Oh My Gawd Sodagirl!

Archive for September, 2008

September 23, 2008

Top 10 things to do while locked out of your home.

Monday started off with a bang. By bang, I mean I may as well have stabbed myself in the skull. My husband is out of town for 10 days, and I swear, every time that man goes away, something goes wrong for me. And by something, I mean numerous things. It was bad enough that my kids were barfing their guts out and snotting everywhere last weekend, but then to have the start of my week turn out badly, NOT FAIR. Am I whining? Yes.

I got my kids up for school, got them ready and I have to take my son to the bus stop shortly after 7 a.m. As we are heading out the door, I’m thinking, what a lovely start to the first school day without my husband home. Kids were cooperating, things were running smoothly, things just going super! That thought would soon be replaced with many swear words floating around in my brain. We drop son off and my daughter and I then have an hour before we have to leave and get her to school. We pull into the driveway and I reach over and press the garage door opener. We get out, walk through the garage and walk to the inside garage door. The one that is supposed to open, and that will allow me to enter into the mud room/laundry room. Except the door doesn’t open. Why not? Because it’s deadbolted. As in locked like a vault.

However, I’m not panicked. I have my key to the front door, so no biggie. Set my purse down to get the key out of the zippered pocket, but funny, it’s not there. Oh, well, no sweat, it probably just fell to the bottom of my purse. Feel around and uh, no, not a key in sight. I then dump the contents of my purse out on to the work bench and feel around some more in my handbag. But no key. Okay, still not panicked because I must have left it in the suv, because that keychain also has the mail key on it, and sometimes after getting the mail, it might get locked in the vehicle. Back out to the car and look for the key. No key. Now I’m panicking. Go back into the garage and try the door again – because clearly, it’s going to have magically unlocked itself. Check my purse 89 more times, but I come up empty handed.

I’m officially locked out. Thus, I’ve come up with my very own Top Ten things to do while locked out of your home.

#10. Try to break into your house by ‘picking’ the lock. Except that the lock is a deadbolt and although on TV, criminals and ex-cops-turned-private-dicks can jimmy, pick and/or wiggle a lock in 10 seconds or less, that doesn’t happen in real life. I tried using screwdrivers, rulers, mini saws, other odd shaped tools, that I have no earthly idea what they are called or used for, a hammer and a long, thin drill bit. Nada. Zip. Nothing. The only thing I accomplished, was messing up the door jamb, the trim and scratched the door to shit. Won’t my husband be thrilled? Surprise!

# 9. Swear A LOT. Although I don’t actually say ‘fuck,’ I certainly said it in my mind. Luckily my child can’t read my mind, so it was fine.

# 8. Call your husband’s cell phone, knowing full well he’s 8 hours away and won’t actually get the message you’re leaving until about 10 p.m but it will make you feel better. I did this. My message was said through clenched teeth, while repeating ‘fuck’ in my mind. Unfortunately, this did nothing to help me get in the house.

# 7. Try kicking your door in. Who cares if you’re 5 foot 2 inches tall and have a size 6 1/2 shoe (by the way, trying to break a door down with high heels just isn’t practical), it might work and if you continue to mutter the word ‘fuck,’ in your mind, it does give you a bit of extra strength. Sadly, I couldn’t kick the door in.

# 6. Think back to what you did the night before – as in – YOU LOCKED ALL OF THE WINDOWS BECAUSE YOU ARE A PARANOID FREAK EVEN THOUGH YOU LIVE IN A QUIET, LOW-CRIME NEIGHBORHOOD. Oh wait, you didn’t lock your bedroom window! Except, you’d need a ladder that goes 50 feet up in the air (okay, maybe not 50, but it’s a loooong way up) but that’s okay, because your husband has a window and door business and has super long ladders! Except, he left them at a job site an hour away from here and you have no idea where that is. (Still muttering ‘fuck’ in my mind)

#5. Ask yourself why you’re such an idiot for locking yourself out. This is very counter-productive, and you will receive no answers, but it will take your mind off of the fact that you’re locked out of your house for about 90 seconds. Strange but true.

#4. Give thanks. For what you ask? Well, normally I would have set the alarm, which would have NOT been good in this situation because trying to break in would have set off the alarm, thus bringing the police, thus bringing about a $75 fine plus a fine from the security company for having a false alarm. See? Small miracles.

#3. Remember that your basement window (not the big one that doesn’t open) is obviously low enough that you don’t need a ladder! This would be great had you not locked the window. Window will not open, or be jiggled open while locked. Only option would be to smash window. Even though my husband has a window and door company, he probably wouldn’t appreciate that I smashed the window and then would have to replace the window. Option dead. Guess what is repeating over and over in my head?

# 2. Call your grown sons to come over and help you get in. Sure, they can’t break the door down either or pick the lock, but they’re big, so maybe they can bust through a wall or something. Grown sons arrive, laughing, asking how long we’ve been locked out. Oh just about 3 hours, but no biggie. Still saying ‘fuck’ in my mind but now I’ve included their names.

# 1. Take back all the evil names you’ve called your husband for going away and the ones you’ve called your sons for laughing at you. You realize that technically it’s not your husband’s fault that you locked yourself out and you have to take back the bad names you called your sons because they did get you in the house, so even though they laughed (a lot, uncontrollably) at you for locking yourself out, they redeemed themselves.

Luckily, there was one ladder here and it was just tall enough to reach one of the livingroom windows that I didn’t lock tightly (but it is now for any crooks that think they’re breaking in!) and my boys are tall and big and they got the window open and crawled in and opened my front door.

I’m hoping (fingers crossed) that the rest of the week is really boring.

Posted by Sassy @ 6:05 pmEmbarrassing,Just Stuff.,Kids1 comment  

September 18, 2008

This ISN’T Starbucks.

It has been fairly hot here for the last few days. On Tuesday, after picking my children up from their respective bus stop and school, I decided I would treat myself to a strawberries n’ cream from Starbucks. My favourite drink ever. I don’t get them very often because, well, they have a habit of making one’s ass bigger. And some of us just don’t want a bigger ass.

I went through the drive-thru, and after a minute or so, it was my turn to order. I was told that they were out of the mix to make the strawberry frapps. What????? Are you kidding me? No. Sadly they were not. Fine, I would make my way to another similar place – it’s not Starbucks, but they do have a chocolate ice frapp that is good – not as good as the strawberries n’ cream but close enough to satisfy my craving.

I, once again decided on the drive-thru. I placed my order of one small drink and one chocolate chip cookie. My son had a craving as well it seemed. The girl taking my order had to ask me again, she didn’t quite hear me, so I repeated myself, slowly and loudly.

I get up to the window to pay, girl takes my money – it came to over $8! Holy shit, what kind of cookie am I getting? The drink is just over $3, so a frigging cookie is $5 bucks? I hope it does my laundry too.

I’m handed my change and then I wait. And wait, and wait, and wait. For TEN MINUTES. I can see into the coffee shop – there are no other customers, and three girls working. How long does it take to make a frapp? A minute, two at the most? Finally, one of the girls comes over and asks me if I want cream on the drink. Duh. If I’m going to enlarge my ass, I may as well do it in style.

She hands me my drink. I’m thinking I’ll be there for another 30 seconds or so because really, how long does it take to put a chocolate chip cookie into a bag? Well it takes ANOTHER TEN MINUTES. I’m starting to get a little impatient and even my kids are wondering if they’re actually BAKING the cookies right then and there.

What takes place next baffles my mind. The sheer stupidity is only something I can experience. I swear I’m wearing a huge sign that says ‘abuse me with your stupidity, please, I beg you.’

Finally, one of the girls comes over. I don’t see a bag with a cookie in it, in her hand. I’m trying hard not to punch her in the neck.

Um, do you want cream on it?

Cream on it?

Ya, cream on top.

On my cookie? Um, no, thanks


Yes, my cookie – I don’t want cream on it. Thanks.

Cookie? What do you mean?

I ordered a chocolate chip cookie.

Uh, this ISN’T Starbucks.


This ISN’T Starbucks. *Says with disgust*

I know it’s not Starbucks.

We don’t have those drinks.

Drinks? I ordered one drink, which I got and a chocolate chip cookie.

A chocolate chip cookie?

Yes. A cookie. With chocolate chips in it.

She stares at me like I’ve spewed pea soup and spun my head around.

I ordered a cookie.

A cookie? I’m not familiar with that drink.

Drink? It’s a COOKIE. I’m waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out at me with his crazy bullshit punking crap.

She then turns to the other two girls, dumbfounded. Finally, one of them asks what I ordered. Chick who insists on telling me that this isn’t Starbucks, over and over, says ‘she said a cookie.’

Finally, one of them clues in that I WANT A COOKIE. You know, A COOKIE.

She gets a cookie and puts it in a bag and hands it to me. It’s then I realize that the price they charged me, must have been for two drinks, one being a large. I nicely ask them if they did indeed charge me for two drinks.

Oh ya, we did.

Okay, we’ll I’d like a refund please, you know, the difference is fine.

Um, *giggles all around* we just started here like a week ago and our manager left us here and we don’t know how to return money.

Me *head exploding and punching all three of them in my mind*

You can’t give me my money back? I mean two or three bucks isn’t going to break me but I’m not paying five dollars for a cookie.

We don’t know how to do that. How about another cookie?

No thanks, I’d just like a refund.

*Giggles* We can’t give money back, we like, don’t know how.

Me *not giggling* I see. Do you have a card that you can give me with the managers name? Maybe he or she can give me a refund.

They all disappear, probably calling me names, although it was really me who should have been doing the name calling. Oh wait, I did.

They all three came back, with an 8×10 sheet of lined paper with a name scribbled on it and a barely readable phone number. Probably not even really the manager’s name. And probably their friend Tina’s phone number. I’m going to go in tomorrow and shake things up.

And yes, chickie poo, I know this ISN’T Starbucks. Damn straight.

Posted by Sassy @ 7:55 pmFood Disasters,I want to Punch You in the Neck3 comments  

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