I still don't know what to do with the pizza guy

I had three goals when I became a homeowner:

I would install a secret passageway between the kitchen and the conservatory.

I would never become one of those old guys who spend half of their time complaining about how other people's dogs always poop in their yards.

I would create a series of progressively complex and potentially dangerous traps to thwart any attempted burglars in an improbable yet hilarious sequence of events that would make Rube Goldburg proud and that kid from Home Alone crap his pants out of jealousy.

So far I'm batting at about 500.

No go on number one. The fact that my house doesn't have a conservatory was kind of a kill joy on the whole project. At least I don't think we have one. I'll admit, I don't really know what a conservatory looks like out of the context of a murder investigation.

Other people's dogs do poop in my yard. Fortunately so far it's all been cover by snow so I really don't care. Plus I'm keep track of who's dogs does what so I can be sure to respond in kind once it gets warm enough to pull my pants down outside.

My video-game worthy security system is coming along, just not a quickly as I would like.

Part of it is my fault. I've taken on a couple extra projects like trying to lose weight and getting back into totem pole craving. Not to mention that I just learn that I have the travel channel. It's was hiding behind 40 channels of static, who knew.

But I refuse to take all the blame on this one. Just like the time in high school when I was found naked on a mini-golf course cowering behind the windmill, this isn't all my fault.

I've got to blame my wife a bit. She's normally all for home improvement projects when it involves replacing a shower head, cleaning rain gutters or painting elaborate Chinese characters on our walls, but try to cut some slits in the wall the crossbow bolts to shoot through and all of a sudden “You don't know what you're doing.”

Of course this recession hasn't helped matters at all. I've had to cut down in all sorts of areas. I can't afford to keep the oil at a boiling temperature so people who don't know the secret knock don't get scalded, they just get sticky.

Instead of tigers the pit under my the trap couch I have two angry raccoons a scary looking chicken.

Most disappointing is the fact I couldn't get a death ray to point at the back door and instead have to make do with a hair dryer.

But I'm soldiering on like a brave little toaster and I must admit that things are looking up. I've got too much left to do to get discouraged now. I've got springs to load, snares to set and poisonous snakes to position and poke until upset.

Home ownership, it's never done, but it's rewarding.

Now it you'll excuse me, it sounds like I may just have two raccoons now.

Steve Shinney is finally truly living the American Dream, he has a trap door that'll drop door to door sales men into fire. Comments, questions and request for special glasses that will let you see the trip wires for the next you come visit can be left below.

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