ExOfNote, The Teen Girl Squad, and Sleeping Arrangements

The Teen Girl Squad who lived in the upstairs of my house for the past eight months finished moving out on Saturday. I really liked them, but they were a whole lot, well, Teen Girl Squad-esque.

In the beginning of this month So and So came down-stairs to pay her rent. Her lease ended on the 23th, and she, apparently, was unaware of how to pro-rate things, so I had to calculate it for her. Fine, whatever, I didn't mind doing it for her -- it wasn't that big of a deal. However, on the 23rd when I went up-stairs to verify her check-out time (I had to check out the state of the place with her there so she could get her deposit back) she said she would be finished "sometime tonight," but probably too late for me to check her out, so would I mind doing it in the morning? "Sometime tonight like midnight, or sometime tonight like 3am?" I asked her. Now, normally I wouldn't care, but let me let you in on a little secret of which she was blissfully unaware -- ExOfNote was in town, and in the interest of saving on a hotel room I had every intention of him sleeping on the futon in her freshly vacated living room. So, 3am wasn't going to work for us, basically.

"This morning, like 3am," she told me. Ahh, tragically (for her) I held the trump card -- we both knew how much of a brat she had been about me pro-rating her rent exactly for her (as in: to the last cent). So, I sighed, shook my head sadly, and regretfully told her that her contract ended on the 23rd, so she had to be out by midnight on the 23rd. However, I wouldn't mind checking her out in the morning. Later plans changed and I checked her out that night, around 12-ish. As she and her family left ExOfNote and I made our way downstairs and hung out for about an hour before I took him upstairs to sleep.

Now, let's fast forward to Tuesday morning. Once again, ExOfNote had spent the night in the vacant living room upstairs, to which I have all of the keys. Due to a series of events which I shall undoubtedly relate later, I got up early and took my roommate on an errand before dropping her off at work. Immediately thereafter I came home, and headed upstairs to wake ExOfNote so he could get ready because we had to leave for the airport shortly. I walked in the front door, and sat down on the futon upon which he was sleeping, and rubbed his tummy to wake him up. At that moment there was a knock on the door. I had a momentary panic attack when I recognized the silhouette -- my retarded landlord! The problem here, which is not readily apparent to any of you is many-fold:

(1) the front door opens into the living room;
(2) the living room is ultra-small, so the futon is right in front of the door so I couldn't open it all the way;
(3) ExOfNote was still sleeping;
(4) the front door has a 4" wooden frame holding in a clear glass window;
(5) even though the front door has blinds hanging on it, I am well aware exactly how much you can see into the room with them closed and standing in the correct proximity to door -- which is where my landlord was standing; and
(6) my landlord had no clue ExOfNote was staying there; however, due to the previous morning's events this could be a huge problem.

Allow me to take a quick tangent --
Sunday night Mom, Dad, ExOfNote, and myself all went to Salt Lake and got one hotel room (2 beds and the most hilarious roll-away ever! My butt practically hit the floor when I climbed in.) to save money. I got up early to take the folks to the airport then returned to the hotel room to get some more sleep. When I finally got up to take a shower my landlord decided it was a good time to call. ExOfNote answered my cell phone and told him that I was in the shower and would call him when I got out. YIKES! Not that it's any of his business, but that coupled with him seeing ExOfNote sleeping in the upstairs can lead a fellow to assume some seriously incorrect things.

Anyway, so there we were, ExOfNote sleeping peacefully on the couch in the middle of the living room of a supposedly vacant unit, me sitting on the edge of said futon rubbing his tummy, and my landlord, standing at the door seeing, and assuming, more than I would like. I got up, opened the door, and stepped out-side where we talked for a bit. 10 minutes later my landlord asks the one question I had been hoping he wouldn't: "So, can I see inside?" Sure, no problem. I let him in, and we step around the couch. By this time ExOfNote is awake enough to be completely disoriented. "This is my friend, ExOfNote. He's in town for the weekend, and we needed a place to put him. You don't mind, do you?" "No, not at all." *Whew!* No more questions about that, at all. No discussion, no nothing. Thank goodness, too; because, let's face it, even though it's not remotely any of his business if ExOfNote and I are just friends or having wild-monkey-jungle sex every waking moment, I didn't want to have to explain jack-anything to him.