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shoes in the city

the story of the trials, tribulations and mundane bullshit of a disturbingly normal lesbian

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Because there is air between my ears

I've been luxuriating in my new house.  Which is funny because it's not luxurious.  It just feels that way to me.

Last night, after feeding Cassie, it was time to for us to go on our nightly walk.  We got excited because both of us like our walk.  And we're having fun exploring our new neighborhood.  She likes it because it's a little trashy.  Literally, there's trash on the sidewalks which means, sometimes there's food.  And, although I reach into her mouth and take out the food, she enjoys the hunt.  And the occasional tidbit of rotten stuff she manages to swallow.

So, I pick up my coat, weigh it in my hand to make sure I have my keys, trip the lock on the door and we're off.  It's raining a little, so, after a few blocks (and some unexpected snacks for Cass), we head home.  I reach into my pockets for the keys.  They aren't there

Because I'm brilliant.

So, there I am, standing on a street corner in a not incredibly safe neighborhood.  No phone.  No keys.  But I do have a wet pit bull and a few dollars in my pocket.

Ok.  I'm figuring the apartment is cheap, the lock on the door must be too.  But, i was wrong.  My landlord had thoughtfully installed a lock that I can't pick or jiggle open.  The kitchen window has a grate.  The living room window are locked, and don't start until six feet up from the sidewalk.  I'm fucked.

We set off in search of a pay phone.  It's hard to find a pay phone in this cell phone age.  Especially in Baltimore.  They took most of them out a decade and a half ago in a futile attempt to put a dent in the drug trade.  But, they missed two at the gas station at the corner.  I was feeling pretty proud of myself.  Until I talked to the lock smith who wanted $240 dollars to come and let me into my house.  And was going to take an hour to get there.  So, I started to cry and hung up the phone.  

I live in an apartment that is an old row house.  The house was divided into two apartments by slicing it into one third and two thirds from top to bottom.  I live in the front.  A couple lives in the bigger apartment in the back.  Lucky for me, they are artists.  And don't go to bed early.  So they weren't that freaked out when I knocked on their door at 11:30 at night.  They called the land lord, who of course didn't answer the phone.  I couldn't call anyone else because I don't know anyone's phone number.  I barely know my own number.  Everyone else is saved in my phone.  I'd say that technology had disabled me, but even before cell phones I barely knew anyone's phone number.  If I didn't have my phone book I was lost.

So Cassie and I went off to look for another way into the house.  And found one.  

I was able to open the window into the kitchen.  Now I just needed to unscrew the grate.  The artists lent me a screw driver.  Another neighbor had a chair out in front of their row house.  I borrowed it.  Forty five minutes and one very wet dog later, I was crawling in the window.  And managed to not break any dishes.

Cassie was thrilled to be back in a dry house.  She immediately ran up stairs and rolled around on the bed.  And I didn't care that she was getting the bed all wet.  Frankly, she had just spent the past hour hanging around outside with me in the rain without complaining at all.  She's a saint.  Or will be until the next time she decorates the house with trash.  

I'm really going to miss my trash compactor that day.

But in the mean time, I was so grateful to be home on my couch that I could hardly stand it.

Just when I think that I'm getting less flighty I do something like this.  I suppose it's nice to know somethings don't ever really change.

right?

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