This was our first weekend “officially” (make the bunny ears hand gesture) at the new place. I say that because last weekend B was here, but I was in Vegas for work being lame, and things don’t “offically” count if I’m not part of them.
Isn’t that how marriage works?
So there was lots of cleaning, finding homes for crap, wondering what tha hack to do about those stupid ass shelves, and making 100 trips to Lowes/Target/Ikea… all to turn this nonsense into something homey&liveable :
All that nasty gold trim and cold tile floors for this :
(That’s as close as you can get to beachfront without actually being beachfront or a pretentious snob-ass with homes in 10 different time zones, btw.)
I kicked off my weekend with a mid-day 6 miler right after work Friday. Parked at home, and headed straight out to the beach path.
Afterwards, I stopped at my car for my things, walked upstairs, lifted the mat where we’ve been hiding the key (bc we still haven’t made copies, 1.5 weeks later) and… NO KEY.
I’m sweaty, thirsty, and have been dreaming up lunch for the last 5.99 miles. Picked up the mat a few more times to see if maybe it’d magically appear on the third/fourth/tenth try.
So I stood there, like a brain-dead idiot, and text B even though he doesn’t check his phone at work. (Something about patient-responsibility and spinal cord/brain hemorrhage/intensive care whatever whatever…)
Then I got a brilliant idea – the screen door on the deck is open! So I went around back, conjoured up my climbing-aficionado skills, and began my assault.
Stuck between the fence & the ledge, calculating whether the trash cans would break my fall or break my leg if I went down, our neighbors (that I’ve yet to meet) pulled up and stopped right in front of me, staring out the car window. For sure they thought I was some felon/burglar/arsonist. Or homeless. I looked (and smelled) homeless.
I hopped down, got in my car hoping they’d realize that meant I lived there, and sped off before they could call the cops.
So I drove to the hospital where B works, because I didn’t feel like mindlessly killing three hours until he’d be home. I was HUNGRY, dangit! I marched up to the reception desk, in all my sweaty/stinky/6mile glory, and told the front desk my business.
(They told me to take my stank-ass to the back and find him myself.)
I get there, knock, and tell the man who answers :
‘Hi, I’m Brian’s wife – he has the house key, I’m locked out.’
Naturally it’s his supervisor, whom I’ve never met before, and he looks incredibly taken aback/entertained.
Through his smirk he says it’s nice to finally meet me – sweaty, stinky me makes GREAT 1st impressions – and he shows me B’s area so I can dig through his stuff while he’s up on the Intensive Care floor taking care of dying people.
At this point, I’m certain somebody saw us putting it (so ingeniously) under the mat all week and is either currently robbing us, or waiting for me to come back to kidnap me.
I get out my phone, because last resort is to call our flaky new landlord and beg for a replacement…
Supervisor : ‘I can page him if you like…’
I said yes because WHATEVER to those sick people, I’M LOCKED OUT!!!
Just then B responds to my text (having no idea I was in the building, a few floors below him) :
B : ‘The door’s unlocked – the key is still on your car keys from the grocery store last night.’
What I would have given to see my face. Somewhere between stupid amusement and shameful ditziness. I really didn’t check the door? I really didn’t notice an extra key on my ring?
So that was fun.
B called a while later to make sure I hadn’t choked on my own saliva or gotten lost walking the dogs, and told me he was with a fresh-from-brain-surgery patient who had some crazy contraption hooked to their head and a giant chunk of skull missing, and that his phone vibrating incessantly in his pocket from my texts/pages was not really condusive to a great work environment.
I told him he shoulda skipped the doctorate degree & gotten a desk job like the rest of us if he wanted to complain.