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Friday, September 24, 2010

Thankfully, I was at least semi-clothed

The past couple of days have NOT been my jam.

Yesterday morning as I am hauling ass to my car to then haul ass to work, I notice that my bag (some people call them purses, I call them bags) seems a little lighter than usual. I ignored that and just went on about my half day that I took yesterday. Before I left for work, I go into my bag to look for…something and I notice that my giant lady wallet is not there.

I didn’t immediately start to freak out. I assumed it was just at home somewhere. I would go on about the things I needed to do and look for it when I got home. No need to freak out just yet. I left work at 12:00 and I went and picked up Stella and all of her things and I headed home.

I got home, unloaded Stella and I started looking for my wallet. I looked everywhere. The kitchen. The living room. My room. The bathroom. The boys room. Outside. Nothing. My room is in a disheveled mess right now due to the great yarn reorganization 2010 so there is yarn everywhere. I looked through every bin, basket and shelf thinking that maybe in my yarn haze I took my wallet out of my bag for some reason I can not think of at this moment and put it in my yarn. Yes, that does seem absurd but who knows, really?

I apparently don’t because I still haven’t found that fucker. It’s not at work. I called security and the front desk to see if a wallet has been turned in. Nope. The last place I remember using it was Target on Wednesday. I called Target yesterday to see if I was just stupid enough to leave it there.  They didn’t see one but they told me to call back in about an hour to talk to the retail manager because he sometimes keeps things in his office like lost wallets from stupid people.  

What really, really sucks is that, of course my license is in there AND my social security card. Yes, I know that you aren’t supposed to have your social security card in your wallet in case it gets stolen, but I since I got a new job, guess what you are going to need??? A Social Security card so I haven’t taken it out of my wallet yet. So not only do I have to get a new license, I have to get a new social security card as well. Say it with me…Fuck. My. Life.

And it still could possibly be at Target but I wouldn’t know. I failed to call back because I locked myself out of the house.

You see, Whitman has this obsession with locking doors. Not sure why, he just wants to make sure all doors are locked. We had to break into my bathroom one day because he successfully locked everyone out. We have those tricky door knobs that you just push the button in to lock the doors. Easy enough for a three-year-old to lock any door.

Christy even told me a few days ago that she is terrified that Whitman is going to lock everyone out of the house one day from his constant door locking. Well he didn’t lock everyone out, just me. I have, so far, been the only person locked out of the house.  Why was I even outside, you ask? Let me drop some knowledge:

Stella had just gone out a couple hours ago but she drank a lot of water when we got home so I decided to let her out.  I let her out the back door and she just stared at me. I know what this look means. It means that she doesn’t want to go out by herself, she wants you out there with her. So, being the good dog owner I am, I went out there with her. And, naturally, I shut the door behind me.

Stella did her business and I turned to go back inside, set on taking a nice nap for an hour or two when…the knob wouldn’t turn. Sometimes it sticks and you think it’s locked but it’s not. That was not the case yesterday. I tried for longer than I care to admit here to turn the knob in hopes that it would give. It didn’t.  And, as it turns out, unleashing a string of vile and offensive words at the door in rapid succession, doesn’t make the door want to open either, for future reference.

I am not sure what time this was. If I had to guess, I would say it was a few minutes before 3:00.  Ron doesn’t get home until 4:30 so I had close to two hours locked outside of the house. They do have a garage keypad but no one knows the code yet and this wouldn’t have mattered anyway because I didn’t have a phone to call anyone and say  “Hey, I locked myself out of the house…yes, yes I know that is stupid…can you give me the garage code…you don’t know it?...well I guess I will just wait until Ron gets home…”

I have little doubt that that is exactly how the conversation would have gone so having a phone or not, wouldn’t have mattered. I was locked in the outside quadrant of the house. Fuckity fuck fuck!

I came in through the front door when I got home and I went in and out of it several times looking for my wallet and ransacking my car for it so I thought “Wow, it sure would be lucky if I left the front door unlocked.”

I didn’t have shoes on and our driveway/ walkway isn’t just paved with the gravel cement shit that is hell on your feet, I swear to you that it is paved in small, sharp, jutting boulders.  So I walked to the front door, braving jagged, pointy hell on bare feet and I tried to see if maybe, just MAYBE it was unlocked. It wasn’t. I then had to walk back over the boulders to the backyard, where I waited.  

In retrospect, it wasn’t that bad.  I sat with my feet in the pool and just hung out. It was warm yesterday so I could have actually gotten into the pool and hung out there but I only had on a tank top and shorts. And I wasn’t about to get in with clothes on and taking them off at 3:00 in the afternoon for a skinny dip in Collierville was out of the question. I think they arrest people for that there. And I have no desire to appear naked in my sister’s pool when her husband gets home with their two children. I just don’t. So I settled on wading under a large acorn tree that pelted me with hard acorns every 15 minutes when the wind blew hard enough to shake them loose.

Stella, being an asshole, wanted to go in. She was bored with the outside and she needed to explore the house a little more, so she would stand outside the door and whine. Dummy. I tried to explain to her that she can whine all she wants but we aren’t going anywhere any time soon.  She didn’t quite grasp what I was trying to say and she continued sitting there, whining and looking at me like “I don’t understand why you don’t just open the door? You’re so MEAN!”

When Ron finally got home I let Whitman know that he locked me out of the house and it was all his fault for having an obsessive need to lock doors. He replied by putting his hand on my arm and saying, “I sowwy.” I couldn’t really be mad after that. I wasn’t even mad, it was more funny that the day I notice my wallet missing is also the day that I lock my dumb ass out of the house.

When Christy got home she asked “Why didn’t you just go next door the neighbors (Mr. Roper) and wait there?” Was she high? Does she know me? The chances of me knocking on a near stranger’s door and hanging out in their home for hours in inappropriately short shorts and a tank top that really should have had a bra worn with it, are non existent. I suck more than anyone at small talk and it was bad enough that I lost my wallet and locked myself out of the house in the same day so, no, I wasn’t going to make my day even worse by hanging out with Mr. Roper. Homey don’t play that.  

I have so far cancelled my check card and ordered new checks and the thought of getting a new license makes me want to cry. I was just there in JUNE and now you are telling me I have to go back?

Wallet, wherever you are, please turn up. You are my newish, awesome, red Hello Kitty wallet and I love you and I miss you. Come home to me. Show yourself you big coward?!? Where in the living fuck are you?

1 comments:

Stacey Garrett said...

Update, my wallet is indeed at Target and I will going by there after work to pick it up. I don't know where I left it. I didn't ask. I am guessing at the register? I don't know and I don't think I want to know.

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