Maybe in My Next Life

• Observational Humor
• 5 Comments on Maybe in My Next Life
• Posted on 14 January, 201030 April, 2011
• by Katie Schwartz

If you’ve been following my twitter stream, you know about the break in. If not, keep reading.

Let me begin by saying, you know you’re an addict when

1. You wake up at 4 AM and realize you’re out of fucking coffee. Your mind feverishly races.
   1. You curse yourself and everything else out.
   2. The desperation to smell rich, butch coffee percolating is so intoxicating that you’d blow a homeless person; allow Satan to anally rape you and promise to deliver a quality spawn a la Rosemary’s Baby, but way more 2.0; stop writing and become a grave digger.
2. You clumsily grab your things, a la pachinko ball style; hoist hooters into bra check, pee check, pocketbook check, keys check-ish.
3. As you exit your apartment locking the door behind you, you realize you took the wrong fucking set of mother fucking keys. You’re locked out of your house and the building, should you leave. You don’t have your car keys and you left your Blackberry in the friggin house.
4. It’s pouring rain, not drizzling; torrential beads of rain are pounding the building and bouncing off of cars. This does not deter you, you just need a plan.
5. You exit the back door of the building and place a mat between the door and the lock, so you can re-enter if your dumb ass idea fails.
6. You make your way into the dirty, knee deep in mud, bug laden pathway between your building and the one next door. Once there, you try to figure out which apartment is yours. At 4AM, who thinks clearly?!

Fortunately, I keep all of my windows open. After fondling screens that seemed to be mine; once I hit window, I realized; like a schmuck, I almost broke into my neighbor’s apartment.

Clomping through the mud, more window fondling, and I was outside of my living room, the most reachable window in the joint. I’m a Jew x 4 = fat. Still. I couldn’t maneuver myself into the window without assistance. And, and, and, I had to remove the screen. I don’t usually carry screw drivers in my pocketbook. I did what any girl at 4 AM would do; I tore the screen open with my key and determinedly yanked the screen off the wall so hard, I fell backwards into the mud fab. At least I was able to hurl my pocketbook through the window.

I trekked through the mud looking for wood to create a pile in front of my window, so I could reach it. More rain, more mud, a shit load of heavy ass wood and I thought I had the perfect pile. I kept trying to reach—bupkas. During one attempt, I managed to get my bra stuck on two nails as I slid back down, so did my titskas, out of my bra and towards my waist.

40 minutes later, I was almost there, I just needed something to make my pile taller. I walked all the way back to the entrance and found a multi-gallon thing of white paint. That thing was so fucking heavy. I dragged it and myself through the mud to my wood pile, what fun! Once on top of my sorry ass pile of wood, it was precarious at best and reeked of, if I fall, it will be on a nail that pokes a vital organ.

Would a crack addict give up? No. I was staying the course. After a few botched attempts, I was in the perfect position to jump through the window. Picture it, a fat chick soaring through a window with the grace of an elephant stampede.

I didn’t think the landing through, shit I didn’t think any part of this debacle through. I landed on my head on the hardwood floors. I digress fab.

One would think that I’d give up, right? Wrong. Or, at the very least, assess the damage to the window and oneself. I grabbed my bag; the right set of keys and went straight to the car.

At the GroSto, I bought three things of coffee. Nobody said jack shit, so I figured I must not be as muddy as I thought I was.

HA. After I got home, I went to the bathroom and found globs of mud on my face, strewn through my hair and all over my sweatshirt. The GroSto peeps probably thought I was high, or blew the aforementioned homeless man in the mud.

Nobody called the police. I was simultaneously relieved and disgusted. If I was a robber, evidently, I was a shitty one considering I was louder than a crane falling on a building. What if someone was trying to bust in and kill me, what then?! Have we devolved into a society that doesn’t bother to see what’s going on? Conversely, I was thrilled; getting arrested for breaking and entering at the crack of dawn wouldn’t have gotten me any closer to that fucking cup of coffee (@JoeTheCop, can you be arrested for breaking into your own house?).

PS: I still don’t know where the other set of keys are, which is probably for the best, and I destroyed my window.