Key Hunter

So there I was, returning home at 1:30AM Saturday night/Sunday morning after a successful ghost hunt. I was happy that I had spent an evening with friends doing something I love and ecstatic that we had a couple of weird things happen. And then it hit me in the gut.

I didn't have a house key.
And the ringer was turned off the phone handset in our bedroom.
And Ty-man wears a CPAP machine which means he can't hear anything, including the doorbell.

Frakking frak-stick.

After my fellow investigators dropped me off (I told them to leave because, good gracious, what could they do?), I began throwing rocks at our second-story bedroom windows, calling the phone (Maybe he would hear the ringing going on downstairs?) and ringing the doorbell (Maybe the kids would hear the doorbell, start crying, and wake up their dad?). And nothing worked. And I was doing the pee-pee dance.

Yeah. It was almost 2AM/3AM (idiot Daylight Savings) and I had to pee and there wasn't a toilet in sight.

So, off I went to the back yard and as you fellow gals know, it's impossible for a woman to pee standing up without peeing on her pants, socks, undies, legs, feet, shoes, yadda, yadda. Everything. And that is why I found myself half-naked, in the pine straw next to the back of my house, squatting, and peeing.

Yeah, you read that right. I took a piss in my backyard. And it was liberating. And FREEZING!

Empty bladder achieved, I found a dry leaf for dabbing and got back to the task at hand. How, in the name of Zeus's butt hole, was I going to get into my house? I walked back to the front door and continued my rock throwing/doorbell ringing/phone calling combo, all to no avail.

And that's when Jodi, the Girl Scout troop leader, the "crack"ies pusher, the HOA President, came out of her front door. I figured she was investigating the ruckus, on the phone with 911, brandishing a box of Samoas. Actually, her dog needed to take a leak and his full bladder saved my ass because we raided her garage for an eight-foot ladder and a hockey stick.

What followed was a tense five minutes of setting up the ladder on my front stoop, me climbing and trying not to fall, banging on the bedroom window with the stick, and both of us laughing our asses off, all while trying to stay as quiet as possible. Because the other neighbor? Is a light sleeper. Finally, after two minutes of lip-biting, window-knocking, and giggling, the Ty-man emerged sleepy-eyed and in his plaid boxers (RAWR!).

Jodi? Awarded Neighbor of the Year. Me? Hiding approximately ten keys all over our yard so that maybe, just maybe, I'll remember where at least one is squirreled away and I won't need to piss in my backyard ever again.