It’s a Lock-Out

by pjmcbride

Do you know how pale and wanton thrillful Come...

Do you know how pale and wanton thrillful Comes death on a strange hour Unannounced, unplanned for Like a scaring over-friendly guest You’ve brought to bed (Photo credit: Thylacinidae)

…you  know, like in Games Without Frontiers where he says “It’s a knockout”? …sigh…

I have what drug commercials refer to as a “persistent sore throat” and I got all snotty and gross, so I will just observe that getting 2 colds in the same season is ENTIRELY UNCALLED-FOR. Not to mention unheard-of…is my bionic immune system asleep on the job? Feeling a little better now, but that’s what I thought yesterday, before the snot-fest started.

N                                                              E                                                        W-A,

I locked myself out of the house today. After picking up items at Walgreens (cotton rounds, Aqua-Fresh toothpaste, new appointment/schedule calendar for the new year, without which no 911 dispatcher can LIVE) (with a “$1” sticker on it which WILL NOT SCRAPE OFF, as if to advertise how cheap I am) (U NEED 2 KNOW), I got home, had to take a leak, tossed the keys on the kitchen table, went back out to get bales of paper products at $GenCorp, and, fill in the rest. Then I sat casually on my front porch, trying to look as if I was just enjoying the pleasant weather (and it was plausibly pleasant, although the reams of toilet paper and paper towels beside me made a liar out of me). Luckily, Rom was expected home in a moment (NOT “momentarily,” Nick, and if you argue with me I will ask your owner to tickle you).


–Jim Morrison’s poetic description of death, and he should know.

I am a regular reader of More magazine, which is for women of the proverbial “certain age.” I recently Liked Them On Facebook, and the first notification from them I got in my news feed was, “Have You Attended a Death Party? It’s a way for aging boomers to discuss end-of-life concerns.” Now, it seems to me that this concept can hardly be satirized enough, so I hope to devote an entire post to it, as soon as I think of one.


…Santa driving a fire truck–to put out burning Christmas trees, presumably. Wait, it’s not really on my block. It’s in the next block–my block is only 3 houses. Still too close for comfort, since I have to pass it every time I want to go somewhere.


I just realized what you hoped to accomplish by inviting me to your house: Taming, plain and simple. The patient elimination of my excuses one by one, the building of trust by the gentle teaching of card games, the treat of apple ale taking the place of a tranquilizer dart–it’s all clear now. I’m surprised you attempted it in your weakened condition. That must be why you made sure both your owner and your pack-mate were present. (Speaking of which, you know someone’s high-maintenance when he needs not just a work-wife, but a work harem.) Oh, wait–you didn’t have anyone take a picture of us together to prove that I was there. So, FanBase, I might have just made the whole thing up!….I saunter off jauntily…