Old people are no good at everything!

Okay, I admit I can't back that up for 'all' old people. But based on my experience this morning, there is one old person in this world who aint got a fucking clue.

To cut a short story long, my mum knows this crazy old woman, who sometimes smashes bottle on the sidewalk where her house burnt down two years ago. My mum helps out this old woman who for the purposes of this story we'll call Margery. She has no family apart from a sister, who's just as useless as she is.

Yeah so anyway, my mum goes out this morning to play table tennis at the YMCA as she does every Thursday, and I'm in bed having just watched Denmark play Senegal, and waiting for the Cameroon vs Saudi Arabia match, then the phone rings. It's Margery with her stupid croaky voice asking for my mum, I explain she's out. Then before I can hang up, Margery starts talking shit about how she can't get her front door open, and she can't get outside, and maybe I could help.

This is all way too much for me to handle but I can't think of a good enough reason not to help, so I ask for her telephone number and house number, but she hangs up on me, which don't help matters! Then using my huge brain, I dial 1471 which gives me her number, then I phone her back and get her house number. (I know the road shes lives down)

So anyway, I get dressed quickly, get on my bicycle and steam round to her house. I ring the bell, and she takes about 5 fucking years to get to the door. She passes me the front door keys through the letter box, and Im trying to open the front door from the outside, but it aint budging. I realise she's probably put the deadlock on, which is just a little button that moves up and down on the inside of the door. So I shout through the letter box instructions to take it off, but Margery says it won't move.

Im running out of ideas on what to do, but realise I have to get inside to take the deadlock off myself. To get in, I have to go round to the back of the house. The first thing I have to do is get through the garage at the side of the house, which I manage after Margery evantually passes me the key through the letter box. Then I tell her to unlock the back door and the conservatory door. She unlocks the back door, and then passes me keys through the letterbox again which she says are for the conservatory. I go to the back of the house again, and see that the conservatory door has nowhere to unlock it on the outside. At this point I'm at the side of the house, not even in the garden! So I climb onto the shed, all the time thinking it will just collapse underneath me, and jump about 7 feet down into the garden over a huge rose bush.

I've finally made it into the house. I go to the front door, take the deadlock off, open the door, and get the fuck outta Dodge.

Today was another rainy day here in Boston. When it wasn't raining, it was overcast. Appropriately enough, my pug calendar (I love pugs, grew up around them since my Grandma has had them) had a pug with a yellow raincoat. The dog looks so cool.

I'm really looking forward to my San Antonio trip. My mom said that they got me a half-gallon of Pace picante sauce to bring back with me. This is a big deal for me, since in this area (the stores I shop at, at least), the largest bottle of Pace I've been able to find has been 8 oz. (Yes, that is pathetic!)

Speaking of food, I'm so burned out on food around our office for lunch. Besides, I got soaked while walking to pick something up today. It is about time I started bringing my lunch...not only for some variety, but I bet I can get by a lot cheaper and maybe even healthier (although I can make some pretty unhealthy lunches myself). I used to to pretty good -- sure, I'd make a lot of tuna salad sandwiches, but there was a fair share of leftovers and other interesting stuff too. I think my favorite leftovers are lasagna, it almost tastes better after it is reheated, and ummmm, that French bread. (Can you tell I have not yet eaten dinner?)

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