Speaking of no luck

I locked myself out of the apartment tonight. Joy and rapture neverending, I’ll tell ya.

I went down to the dark, scary storage room in the basement, and guess who grabbed the wrong set of keys? Meanwhile, I had both sets of apartment keys hanging right inside the front door, but dumbass me took the keyring I used to use at the old apartment. *sigh* Oh, and it was a $10 lockout charge, made payable to the guy who let me back in (as if it killed him to walk the length of two buildings to reach me). Sadly, I don’t even have $10, so I floated a check his way. That check is more rubber than the box of condoms I just found in an old purse. 😉

I had actually left my sliding doors unlocked — a rarity for me. If I could have lifted my fat ass up the railing and gotten to my balcony, I would’ve saved the money I don’t have. But instead, a nice Ethiopian girl allowed me to use her phone. I kept misdialing the apartment complex’s number, so she handed me a Yellow Pages … written in — you guessed it — Ethiopian. 🙂

But I finally got the number and all was well. And I could sure use a cigarette right now, but as cash is flowing downstream, that ain’t possible. Oh well. I’ll live another seven minutes without it. 🙂 And I will carry my keys in my damn bra, from now on!

*off to take a Percoset, courtesy of Paul, who just had his appendix out last weekend. Thanks Paul!* 😀

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