24, My Style

Well, its been....a day. A long, long 24 hours might I add. I expect it to grow longer, that's the worst part. For starters, take last night. J and I went on a date. A real live date where you get dressed up and put on your makeup while singing and dancing in the mirror. I had that much excitement. However, J looked like a train wreck when he walked through that door. I convinced him that dinner would be the high point and so we braved the 12 degree weather to scrape the car and venture to Waltham. There we were going to try a Zagat reviewed hot spot that featured French Cambodian cuisine. There was a tasting menu that couldn't be beat and the first 2 courses were amazing. However when we tasted each others main course I had severe regret I even put that bite into my mouth. There was some sort of flavor in his dish that was revolting. Literally. Yup, it was an expensive diet meal.

Cut to Act Two: me forgetting to call my professor this afternoon. I called 34 minutes late absolutely mortified and got an incredibly icy reception. Even after I apologized multiple times, it was clear I wasn't going to get tossed a bone. Nothin'. Hard to move into a mentoring/coaching role after that.

And yes, our beloved Act Three...I'm certain you are just dying to know. Edgar has been running low on food for awhile now and this morning we were scraping the bottom of the kibble bin unsuccessfully. In my infinite wisdom I decided it was smart to leave the house in 19 degree weather, drive to the place, hobble over the snow piles and ice to the store and then carry the 28 pound bag back over the snow and attempt to put it in the car without bending over. I'm happy to say I didn't fall, by the grace of God might I add. However I did leave the bag in the car for J to get out later. When I got to the front door, my frozen red fingers fumbled for the key in the lock, twisted it ever so slightly, and with a slight snap it broke off in the door. After calling the landlord I sat in the car waiting for a 21 year old kid with orange hair and baggy jeans to arrive. He tried to get the key out then attempted to pick the backdoor lock. 15 minutes late he said, "Well, its official. You are safe here. No one can pick this lock." When I asked how he got into the locksmith profession he told me I didn't want to know. I suppose it was a don't ask/don't tell policy. He finally drilled the core and put in a new lock. He explained that the problem was the deadbolt which was so old there aren't parts to fix it and the door is so thin they don't make hardware to re-fit it. Bottom line: expect to get locked out again. As I mentioned this to our landlord later that evening she told me she would put that higher on her to-do list.