PENSIVE

So here we are on a Monday and I am contemplating the meaning of life and when it was exactly that we all lost our damn minds.

Oddly enough, just a few short days after I wrote about the crap in my house and how it's not worth breaking into, my neighbors were hit. At 3am they awoke to find somebody trying to come into a side window, presumably to ransack and steal everything they could carry while my neighbors slept in their bed. The police were called and responded quickly, of course, but in the words of Tony Soprano..."What are you gonna do?". There was nothing to do except note that there were footprints and that "things like this don't normally happen around here".

Here in crazypants Spinsterville, Stewey awoke at 3am and barked his little head off. I was peeved rather than alarmed and hollered at him to go back to bed already. Then I grumbled something incomprehensible and fell back to sleep.

This morning, I found footprints on my patio.

The thing that you should know about me is that if you knocked on my door and asked me for money, or a drink of water, or a ham sandwich, I would probably invite you in and then tell you to have some tea and tell me all about it. I'm stupid that way, actually. I believe that, for the most part, people are good and just want to live their lives the best way they can. And if I have something that you absolutely need, then...by all means, please help yourself.

So the idea that somebody out there feels the need to come snooping in the wee hours of the morning makes me very sad. And yes, totally creeped out and terrified. Aunt Chrissy has already fielded eleven calls from me asking when we can go to Lowe's to get boards cut for the windows, and I've called every electrician in town to find out how fast they can light my house up like a Christmas tree. I want it bright, I tell ya. Bright enough to land a small plane on my driveway. Bright enough to see me and my tasteful landscaping from space.

I know that this economy has kicked us all in the proverbial cherries, and I know that there are a lot of people out there who are addicts, hungry, greedy, or just plain dirtballs. But why the heck can't we seem to pull together through this mess instead of have to put bars on our windows and carry pepper spray? In short...why can't we just all get along?

OK, there's my bleeding heart liberal moaning for the day. The cranky spinster in me is now ready to spring into action and lock this freakin' place down like Fort Knox, and I intend to put a huge sign on every window in my house that says...WARNING: THIS HOUSE IS PROTECTED BY A WEAPON, A DOG, AND ONE VERY PISSED OFF SPINSTER WHO ISN'T GOING TO TAKE YOUR CRAP ANYMORE. GO THE EFF AWAY ALREADY AND LET ME GET BACK TO MY NEEDLEPOINT.

Please don't cry for me Argentina. Life has already started to return to normal this morning. I see that Stewey has peed on the drapes, the people across the street are landscaping for the seventeenth time, and I'm contemplating what to have for lunch.

Weekend update! Aunt Chrissy twisted my arm (very fiercely, I might add), and somehow we ended up at Michael's with a few completed projects in tow for the framing department. Although my taste is all in my mouth when it comes to picking out frames, I think I did OK with my selections this time, but I'll let you be the judge of that when I pick it all up in a few weeks.

So there you have it...the Monday report from Chez Spinster. Aside from a few frazzled nerves and one very smug little dog, we're hurtling our way into the week as usual. Woo Hoo!