My Closet Door is a Rorschach Test

So, I was lying in bed trying to think of a topic because even though the social worker for the school system came over today to talk about Thing 2, I don't feel like boring you all to death with that.  You are welcome.

So then I noticed my closet door.  It is the same closet door as it's been for at least 12 years but I never looked at it before.  I mean reeeealllly looked, y'know?  And I'm sorry, closet door.  I'll never neglect you like that again.  You have opened my eyes to my inner soul and I cherish you.  But I'm a little worried about my inner soul right now.

Because here's why:

Now, I'll let you take a look at that for a sec.

...

...

Ordinary enough looking door, right?  BFD, you say?  Yeah.  Okay.  I feel you.  But in that antique walnut stained slab of luan I SEE stuff.  And it might mean I'm truly crazy after all.  Not sure yet.  You decide. 

Here's what I see.  On the left.  There's a face.  Kinda looks like a smiley face, but a weird, melty one.  Like a Munch Scream smiley face, which is plenty weird enough.  But then I start thinking it reminds me of that burlap sack/hood thing from Batman Begins that creepy psychiatrist would put on before he'd spray the crazygas on people.  Then I realize that's a pretty disturbing image to see every fucking time I look at my closet door from now on so I search around the wood grain hoping to turn it into something else.  And I see the circle thing above it.  Hmmm.  And I see lines going up to the circle thing.  And what do I make out of that?  You're just dying to know, aren't you? 

Skinny alien, wearing a burlap crazyhood, holding up a lighter like he's at some concert.  But he's not at a concert.  He is in my bedroom.  Staring.  Right.  At me.  fabulous.

Then I notice the big concentration of darker wood grain on the right.  See that?  Of course I know what that is right away.  That is obviously a giant, veiny, uncircumcised penis.  I mean, duh.  You got that without my having to even tell you, right?  Oh be quiet.  You did too.  Anyway, not that I have ever seen an uncircumcised penis in person before, but hello?  Internet porn, people?  I'm pretty sure there's no other legal way to kill time when facebook and twitter are being boring than to surf internet porn.  I'm pretty sure that's a law.  Well, not if you're a kid of course.  For example, if you're a kid in MY house then you check out when the next meteor shower is scheduled or you surf youtube looking for ninja training videos.  But if you're a grown-up in my house then you're going to be looking at porn at some point between emails, blogs, MamaPop and other stuff that in no way resembles folding laundry or dusting.

So ANYWAY, I have no idea what a torch-carrying, hooded alien or a giant penis means because I wikipedia-ed Rorschach Test and that just gave me a headache.  But I doubt either of them means anything positive about my mental health at this juncture.  And both of them together?  Probably very troublesome.

I am thinking it means that I will always have one out-of-this-world fan who also reminds me I should be having regular sex.  So he's looking out, but he is also kind of a jerk.

On a slightly related note, Mayopie tweeted the other day that he would be renaming the vagina Lynda Carter.  I felt pretty flattered because I can only assume he was thinking of vagina, Wonder Woman AND ME in that moment.  Since I was the one who pointed out the Lynda Carter/Linda Evans thing, I mean.  Not because I think he spends time obsessing over my vagina.  He's never even met it.  Unless Jan Brady is up to some super sneaky photographic stunts again that I haven't heard about yet...and if that's true you should all wave goodbye to Jan Brady. 

I bet he would obsess about it if he did meet it though.  It's no stranger to compliments.  I say nice things to it all the time.  Not the point though.  Point being that I can't, in good conscience, call my vagina Lynda Carter.  Because it lacks the most mesmerizing feature of everyone's favorite Amazon princess.  Breasts?  Shiny red boots?  No.  Not that.  It lacks the most striking collar bones in television history.  And I don't condone false advertising.  But I am actually not sad about the collar bone thing because I think it would make those Flamingo Pants fit really weird.

Hold on, there's somebody at the door.  Oh, look!  It's those nice young men in their clean white coats!  Be right back...