me as my own backyard and where I’ve spent literally millions of minutes from the time I was in high school until the present and had one of the most amazingly surreal experiences of my life.

Why?  Because I was here:

Seriously awesome.

That’s President Obama campaigning in Washington Park. 

Now, if you’re a Dubuquer you know all about the madness that flooded our town this Saturday with campaign visits by both Mittens and OB – for the second (third? fifth?) time this campaign.  Because all of those other visits happened during the work day, this was the first visit I was able to attend – and it was… awesome.

I’m voting for Obama. 

If you’re following me on Twitter or Facebook you already know this.

If you know me, you know I’m very politically opinionated and that I’m about as socially liberal as it comes.  Fiscally, I’m a little more moderate.  A lot of people disagree with a lot of things I believe.

That’s ok.  But I don’t understand a lot of them.

There are three big things that I just can’t get over when it comes to the Uber-Conservatives.

1:  Gay Marriage.  Seriously guys, if you don’t want to be in a same-sex marriage, don’t marry someone of the same sex.  I don’t care what your holy book says, my “I’m a caring and intelligent person” book tells me that love is to be celebrated no matter who’s involved in it.  Gay Marriage isn’t ruining the sanctity of marriage.  The hundreds of thousands of people getting divorced every year are ruining the sanctity of marriage.  The hundreds of thousands of people getting married for the wrong reason every year are ruining the sanctity of marriage.  Gay Marriage didn’t cause the hurricane – climate change did that.  Which brings me to…

2:  Climate Change.  Quit fucking drilling.  Instead of getting on board with the goddamn Keystone Pipeline (which Mitt Romney says he’ll expand on Day 1 – just like the 50-bajillion other things he’s going to do on Day 1 – because he’s a combo of Iron Man/Flash Gordon/Superman) devote time and money to expanding alternate, reusable sources of power.  Plain and simple there are only so many fossil fuels available and one day we will run out.  I don’t care if it’s not for 50 generations.  Why do we have to run out in order for us to consider alternate energy sources??  Yes, I know the Christians believe that we are God’s chosen creations and we can use up this planet however we damned well please because we’re all just gonna party with Jesus in heaven and stare down at this smouldering planet anyway, but hey, PARTY – WITH JESUS.  That dude can turn water into wine, why should we waste all of the water turning it into energy?  We owe it to our future generations to take the best care of this planet we can.  PLUS – if everyone wants to fix our economy why not consider the great things that can happen if we devote our energy to the science of earth-friendly materials and energy sources more than any other country?  I think it would be a good moneymaker if we really invested in it.  (I say this with full confidence because I am an economic genius.)

3:  Women’s Health.  On this one, I actually have a story that I think really explains why a bunch of old men think they can control what happens to our vaginas:

A few months ago I had the pleasure of obligatorily attending a wedding of a family member that I didn’t want to go to because a.) it was going to be a dry wedding – who does that? and b.) I vehemently disagreed with the religion and I knew what I was getting myself into – my family did not.

During the wedding service, after taking a dig at the heathens who think same-sex marriage isn’t going to send them to a fiery hell, the preacher went on a 15-minute tirade directed at the bride-to-be about the woman’s role in marriage.  I live-tweeted the speech (because it was the only way I could keep myself from lashing out or just simply walking out) if you’re interested in reading it.

(Side-note: Don’t get me wrong, no matter how much I disagree with a religion, I believe whole-heartedly that people have the right to choose to believe in whatever religion they want – that’s the beauty of this country – as long as they don’t try to make me live my life according to their religion’s laws.  I’m bringing this up because, like I said above, I think it explains why these men want to control everything that happens between my legs.)

He explained over and over again how the woman should always follow her husband’s orders.  He explained how the role of the woman in the marriage was to make her concerns known to her husband (because, little lady, your cooking tastes better when you think your opinions matter) but even if he didn’t listen to her she still needed to go along with whatever he decided upon.  Now, when you’re talking about what to eat for dinner, maybe this isn’t a big deal.  But when you’re talking about whether or not to have sex for the night or buy a new house or move your mistress into the bedroom next door – the idea of the subservient wife becomes a little scarier. 

I couldn’t say “I told you so” loud enough to wipe the disgusted looks off the faces of my mother, my aunts, my father, my brother or my cousins as we sat in that church and listened to this lecture. 

This belief that the woman’s voice is not as powerful as the voice of her husband is exactly the reason that I started doubting Christianity when I was 18. 

And this, to me, explains why these uber-conservatives think they can tell me what I can and cannot do with my vagina.  Back the fuck off.  This is my body.  Women are just as capable and intelligent as men and can make the decisions that are best for them.  Yes, birth control should be covered by my insurance just as fucking Viagra is covered by a lot of insurance providers.

Finally – perhaps most importantly – making abortion illegal will never make abortion go away, it will only make abortion more dangerous for the pregnant woman.  You protect life when it is in the womb, but as soon as it’s out in the real world you say FUCK IT! I’m pretty sure Jesus would have a problem with that too.

He wants YOU!

So, those are my BIG things.  Of course there are five billion other things I want to see – like Citizens United being overturned, healthcare getting straightened the fuck out, creation of more jobs, college costs decreasing and the gap between the middle class and the wealthy shrinking, but these are just my Big-3 and I think Barack Obama is much more likely to address my cares that Mitt Romney ever will.

But most importantly – go vote today, if for no other reason than to pick out your local representatives!

Fingers crossed,

Annie Jay

Let's Just Go to Stepford, I Hear The Ladies Are Real Nice There

The other day my friend, Javier, told me he is often afraid that our conversations are going to end up on this blog… I guess he was right!

On Sunday, some friends met at my place before going out to a hungover post-Halloween-party lunch.  Javi was half an hour early.  He called me and without even muttering a greeting he said, “Come unlock your downstairs door already.  The sun is really bright.”

So, in the midst of barrel-curling my hair (you know the look, half of my hair piled unceremoniously on top of my head in a ratty mess, the other half falling down my back in too-tight ringlets in desperate need of combing out) I walked down the stairs in the dark because even the dim stairwell lights were too harsh in my hungover state.  I opened the front door.

I immediately recoiled from the light. 

I might have even hissed at it.

“Yeah. I wasn’t lying!” He said as he pushed through the door and joined me in the safety of the dark stairwell. 

After we trudged up the stairs, I went back to my routine of getting ready and trying not to puke.  Javier paced/sat outside of the bathroom and talked to me about his dating woes.

Like most of my male friends, Javi is straight (because having 50 straight males in her life who are just friends is exactlty what every straight female wants).  He’s also well-educated but likes to say the word “fuck” a lot and drink often.  In short, he’s just like me. 

Well… except for the male part.  I’m penis-free. 

*ahem*

He’s also mostly enlightened about equality and not misogynistic.  Which is why this statement coming out of his lips caught me so by surprise:

“I just need a quiet girl who will do everything I want and won’t fight with me.  Is that so much to ask for?”  He laughed when I glared at him and he added, “Please, the thing that sucks about this town is that all of the women I meet are intelligent and independent as hell.”

I told him they just don’t make ‘em like they used to and suggested that he go back to 1950 because I’m sure this town was full of that type of woman back then.  Then we talked a little bit about time travel (because I’m an easily side-tracked nerdy girl) but eventually it came back around to the idea of relationships.

“Every woman I meet wants a man who is the same way – willing to do everything she says he should do without question.  We all want a lap dog.”  He said to me.

And he was kind of right, as far as I was concerned.

Now of course we don’t all really sit around thinking “If only I could find a mindless automaton to hold me when I cry and keep me sexually satisfied.”  Well... most of us don’t, anyway.

But there is a certain truth to the idea that many of us are looking for someone who will fit perfectly into our already-established lifestyles and habits without us needing to change or modify or adjust anything we currently do.  But of course this is never the case.

When branching out into a new relationship both parties need to be aware that changes and compromises are going to have to happen on both sides – because we aren’t all just mindless sex-bots designed solely for the purpose of giving blow-j’s.  We’re thinking, feeling, motivated, dreaming, wishing, hoping skin sacks that need freedom and stimulation in order to grow into the totally kickass human beings we’re capable of becoming. 

A lot of times when I start to date someone and he asks me what my plans are for the weekend I panic, thinking, “How dare he threaten to take up my precious weekend time??”

How absurd is this?  I want to be in a relationship but I don’t want to sacrifice any of my free time to do it.  I want a man who will respond to a little copper bell that I can ring anytime I feel like doing couple-y stuff and leave me alone when I want to be without him.

*sigh*

What I really need to find is someone who meshes so well with me, with my friends, with my need for alone time and together time, that I don’t feel like I’m sacrificing myself – or at least like the sacrifices I’m making are worth it in the long run.

Or maybe I just want a sex-bot.

Much Love,

Annie Jay

Ghosts, Ghouls, and Drunken Antics

Before I get into my real post (it isn’t even really a real post anyway) –

If I could marry my bed, I think I would.  It’s so so so comfortable and on these chilly days it’s so cozy under my mound of blankets and surrounded by my piles of pillows.  Plus, Henry’s a good cuddler.

(The fact that I felt the need to post this in my blog for posterity should show you just how seriously in love with my bed I am.)

********** Oh, one more random thing **********

I don’t know what I did to my foot/ankle two Fridays ago but it’s definitely not good.  It is all kinds of sprained/pulled/I-don’t-know-what-but-it-hurts-like-a-mothafucka.

This week the swelling has finally dissipated so I no longer have that throbbing feeling going on, but it’s almost worse now because of the constant burning I feel anytime I don’t have my foot in exactly the right position or put weight on it for more than 10 minutes. 

Because of this, I haven’t been to my kickboxing class in two weeks and I’m mad about it.  I know it’ll eventually heal but I’m too scared of injuring it worse to go to a class where I have to jump and run and – hell, even being on my feet that long is terribly painful. 

I’m trying my best to keep things in perspective – like how I could deal with this every day like my best friend does.  As if I needed more reasons to respect her, every time I get an injury like this it reminds me that she has to put up with pain every day - and she pretty much never whines.  Time to let her strength (that eternal strength that seems to always radiate from her) teach me how it’s done.

********** Now for the real post, which isn’t really a real post anyway. **********

Halloween is so totally my favorite holiday and this year didn't disappoint.

Thanks to everyone who came to Absolutely the Only Halloween Party You’re Going To! 

First, the party was a blast but - holy potatoes! - my apartment was a wreck!  Note to self: the next time I have a huge bowl of candy around a group of drunkards I will also strategically place garbage cans everywhere.  Not to mention the beer cans and rocks glasses sitting on every available surface (including the floor)…

Thankfully I had motivation to clean last night when, sitting in my pajamas watching TV at 7:30, I got a phone call from a boy who wanted to come over and hang out.  You would not believe how quickly you can clean an apartment, re-dress yourself, apply make-up and curl your hair when you have the right motivation.  If this hadn’t happened I’m sure the place would be trashed until the next party. 

Secondly, I’m sorry to everyone who had to put up with me toward the end of the night when we were downtown.  Especially Francesca and the Bear for giving me a ride home even when I was being… difficult.

And that bachelor party who were wearing bathrobes as costumes – I’m sorry for telling you that they were the lamest costumes I’d ever seen.  I have no idea who you were, or why the Groom-to-be kept looking at me with murderous rage in his eyes, but I assure you, I didn’t mean any of it – whatever it was I said/did.  And that I remember very little other than that you were tall and manly looking.  You could have been mountain trolls and I wouldn’t have known any better.  Hell, for all I know none of this actually happened and it was just a dream.  Except I’m pretty sure it happened.

And the numerous people I bit.  I already enjoy randomly biting people enough, I shouldn’t dress as a vampire and add alcohol to the mix - it just makes everything more fun worse.  I’m sorry and I hope I did didn’t bruise any of you.

Thirdly, thanks to Javier for deciding he needed to get me drunk – when I was already drunk.  I’m not sure what it says about his state of mind at the time that he didn’t recognize Drunk Ann when he saw her, but I blame him for everything I did on Saturday night after 11pm.  Including the time around 1am when I was apparently alone, wandering the streets texting everyone I knew – including Javier who got the ever so friendly, “Sucka!”  Apparently I already knew it was his fault that I was drunk and alone on Halloween.  (Don’t worry, I found my friends soon enough.  Or at least I found people in costumes that reminded me of my friends who drove me home and didn’t murder me.  Thanks to those people!)

It certainly wasn’t the wildest Halloween I’ve ever had (that weekend in Madison with the girls when we were freshly 21 comes to mind… or that Halloween a couple of years ago that… well… we’ll just be quiet about that Halloween) but it was definitely a good time.  Maybe.

…Can anyone tell me if it was a good time?

Much love,

Annie Jay

P.S. – There’s music and costumes at the Hook tomorrow night.  I’m thinking about donning my costume and heading out.  Let me know if you want to come along!

P.P.S. (but only for fellow video game nerds) – Assassin’s Creed 3 comes out today!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (There really aren't enough exclamation marks in the world to express my excitement) I've been done with Italy and Constantinople for a while now.  Time to move on to a new character and a new world.  WOOO!  I'm heading to Video Games Etc. right after work to get my copy.

Are We All Cowards?

This month has been… well – hell - it’s been a month.

Remember how I wrote about that potential relationship a while ago?  Turns out that after a few weeks that were awesome – having fun together, sharing the financial burden of that fun and seeing each other all the time – we suddenly started having awkward time together, I was paying for things left and right (without any sharing on his end) and we were rarely seeing each other due to scheduling conflicts.  After weeks of frustration, in which he kept assuring me he wanted to be with me but making absolutely no effort to be with me, I finally just told him the ball was in his court.

That was over a week ago and he never even responded to that message.  (Yes I said that to him in a text message – I wanted to talk in person but we could never get together so I finally put it in a text.  Lame, I know, but beggars can’t be choosers.)

The cowardice of it baffles me.  Instead of saying “I can’t wait to see you again!” why not just say, “I’m sorry, this just isn’t working for me.”?  Is it so you never have to be the bad guy?  Well, just so you know, your inaction just makes you look like a douchehole anyway.

But this whole thing just has me thinking about what a bunch of cowards we all are. (“We” being any of the young adults that I know who are not currently in relationships but want to be.)

We all walk around thinking “Well, if this person wanted to [talk to me/date me/take me home for the night for some fast and dirty lovin’] they would make the first move.”  But since we’re all thinking that way no one is getting talked to/dated/used for one-night stands.  And it’s just stupid. 

Even if you happen to find yourself in a relationship (apparently by use of magic since neither of you was brave enough to approach the other), no one knows how to ask for what they need.  Or we’re all too afraid of winding up alone again that we just sit back and deal with whatever bullshit comes our way.

At least, this is what I see a lot of my friends going through. 

How is it that such a fun, independent, intelligent crowd can be so lame when it comes to forming new relationships?  Even for myself, the only move in my book is the good old shy-girl standard “become friends and sit back and hope that one day he realizes he loves you and wants to be with you forever” move.  How is it that I don’t even know how to talk to a man unless it’s about video games?  I’m gifted at making small talk and I'm reasonably intelligent.  You might not believe that because of my tendency to butcher English grammar and my preference for the word “fuck” over “copulate”, but really, I’m not a dumby.

Why does an intelligent, fun-loving, attractive girl have such a hard time going up to a man and asking him on a date? 

Because I’m a coward.  I’m terrified of being turned down – or worse, outright laughed at and walked away from.  Why don’t I have the stones to walk up to that cute man I always run into at the bookstore and ask him if he’s single?  I already know we have similar interests – like Christopher Moore books.  Why don’t I just say, “So, what was your favorite - Island of the Sequined Love Nun or Fluke? By the way, want to get a coffee and/or make out with me?”

That’s it.  I’m doing it. 

I’m going to make it my goal this week to ask a man on a date.  Anyone have any suggestions?  I can’t just stalk the aisles of BAM! like a creeper and hope that scruffy looking man walks in.

*deep breaths*

I can do this… I can do this…

No really – Help.  Please?

Kissykissy,

Annie Jay

Deep Breaths. Deep Breaths.

Alternate title: Why you shouldn't show up at my house unannounced.

It took fifteen minutes of walking around my apartment with an unsheathed katana samurai sword big ass knifey-thingy, for me to realize that I had let my paranoia get the best of me.

Huh... that’s a weird place to start a story and might be making you feel like you should never talk to me again. I guess I should start at the beginning –

As I’ve said in the past, I live above a bar.  Although that might sound like a recipe for sleepless nights and alcoholism, I can promise you it’s not as bad as you might think.  Sure, when I had the bedroom at the front of the building I could always hear the smokers outside at all hours of the night and the beer/food delivery trucks at all hours of the morning, but I live in the back bedroom now and don’t have any of those problems. 

And so what if my favorite game every night is “Name That Tune Through the Floor”?  Everyone needs to train their ears to be able to identify the muffled sounds of Jason Aldean or the Ying Yang Twins “Whisper Song” through their floorboards. 

For the most part, the fact that there’s a bar below my apartment just means that I always have a neighbor I can borrow a cup of sugar or a fifth of Jack from.  In my book, that’s a damn good neighbor to have.  Plus, they make kick ass tacos.

*ahem*

But on rare occasions, the idea of a bunch of rowdy drunks hanging out in your basement all the time is a little disconcerting.

Like the time when I was in the front bedroom and I heard two drunken girls in a fight outside.  I watched as the drunkest girl was carried away by her brother (fireman’s-carry style carried away) but then fought her way off of his back and ran away from him.  Fifteen minutes later I heard her screaming bloody-murder and I had to run out of the house because I was afraid a car had hit her. 

No, she was just two houses down rolling around in the front yard as her brother (I know what you’re thinking, it was definitely her brother, all of her friends at the bar had been shouting “YOUR BROTHER IS TAKING YOU HOME NOW! GO HOME WITH YOUR BROTHER!” and he told me their parents were coming to pick her up – he was definitely not an axe murderer.  Most likely.) tried to get her to calm down.  So I walked back to my barpartment and sat on the front step just in case things got more entertaining crazy again.  Five minutes later he walked by – barefoot.  “Fucking bitch stole my shoes,” he said to me. 

I have no idea how she stole his shoes, but I’ve gotta give her props for being wily enough to get them off his feet when he was standing on them.  And him, of course I have to give him props.  He’s a much better sibling than I would be in the same situation. 

Also because I probably can’t lift my brother (although he is quite svelte these days) onto my back and just stroll down the street with him.  Also because anytime we drink together we just end up reminiscing about comic books, Star Trek and video games, not running away from each other.

*ahem*

The point is –

You never know what drunken people are going to do.  So even though living above a bar that cops frequent usually makes me feel pretty safe (there’s always someone around at all hours of day/night in case something horrible happens to me) there are nights when my imagination runs away with me.

Shortly before my old roommate moved out, she went to Colombia for fourteen days.  Halfway into that time – my first time essentially living alone – was the night when I got scared – really scared.

I had just gone to bed when I heard what sounded like someone walking through my apartment.  At the time I was still living in the aforementioned front bedroom, which is right off of my living room.  The noises I heard seemed to be coming from right outside of my bedroom door.  I was terrified, but I tried to stay rational and convince myself that it was just the building settling and noises from downstairs seeping through the floor.

It was at that moment that I decided I’d be a lot more comfortable if I had some kind of weapon in my hand.  (Incidentally, it was also at this moment when I decided I wanted to learn how to operate a gun.  You know, just in case anyone ever came at me with one and I was able to get it out of their hands – that way I could defend myself with it.  Because it’s highly likely that I’m going to be attacked with a gun at some point and just as likely that I could wrest it away from my attacker.)

The only things I had in my room were pillows, Henry (my stuffed gryphon hatchling), books, jewelry, an antique hand mirror, a wooden statue of a sleeping fox with wings and my bedside table lamp.  I opted to cradle the wooden fox in my arms as I went to sleep that night.  Henry wasn’t too happy about being ousted for cuddles, but I felt a mite safer having some kind of bludgeon by my side.  The only thing Henry can do is “cute” people to death (which, let’s be honest, he’s really good at doing).

He'll hug the fear away.

The next day, after a night filled with nightmares of my violent and bloody death at the hands of a drunken frat boy, I told my friend Jason about the ordeal.  I told him that I felt like I would have felt better had I been in possession of some sort of weapon – even a pocket knife would have made me feel less paranoid.

Then he started laughing, reached behind a bookshelf and pulled out this:

Dancing groundhog lighter pictured to show scale.

And he gave it to me.  I tried to resist at first – you know, overkill and all.  But then he reminded me that if nothing else I would be able to pull out that great old Crocodile Dundee joke whenever I wanted.

So now that beautiful knife (which actually scares the shit out of me me a little) rests right between my bed and bedside table.  I wouldn’t say I look at it daily, but there are many nights when - before hopping under my covers - I’ll double-check just to make sure it’s still there.  I don’t even know if I could use it if I had to, but the comfort of having it there makes me feel safer on the nights when my paranoia gets the best of me.

Which (finally) brings me back to the beginning of this post.

The other night I was getting ready to go to bed and I walked by my front door, which actually leads to an enclosed stairwell with another door at the bottom.  I typically leave the downstairs door and upstairs doors both locked, but occasionally when I have company over they will forget to lock the door at the bottom on their way out.  Typically I will run down and check on this, but on this particular night, I didn’t think about it until it was too late.

I had just finished my before bed bathroom ritual (clean face, braid hair, brush teeth) and was walking back to my bedroom when I passed the front door and heard a voice so clear it could only have been coming from outside of my front door. 

I ran back to my bedroom and – for the first time – unsheathed my knife and walked slowly back toward my front door.  I stopped, heart hammering in my heart, just to the side of my door.  The knife was gripped firmly in my hand and I took a deep breath before calling out a weak “Hello? Is anyone there?” 

Of course there was no answer – the serial killers never answer when you ask if they’re there.  Dicks.

So I did the only sane thing a person could do.

I threw open my front door and yelled down the stairs. 

Still no answer.

So then I peeked around the doorframe and saw that the stairwell was empty. 

Still unsure of my safety, I tiptoed to the downstairs door.

It was locked.

I’d imagined the whole thing.

I ran back up the stairs (as quickly as I felt was safe with a gigantic blade in my hand) re-sheathed the knife, grabbed Henry in a death-grip-cuddle, jumped into my bed and pulled the blankets over my head.

I slept with the lights on that night.

Every once in a while I let my imagination get the best of me. 

This should also serve as a warning to any people that want to attack me – I have a gigantic knifey thingy and when I’m going crazy with paranoia you might just get accidentally stabbed.  Consider this your warning.

Plus, I’m taking kickboxing now.  So I’m tough, bitches.

*sigh*

Pray for me.

Hugs n kisses,

Annie Jay

PS:  Am I the only one who gets this paranoid when I’m home alone?