Crazy Old Man & An Angel Named Antonio

Hi, friends. Been a while, yeah? Yeah. I've been avoiding blogging on purpose because I doubt my frustrations would come out as cute as Kristina's last post. And I have no happy picture with a boy who loves and takes care of me to put at the bottom. Therefore, I've spared you. You're welcome.

I do have a couple stories, though. Want to hear them..? Ok. But only because you asked so nicely.

A couple days ago a lady BURST into my office with arms waving and SCREAMED, "I NEED SOMEONE TO COME OUTSIDE WITH ME RIGHT NOW! I NEED A WITNESS!"

I was in the back office and thought to myself,"...wtf?"

"There's a man EXPOSING HIMSELF out here and PEEING on the SIDEWALK!" she screamed.

I have to admit, I laughed. This is my life, people. Mom in the hospital dealing with everything that could go wrong under the sun, boyfriend of a year dumps me for greener pastures at BYU-I right in the middle of it, my dog has the worst gas in American and insists on sleeping with his otherwise cute and inoffensive rear end pointed directly at my face - and now I have to go deal with a random dude who felt like taking a whiz on the sidewalk.

As I walked outside and turned the corner I could see an older man with his pants undone, belt flopping in the breeze, doing a skip/hop/run away from the puddle he left on the ground (I guess the sound of the door startled him and he figured he could make his escape unnoticed by just running off with his pants down...?). I laughed again.

I assured the lady I'd get to the bottom of it, figured out who he was (thanks Margie at the Rec Center [<--where he tried to hide from me!]) and wrote the HOA a very concerned email. I guess this guy has peed several times like this in our VERY nice, private gated community in Rancho Bernardo. I can't believe there haven't been mobs of outraged housewives and their doctor/engineer/accountant businessmen husbands calling for blood over it. I mean...these people raise hell when a lightbulb goes out for crying out loud?? Whatever.

Second story. I'll make this one shorter, I promise. (I always get frustrated when I'm reading some gnarly long blog and there are no pictures. Believe me, I wish I had snapped a shot of the old guy running away for you - but, alas, I was ill prepared.)

I broke a drawer in the kitchen. I actually kind of ripped it to shreds, but I'm pretty sure I blacked out before it happened so the details are a bit hazy. I was upset (understatement) and when I shut the drawer politely the first time it bounced back open at me. After screaming at it for at least a straight minute (haha I swear I don't usually do that), I slammed it shut to show it who's boss. It had the GALL to bounce back open again. (Physics, you say??? YOU DIDN'T SEE THE LOOK IT WAS GIVING ME). So I slammed it again and again - this time I had no intention of shutting it, but punishing it - and when I regained my senses it was in several pieces in my hands. Then I cried for about an hour.

By the way, does anyone want to set me up with their brothers after reading this...? Thought so.

Anyways. I called Dad, bawling my eyes out (which luckily won me the sympathy card instead of a huge lecture). Fast forward to yesterday. I've been trying to fix it, but I'm absolutely unable. No glue was doing to undo the damage I did to that drawer. Especially since the only kind I readily have available to me at the house is a glue stick or glitter Elmer's glue. I even tried to petition my maintenance supervisor at work to fix it for me - BUT he's been out for a week with bronchitis and now walking pneumonia...so...boo.

I finally went to Home Depot, fully expecting to walk around for at least an hour trying to find someone to listen to my story and take pity on me. I wasn't above flirting at that point, people. That's how desperate the situation was. After walking around for 30 minutes asking every person I could find for help (even people who didn't work there but who looked like they might've murdered an innocent drawer or two in their lifetimes) I finally came upon Antonio.

Antonio took the drawer, went straight back to the lumber department, identified the wood, cut the wood, took out the screws from the shredded mess I handed him and put everything back together. In 15 minutes. And it cost me $2.00. And I almost started crying for joy. ANTONIO! You SAVED me!! This guy went out of his way to help someone when he really didn't have to. He could've just showed me where the wood was and left me there. BUT he didn't.

I tried to tell him how grateful I was, but he just looked at me like I was starting to freak him out. I wanted to tell him how stressed out I've been and how I don't have a boy in my life to ask for help anymore and how my mom's in the hospital and I broke the drawer because I was having a break down and how I'm going to pray for his health and success every night for the rest of my life because he was so nice to me when he didn't have to be. And now I'm sitting here crying again as I'm typing all of this because I feel so grateful that there are people out there who are willing to help.

So, that's all. Those are my two stories for today. Maybe I'll blog again and tell you about me chasing Ludo down the street with wearing pajamas that were absolutely unfit for public consumption, or my new love 26, or how we all almost died last night from gas inhalation. Sound good? Maybe if you're lucky I will.

And now I'm going to be late for work because I'm sitting on the couch in my pajamas blogging with my gassy dog (who is trying to cuddle me to death) instead of getting ready for work. Meh. I have five minutes. Ready? Go.