One of those weeks

It's funny, how we all know what "those" means when we say "I'm having one of those days." I guess it's just a fact of life. We breathe, we need to eat, we need to drink, we need sleep, we need to bathe, and we all have one of those days.

Mine never stop at one day, though. If I'm having one of those days, I know it's going to be one of those weeks, and that's what I had this week. It started on Monday when I just couldn't focus enough to follow directions, which is pretty bad when part of your job involves taking direction from a director of the live news broadcast. I think I'll stop there.

It just didn't ease up and by Thursday night, I'd say I topped of my Those Week. Thursday night was the one night that Kevin was out of town until about midnight. So I had big plans. I decided to go down memory lane and call up the ol' college pizza joint for Pokey Sticks, a tasty cheese bread that is filling enough to get you through dinner. If I remember correctly, I used to get a medium for $5 when I was in college... two for that price on Sticks It To Me Tuesday. So I called 'em up on my way home from work, because I had their number memorized from college, ordered a small because I was certain it wasn't safe to leave myself alone with a whole medium, got to the joint right as they finished cooking it and... it cost $8! The thing was the size of my childlike hand and it cost EIGHT BUCKS. So after my coronary, I handed over my debit card and got in my car. I knew which one it was by the windshield that snapped in half on my drive to work on Tuesday. I soothed my sorrowful soul by bopping to Miley Cyrus's "See You Again" and reminding myself that I had a quiet night of expensive hot cheese bread, pajamas, and DVR ahead of me.

So I got home, threw the Pokey Sticks on the kitchen counter with my purse and keys, let the fur baby out of his cage and got him ready to go on his walk. We ran out the door, and I felt it close behind me in slow motion because, yes, I had locked the handle and left my keys on the counter. In my mind, I flashed back to the day I signed the lease. My memory had my landlady looking 10 times her size, very sweaty, and in a slowed-down man voice, she said, "If you lock yourself out of your apartment after 5:30, it will cost $15 dollars for you to have a maintenance guy unlock your door." It was 6 pm.

I had no phone and couldn't remember where the maintenance man lived, so I thought things over while Logan took care of business. When he relieved himself of a healthy poop, I scooped it up with a plastic bag, stood up, and suddenly three Mormon boys were standing in front of me. I generally feel uncomfortable visiting with people when I have a clear bag filled with smelly poop in one hand, but they seemed down with it, so we discussed my dog and my dilemma and Jesus. They asked if they could come into my apartment to discuss the Mormon religion, assuming I ever found a way back into my apartment, and I kindly let them know that I respected their devotion to theirs, but was equally pleased with my own. So we parted ways and I hoped with all hope that my landlady was working late in her office and marched that way, several buildings away from my own.

She was not there. I couldn't remember where the maintenance guy lived, and, in all honesty, he scares me so I didn't want to remember where he lived. As big as Logan thinks he is, the worst he could truly do to someone who might cause me harm is pull their knee sock to their ankle. If they stand still.

So I walked all the way back to my apartment and remembered that the landlady lives across the parking lot from me. If I were to stare close enough, I could figure out which apartment by her curtains. I decided it would be uncouth to stand in the middle of the parking lot with my dog panting thirstily and study the windows for a few minutes. So I casually walked around until I found the sheer white drapes that she mentioned and climbed up to her apartment and knocked on her door until her poor little boy answered and ran to their neighbors to tell her that some lady with a dog was looking for her.

After she called the maintenance guy, she glanced out the entrance to her building and saw the Mormon boys at the entrance to mine, talking to one of my neighbors. She doesn't want them soliciting people on her property, so she decided to go over and ask them not to, but they looked at me like they thought I had complained to her about them. My neighbor who was talking to them was truly interested in what they had to say, so they weren't really bothering anyone, and the landlady had just come up to them, asked them to leave her residents alone, and left. So they asked if she was going to help me get in, or... and I knew they thought I asked her to come say something.

By the time the maintenance guy finally came, and the Mormon boys were gone, he didn't say a word to me. He might have grunted when I mentioned how annoyed I was when my hand left the handle and I realized the key was inside. Anyway, I finally went into my apartment and sat down with my now cold overpriced Pokey Sticks.

Thankfully, that topped off my One of Those Weeks. I thought Friday would bring something worse, and it didn't. I'm safe.