Ground Control to Major Stupid Ass...
Current mood: embarrassed
Amazing how I can be so clever and resourceful sometimes and simulatenously the dumbest dumbshit on Planet Flightiness.
Where to start, where to start...
I was super dumb on Thursday. As a result, I vomited fiercely four times in a row. NO, I WASN'T DRINKING. (By the way, I'm 15 weeks sober.) Moving on.
Let's continue with something that doesn't make me look like one of the cousins who played the banjos in "Deliverance." I've been farting around for the past week trying to eradicate a nasty computer trojan wormy virus malware fucking thing from my mom's computer. Despite the (count em!) 7 different anti-virus blah blah programs I've run dozens of times, the problem persisted, resulting in my not-so-computer literate Mom tearing her hair out as she sat at her system attempting to "x" out of 43 pop up ads at one time.
She's using my old Dell, circa 2000, which is sort of dinosaurish. For reasons unknown, it wasn't grooving to accept a CD-R (yes, dorks, I formatted it properly first) with which I planned to backup her data/pics/music et al, dump Windows and start from scratch. I wondered if the drive itself was problematic, or if I should waste more dough buying every other conceivable form of recordable media, whatever, when I got the good idea to buy a USB Flash Drive and save her data to it. Yippee, that worked!!!! Happy Dance!
Unfortunately, when Luke and I left the house this afternoon to head to Target and get the USB Flash Drive, Dumbshit Me walked out of the house with my cell phone, my cigarettes, my son and NO KEYS. I keep my keys, my money and my ID's/cards all on and in my Louis Vuitton 6-key holder, so it wasn't like I could jimmy the back door lock with that, nor did I particularly feel that paying a locksmith $200 was in my best economic interest. My mom, who may or may not have an extra key to Camp Swanky, was in Joliet for the day (about an hour away from Chicago).
Today's lockout was way more fun than last spring's, when a drunken late night phone argument led to me locking myself out, using forcible entry to get back in at 1:30 am and resulted in having Rob, The Studly Carpenter Who Hates Me fix my broken jamb.
Fortunately, it was (WAS) warm out late this afternoon, and I'd left the 2 west living room windows about a quarter of the way open. Plus, Luke and I didn't freeze our keisters off. After calling my boyfriend, my ex-husband, several off-duty Chicago cops and Goldilocks Locksmiths in Norridge, Luke and I put our heads together and found a 3' piece of PVC piping with which we slid the screen of one of the windows open, and then I slid the window itself open. Next trick was to figure out how to hoist the 100lb Luke up into and through the window from the narrow wooden stairs without killing us both so he could unlock the door.
My boyfriend was off in the burbs at a family thingy, my ex was busy cleaning his bathroom, Goldilocks was MIA (eating porridge in Norridge, presumably), and the on-duty Chicago cops only offered to break my door down if a small child was trapped alone inside. "No," I said, "The small child is outside with me. What I need is someone to get him in, not out." All that got me was an unsympathetic "Sorry, ma'am."
The guitarist from my band, Bob, kindly stopped by on his way home from Lowe's to give either Luke or myself a hoist into the window (Bob's a Chicago cop but not so good at lock picking), at the same time Craig, in his mercy (hey, it started to drizzle) left his bathroom cleaning project to perform the "slide-the-credit-card-through-the-lock" magic, which was ultimately how we regained entry into Camp Swanky about 45 minutes later.
Since I no longer felt the desire to cook dinner, Luke and I settled on two Speed Racer Happy Meals from McDonald's. Not the healthiest choice, but it's been a helluva long while and dude, this week's toy was a wind-up Mach 6 (the revamped Mach 5). I couldn't resist.
An amusing Car Conversation With Luke, for those of you who've been missing our Chuckles in the Chrysler Moments:
Luke: "I am the Son of God."
Me: "Um, no you're not."
Luke: "I'm a child of God."
Luke: "I'm a SYNOGOGUE."