![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Teeth still hurt, and God, I am tired of writing that sentence. Sooner or later, I'll pitch a bitch loud and long enough to get either Roomie or my idiot mother to take me to the dentist/another dentist, but until then, here we are.
Speaking of Roomie, he locked us out of the house today. Normally, when we take our leave, I ask him if he's got the keys, various cards, money, and cellphone, but I didn't this morning, and sure enough, no sooner had he shut the door than he patted his pocket and whispered, "Shit." Equally predictably, he devolved into a gormless mud man, incapable of independent thought or action, and as a cripple who relies on him for basic movement, food, water, bed, and transportation, it was such a thrill to know my life is in such stalwart hands.
Thankfully for us, my neighbors are not idiots, and are good people. The first one brought over an array of tools with which to jimmy the door. Sadly, he was unsuccessful, so he went in search of savvier reinforcements. While he was gone, Roomie went to our rear neighbors and asked for some paperclips with which to pick the lock. This, too, ended in abject, sweaty failure, but then those neighbors came over with a coffee can of keys in the hopes that one would work on the lock. While they were testing their way through one hundred thousand keys, the first neighbor returned with a young army private who volunteered to give it a try.
His first gambit with a wine card had no luck, but then the wife in Neighbor Rescue Party Two suggested popping the screen in our front door, picking the window locks, and opening the door. And so the intrepid young man got himself a clothes hanger from Neighbor 1's truck, refashioned it to his noble purpose and went to work. Success in thirty seconds. God bless you, young sir. Thanks to you, I'm not still sweating into my steadily-dehydrating asscrack on the front porch while Roomie vents his anxiety through his asshole in fetid bursts of anxious impotence.
Now we're bunkered in until Wednesday. Or until my mother blunders down her to nag my broke ass into going out with her because the words, "I have no money" refuse to penetrate her prehistoric, addled skull.
Speaking of Roomie, he locked us out of the house today. Normally, when we take our leave, I ask him if he's got the keys, various cards, money, and cellphone, but I didn't this morning, and sure enough, no sooner had he shut the door than he patted his pocket and whispered, "Shit." Equally predictably, he devolved into a gormless mud man, incapable of independent thought or action, and as a cripple who relies on him for basic movement, food, water, bed, and transportation, it was such a thrill to know my life is in such stalwart hands.
Thankfully for us, my neighbors are not idiots, and are good people. The first one brought over an array of tools with which to jimmy the door. Sadly, he was unsuccessful, so he went in search of savvier reinforcements. While he was gone, Roomie went to our rear neighbors and asked for some paperclips with which to pick the lock. This, too, ended in abject, sweaty failure, but then those neighbors came over with a coffee can of keys in the hopes that one would work on the lock. While they were testing their way through one hundred thousand keys, the first neighbor returned with a young army private who volunteered to give it a try.
His first gambit with a wine card had no luck, but then the wife in Neighbor Rescue Party Two suggested popping the screen in our front door, picking the window locks, and opening the door. And so the intrepid young man got himself a clothes hanger from Neighbor 1's truck, refashioned it to his noble purpose and went to work. Success in thirty seconds. God bless you, young sir. Thanks to you, I'm not still sweating into my steadily-dehydrating asscrack on the front porch while Roomie vents his anxiety through his asshole in fetid bursts of anxious impotence.
Now we're bunkered in until Wednesday. Or until my mother blunders down her to nag my broke ass into going out with her because the words, "I have no money" refuse to penetrate her prehistoric, addled skull.
Tags: