Good & Spoil Sports

I find myself living alone these days since my loved ones are matriculating, working & travelling, so I've been nurturing a good unhealthy agoraphobic disorder. Everything was going well, I have had lots of food & entertainment & have needed nothing from that nasty world outside my door. I could have gone on like that for months, were it not for the intervention efforts of my friend Ellen, the Park Avenue Party Pooper. And it was all over a cigarette butt...

My friend Missy & I spent the afternoon dancing around the apartment & lip synching to Broadway musicals. We had some wine, we broke 3 glasses, we attempted to reenact the blood-drinking Dionysus scene from The Doors. When Ellen rang the doorbell she first noticed that I had a cigarette butt stuck to my elbow, then she saw the carnage that was my living room. She asked Missy how long the butt had been stuck to me & he said "about a half hour." She flew into a panic & started ranting about how I should go out into the sunlight & whatnot. I reminded her that I went out to dance last Monday, but it sounded lame since a whole week has gone by. She called Missy (& all the others who have dropped by to bring me goodies & laughter) "enablers." She fears my sanity is on tenderhooks. I fear I have become her latest cause. She may be right, I plan to venture out tomorrow to see if the rest of the world still exists. I'm assuming it does, the cable's still working just fine. I just have to remember to check & see if anything is stuck to me the next time Ellen is scheduled to visit.

It would never be possible for me to develop a genuine agoraphobia, I can be smoked out too easily. If I ever go completely insane & hole up with a group of hostages somewhere, friends would help the DEA, FBI, or whatever agency showed up, to deal with me. They tried to force those poor souls in Waco out of their haven by blasting Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots Are Made for Walkin'" at them endlessly. This would never work with me, I would only be forced to choreograph. I would not only have innocent people held against their will, I would be barking "get those knees up!" at them. However, if they blasted Neil Young at me, I'd be walking out with my hands in the air within 5 minutes. Ditto for Michael Bolton. Their voices make my spine ache. If they want me to drop my rifle & climb down from the tower, they need only to play one of Bolton's Sinatra cover songs....I'd go peacefully.

DrunkOX was a hoot again Saturday night, despite the fact that our barnyard worm & some others were sober. We had a missing Moe. I have to give the Good Sport award to old Rickety Tickety. We threatened to shove him in a car trunk & go Goodfellas on his ass, & he took it in stride. Say what you will, the man can take a joke. Well done, Rickster. Next week, since Bahb will be partying with Wordoxers in the desert, I will be wrangling the winos. We may have to have designated tilers.