I’d say I’ve come full circle but I’d still be locked out at the finish line.

You know how sometimes the universe just gives you signs?

Sometimes they mean it’s time to start something new. Sometimes they mean it’s time to take a minute to think about where you are now compared to where you were. Sometimes they mean it’s time to put your money where your mouth is and prove your worth. Sometimes they mean get your ass back to bed, clearly you are entirely unprepared for the world as it is today.

And sometimes they mean all of these things at once while also very clearly suggesting that while you can grow and live and succeed and evolve all you like, you’re still going to lock your damn self out of your house more times than any grown man should.

It happened again. Like Lucy pulling the proverbial football out from underneath a much gayer Charlie Brown, I walk-of-shamed my way into the back yard, once again knowing full well that it would be another few hours and embarrassing scenarios before I would taste the sweet protection of shelter. Just like the last four times this has happened:

1) The well-documented and oft-discussed time that locking myself out of the house resulted in a underwearless introduction to the neighbours, a barefooted cab ride to the newf’s school, and a shameful ten minute wait in the secretary’s office in my PJs during which I contemplated the many ways through which this would surely land me on the sexual predator list.

2) The much more depressing circumstance when I left to shovel the driveway, actively telling myself as I put my hand on the door handle – “Now don’t you fucking dare close this door.” – immediately before closing it and committing myself to a morning of mistaken identities, fake accents, and a 24-hour relationship with my $100 Christmas bonus that would inevitably became a locksmith’s $100 three-minute visit.

The next two times happened so soon after the others that they became less funny and more legitimately concerning. Thus? They went happily undocumented so that I could spend the blog-writing time getting lectured about needing more keys, hiding keys, giving people keys, and all these wonderful kinds of solutions that really show just how ready you all are to underestimate my ability to get myself in complicated, odd-defying situations.

I mean, c’mon. I’m not an idiot. Despite the picture that basically every word in this post contributes to, I know that you need a key to get into a house. Despite all the stories to the contrary, I know that you’re not supposed to close a locked door behind you if you have any intention of getting back in. The bottom line here is that this isn’t about me being unprepared to deal with these situations. Oh no. Not having keys hidden in the yard or stashed with trusted friends? That would be far too easy. What these stories are truly about is my ability to soar right past all the precautionary measures I put in place to keep myself out of trouble.

This may, in fact, be my one greatest talent.

The two keys usually stashed in the back yard (two because in the untold stories of #3 and #4, I proved that one simply isn’t enough…I need a flex key for when I forget to put the original back) were with the two groups of people who stayed in our house and watched the dogs while we were away. A third key was with my father who was out on his motorcycle instead of stationed an appropriate ten minutes from my house at all times which I thought we all agreed was the only way to avoid these problems. A fourth key was with our lesbians who were not at work (again, that would be too simple), but were actually stuck at a Bingo event with a grandmother. A fifth key was on the ring of my car keys as the service department held it hostage for the afternoon. And the sixth key? Well, that one was in the house.

You see? These are not just ordinary situations, foolish coincidences or failed life lessons. THESE ARE THE FORCES OF ALL THAT IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD FOCUSING ALL THEIR ATTENTION ON ME ON A NEAR-QUARTERLY BASIS.

Luckily, aside from my occasional drift into a Hunger Games-like state where I sat perched underneath our deck, poised to attack while the rainclouds passed by and desperately trying to come up with solutions that didn’t involve seeking refuge in the spider house, this time was largely uneventful and could be spent reflecting on the many failures in my life which led to this moment for the fifth time.