Before getting roommates this past December, I lived alone for 5 years. I cannot remember a time that I was ever scared to live by myself. But last night, I started to wonder… why?
I’m still house-sitting, and when it was close to midnight and I was in bed working on the computer, one of the dogs sat straight up and started growling. He made his way to the doorway to the hall, and then started barking ferociously.
I knew that someone was in the house.
I knew that he was coming down the hall.
I knew that I should have made Charlton Heston my president.
I sat there frozen as Lucky the dog ran down the hall and out to the living room. Then everything fell silent.
That’s when I got TERRIFIED.
Because I started hearing whispers – like the smoke monster from “Lost.” So not only is there someone in the house, but he is a Jedi of canines, and is putting Lucky into a trance, and if he can do that to a yellow Lab, then what can he do to me? I’m going to wind up with a tracking device injected into my neck, brainwashed, telling people that my name is Kiki Van Alsteen and assassinating foreign officials.
But instead of finding myself a weapon and going on a man-hunt, I told myself that I was crazy, and turned out the light. And fell asleep completely petrified – like, blankets-pulled-up-to-my-chin, eyes-squeezed-shut, peeing-my-pants scared.
Can you say “avoidance”?
This morning, I forgot that I had to go to work. I was in the middle of a dream that Taylor Swift was holding her CD release party at my old Music Row apartment, and thousands of people were lined up on the sidewalk outside my home (I was going to make them take off their shoes at the door). My alarm kept going off, but I guess that I kept snoozing, because when the dream reached a crescendo and the other Annie had won a lunch at P.F. Changs with Taylor Swift herself, I was already a half an hour late for work.
But none of that is important. Behold! Today, I have a video.
Warning: I may have discovered sound effects.
I know. Get excited.