Wednesday, March 03, 2010

dreaming of peeping toms

I’m familiar with the theory of a couple steps forward and one step back. However, life, lately, seems consistently one step forward and ten steps back. It continues to be humbling and rather disappointing to come to terms with how truly weak I am emotionally.
One of the features I love about my home is the front door. It is this thick, large, massive wooden slab. If any door could be masculine, this is the door. Who knew talking about a door could get me turned on… My bff gave me a pine cone door knocker a few years ago. It sounds silly, but it matches it perfectly, very rustic and mountain-manish. It’s so heavy that when used, it causes vibrations through the first few rooms of the house. Even when I know someone is coming over, it causes me to jump and my heart to race when it is used. Not helped by the fact that is sends Dolan into barking hysterics. I somehow managed to whap my head on it one day (I don’t remember how I pulled that off, but you know me…). I hurt for hours. The only draw back of this sexy door is that there is no peephole, which I find tacky anyway. I have since decided, tacky or not, the front door my next place will have a peephole. I struggle with telling people no, and the lack of the peephole has lead to countless purchases of cookies, rape-line donations (how do you tell a woman soliciting monies for rape prevention no?—“I’m sorry, I’m all for rape, no money for you. And by the way, you’re out here at nearly ten at night going to door to door to strangers’ houses by yourself, if you don’t wise up, you might have to call that number as well”), newspapers (I don’t read newspapers), and purely handing money over for completely unknown reasons. Due to my lack of a spine, I have quit answering the door unless I know someone is coming over. Which has lead to a some hurt feelings when uninvited friends stay on the porch and I refuse to answer. Well, three nights ago, there was a knock at the door, Dolan was already locked in the garage, but he still managed to go into hysterics. I was happy that my massage client was few minutes early—especially considering I had just spent nearly ten minutes on the phone will some kid from my grad school trying to convince me to donate $150 to help out the school. I managed to say no, but couldn’t manage to simply hang up on him. I don’t understand giving money to colleges. I paid you a fortune three years ago and will be making student loan payments for the rest of my life. Not to mention I hate going to school. I sure as hell am not going to pay you twice! I literally had just hung up the phone from the rather disgruntled solicitor when the pinecone announced my client. I open the door, with a greeting to my client. However, it wasn’t my client. It was a pimply faced fifteen year old boy (who was bigger and taller than me—strike one). My heart sank. Damn absent peephole! With great gusto, the boy launched into his spiel, very ‘you’re saving the world by your donation, you’re saving me.’ For ten bucks I could change his life. Maybe it was just getting off the phone, maybe it was opening the door expecting someone else, maybe it was knowing that this would equate to two Starbucks runs, maybe… Whatever the cause, I managed to tell him no three times before he finally left, casting a accusatory glance inside my pretty home and thanking me in his best friendly ‘fuck you’ voice. I closed the door feeling strong and proud of myself at my determination, guilt over rejecting a young boy, and hostile feelings towards my sexy door. I hadn’t made it through the living room before the pine cone spoke again, Dolan rising to the occasion in the garage. Massage time. Perfect.

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