Today was just going to be an incredibly chill Sunday; yesterday I even said aloud to myself, "Tomorrow, I am just going to relllllaaaaaax (said in a creepy way, naturally) and not leave the house. I'm going to sleep in and not do ANYTHING."
Well, I should've known that plan was doomed from the beginning, because I can't just not do ANYTHING, and after some mint tea at breakfast courtesy of my Mo' Rockin' Adventure, I soon found myself washing the car, doing laundry, weeding our cement patio (odd), and deep-cleaning the bathrooms, kitchen and floors. I took a much-needed shower, and had big plans for the rest of my evening: chat with friends from home, work on the Romania blog, and finally relax. I decided to let my hair air-dry, threw on a pair of Under Armour IU shorts that Elliot and I call my 'booty shorts' b/c they're so short and I would never wear them outside the house, and the purple --> pink Hypercolor shirt that Jessie got me for my birthday last year. I didn't bother putting on a bra, since I had no plans to venture outside of my basement, the kitchen, bathroom and eventually my bed.
Now that it's summertime, I dry all of my laundry (minus towels because they get crunchy) on the lines in our driveway. The sun is Spain's greatest dryer, and their man-made dryers take forever and have this condensation tank that you need to empty before running it. Today's sun wasn't very strong, so my laundry was taking a lot longer than usual to dry. It had already been on the line for almost two hours, so I went to check on it before retiring to the basement. I took care not to shut the front door behind me, since it locks automatically and I didn't have my keys with me. I guess the wind had a different plan. It saw a great opportunity there, and just when I picked up my basket to head over to the lines, the door slammed shut.
"No, no, no, no! God, pleeeeease don't let it be locked!" I yelled as I unsuccessfully tried to push the door open. Instantly panicking because Elliot is back in the States for his week in-residence program at IU, and me not having my phone to call my landlord, I panicked like Troy in Community for a solid minute. Fortunately, I had a flash of brilliance when I realized that the basement door was unlocked. I raced down the side stairs to the basement and found the door.... locked. Apparently, even if you use your key INSIDE to unlock the door, it still remains locked from the outside. Aces. I looked at the door, muttered "I'm" before looking down at my free-boobin' Hypercolor shirt and sighing, "f**ked".
At that moment, a cartoon lightbulb appeared over my head and I remembered that I could get into the house through our upstairs bedroom doors. They're locked from the inside, but almost all glass and would be easy to push my way in. It wasn't that high up, and I figured I could climb Elliot's car to the roof and then swing myself onto our balcony. It would take some serious Spiderman shit, but I had confidence in my abilities not to get myself killed.
Elliot's car was parked right in front of the roof, and his keys were inside so I couldn't move it any closer. I threw both my legs on the hood of his car to propel myself to the car roof, feeling all bad-ass and immediately.......... slid off. Because I had just gotten out of the shower and decided to de-Sasquatch my legs, they were all lotioned up with some Bath and Body Works nonsense. My legs may be smooth and smell like Freshwater Rain, but there was no way I was getting to the balcony this way.
All weekend, the Hermandad/Brotherhood of Consolacion (the church across the street from our house) was having a celebration in the empty lot across the street from our house. Not joking, I could throw a jamon leg and hit this thing. El and I went with Tish and Adam last year, and they had flamenco performances, tapas and montaditos (mini sandwiches) and drinks for one or two euros apiece. The food was really great, the beer terrible (this is Spain after all), and the performances fun. Plus, we had the added advantage of being able to bring our own beer and use the bathrooms at our house. El and I had looked forward to this year's event, and he was disappointed that he was going to miss out on this year's festivities. I checked it out with the Noel's and Sanchez Friday night, and it definitely didn't disappoint. I had this marinated bacon sandwich that would have melted Martha Stewart's icy heart with its deliciousness. Who ever thought to marinate bacon??? Why have we not DONE THIS BEFORE???? Better yet, marinate bacon with Dr. Pepper then deep-fry it. Mmmm.... America....But I digress...
Anyway, our lil' tapas fest was in full swing across the street. On my walk to our friend and neighbor Adam's around the corner (to see if he could offer assistance), I noticed that the brotherhood had a ladder propped up against the wall. I decided to check to see if Adam had our landlord's number, and if he didn't I'd ask to borrow the brotherhood's ladder. Adam unfortunately didn't have Pepe's numero, but he said that he's climbed and gotten into his bedroom window (he lives in a townhouse that is identical to ours) all the times he's gotten locked out (kinda curious now how often he gets locked out), so the ladder would be the best way to go. If that didn't work, he said he would try to figure something else out.
Going to ask for help from the brotherhood was by far the least appealing option. Not because I didn't think they'd help, or that they'd be jerks about it; I just didn't want to crash a church-sponsored event looking like the hooker who turns tricks on the outskirts of town. Also at that moment, to add to my Hot Slut of the Day costume, the sun decided it was an excellent time to visit Utrera and shone down on us in all its glory. I don't care if I show up sweating like a pig, but have you seen a Hypercolor shirt before? The whole appeal of them is that they change color.... after REACTING TO HEAT. Mine is normally purple and turns pink in areas where I'm overheated. I wasn't wearing a bra, so you can guess what part of the shirt was now a bright pink. So not only do I now get to mosey on over to basically a church picnic where EVERYONE is dressed up wearing my booty shorts and looking like a drowned rat with my hair, I get to do it with bright pink boobs. It was like I had a NO BRA bullseye across my chest. Oh, and did I mention that this was the brotherhood's fest? Thaaaat's right: run entirely by hombres.
I waltzed into the fest, ignored the snarky look I got from a woman waiting at the counter, and asked the guy who had been friendly when we bought stuff on Friday if I could borrow his ladder. Actually, my exact broken Spanish question was this: "Hello. A question: I live in that house (points to house) and I do not have keys. I am outside. Can I use your stairs?" I wished to God that I knew more Spanish, but that was the best I could come up with. The guy rattled off something I didn't understand, walked over to the ladder and then motioned for me to lead the way.
When he put the ladder against the side of the house for me to climb into the balcony, I realized that I actually had to climb this tall ass ladder. He held it for me, but that didn't stop me from repeating, "Please don't let me fall, God. Please keep me safe. Please don't let me fall." I made it safely over the edge of the balcony, minus some serious scrapes and bruises on my legs, and threw my entire body into the doors to tackle them open. As you can imagine, they didn't budge. Every time I see people in movies or shows unsuccessfully attempt to break down a door, I scoff and think to myself, "Whatever, I could EASILY do that! That door would be in pieces if I was there." Well no, it wouldn't actually. The door locks at the bottom, and I tried to squeeze my hand in the top to grab the door handle, but then I panicked and withdrew my hand before I lost some fingers. I Brian Urlacher'ed myself into the door a few more times, unsuccessfully of course, and peeked down to see if my new buddy had any bright ideas.
He held the ladder for me as I shimmied my way down (terrified and praying the whole way, of course), and another one of the brothers had come at this point. They tried their keys in the door in hopes of jimmying the lock, but the stubborn bastardo wouldn't budge. It's easier to break into Fort Knox than it is to open my front door. While they were working on that, I went next door and got Pepe's number from our next door neighbors. Of course, Pepe didn't answer either his home or cell phone, so I was once again S.O.L.
We walked back across the street to get ANOTHER friend to help (In case you're keeping track, every Spanish guy in the surrounding area has now gotten a show of my 90's throwback), and he sticks his credit card in the door to break in. His credit card immediately bent in half, and I swear the door was laughing at us. I apologized profusely, but he laughed it off and said it was "no problema". My Spanish once again failed me, and instead of being able to comment, "Man, what a ridiculous situation this is!" I just eloquently contributed, "No bueno". No....Shit.
The new amigo whose credit card I had a part in destroying called up his friend who moonlights as a locksmith to come help. I made out "chica Americana" from their phone conversation, which in this case was probably code for "Bonehead American". Amigo #2 said that he would be here in ten minutes and would open the door for me. I thanked both of the bruthas multiple times before they took their ladder and went back across the street.
The locksmith showed up in no time with his 10 year old son and got right to work. It was obvious he was off-duty and lounging at home, as he had on jersey knit shorts, a t-shirt and flip-flops. He said that he wouldn't break my door (thanks?) and it would cost 45 euros. I was basically at his mercy, and in no mood to bargain, so I agreed. He started using these 5x7 sheets of plastic to squeeze between the door and the frame. He sprayed them with the Spanish equivalent of WD40 and tried shaking the door open while he had them in place. I really can't describe what the heck he was doing, because I was getting an eyeful from watching him work. His t-shirt was way too short for him to be bending over, so I had pictures of brightly colored cheeseburgers, french fries, and soft drink dancing across my field of vision. I can honestly say that I've never seen underpants that glorified fast food. He also had a hip tattoo peeking out at me, something that I'm guessing was added after a few too many tintos.
When the plastic sheets didn't work, and Chuck Norris wasn't around to kick the door in, he used this glorified unraveled coat hanger with ribbon attached to it. He slid it under the door and tried to grab the handle. He would slide the wire under the door, move it around, take it out, use his pliers to bend different parts, then try again. This....process....kept....repeating....and....not....working. After 40 minutes of this, he asked if he could use a drill (he pantomimed drilling) to put in a hole in the door. He then made a gesture like looking through a peephole, so I gathered that he would put in a peephole mechanism when he was finished. I said that was fine, and he came back five minutes later with his power drill. While he was gone, I was naturally panicking about what would happen if he couldn't open the door. I can't show up to work like this! And how would I even GET to work??!! Oh, the humanity!
It took him a few minutes to drill the hole, and he put these thin metal pipes that looked like car antennas through the hole. There were three of them screwed together at different angles, and he was able to push the door handle down using them and OPEN THE DOOR! I squee'd and yelled, "MUCHAS GRACIAS!!!" over and over. He fixed the hole, so now we have a lovely peephole, and I got him a bottle of water and his money before he left.
Wanting to do more to thank the guys who helped me out, I whipped up a batch of cupcakes with frosting. At this point, I had a bra on and walked them across the street. The fest had ended, and there were only men present, but I spotted the guy who's credit card was now Gumby and gave him the treats. I said that it was a gift, and "thank you very, very much". The rest of the guys looked confused and probably wondered why this skanky American was baking for them. I thanked him again, said goodbye, and walked back, keys in hand, to my house. I made it about 3 feet before I heard this. Should've changed out of the booty shorts....
What I learned from this experience:
-Make copies of my keys, keep a set in the car, and give one to my neighbors
-Even with the copies, ALWAYS keep my keys in hand when I check my laundry
-I need to start a fight with the Wind and Sun
-Hypercolor is only appropriate in the winter
-That old saying about leaving the house without underwear or a bra is true. Something WILL happen
-Wear a bra
-The Spanish will continue to blow me away with their kindness, helpfulness and generosity. I am so thankful for all their help and patience.
-I am not Spiderman
-Our door can will never get broken into
-Peepholes make a sharp accessory for any door
-Wear a bra
Well, I should've known that plan was doomed from the beginning, because I can't just not do ANYTHING, and after some mint tea at breakfast courtesy of my Mo' Rockin' Adventure, I soon found myself washing the car, doing laundry, weeding our cement patio (odd), and deep-cleaning the bathrooms, kitchen and floors. I took a much-needed shower, and had big plans for the rest of my evening: chat with friends from home, work on the Romania blog, and finally relax. I decided to let my hair air-dry, threw on a pair of Under Armour IU shorts that Elliot and I call my 'booty shorts' b/c they're so short and I would never wear them outside the house, and the purple --> pink Hypercolor shirt that Jessie got me for my birthday last year. I didn't bother putting on a bra, since I had no plans to venture outside of my basement, the kitchen, bathroom and eventually my bed.
Now that it's summertime, I dry all of my laundry (minus towels because they get crunchy) on the lines in our driveway. The sun is Spain's greatest dryer, and their man-made dryers take forever and have this condensation tank that you need to empty before running it. Today's sun wasn't very strong, so my laundry was taking a lot longer than usual to dry. It had already been on the line for almost two hours, so I went to check on it before retiring to the basement. I took care not to shut the front door behind me, since it locks automatically and I didn't have my keys with me. I guess the wind had a different plan. It saw a great opportunity there, and just when I picked up my basket to head over to the lines, the door slammed shut.
"No, no, no, no! God, pleeeeease don't let it be locked!" I yelled as I unsuccessfully tried to push the door open. Instantly panicking because Elliot is back in the States for his week in-residence program at IU, and me not having my phone to call my landlord, I panicked like Troy in Community for a solid minute. Fortunately, I had a flash of brilliance when I realized that the basement door was unlocked. I raced down the side stairs to the basement and found the door.... locked. Apparently, even if you use your key INSIDE to unlock the door, it still remains locked from the outside. Aces. I looked at the door, muttered "I'm" before looking down at my free-boobin' Hypercolor shirt and sighing, "f**ked".
At that moment, a cartoon lightbulb appeared over my head and I remembered that I could get into the house through our upstairs bedroom doors. They're locked from the inside, but almost all glass and would be easy to push my way in. It wasn't that high up, and I figured I could climb Elliot's car to the roof and then swing myself onto our balcony. It would take some serious Spiderman shit, but I had confidence in my abilities not to get myself killed.
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| Where's a web blaster when you need one? |
All weekend, the Hermandad/Brotherhood of Consolacion (the church across the street from our house) was having a celebration in the empty lot across the street from our house. Not joking, I could throw a jamon leg and hit this thing. El and I went with Tish and Adam last year, and they had flamenco performances, tapas and montaditos (mini sandwiches) and drinks for one or two euros apiece. The food was really great, the beer terrible (this is Spain after all), and the performances fun. Plus, we had the added advantage of being able to bring our own beer and use the bathrooms at our house. El and I had looked forward to this year's event, and he was disappointed that he was going to miss out on this year's festivities. I checked it out with the Noel's and Sanchez Friday night, and it definitely didn't disappoint. I had this marinated bacon sandwich that would have melted Martha Stewart's icy heart with its deliciousness. Who ever thought to marinate bacon??? Why have we not DONE THIS BEFORE???? Better yet, marinate bacon with Dr. Pepper then deep-fry it. Mmmm.... America....But I digress...
Anyway, our lil' tapas fest was in full swing across the street. On my walk to our friend and neighbor Adam's around the corner (to see if he could offer assistance), I noticed that the brotherhood had a ladder propped up against the wall. I decided to check to see if Adam had our landlord's number, and if he didn't I'd ask to borrow the brotherhood's ladder. Adam unfortunately didn't have Pepe's numero, but he said that he's climbed and gotten into his bedroom window (he lives in a townhouse that is identical to ours) all the times he's gotten locked out (kinda curious now how often he gets locked out), so the ladder would be the best way to go. If that didn't work, he said he would try to figure something else out.
Going to ask for help from the brotherhood was by far the least appealing option. Not because I didn't think they'd help, or that they'd be jerks about it; I just didn't want to crash a church-sponsored event looking like the hooker who turns tricks on the outskirts of town. Also at that moment, to add to my Hot Slut of the Day costume, the sun decided it was an excellent time to visit Utrera and shone down on us in all its glory. I don't care if I show up sweating like a pig, but have you seen a Hypercolor shirt before? The whole appeal of them is that they change color.... after REACTING TO HEAT. Mine is normally purple and turns pink in areas where I'm overheated. I wasn't wearing a bra, so you can guess what part of the shirt was now a bright pink. So not only do I now get to mosey on over to basically a church picnic where EVERYONE is dressed up wearing my booty shorts and looking like a drowned rat with my hair, I get to do it with bright pink boobs. It was like I had a NO BRA bullseye across my chest. Oh, and did I mention that this was the brotherhood's fest? Thaaaat's right: run entirely by hombres.
I waltzed into the fest, ignored the snarky look I got from a woman waiting at the counter, and asked the guy who had been friendly when we bought stuff on Friday if I could borrow his ladder. Actually, my exact broken Spanish question was this: "Hello. A question: I live in that house (points to house) and I do not have keys. I am outside. Can I use your stairs?" I wished to God that I knew more Spanish, but that was the best I could come up with. The guy rattled off something I didn't understand, walked over to the ladder and then motioned for me to lead the way.
When he put the ladder against the side of the house for me to climb into the balcony, I realized that I actually had to climb this tall ass ladder. He held it for me, but that didn't stop me from repeating, "Please don't let me fall, God. Please keep me safe. Please don't let me fall." I made it safely over the edge of the balcony, minus some serious scrapes and bruises on my legs, and threw my entire body into the doors to tackle them open. As you can imagine, they didn't budge. Every time I see people in movies or shows unsuccessfully attempt to break down a door, I scoff and think to myself, "Whatever, I could EASILY do that! That door would be in pieces if I was there." Well no, it wouldn't actually. The door locks at the bottom, and I tried to squeeze my hand in the top to grab the door handle, but then I panicked and withdrew my hand before I lost some fingers. I Brian Urlacher'ed myself into the door a few more times, unsuccessfully of course, and peeked down to see if my new buddy had any bright ideas.
He held the ladder for me as I shimmied my way down (terrified and praying the whole way, of course), and another one of the brothers had come at this point. They tried their keys in the door in hopes of jimmying the lock, but the stubborn bastardo wouldn't budge. It's easier to break into Fort Knox than it is to open my front door. While they were working on that, I went next door and got Pepe's number from our next door neighbors. Of course, Pepe didn't answer either his home or cell phone, so I was once again S.O.L.
We walked back across the street to get ANOTHER friend to help (In case you're keeping track, every Spanish guy in the surrounding area has now gotten a show of my 90's throwback), and he sticks his credit card in the door to break in. His credit card immediately bent in half, and I swear the door was laughing at us. I apologized profusely, but he laughed it off and said it was "no problema". My Spanish once again failed me, and instead of being able to comment, "Man, what a ridiculous situation this is!" I just eloquently contributed, "No bueno". No....Shit.
The new amigo whose credit card I had a part in destroying called up his friend who moonlights as a locksmith to come help. I made out "chica Americana" from their phone conversation, which in this case was probably code for "Bonehead American". Amigo #2 said that he would be here in ten minutes and would open the door for me. I thanked both of the bruthas multiple times before they took their ladder and went back across the street.
The locksmith showed up in no time with his 10 year old son and got right to work. It was obvious he was off-duty and lounging at home, as he had on jersey knit shorts, a t-shirt and flip-flops. He said that he wouldn't break my door (thanks?) and it would cost 45 euros. I was basically at his mercy, and in no mood to bargain, so I agreed. He started using these 5x7 sheets of plastic to squeeze between the door and the frame. He sprayed them with the Spanish equivalent of WD40 and tried shaking the door open while he had them in place. I really can't describe what the heck he was doing, because I was getting an eyeful from watching him work. His t-shirt was way too short for him to be bending over, so I had pictures of brightly colored cheeseburgers, french fries, and soft drink dancing across my field of vision. I can honestly say that I've never seen underpants that glorified fast food. He also had a hip tattoo peeking out at me, something that I'm guessing was added after a few too many tintos.
When the plastic sheets didn't work, and Chuck Norris wasn't around to kick the door in, he used this glorified unraveled coat hanger with ribbon attached to it. He slid it under the door and tried to grab the handle. He would slide the wire under the door, move it around, take it out, use his pliers to bend different parts, then try again. This....process....kept....repeating....and....not....working. After 40 minutes of this, he asked if he could use a drill (he pantomimed drilling) to put in a hole in the door. He then made a gesture like looking through a peephole, so I gathered that he would put in a peephole mechanism when he was finished. I said that was fine, and he came back five minutes later with his power drill. While he was gone, I was naturally panicking about what would happen if he couldn't open the door. I can't show up to work like this! And how would I even GET to work??!! Oh, the humanity!
It took him a few minutes to drill the hole, and he put these thin metal pipes that looked like car antennas through the hole. There were three of them screwed together at different angles, and he was able to push the door handle down using them and OPEN THE DOOR! I squee'd and yelled, "MUCHAS GRACIAS!!!" over and over. He fixed the hole, so now we have a lovely peephole, and I got him a bottle of water and his money before he left.
Wanting to do more to thank the guys who helped me out, I whipped up a batch of cupcakes with frosting. At this point, I had a bra on and walked them across the street. The fest had ended, and there were only men present, but I spotted the guy who's credit card was now Gumby and gave him the treats. I said that it was a gift, and "thank you very, very much". The rest of the guys looked confused and probably wondered why this skanky American was baking for them. I thanked him again, said goodbye, and walked back, keys in hand, to my house. I made it about 3 feet before I heard this. Should've changed out of the booty shorts....
What I learned from this experience:
-Make copies of my keys, keep a set in the car, and give one to my neighbors
-Even with the copies, ALWAYS keep my keys in hand when I check my laundry
-I need to start a fight with the Wind and Sun
-Hypercolor is only appropriate in the winter
-That old saying about leaving the house without underwear or a bra is true. Something WILL happen
-Wear a bra
-The Spanish will continue to blow me away with their kindness, helpfulness and generosity. I am so thankful for all their help and patience.
-I am not Spiderman
-Our door can will never get broken into
-Peepholes make a sharp accessory for any door
-Wear a bra
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| "What were you thinking with this outfit?" (Don't worry, there's a bra present in this picture) |
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