While it is true that I did in fact have the key in my pocket the entire time, I want you to know that I never actually knew this until the very end of my time in the restroom (around eight-hours). Fortunately, my emotions didn't run away with me--except for a few brief occasions, which we'll pass over and detour around. In fact, as an avid watcher of the Discovery Channel, I knew pretty much exactly what to do in this high stress situation.
First, I tried to contact the outside world--namely Frank. Being unsuccessful at reaching Frank upstairs, and since the landscapers directly below the window ignored me completely, I occupied myself trying to fix the leaking sink. While this endeavor wasn't entirely successful, I did learn how NOT to obtain drinking water from the toilet. Apparently, drinking directly from the toilet bowl is bad. Stomach hurts now, and I have strange feeling that something is growing inside me--like in Alien(s) starring Sigourney Tapestry.
Anyway, I wanted to let everyone know I am okay--if you call standing alone in the parking lot in my pajamas throwing up into oddly-familiar BMW "okay." Everything's fine here, so just move along. (This isn't the blog you're looking for.)
As soon as I find pants, plan to go get some barbecue. Nothing settles an upset stomach like authentic barbecue. Talk to you again soon!
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