Tuesday's on the phone to me

Yesterday Dre locked herself out of our house. This wasn't the first time she's done this and will likely not be the last. She's usually a really smart girl, so I'm all like, "Dude, how do you do this all the time?" And then today, my mom called me because she too had done the same. After helping my mom, I noticed how I NEVER forget my keys and wondered if I did -- which I wouldn't -- what I'd do about it.

And then in a showing of karma's infinite wit, I locked myself out of my house tonight. Without my phone. Without my phone! Here's the play-by-play.

3:00 PM: Go running to Runyon. Remove keys from keychain for economy. Place only those I need in my pocket.
5:30 PM: Dre leaves to go meet Min for dinner.
6:00 PM: Pick up to-go salad at M Chaya. "Do you need utensils?" the cashier asked me. "No. I'm eating at home."
6:15 PM: Pull into my garage. Look down at my key chain. Notice missing keys. F*ck! I look at my salad. How am I going to eat it? I rummage through my glove compartment. Nothing but napkins. I can wait.
6:30 PM: Eat salad with my fingers. (Don't gross out - I have anti-bacterial tissues in my car so I totally "washed" my hands first.)
6:50 PM: Remember that Slumdog Millionaire is playing at the Arclight. Should I walk or drive?
7:00 PM: Fashion a note to Dre out of the M Chaya bag of trash that I cleverly place in the middle of her parking spot. When she pulls in, she'll be forced to get out of her car to remove the trash, which means she won't be able to miss my note. I write her name in HUGE block letters:

[DRE],
I LOCKED MYSELF OUT. WITHOUT MY PHONE. (HOW'S THAT FOR KARMA?) GOING TO SEE MOVIE. I'LL GET OUT AT 9:45-ISH BE HOME BY 10. I'LL BUZZ YOU (49#) SO YOU CAN LET ME IN.
THANKS,
VANESSA
P.S. I WALKED TO THE MOVIES.

7:15 PM: Arrive at Arclight. Drive around for 10 minutes trying to find parking.
7:25 PM: Wait in line for movie. The movie sells out with two people queueing before me.
7:30 PM: Go to Borders and read magazines. I figure I should buy at least something for my leeching. I grab a copy of The Believer, which I tell myself I'll read if Dre isn't home when I get there. I go to the counter. The cashier tells me it's $10.83. For a magazine?! I consider returning it for a cheaper option. I pay it anyway given that I have already read through three in the hour I've been there. Being locked out is expensive.
8:45 PM: Return home. No Dre. Wait in car reading aforementioned magazine. Interesting but not worth $11. Except that there's a tear out poster. What could I do with the poster? Put it up in my cubicle? Would people think I was janky? Low rent? They might be right.
9:30 PM: Still no Dre. Neighbors keep passing me sitting in my car inside my garage. I wonder if they wonder what I'm doing there. I wonder if they are running through the possibilities in their own minds. "Is she: a) suicidal b) perverted or c) just weird." It never occurs to me that they might think I'm locked out.
9:40 PM: Fall asleep.
10:15 PM: Wake up with drool on my collar. Hot. Pick up magazine again. Boring.
10:30 PM: Start a Survival List on the back of a napkin -- or, things I should always have extras of in case disasters occur:
1. Spare house key.
2. Spare car key.
3. Mascara.
10:35 PM: Dre's car enters garage. Her parking space is on the other side of the garage. I left the trashbag-cum-Help! note from her parking space to see if she'd read it. She gets out of her car, sees her name on the bag, and instead of reading the rest of the note, looks INSIDE the bag, furrows brow, rechecks the bag, then frowns. She is priceless.

And so here I am, blogging in the comfort of my home, nearly five hours later.

***

We had a party on Friday night. I've discovered that the only way to have fun at your own party is to take tequila shots before everyone arrives. Then when your house is a disaster by the end of the night and your sock monkey has been defiled, you won't care.

Proof of the latter: