So, I get home yesterday after a fairly good day at work, and find that I can't get into my apartment because someone locked the bottom lock. Now, maybe this is something I shouldn't be telling the world, but Ben and I don't lock the botton lock. Ben doesn't even carry a key for the damned thing, and the only reason I do is because now that I'm a crotchety old man, I need more and more weight in my pockets to keep my belt from creeping up above my belly button. So anyway, I had an extra step in getting in, which is both annoying and highly confusing.

Then when I get in, I find that the place is . . . different somehow. Feels like someone has been in there and cleaned. The counters are uncluttered, there's a folded towel on the living room table, and the beer bottles are all in one place. When I walk into my room, I find that my bed has been made, my dresser tidied up, and drawer closed. Someone had come into the apartment while we were out and, viciously and with malice aforethought, cleaned it. After a quick phone call with Ben, I found out that the realtor had been in to show the place (did I mention we are getting the boot at the end of our lease? Worst thing ever), and straightend things up while she was here (right before she locked us out of the apartment).

Now, I don't know if this is unreasonable or not, but I was really angry about that. Like, working myself up into a lather angry. Ben told me that he considered withholding her phone number until I had moved from cold rage to a more reasonable heated anger, if only for her sake. Am I wrong? I'm just very uncomfortable with the idea of some person I don't know waltzing into my room (foxtrotting, even) and taking it upon themselves to just take care of a few things. It did allow me, when I spoke to her, to use the phrase "I don't care if you find a dead cat in the middle of the living room - you have to assume that is exactly where I wanted that cat staked out and you are not to touch it."

Which reminds me - she's showing it again on Sunday. Anyone have a dead cat I can borrow for a few hours?

In other news - I came back from Vegas a few days ago. That was a seriously good time. Both the being in Vegas, and the coming back. I learned a few things. The first is that I'm way worse at poker than I thought I was. The next was that money is way better spent being tucked into the g-string of a stripper than it is at the craps table. It buys you more time having fun, and there is just no way the croupier is going to rub her breasts on your head. Compare this to the stripper, for whom that's pretty much in the job description. Finally, I learned that while it's difficult to have a serious conversation with someone who has put her leg behind her head so she can stroke her thigh and nipple at the same time, it's not impossible.

Vegas rocks, by the way.