~Shit Storms pt. II~
If you're just now getting at this, this is a two-parter to a journal entry that I just posted. Why, you might ask, is it I'm posting them in two places? Well, the fact of the matter is, the posts are just too big for Facebook. *THAT* much shit, has happened in my life, in the last two months, worth going into detail about. And we all know I'm pretty big on detail. Now, I've set up a few things, and the most recent of things would be the job market. Since then, I've been trying out at other places too, although loosely--like I said, I didn't even have a tremendous reason at this point to go looking for one other than the fact that I wanted more hours when I got out of Gyro's.
And Gyro's, and life dealing with Gyro's, was taxing enough as it was.
~Living Conditions~
~Life at the Elliot's~
I've always loved visiting Rebecca's family, which is where Zeke and Rebecca currently live. Her dad is just tremendous, although I'll be first to admit I never really got to know her mom or sister that well--they seem nice. Rebecca's dad was tank driver/shooter for the military back in his time with the army, so he's always got tremendous stories to tell (not that his good stories are only limited to military life), and we can talk about anything ranging from whiskeys to pleasant discussions on religions. And what's more, they tolerated my presence throughout this whole Gyro's thing without a single fuss. Dude simply said, "make yourself at home, help yourself to whatever", and that's rare. People's parents aren't usually that kinda nice to me--Matt's parents, Rahan's parents, and Nick's parents rank among the most memorable.
I was using the typical spot guests use, or at least the one me and Jasmine would use, a little side-cove to the entry of the front door. It was decked out with piano, a red couch, a British flag-decorated blanket citing the awesomeness of girls all over it (I assume this used to be Rebecca's at some point), Mention Geoffry, fish, an innerestin' clock made of weird lights I could never figure out, and a massive library of old, informative books, namely on cars and history. This room had seen a lot of memories, and it comforting despite them, and this was my "room" for what would be the month of October while things continue to go on back at the Monroe house. I had a tremendous time there, what little time it is that was spent not sleeping, and it was a relief from the stresses going on in my life--not much of one, but one all the same.
That's not to say there were no issues. Not only did I feel like kind of a mooch 'cuz I didn't (yet) have the money to invest in much more than treating Zeke and Rebecca to what meals I could afford us via PetSmart checks, but by being told by Rebecca's dad to make myself at home, I'd constantly--and inadvertently--do something to upset her brother Geoff. One thing would lead to the next, as well, so complaints stacked up and I don't doubt I made him more than a little irritated by it. Like, I'd use some shampoo and I'd hear, oh, that was Geoff's shampoo. Note to self, don't use it anymore. Then I'd hear, oops that was Geoff's poptarts, that was Geoff's mountain dew, that was Geoff's bread, that was Geoff's--I remember sitting in the corner of Zeke's thinking, "Wow, how out of whack is this? He owns more of the things in this house than the others put together, and he doesn't pay a thing!"
The list went on. Literally anything I touched ended up being Geoff's no matter where in the house it was, and Geoff would hear about it (or see it), and tell us he didn't appreciate his things being touched and would like it if I didn't do it anymore ever again. Even the community Mountain Dew ended up becoming just Geoff's. I didn't get it, especially from a standpoint that--where I come from anyhow, everything is pretty much community unless it's in your room. And even then, I don't mind sharing much. When I lived with people that didn't have computers of their own, for instance, I'd just let 'em use mine: Tommy, Shanna, Sean, Shaun, Emily, Carlos, James Major, James Erickson, Robert, Richard, my little brother Stephen, Jasmine, and many other guests compose a long list of people that used my computer for months 'til they got their own squared away.
And I never minded (unless they refused to get off when I needed it. Namely Richard).
So, it just didn't make sense to me. But, in general, I'm not a fan of the hoarding mentality anyway. I like to share, and do it for funzies; it's all material shit to me. But, I also didn't go around trying to take everything either--I'd generally ask someone if I could grab something from the 'fridge to eat or some such, and it'd be good. Then, I'd run into it later that it was Geoff's, and I made a colossal blunder. I finally just learned to touch and eat nothing. That quieted the complaints down some, at least! The rest of our time was spent either me reading Eric Bischoff's book, or us watching Kevin Smith's "Evening With" series. Other shows or movies would mix in if we were bored enough. But these were rare events--usually it was us sleeping, drinking, or working.
The only reasons we might NOT have been sleeping is because work was too soon to get decent sleep. I have a philosophy: If you can't get five or more hours of sleep, don't. You won't function nearly as well at work if you only have two hours as you would if you just plow through with no hours. Thus, no sleep pretty much ever. While all of this was going on, as it was mentioned already, I was barely ever at the Monroe apartments. Zeke's place became my home for a month, more or less; I'd check in on the Monroe apartments like twice a week the first two weeks, and then even less the following two. One of these instances had made some very major changes on how things happened from this day forward. It snowballed things.
~While I Was Gone~
At one point, I got a chance to stop back by the house. Zeke had expressed tremendous interest in the PS3 being brought over in the past for us to buy King of Fighters XII and Smackdown vs RAW 2010 for, as well as my other collection of fighting games, since we were into that sorta thing--us two and Randy, that is. So, upon getting there, I pack my PS3 up and my fighting games, and I leave that evening. That night, not too long after I was gone, Jim and Matt and Ridgway had all gone over to Wally and Cheri's to hang out with them and Brian, possibly Mike and Nagel as well--I couldn't be sure. The point is, when Jasmine came home on the very rare times that she decided to do so, she was locked out of the house.
The apartment was intended for two people, and thus there were three keys. Apartment complexes tend to give out as many keys as there are rooms, plus one. When I got there, Jim had a key, Ridgway had a key, and Veronica and Cheryl had a key. Since they were only temporary, and me and Matt were permanent, Jim decided to give me a key and told me that he was going to trust me with it. Shortly thereafter, Matt stole the key off of my wallet. It never made sense why he should have it, to be honest--he was always in the apartment unless he was leaving with Jim and Ridgway--people with keys, and I was the one that was constantly in motion entering and leaving the house whenever I needed to, and more than once did I suffer outside because I didn't have one anymore. I talked to Jim about it, eventually, so he gave me his key instead.
Still, this meant Jasmine never had a key, and here she was calling the room mates to see who she could muster to open the door for her. Ridgway responded to the call, he was gonna turn in early anyhow. So, he came home. With her with the downstairs neighbors--at least one of them anyway, going under the assumed name Adam. I doubt this name only because these are Mexican Thuglettes, and Adam just sounds too basic a name in the first place...but! I could be wrong. It didn't much matter, the point is, I never really trusted anyone from that apartment below us. They'd willingly admitted to selling and doing drugs (and not just pot, I'll add. Meth.) and they seemed extremely opportunist. You live in a ghetto-world long enough, you start to have an idea of who's honest and who's not in that kind of environment.
Adam was not one of those I considered to be honest, and I'd told Jasmine as much.
But anyway, I wasn't here, and Ridgway was. He opens the door and lets her in, and Adam with his two friends come in after. There's conflicting stories, but it boils down to this: Krystal, another person from down there, was not feeling good, and Adam was up there also, and there was beers to be had. Ridgway said he was gonna turn in, so as Adam's two friends are leaving, Ridgway says he'll leave the door unlocked so that when Jasmine goes, she can come back in. ...Big mistake #2. (the first was letting them in to see the stuff in the first place!) The two friends leave, and she leaves with Krystal and Adam down to their apartment. Door's left unlocked, and those friends circle back around and take Matt's Nintendo Wii and Jim's X-Box 360, and a handful of my video games and Ridgway's video games, including Smackdown vs RAW 2009, Guilty Gear XX, Disgea, the Street Fighter Alpha Anthology, and Final Fantasy VII: Dirge of Cerberus.
Gone. What's worse, that Wii was a gift from Matt's mom, that was then modded-the-fuck-out by Rahan. The ultimate in Nintendo systems, all those saves? Gone.
It was a quick job, because no cords or controllers were taken that weren't immediately accessible. Thankfully, my computer wasn't stolen either. With Ridgway sleeping in his room with the door closed, it prolly wouldn't have been difficult. But most importantly of all? My PS3, which I'd taken with me back to Zeke's mere hours before, and my KoF collection, were safe and sound. In fact, that's why Matt and Jim didn't call the cops right off the bat when they came back home finally at ridiculous in the morning--Matt had seen me packing up the PS3, and naturally assumed I packed up everything else as well and took it somewhere. They went to bed feeling things were safe and sound. That is, until I made a return back to the apartment the next day (downtime from PetSmart, lucky them!)
Ridgway asked me if I'd taken them, and of course I said no. Then as silence settled on us, we realized what had happened. According to Ridgway, Jasmine had a party with friends over last night. This wasn't exactly accurate--sure there were friends and beer, but party? But that's all I knew, that it was a party, and the shady-ass downstairs neighbors were involved in it. So I went with that, and called Jasmine first. No answer to her cellphone, fine, next up was to destroy Adam. I threw on my shoes again, and my coat, pulled my hair into it's ponytail, and prepared to exchange knuckles. I don't think Adam expected me to pound on his door. ...I don't think Adam expected me at all, maybe he thought I moved out. It was an educated guess. Unfortunately, I hadn't, and I was there, and I was mad, and he knew it, and why.
After some questioning, he told me that they were Jasmine's friends, and not his. That she was the one throwing the party and invited him to join them, and then went and suggested it was possible she helped steal the things themselves to sell them. Did I believe that? Not really, but he was scared, and it was worth following up to see if they were Jasmine's friends and not Adam's. After all, I had no descriptions to go by, and Jasmine has a truck-load of druggie friends she barely knows that she rolls around with--Adam and Krystal are just one of them. So, I go back upstairs, and I contact Jim, to update him and hear instructions. After all, the most expensive things stolen were Jim and Matt's, and Jim is the only one on the lease. This is more his problem then anyone else's.
Jim tells me he'll be here, and immediately tells his job that he must take time off for the day to deal with the fact that his house was just robbed. No job's gonna deny you this if they hear a valid reason like that, and certainly wouldn't terminate you, so naturally they let him go (and wouldn't have a choice even if they didn't want to) and he arrived home in no time at all. We scoured the place to see what, if anything, was taken, and found that Jasmine's laptop was also gone. Jasmine never takes her laptop, so it was safe(r) to assume that it also was stolen--after all, a laptop is not difficult to disconnect and run off with like a desktop is. Once we added up all the damage, we called the police, and then Ridgway went to try and talk to Jasmine by calling her at the job.
The thing of it was, Jasmine was busy. Now, like I'd mentioned, you can tell your job "I just got robbed, can you give me a minute?" and they'll more than accommodate--I don't care if they're Nordstrom's or fucking NASA. But Jasmine didn't see it that way, and rather than explain things to her employers, she just told Ridgway--after saying those weren't her friends--that she had to go. Ridgway has the social graces of a Shrew, i.e. it gets worse when frustrated, so that didn't help things any. She hung up on him, and angry, he stormed out to go speak to Adam--in which Jim and Matt followed him. Ridgway went on to explain to them that Jasmine obviously felt it wasn't her problem, which isn't exactly what she said, but I could understand how he felt. All the same, I was too brain-fried and pissed to argue the fine points.
At this time, I was just trying to stay out of the way. James knew I wanted to kick open this kid's door and find the things myself, and asked that I do no such thing--and since it was mostly his stuff and Matt's stuff, they had most say over the happenings; I'd respect that. I blew off steam talking to Chris Harris, until I eventually went down to see what had developed. Jim had to takeover the conversation from Ridgway, more or less because at his meanest, he commanded all the respect of a cub scout in a room full of gangbangers. Adam insisted it wasn't his doing, but had by now claimed he knew the guys and he could try to get them back if he saw them, but for us to absolutely not call the police under any grounds.
I don't think James understood the magnitude of the problem, or that Ridgway intended to follow through calling the police. Adam was a great whiner--he’d get these puppy-dog eyes and be very emotional. He was a good con artist. I was shocked that Jim seemed to be trying to find a way to compromise. Maybe he was overwhelmed by Adam's passion on avoiding the police. He spun these great tales about how he'd get killed for snitching by fellow "gangstas", and so on. But looking back, I think Jim seems to have seen this as the path of least resistance, so he took it. Jim didn’t like confrontation or tough decisions. So, he told Adam that he wouldn't call the cops until 4pm, and wouldn't call them at all if our stuff was returned by then. It was something like, noon, by this point. Then, we went to 7-11.
It was my opinion that waiting until 4pm was ludicrous. OBVIOUSLY, he was behind it. Adam swore he'd nothing to do with it, it was only his buddies, but I mean come on. When I first moved there, Adam offered me an X-Box 360 complete with Guitar Hero, the guitar FOR Guitar Hero, and several games for $200. I didn't play Guitar Hero, and we already had two X-Box 360s (Matt's was at Nagel's thankfully), and it was shady, and I had no money to speak of anyway, so I declined...and then a few weeks before Gyro's started, Adam needed a phone number from the Yellow Pages. I had him wait by the door while I looked it up on the computer, and he scoped a peak at my PS3--and then the rest of the systems, and complimented many times that it was "very nice"...very nice set up, it must have cost a lot, etc etc.
Then, he's just magically enticing Jasmine down to listen to some rap demos. And he's a Goddamn meth-addict druggy. I hate, hate, druggies. All drugs. Hate.
But, James said he gave his word and wouldn't break it. So, wanting some kind of justice for the wrongs laid upon my friends, I turn to Ridgway. I wouldn't have Jim break his honor, but Ridgway made no such call, and he was opportunistic anyway. And he was literally chittering at the bit to call the cops, so he made it so. They came by the time we got back from the 7-11, and Adam was very, very gone. He also had a warrant for his arrest for beating his wife. What a guy. So, the officer showed up, and we explained the things that had been missing: Jim's X-Box 360, Matt's Nintendo Wii, Jasmine's laptop, and several video games belonging to me and Ridgway. We told him the accounts of everything until that point, and he wanted to call Jasmine that instant.
So, Ridgway gave him the info to do so, since he knew Jasmine's work number.
She was not happy. Apparently she was called over the PA that the police wanted to speak to her. Why someone would say that over the PA is beyond me, and doesn't even seem to add up--professional companies and all--but all the same, she was infuriated. She explained those weren't her friends and she had never seen them before, just like Adam originally did before changing his story, but Jasmine's was far more believable. Anyway, it was discovered that Jasmine actually took her laptop, so all of our concerns for her stuff's safety weren't really required, and (as she's said it) we were wasting her time. As ol' Jimi Hendrix once said, "I didn't mean to take up all your sweet time...I'll give it back to ya, one'a these days."
With that done, and the police done talking to me, I finally went with Zeke and left. I suppose I could have stayed rather than going to work that day, helped sort it out, but like I said...most of the stuff that was taken was Matt and Jim's, and the people on the lease were Ridgway and Jim, and the people present for the robbery that lived there were Ridgway and Jasmine. That means everyone was involved but Walker, aside from a few video games...and those are easily hidden and gotten rid of, so I was shit out of luck. Me, Zeke, and Chris (Harris) all said to check the local pawn shops and Gamestops to see if they've been sold as our parting advice (something else they didn't think of, something else you learn living on the streets), but no one kept the model numbers or any of that info. Aw well.
~Jasmine Is Out~
There's a coined two phrases that's circling around our friends here and in Florida (and any friends in between) called "Done Like Chris-Done" and "Done Like Jasmine Done". The first was created when Chris Merritt was having his relationship issues with Lauren. He'd say they broke up, and that he was done--for real done, and then they'd be hanging out together again, back together again, working things out again, then they were breaking up again, and he was done again. "Chris-Done" meant you quit for now because you were emotionally fed up, but you'd come back to it later. Later down, when Jasmine decided she was done with everything (she called them the "fuck its"), she didn't come back. She'd just give up because it was too much, and no matter how worth it, she didn't believe in herself enough to muster the courage.
Same thing as "Chris-Done", only "Jasmine-Done" meant there was no coming back later.
Well, it would seem things in the house were heading to "Jasmine-Done" at about a thousand miles an hour. I'd seen this kind of momentum before, the first time Jasmine flipped out because things got too much and exploded on James and James exploded right back. Matt saw my face when it started to happen--it was like a train wreck going out of control in slow motion: you can't stop it, you can't even hope to stop it, it's too much, BUT...it's slow, and it's going to suck. A lot. Last time, I spent days pulling every charismatic maneuver that communication-classes taught me alongside ol' Dustin Welton to manipulate the setting back into a friendly one; I literally spent a day talking to everyone, setting up a huge family meeting, and making everyone's (very true) concerns get fleshed out and in the open.
Articulating degrees of concern without being hostile and reconstructing things takes a certain kind of negotiation. That's why you need a negotiator. That's what I do.
This time around, however, I wasn't there for that, and the train-wreck was personified by Ridgway. I'm not saying he's a heartless bastard, but he certainly didn't seem to like Jasmine, and Jasmine certainly didn't seem to like him back. Ridgway saw an opportunity to finally get Jasmine out of the picture, and in his mind possibly a very legitimate one, and jumped on the opportunity. He'd say things to Jim like, "she refused to cooperate on the phone" even though that's not entirely it--she just believed she couldn't do it at that moment, and he wouldn't let her go, so she finally hung up on him. When she eventually called back, Ridgway would say she never said she was sorry, and he said that she said she wasn't responsible for any of this whatsoever--and that wasn't entirely it, either.
Which would be just silly to say, 'cuz those people (Adam and friends) wouldn't have even come up there if it wasn't for Jasmine being there, and she was the last to leave. Responsibility in all things. Not to say she meant to do it, far from the truth, but if I'd unintentionally gotten my friend's stuff stolen, I'd not only feel really awful about it, and feel very much responsible, but I'd be offering to help pay it back when I could. Anyway, I'm not saying that Ridgway is purposefully misquoting either--he may have seen it like that, and concluded it wrongly, there've always been a lack of communication with these room mates--it's why I had to do what I did to resolve everything last time, because people wouldn't say everything, or they'd just assume the other knew and get upset that the person didn't act on it.
What I AM saying is, rather than letting it slide, he told it to Jim, and multiple times, and earnestly. He wanted Jasmine gone. Now, I wasn't here so I can't say for positive, but what I've concluded happened is that Jim, not having enough to really solidify what Jasmine actually is saying and also not feeling that his things are yet safe, wanted to sit down with Jasmine and clear absolutely everything out before continuing on. I talked to him some on it, and in his mind, this place is his--James and Ridgway are on the lease, no one else. That means Jim and Ridgway's concerns tend to be what is legally important, and you just don't invite people into the apartment that isn't exactly yours was his understanding. The stories conflicted, and he wanted them to be cleared up, so he told Jasmine that, until everyone's got a chance to sit down and talk it through, she needs to stay somewhere else.
Now, when I heard about this the next day from Jasmine while I was at Zeke's house, I felt that I don't think he would have offered this if he didn't expect her to do it anyway. As much as I was disappointed in James for not standing up for Jasmine earlier, I still trusted him, and do to this day. He's an honest person--sometimes painfully so. There may be a lot of political DNA in James, but I don't think there's a dishonest bone in his body. Jasmine had barely been at the apartments, maybe as much as I'd been. She'd be out partying and living it up in other people's houses, not ours, such as the many times she'd go and stay at Katie Headley's (not to be confused with our own Katie Atkisson).
It seemed to me when there was pressure on her, I think she’d get so frustrated with things that she couldn't function. Then she'd throw up her hands and go party for a week or two at a time. At least it seemed that way to me. She had the emotional constitution of an eggshell in my opinion. But once again, poor communication--and it's not the kind of poor communication where things are said wrong. It's that whatever's been said is assumed to mean something else. In this case, Jasmine took this to mean that James was kicking her out of the house. Now, Jasmine has assumed things many times in the past. Why? I don't know. We all know how to spell Assume.
You can't know the reasons for why someone's doing something. You can deduce, you can hypothetical, sure--but even then, nothing is in concrete, and nothing is for-sure until it is verified. If someone says "Man, I'm hungry." and someone else assumes, "Walker wants money from me so he can buy food", that's wrong. All I said was that I'm hungry. No hidden message, no asterisk, no double-meanings, and no additions...for fuck's sake! There MIGHT be something more to it, but it's not what you think it is, and you should ask...assuming there's anything there at all. Real men speak their minds, point blank, typically. But again, I wasn't there to clear this kind of thing up like I usually do. So, she packs up her game--everything she owns--and she leaves. Forever.
Talk about your shit storms.
James seemed to be ok with that, because none of his concerns were answered. To him, her taking off when there needed to be a talk was her basically telling him either that what Ridgway said was true and she had no way to fight it, or that even if it wasn't true it wasn't worth fighting to keep Jim's friendship. It was over by the time I heard about it, and just as well because I didn't have the energy to do another of what I did. My brain was so fried by now, I was barely on auto-pilot. Now that I'm back and better, I realize I would have done things differently. See, not to be all Disney here, but in my opinion, "Ohana means family." Your people are your people, and you work it out. I wouldn't have kicked her out for one night, I'd'a had words about it then and there. I didn't agree.
People living with you working against you and only for themselves--hoarding, selfish assholes--aren't your people, they've made that clear, but Jasmine hadn't been that.
But it was over, she was content to be in Tracey, moved in with a guy named Josh, and in all honesty things quieted quite a bit when I got back to the Monroe apartments since I originally left--a big difference in November 1 from October 1. But there was also a level of disorientation. For the first time since I moved here, I wasn't hanging out with Jasmine fifteen or sixteen hours a day. After having this relationship occupy my mind even when I wasn't with her--or even awake, for that matter, because I used to dream about her--it was suddenly gone. It was like a chemical imbalance in my brain. I kept wanting to pick up the phone and tell her that I'd be there, and tell her that I really cared. I wanted to ask if we could turn back the clock and just forget whatever put us in this mess, but there was nothing to turn back.
~There's A Light At The End Of The Tunnel!~
~but there's a pit half-way there.~
With that, things were pretty much over in terms of whatever momentum I ran on left. Every ending leads to new complications. We finished out Gyro's, as we were at the end of the run when this happened anyway, and I returned to the Monroe apartments. It was empty, and I had this feeling that I'd completely lost my footing when it came to Jasmine. That's not to say I was not still trying to get back with her, just that when she was living with us, I felt there was a chance. We were still going to be sharing the same room, and maybe things would calm down enough in life that it'd get back on track. Now, it didn't seem as doable, and my brain was so absolutely fried I was literally beyond the drinking-tar stage and clearly into the two like-poles being repelled against each other. My brain would absolutely not compute things that weren't already in memory, and already instinct.
That's not to say we never heard from Jasmine again. I'd get very infrequent updates here and there. She messed up her back really bad at her job (which she managed to keep despite her now living in Tracey--what a commute, and she thought the bus was bad!), she was having constant issues with her mother concerning probably everything under the sun (including the mom taking away her car at some point), we hung out for precisely one day when we went up to some mountains to see her favorite spot in the universe (that was a day full of mixed signals), which was supposed to be spent taking her to the doctor's that she decided to blow off for the fun instead, her getting a paycheck of over $1,000 from our house courtesy of the government paying for her schooling (that her mom was doing her homework for), and of course the most recent and startling of her news, her room mate Josh shooting himself.
~Dead Room-Mates.~
This year was apparently a big year for dead room-mates among my friends. Scott's room mate had taken a gun to his head in the shower only a few months ago, leaving it for Scott to find, and deal with. Alex's room mate also ended up dead, and I was jackass enough to step in it by joking around about why he wasn't there that night at the Gyro's doing his job (Alex tended to not come in sometimes. I was just kidding. Then...the reality of it, and oops.) He knew I was joking and there were no hard feelings, but...then you have this Josh guy that Jasmine was living with, and he also shoots himself. And Jasmine gets to be the one to find it. It is just apparently a bad year for room-mates. I felt for the people that lost their friends and companions--I remember how I felt, and still feel, about Sterling's own death--but I couldn't do anything much to fix it. Useless again.
I'm no stranger to dead friends, or dead room mates, or being around suicidal people. Hell, I used to be that suicidal person, and nothing short of Zak and Rahan was able to save me from that. But, due to Rahan and Zak, I can't actually feel as sorry for the guy that did himself in any, either. I mean, I do feel bad that he suffered so tremendously as to want to end his own life, sure, but...willingly killing yourself is messy business, especially with a gun, and it goes to show the degree of your selfishness and willpower. And I don't mean the unfortunate cleaning bills of the many, many questions you've loaded your friends up with the cops, either, or the family that's gotta pay your outstanding debts now that you've left this plane of existence.
Are you saying there's no one else out there to care about enough to keep on going? Sure, your life is shit, but do you honestly want to make these other people feel horrible about your death too?? No. Of course not. You didn't think about that, you jus--exactly. Selfish. You could be there for someone else, right now, that needs you--but where will you be? Dead. You say, "I can't think of a situation where I'd be useful so"...but, you never do think of that situation. You never know when something will come up that you could help with, Hell you could inadvertently cure cancer right? Only, now you won't, 'cuz you're not there to do it. Life won't always be horrible if you do what you can to get out of it...and even if it is? At least you fought your hardest for it, and for your friends, instead of letting Life win--'cuz it did. It wanted you to give up, and you obliged, and it now laughs.
I don't mean to go off on a rant, but shit like that really pisses me off. I saw through her MySpace and Facebook status-feeds that Jasmine had all these nightmares, and that things were horrible for her 'cuz she saw his (non-existent) face, all that blood...and she was just miserable, and I was pissed at the guy for putting her--and many other like her--through that. It's a time like this you realize how much you care about someone. That was about two weeks ago. She was suffering, so I suffered. That is until a very particular news woke us up, through her Facebook feed of "Jasmine Courtney is going to be ok. i am in love" followed by a whole fruitbowl of new photos of the Prince Charming posted to the MySpace feed to go with it.
~New Boyfriend? Or... ~
As of a few days ago, I saw that status update along with Matt Darnell, and just kinda...blinked. Shock doesn't begin to cover what I felt.
Jasmine Courtney is in a relationship with Larry Babli, it said.
I didn't have to investigate that, or ask anyone. There was enough "I love you, baby" and fun, excited, lovey-dovey crap all over their pages to clearly see it wasn't a hoax, or some hacker. I thought to myself, "The way it's performed, this had been a long-time coming, and well within the motion. Something like this didn't happen overnight." So why the "I love yous"? The hand-holdings? I wondered, was this in the mix when we were together, was that why things never got as official as this, all published on Facebook? I don’t know for sure what happened here--I don't like to assume, but I felt like I was possibly played, and I investigated. I couldn't confirm anything, 'cuz she also, out of nowhere, removed me as a friend on Facebook, and that's not the only boy she did it to--I'm guessing for the same reasons, which only she would know.
Here’s what I think happened:
It’s only my impression, but I think probably not. But asking around brought me across Justin Strout and her ex Tony, and I realized maybe not with Larry, but with others. I start adding shit together. At best, I was merely on a list of possibilities, and that's what she probably meant when she said, "Even if I did want to be in a relationship, I wouldn't know who to be with!" when she broke up with me. It wasn't a "I'm not sure I love you", it was a "I'm not sure I JUST love you". At worst, those were very explored possibilities. From what I read, this was true. Ow. It's shady at best, and if she wants to end things on such a low note, that's her problem. She IMed me just last night, telling me she didn't remove me and I was still her friend--but I could clearly see that wasn't the case. We didn't get to talk long, and I figure I'll figure it all out down the line.
~I Was Stale?~
Is it possible that I'd become stale? Sure. Did it matter that that I had her back, through all the confusion, through all the abuse she got from her mom, that I cared no matter what anyone said? Gave faithfulness and honesty? Evidently not. I felt kind of burned, 'cuz I was willing to do so much for her--but maybe that was part of the problem. Super-supportive boyfriend might'a just been too boring. Or maybe I was just a pastime, something to latch onto during her tenor at the Monroe apartments...once you got a car in the works, all those doors open up right? By now, enough time had gone by that indifference took over...she wants it this way? Well, fine. I did what I could, and I gave it all. I could get mad--very easily, but what would that do? She even went so far as to tell people, there never was a relationship. Right. Better to go with the guy ten years older than you.
I figured, chivalry might just be dead. Not dead as in no longer practiced, but dead as in no longer a factor: a man is measured by the cars, clothing lines, ice links, money, and minks he's got available to him, not the way that he thinks. Always being there for her, and throwing tremendous amounts of energy into doing anything I could for her--which admittedly was a lot of contacts and legwork only, but still, everything--didn't really add up. It's not thrill-by-the-second, it's not partying or kinky, it's not an asshole treating his chicks like shit a la Edward from Twilight. Fact of the matter is, it's been a terrible year for relationships on Team Walker too; Jeff, Matt Townley, Chris138, Sarah Bronson, and Sarah Cowles make up just a few of the names suffering from the bad endings. My bitching about it certainly won't help them through, and there's too much to be done in this world for me to hang up on this one.
Something always goes wrong whenever I try to have a relationship, it's not to be pitied, it's simply fact. What's important now is that I help change this world for the better, helping others.
~The Sun Is Coming Back Up.~
~Moving to Sunnyvale~
While it'd been in the making for a while there, the ability to get a new place was always a bit uncertain, financially. We went from me and Matt moving in with Jim and Ridgway in a four-bedroom house, to it just being me, Matt, and Jim since Ridgway wasn't paying his dues (according to Jim) in a three-bedroom apartment, to then going to move with Matt, Jim, Jasmine, and I into a three-bedroom, to then Ridgway coming back into the fold to move in with me, Jim, Jasmine, Matt, and Ridgway into a four-bedroom, to then Jasmine leaving and--with her leaving--no financial power to consider a four-bedroom again at this point. Not to mention how many of these houses/apartments we blew through looking for in the process. It was a mess.
The worst of it was, that half-a-year in Florida was completely unnecessary. We could'a lived in Monroe apartments as long as we stayed there already, and been ready to go by the time the lease was through. ...Oh well.
Anyway, as it stood, we needed a new place. Especially with the crime. The idea was to then take over Wally and Cheri's place, since they were moving out of it! It wasn't the most ideal of places to live, trailer homes and all, but they were very nice trailer homes considering what they were, three bedrooms, and down Henderson Avenue which...is a street I avoided for years during my times getting over Abby haha, but it's really not a bad street. It's within walking distance of the PetSmart job, and while there's no 7-11 down the street, the Henderson corner store is nearly good enough. Carl's Jr. is also there, but as far as fast food goes, it's extremely expensive. The move down the street also puts me squarely back in Sunnyvale, and I've always liked it better than Santa Clara or San José anyhow.
But we didn't move into Wally and Cheri's old place.
Turns out, upon looking at the place and if it could be done, they offered Jim what they considered a slightly bigger one, fresh off the market, and Jim took it. I didn't care, so long as we got out of the Monroe spot. Unit #38 was the one we eventually got, although I didn't see it for a very long time. By the time I got out of Gyro's, negotiations were done, and now they were waiting for a deposit--just in time for that Gyro's check. I ended up putting down $800 total that month, which is a good amount; when you start at an apartment, you start with first month's rent, and deposit. $400 would have been in my first-months rent with this place, and $400 went into deposit. Not bad. When I got back, Matt and Jim moved out of the apartment to the new place. With Ridgway barely there, and Jasmine long gone, it was just...quiet.
Oh, and there was absolutely no food. Not like Matt who won't eat certain things because he's somehow managed to be picky in this high-and-dry times, but no, literally, nothing. Not ramen. Not...well, I guess cockroaches? And whatever I got hanging out with Jamie! Which, again, a big thank you to her. ...But we'll get to those down the line. For now, the new place! Things had come to an unfortunate end at the Monroe apartments, and in the end, I suppose we can be thankful that they did. Even still, it was a big chapter in the story of our return to California (or my return, Matt's first time), and it marked the end of the book that would be the Monroe apartments in the first place.
~The Move~
We started the move a few days before the first. By now, I'd gotten a look at the new place. It was...ok. Not great, but for six months? It was better than where we were, by lots. The kitchen was huge compared to our previous places, but it went and took away from the rest of the house; small living room, small hallway. The main bedroom was enormous, but this had the same effect with the other bedrooms in that it's size made them small in the grand design. All the same, I got my own room, and that's more space than I'd been allotted since I left the Troyer's...I wasn't gonna complain. The most daunting thing of all was the move itself. It loomed over our heads for days up until this point. Most really didn't want to do it. Thankfully, we had help offered!
It was in our mind that we split up teams. See, due to the bed bugs and cockroaches, we couldn't move over all our stuff immediately. We had to check it all first, steam clean it, and basically eradicate anything remotely related to our insect nemesis. Wally and Brian offered to get a truck and share that truck with us, but we warned them we can't just swing by and get the things...we have to prepare them. Steam them, repackage them, and without letting them hit floor again, take them into the truck and get them over. We'd put off a lot of packing days for this day, but for some reason, no one liked the two-teams idea; basically the first team would go and get the stuff ready while the second team moved Wally and Cheri's place, and then we'd swing by and finish up.
Instead, they wanted us to help them move first. And then they'd help us move after. Sounds like a fair exchange, right? So, we went to it. Me? I worked PetSmart all morning, an eight hour shift moving heavy shit everywhere. And I don't sleep before my shifts, I sleep after my shifts, so I was absolutely exhausted getting off of work, and injured to boot, and yet I still went in through with the plan. It was Wally, Brian, Jim, Matt, and myself. ...And Brian's new girlfriend Nikki, but she wasn't there to help so much as watch. We moved Brian's stuff, and we moved Wally's stuff, and eventually Ridgway dropped by for an hour to help out even after. And we worked long, and hard, to get that stuff into the truck, and even longer getting it out.
See, the thing about Wally's new place is that it's on the third story of a refurbished hotel; it's been converted into an apartment complex, and wouldn't you know, Wally lives on that third floor. This means elevator or stairs are our means of travel, and in our case, both. And there is nothing that Wally owns that is light except maybe a desk, and even then I think that was Brian's. Not that I minded! I love my friends, and I love helping them, but I felt a little useless because I was worn the fuck out walking into this mess. Brian got cheesed at me for being slow or unresponsive to spoken word, but I gotta say, I didn't mean to. I was strictly just very, very done. What was worse? As soon as we arrived at the new place, Nikki (Brian's GF) took Jim to go get her washer and drier "real fast". He never came back.
However, we were in for a tremendous surprise. Remember Randy, my friend and co-worker at Gyro's? Well, turns out, he lives literally a door away from Wally's. Neighbors. Such a large city, and such a small world, there he is. I was sitting there guarding the door to Wally's place that was left wide open, and I see this hooded fellow come in through the door. He starts walking down obviously, and then...starts to slow...in that way where his head tilts, and you can tell he's considering you. Like he knows you. Like he knows me! What a small world! Not only did the guy give us a hearty hello and greet Wally and Brian in their moving in, offering any help they may need in the future, he helped us move the rest of their things. It was tremendous.
~Gliding Like A Brick~hours
When we were done with Wally's place, it was time to do our own...we'd spent hours on the job, and we were very done in, but we were optimistic--our friends were going to come with us. Not Randy, mind! But he never made a deal in the first place, so we waved a goodbye, but we were excited to be working with Wally and Brian on getting this shit done, and Jim to meet us there. Only...that's not how it worked. When we got there, Brian thought he might need a lamp for his bedroom, so he went back to his old place to get one with Wally...and they never returned. It was just me, extremely fucking spent, and Matt who was extremely fucking crippled, staring up at our apartment and realizing we were going to be the only ones in it riding this round to it's completion.
Matt was beyond pissed. I hadn't seen him that mad since Troyer wrote me up.
We worked very hard. Every single piece of furniture was moved from upstairs to that truck after being thoroughly wiped down with bleach or steam-cleaned. Sometimes both, if the situation called for it. Every piece of furniture except Ridgway's, which..he wasn't here at all, and we had no idea what to do with his stuff. 'Sides, me and Jim made a pact years ago to never move a Captain's Bed again! So everything was stuffed to that truck, and we were beyond spent. Hell, I was beyond spent before I even got there on my limited sleep and full-time stocking with injuries. But, fuck it, had to continue--and by now, Jim had finally arrived...but we needed to get the show on the road.
Thankfully...Wally remembered us! And sure enough, he busted his ass to help us unload that truck. I stayed in it, pulling things to the truck's edge, but for once in a long while, I actually felt pretty useless. Unfortunately, I had no idea how bad it would actually get--the shit storm wasn't over. We still had to do all those boxes, including the ones in the closet that didn't belong to anyone that lived there--from room mates long past. ...This was something along the lines of eight people's worth of possessions. The four of us, plus the two room mates of the past stored in that closet, plus a mixture of all the girl's stuff they'd left behind (Vi, Cheryl, Jasmine). We didn't get to it 'cuz we were tired, but after limited sleep and another day of full-time job...we were at it again, Round Two.
~"You Stay 'Til The Job's Done!"~
The next day was me working 'til 1pm or so, which I was then retrieved from my work by Jim to the house. They'd gone and messed with my things in the Living Room even when I said not to, and consequently threw away some of my things (this is why I told them not to!), but that aside, things were just starting, and underway. Andrew Nagel and Chris Steinwinder were there, and I think Wally showed up too during this afternoon-cinema, and it was all a lot of re-packing, throwing out what we didn't want, and selecting what we did, handing the boxes over to Ridgway and Nagel, and they'd take it down to Chris to be taken away. Sometimes, Ridgway would even come back. Nagel, on the other hand, stayed the whole way through 'til he decided we were probably not going to get it done that night, and left for a dinner with a girl.
But we weren't done, and I wasn't going to be done. The remnants of Ridgway's furniture gone, Chris Steinwinder also went home, and so did Wally, and Ridgway wasn't seeming like he was going to back. I remember Jim suggesting we just stop and give up, and I was fucking livid. I went into Pikey and instructed, "WE STAY 'TIL THE JOB'S DONE!" and, with that inspiration in us, we didn't dare cease. We boxed up fucking everything that was of use, and threw away tons of shit that simply wasn't. Variously, bits of (much appreciated!!) help would show up in the forms of Ridgway, Mike Kempton (AKA the good Mike), and Mr. Chandler Cord--a very cool dude from Jim's workplace. We all shot the shit while packing up old room mate's things from the closet (such as Thomas Bush's stuff--do you remember that fat bastard??), but ultimately they, too, needed to leave.
The only cats strictly with it the whole way through so far had been me, Jim, and Matt--and even Jim had his time kidnapped by Nikki. But we fucking pressed on.
~Wally Comes Through!~
One of the most prominent things in this was Wally. We got help from Chris, Nagel, Chandler, and Mike--I'm not denying that. But I thought in this event, the real tremendous source was Wally. He really went out of his way that last second when we needed him--we were on our "E" tank, and while he'd showed up to help last night and earlier this day, he did it again. Despite Brian, who never once showed up and had the kindness to say "I'm giving away your grill I was going to give you as a gift if you don't pick it up tonight" even though we couldn't 'cuz we were packing up (after helping him, and he wasn't here to help us! AND he gave it away before the night was over anyway!!), Wally was there 100%. He worked, and he over-worked, and he thought he still owed us. I thought he was out of his mind, but it's all perspective I guess. I know he got flack for it, but thanks again Wally. And everyone else, at that.
Finally, at ridiculous in the morning, we were more or less done. We didn't get done everything we wanted, mind--there was still lots of shit we didn't want discarded all around the house. There was still vacuuming, the cleaning itself to be done, but the packing? It was through. We'd packed and moved it all but the shit we didn't want, and a few remnants of Jim's room like a box here, and a battery generator there. Matt was definitely shot by now, so Ridgway took him home, and me and Jim--standing in the center of the mass--took one final look around, and then decided we needed a drink. James had recently come across a brewery for hard liquors that he appreciated and visited enough, and so he had with him a bottle of Hanger One Straight Vodka and St. George Single Malt Whiskey.
He gave me the whiskey, and we drank, and we reflected.
See, me and James had been on-and-off again room mates since 2002. The things we found backed up in that closet were things we saw in our day to day lives years ago, some of them even our own. We'd realized we'd come this long way, this tremendous friendship of ours, and though we had our rocky roads...they were brought about by outside people looking to rock the boat. The point is, we'd survived it all--the hardest times in my life were shared by James, and it was often me and James alone keeping a place afloat. We faced down poverty the likes of which made the poverty we faced getting back here from Florida look like child's play, and we walked home in the worst of storms, and we dodged the greatest of law suits, and weathered the worst of break-ups on our shoulders. ...We'd done it all, and this was one more notch of victory. We were damned pleased with ourselves.
Krystal, the downstairs neighbor, broke up this event by asking where Jasmine was, and Jim saw fit to give her our third bottle--the white brandy. I didn't approve, but hey, she left. And we decided, before it all gets interrupted again, we better leave.
After all, there was tomorrow. Jim had his first day of work, and we all volunteered to come back to do that cleaning--me, Matt, and Ridgway.
~The Cockroach Massacre of 2009~
Round Three. The final showdown with the Monroe apartments starred no one but me and Ridgway. Matt was too done in, and while I was absolutely sore to the limit by now, I can push through usually--and I did. It was up to me and Ridgway now, and no lie, he earned his manliness that day. We went back, and we spent the day cleaning the shit out of that apartment. While everything but a few (very heavy) things were taken that needed to be taken (these few things fit in his car), the place was far from over. There were piles, and piles, of trash and things to throw. Hundreds of little things, hundreds of large, large things. Many, many boxes, stuffed to the brim, with things. We worked muscles 'til they couldn't stands no more, scrubbed every corner, and pretty much kicked fucking ass.
One of the most satisfying events was The Cockroach Massacre of 2009. Basically, we moved the 'fridge to clean under it, and we found their...their base of operations? No, that seems too..small. Their congregation? Their country. There were thousands. It was ludicrous. I got the squirt-bleach, and the toilet-cleaner bleach, and with a Southern zeal that could only be described Yosemite-Sam, I proceeded to aniggalate them. I exploded every thing there was with bleach, dumping, spraying, crushing, it didn't stop. Then we'd move the 'fridge to a whole different spot, and there were just as many then too. ROUND TWO, I'd scream, and a "YEEEEHAW!!"...it was a stomping party with bleach. I think Ridgway might'a been terrified, but I was having the time of my life. It was revenge, pure and simple. There was a linoleum matt made of the same stuff the kitchen floor cut out and put under the 'fridge, presumably to keep it from scratching the surface...
When that was removed, I soaked it with bleach, 'cuz that's where they were most.
By the time I was done, there was probably a funnel-cloud of roach-souls exploding out of the walls of the apartment. It was great. And what's better? We cleaned that fucking place as spotless as it ever could be. Only one, final, challenge remained...it was easily the most difficult thing about this whole ordeal, and it was also the most satisfying of them all. Walker and Ridgway vs. The Couch! With a brief interruption by the apartment manager Tim (which it's funny, 'cuz the worst and best managers I've ever had were both named Tim...and this Tim wasn't the best.), we set to work on that couch, not at all prepared for what we had before us. To be frank, we were pretty done. I was extra done.
After all, we'd filled up three dumpsters worth of trash by the time this was done.
The couch wasn't a light beast. Maybe not the heaviest couch I've ever lifted--that'd be Patricia's one made of steel and hate back at the Townhouse--but it was not too far off. It was cheap, and everyone hated it, and we had no intention of keeping it. My only question was, how the fuck did it get *IN* here?? It was huge! And it didn't fit through that door. No, we tried. Every angle. Multiple times. Holding it in the air for hours, pushing for hours, shoving for hours, every possible way. It was always close, but never, ever, close enough. I was furious, absolutely enraged, and I was looking around--I thought, "If I could only smash it!" and I was thinking a hammer or something, thinking out loud. Ridgway looked like he wanted to give up, but I was too angry to. Then...suddenly. An idea.
My combat boots are steel toed. They're old, so they're God-awful terrible shoes--three years old, and I'm extremely hard on my shoes. But, the steel toes? Good as they've ever been. I slipped off my shoe, reared back, and began to smash it against the legs of the couch. The legs were made of plastic that were sealed into the couch, and screwed in with massive screws just in case. We had no other object to swing, no screwdriver to use, it was this and brute force or nothing--and fuck it if I wasn't angry enough. Ridgway stepped away, and watch me break thick, extremely hearty and durable plastics with a few clean smashes of the boot. Half of them were gone, and we then started for the door...no go. Then Ridgway and I had the idea to throw it out the fucking window, like we promised to do to Nagel and Peter's things in the past.
We had Adam move his fucking car (how he's not arrested yet is beyond me), and dragged it across the house, spent 15 minutes struggling to get it through Ridgway's door with every ounce of our might. In this process, I grabbed the end of the plastic that wouldn't break--the leg that refused to break by steel-toed hammer-boot!--and wrenched it completely off like a man's neck, twisting it around with a thunderous set of very satisfying snaps, and hurled it across the room. It fit. But not through the fucking window. What a fucking let down. I was running out of everything. I was mad. Ridgway wanted to try the door again now that I ripped a third off, figuring if I ripped the fourth off? We might have a shot...he might be right. We went to try, but the huge unforgiving cushions wouldn't give.
...Pulling it back to rest again, we heard jingles. I remembered it had my money.
I wanted to gut it, but I had no knife. Curse me, I didn't even bring my box cutter! If only I had something to cut with, if only!...wait. Another idea. I spied the legs with the screws poking out of the bottom of them, broken on the floor about the room. I picked one up, and using the screw, I slowly cut it all.
When Ridgway cut on, we proceeded to not only gut the couch's tummy and rip into it's back, we cut everything. Literally, every cushion, every ounce of thing in our way, we rended. We then broke it. We broke the shit out of this couch, no man would ever use it again, through rage and Ridgway's weight, it was finally done. I got a LOT of change from it, and we pushed it back to the door in it's skeletal, broken husk...still wouldn't fit, so fucking close. Finally, I said, I was gonna kick it. Ridgway fled down the stairs, and I eased back, and proceeded to give it the Hulk Hogan Big Boot with a charge. It erupted out of the door-frame and down the stairs. We had finally conquered the self-serving Demonic entity that was this couch, and we proceeded to haul it off to another dumpster. Fuck that fucking thing, and fuck anyone that complains about it being in their trash on Monroe Street.
~Aftermath.~
Jim came by shortly thereafter. All that was left was the vacuuming. One look at us, and he insisted he cover it. It took a while, but he did it. Then, we left. On the way home, Jim noted I'd been the only one there all day, every day, through all of it, like he was weirded out I'd do it. I reminded him he should know me by now--just like everyone from Rahan to Fax knows, I help people because that's what I do, and friends are even more to that. Sure, my things were pretty easily done. Sure 98.6% of what I did was every one else's problem, but that's not the point. We're a fucking team, and like I'd said several times before, teams need to fucking stick together. He dug it, and we went back to reminiscence of our long and checkered history 'til we got back...home.
You know, it's still interesting to call this place that. Home's still kinda the Monroe house for me, my aura hasn't settled into this new spot exactly yet. That's not to say I would prefer it there--fuck no. But, it's also not to say I won't miss the place. The single, most greatest moment in my life happened right there in 2129 Monroe Street. Because right there in that Apartment #3, I realized so much that it put me on a great path. Words cannot describe...words cannot describe how it felt to stand there, and look at that place, for one last time. I'm not ashamed to say it, I'm going to miss that place...it's the worst place we've ever lived, but a lot happened there. And just as quickly, we were gone to the next place, and I have a feeling it won't have the same impact on our lives. We'll see. For now? Time to move on. Finally, we were in December.
Getting On With Life,
Walker Pennington.
Thanks: I want to thank the people that helped us make that move. Wally, Randy, Mike, Chandler, Nagel, Chris--you were all tremendous. I'd like to thank my co-workers at Gyro's and PetSmart for being so tremendous and helpful in my life, and I'd like to thank the many that helped me get through my personal-life problems like The BSG (Chris, #2, Mitch, Zeke, Bender, Jacob, Kurtis...), Jesse, Hannah, Jamie, Derek, Sloan, Scott, Anna, Raph, both Sarahs...and finally:
Special Thanks: I'd like to say special thanks to Chris Steinwinder. Many people were there for me, but this dude went tremendously out of his way for me. He saw how absolutely horrid I looked when I heard the various bad newses with Jasmine (all three), and through many of my other hardships surrounding them, and he went completely balls-to-the-wall out of his way to see it undone and me restored. He kept me sane, when that was all but up. Thank you so much.
And Gyro's, and life dealing with Gyro's, was taxing enough as it was.
~Living Conditions~
~Life at the Elliot's~
I've always loved visiting Rebecca's family, which is where Zeke and Rebecca currently live. Her dad is just tremendous, although I'll be first to admit I never really got to know her mom or sister that well--they seem nice. Rebecca's dad was tank driver/shooter for the military back in his time with the army, so he's always got tremendous stories to tell (not that his good stories are only limited to military life), and we can talk about anything ranging from whiskeys to pleasant discussions on religions. And what's more, they tolerated my presence throughout this whole Gyro's thing without a single fuss. Dude simply said, "make yourself at home, help yourself to whatever", and that's rare. People's parents aren't usually that kinda nice to me--Matt's parents, Rahan's parents, and Nick's parents rank among the most memorable.
I was using the typical spot guests use, or at least the one me and Jasmine would use, a little side-cove to the entry of the front door. It was decked out with piano, a red couch, a British flag-decorated blanket citing the awesomeness of girls all over it (I assume this used to be Rebecca's at some point), Mention Geoffry, fish, an innerestin' clock made of weird lights I could never figure out, and a massive library of old, informative books, namely on cars and history. This room had seen a lot of memories, and it comforting despite them, and this was my "room" for what would be the month of October while things continue to go on back at the Monroe house. I had a tremendous time there, what little time it is that was spent not sleeping, and it was a relief from the stresses going on in my life--not much of one, but one all the same.
That's not to say there were no issues. Not only did I feel like kind of a mooch 'cuz I didn't (yet) have the money to invest in much more than treating Zeke and Rebecca to what meals I could afford us via PetSmart checks, but by being told by Rebecca's dad to make myself at home, I'd constantly--and inadvertently--do something to upset her brother Geoff. One thing would lead to the next, as well, so complaints stacked up and I don't doubt I made him more than a little irritated by it. Like, I'd use some shampoo and I'd hear, oh, that was Geoff's shampoo. Note to self, don't use it anymore. Then I'd hear, oops that was Geoff's poptarts, that was Geoff's mountain dew, that was Geoff's bread, that was Geoff's--I remember sitting in the corner of Zeke's thinking, "Wow, how out of whack is this? He owns more of the things in this house than the others put together, and he doesn't pay a thing!"
The list went on. Literally anything I touched ended up being Geoff's no matter where in the house it was, and Geoff would hear about it (or see it), and tell us he didn't appreciate his things being touched and would like it if I didn't do it anymore ever again. Even the community Mountain Dew ended up becoming just Geoff's. I didn't get it, especially from a standpoint that--where I come from anyhow, everything is pretty much community unless it's in your room. And even then, I don't mind sharing much. When I lived with people that didn't have computers of their own, for instance, I'd just let 'em use mine: Tommy, Shanna, Sean, Shaun, Emily, Carlos, James Major, James Erickson, Robert, Richard, my little brother Stephen, Jasmine, and many other guests compose a long list of people that used my computer for months 'til they got their own squared away.
And I never minded (unless they refused to get off when I needed it. Namely Richard).
So, it just didn't make sense to me. But, in general, I'm not a fan of the hoarding mentality anyway. I like to share, and do it for funzies; it's all material shit to me. But, I also didn't go around trying to take everything either--I'd generally ask someone if I could grab something from the 'fridge to eat or some such, and it'd be good. Then, I'd run into it later that it was Geoff's, and I made a colossal blunder. I finally just learned to touch and eat nothing. That quieted the complaints down some, at least! The rest of our time was spent either me reading Eric Bischoff's book, or us watching Kevin Smith's "Evening With" series. Other shows or movies would mix in if we were bored enough. But these were rare events--usually it was us sleeping, drinking, or working.
The only reasons we might NOT have been sleeping is because work was too soon to get decent sleep. I have a philosophy: If you can't get five or more hours of sleep, don't. You won't function nearly as well at work if you only have two hours as you would if you just plow through with no hours. Thus, no sleep pretty much ever. While all of this was going on, as it was mentioned already, I was barely ever at the Monroe apartments. Zeke's place became my home for a month, more or less; I'd check in on the Monroe apartments like twice a week the first two weeks, and then even less the following two. One of these instances had made some very major changes on how things happened from this day forward. It snowballed things.
~While I Was Gone~
At one point, I got a chance to stop back by the house. Zeke had expressed tremendous interest in the PS3 being brought over in the past for us to buy King of Fighters XII and Smackdown vs RAW 2010 for, as well as my other collection of fighting games, since we were into that sorta thing--us two and Randy, that is. So, upon getting there, I pack my PS3 up and my fighting games, and I leave that evening. That night, not too long after I was gone, Jim and Matt and Ridgway had all gone over to Wally and Cheri's to hang out with them and Brian, possibly Mike and Nagel as well--I couldn't be sure. The point is, when Jasmine came home on the very rare times that she decided to do so, she was locked out of the house.
The apartment was intended for two people, and thus there were three keys. Apartment complexes tend to give out as many keys as there are rooms, plus one. When I got there, Jim had a key, Ridgway had a key, and Veronica and Cheryl had a key. Since they were only temporary, and me and Matt were permanent, Jim decided to give me a key and told me that he was going to trust me with it. Shortly thereafter, Matt stole the key off of my wallet. It never made sense why he should have it, to be honest--he was always in the apartment unless he was leaving with Jim and Ridgway--people with keys, and I was the one that was constantly in motion entering and leaving the house whenever I needed to, and more than once did I suffer outside because I didn't have one anymore. I talked to Jim about it, eventually, so he gave me his key instead.
Still, this meant Jasmine never had a key, and here she was calling the room mates to see who she could muster to open the door for her. Ridgway responded to the call, he was gonna turn in early anyhow. So, he came home. With her with the downstairs neighbors--at least one of them anyway, going under the assumed name Adam. I doubt this name only because these are Mexican Thuglettes, and Adam just sounds too basic a name in the first place...but! I could be wrong. It didn't much matter, the point is, I never really trusted anyone from that apartment below us. They'd willingly admitted to selling and doing drugs (and not just pot, I'll add. Meth.) and they seemed extremely opportunist. You live in a ghetto-world long enough, you start to have an idea of who's honest and who's not in that kind of environment.
Adam was not one of those I considered to be honest, and I'd told Jasmine as much.
But anyway, I wasn't here, and Ridgway was. He opens the door and lets her in, and Adam with his two friends come in after. There's conflicting stories, but it boils down to this: Krystal, another person from down there, was not feeling good, and Adam was up there also, and there was beers to be had. Ridgway said he was gonna turn in, so as Adam's two friends are leaving, Ridgway says he'll leave the door unlocked so that when Jasmine goes, she can come back in. ...Big mistake #2. (the first was letting them in to see the stuff in the first place!) The two friends leave, and she leaves with Krystal and Adam down to their apartment. Door's left unlocked, and those friends circle back around and take Matt's Nintendo Wii and Jim's X-Box 360, and a handful of my video games and Ridgway's video games, including Smackdown vs RAW 2009, Guilty Gear XX, Disgea, the Street Fighter Alpha Anthology, and Final Fantasy VII: Dirge of Cerberus.
Gone. What's worse, that Wii was a gift from Matt's mom, that was then modded-the-fuck-out by Rahan. The ultimate in Nintendo systems, all those saves? Gone.
It was a quick job, because no cords or controllers were taken that weren't immediately accessible. Thankfully, my computer wasn't stolen either. With Ridgway sleeping in his room with the door closed, it prolly wouldn't have been difficult. But most importantly of all? My PS3, which I'd taken with me back to Zeke's mere hours before, and my KoF collection, were safe and sound. In fact, that's why Matt and Jim didn't call the cops right off the bat when they came back home finally at ridiculous in the morning--Matt had seen me packing up the PS3, and naturally assumed I packed up everything else as well and took it somewhere. They went to bed feeling things were safe and sound. That is, until I made a return back to the apartment the next day (downtime from PetSmart, lucky them!)
Ridgway asked me if I'd taken them, and of course I said no. Then as silence settled on us, we realized what had happened. According to Ridgway, Jasmine had a party with friends over last night. This wasn't exactly accurate--sure there were friends and beer, but party? But that's all I knew, that it was a party, and the shady-ass downstairs neighbors were involved in it. So I went with that, and called Jasmine first. No answer to her cellphone, fine, next up was to destroy Adam. I threw on my shoes again, and my coat, pulled my hair into it's ponytail, and prepared to exchange knuckles. I don't think Adam expected me to pound on his door. ...I don't think Adam expected me at all, maybe he thought I moved out. It was an educated guess. Unfortunately, I hadn't, and I was there, and I was mad, and he knew it, and why.
After some questioning, he told me that they were Jasmine's friends, and not his. That she was the one throwing the party and invited him to join them, and then went and suggested it was possible she helped steal the things themselves to sell them. Did I believe that? Not really, but he was scared, and it was worth following up to see if they were Jasmine's friends and not Adam's. After all, I had no descriptions to go by, and Jasmine has a truck-load of druggie friends she barely knows that she rolls around with--Adam and Krystal are just one of them. So, I go back upstairs, and I contact Jim, to update him and hear instructions. After all, the most expensive things stolen were Jim and Matt's, and Jim is the only one on the lease. This is more his problem then anyone else's.
Jim tells me he'll be here, and immediately tells his job that he must take time off for the day to deal with the fact that his house was just robbed. No job's gonna deny you this if they hear a valid reason like that, and certainly wouldn't terminate you, so naturally they let him go (and wouldn't have a choice even if they didn't want to) and he arrived home in no time at all. We scoured the place to see what, if anything, was taken, and found that Jasmine's laptop was also gone. Jasmine never takes her laptop, so it was safe(r) to assume that it also was stolen--after all, a laptop is not difficult to disconnect and run off with like a desktop is. Once we added up all the damage, we called the police, and then Ridgway went to try and talk to Jasmine by calling her at the job.
The thing of it was, Jasmine was busy. Now, like I'd mentioned, you can tell your job "I just got robbed, can you give me a minute?" and they'll more than accommodate--I don't care if they're Nordstrom's or fucking NASA. But Jasmine didn't see it that way, and rather than explain things to her employers, she just told Ridgway--after saying those weren't her friends--that she had to go. Ridgway has the social graces of a Shrew, i.e. it gets worse when frustrated, so that didn't help things any. She hung up on him, and angry, he stormed out to go speak to Adam--in which Jim and Matt followed him. Ridgway went on to explain to them that Jasmine obviously felt it wasn't her problem, which isn't exactly what she said, but I could understand how he felt. All the same, I was too brain-fried and pissed to argue the fine points.
At this time, I was just trying to stay out of the way. James knew I wanted to kick open this kid's door and find the things myself, and asked that I do no such thing--and since it was mostly his stuff and Matt's stuff, they had most say over the happenings; I'd respect that. I blew off steam talking to Chris Harris, until I eventually went down to see what had developed. Jim had to takeover the conversation from Ridgway, more or less because at his meanest, he commanded all the respect of a cub scout in a room full of gangbangers. Adam insisted it wasn't his doing, but had by now claimed he knew the guys and he could try to get them back if he saw them, but for us to absolutely not call the police under any grounds.
I don't think James understood the magnitude of the problem, or that Ridgway intended to follow through calling the police. Adam was a great whiner--he’d get these puppy-dog eyes and be very emotional. He was a good con artist. I was shocked that Jim seemed to be trying to find a way to compromise. Maybe he was overwhelmed by Adam's passion on avoiding the police. He spun these great tales about how he'd get killed for snitching by fellow "gangstas", and so on. But looking back, I think Jim seems to have seen this as the path of least resistance, so he took it. Jim didn’t like confrontation or tough decisions. So, he told Adam that he wouldn't call the cops until 4pm, and wouldn't call them at all if our stuff was returned by then. It was something like, noon, by this point. Then, we went to 7-11.
It was my opinion that waiting until 4pm was ludicrous. OBVIOUSLY, he was behind it. Adam swore he'd nothing to do with it, it was only his buddies, but I mean come on. When I first moved there, Adam offered me an X-Box 360 complete with Guitar Hero, the guitar FOR Guitar Hero, and several games for $200. I didn't play Guitar Hero, and we already had two X-Box 360s (Matt's was at Nagel's thankfully), and it was shady, and I had no money to speak of anyway, so I declined...and then a few weeks before Gyro's started, Adam needed a phone number from the Yellow Pages. I had him wait by the door while I looked it up on the computer, and he scoped a peak at my PS3--and then the rest of the systems, and complimented many times that it was "very nice"...very nice set up, it must have cost a lot, etc etc.
Then, he's just magically enticing Jasmine down to listen to some rap demos. And he's a Goddamn meth-addict druggy. I hate, hate, druggies. All drugs. Hate.
But, James said he gave his word and wouldn't break it. So, wanting some kind of justice for the wrongs laid upon my friends, I turn to Ridgway. I wouldn't have Jim break his honor, but Ridgway made no such call, and he was opportunistic anyway. And he was literally chittering at the bit to call the cops, so he made it so. They came by the time we got back from the 7-11, and Adam was very, very gone. He also had a warrant for his arrest for beating his wife. What a guy. So, the officer showed up, and we explained the things that had been missing: Jim's X-Box 360, Matt's Nintendo Wii, Jasmine's laptop, and several video games belonging to me and Ridgway. We told him the accounts of everything until that point, and he wanted to call Jasmine that instant.
So, Ridgway gave him the info to do so, since he knew Jasmine's work number.
She was not happy. Apparently she was called over the PA that the police wanted to speak to her. Why someone would say that over the PA is beyond me, and doesn't even seem to add up--professional companies and all--but all the same, she was infuriated. She explained those weren't her friends and she had never seen them before, just like Adam originally did before changing his story, but Jasmine's was far more believable. Anyway, it was discovered that Jasmine actually took her laptop, so all of our concerns for her stuff's safety weren't really required, and (as she's said it) we were wasting her time. As ol' Jimi Hendrix once said, "I didn't mean to take up all your sweet time...I'll give it back to ya, one'a these days."
With that done, and the police done talking to me, I finally went with Zeke and left. I suppose I could have stayed rather than going to work that day, helped sort it out, but like I said...most of the stuff that was taken was Matt and Jim's, and the people on the lease were Ridgway and Jim, and the people present for the robbery that lived there were Ridgway and Jasmine. That means everyone was involved but Walker, aside from a few video games...and those are easily hidden and gotten rid of, so I was shit out of luck. Me, Zeke, and Chris (Harris) all said to check the local pawn shops and Gamestops to see if they've been sold as our parting advice (something else they didn't think of, something else you learn living on the streets), but no one kept the model numbers or any of that info. Aw well.
~Jasmine Is Out~
There's a coined two phrases that's circling around our friends here and in Florida (and any friends in between) called "Done Like Chris-Done" and "Done Like Jasmine Done". The first was created when Chris Merritt was having his relationship issues with Lauren. He'd say they broke up, and that he was done--for real done, and then they'd be hanging out together again, back together again, working things out again, then they were breaking up again, and he was done again. "Chris-Done" meant you quit for now because you were emotionally fed up, but you'd come back to it later. Later down, when Jasmine decided she was done with everything (she called them the "fuck its"), she didn't come back. She'd just give up because it was too much, and no matter how worth it, she didn't believe in herself enough to muster the courage.
Same thing as "Chris-Done", only "Jasmine-Done" meant there was no coming back later.
Well, it would seem things in the house were heading to "Jasmine-Done" at about a thousand miles an hour. I'd seen this kind of momentum before, the first time Jasmine flipped out because things got too much and exploded on James and James exploded right back. Matt saw my face when it started to happen--it was like a train wreck going out of control in slow motion: you can't stop it, you can't even hope to stop it, it's too much, BUT...it's slow, and it's going to suck. A lot. Last time, I spent days pulling every charismatic maneuver that communication-classes taught me alongside ol' Dustin Welton to manipulate the setting back into a friendly one; I literally spent a day talking to everyone, setting up a huge family meeting, and making everyone's (very true) concerns get fleshed out and in the open.
Articulating degrees of concern without being hostile and reconstructing things takes a certain kind of negotiation. That's why you need a negotiator. That's what I do.
This time around, however, I wasn't there for that, and the train-wreck was personified by Ridgway. I'm not saying he's a heartless bastard, but he certainly didn't seem to like Jasmine, and Jasmine certainly didn't seem to like him back. Ridgway saw an opportunity to finally get Jasmine out of the picture, and in his mind possibly a very legitimate one, and jumped on the opportunity. He'd say things to Jim like, "she refused to cooperate on the phone" even though that's not entirely it--she just believed she couldn't do it at that moment, and he wouldn't let her go, so she finally hung up on him. When she eventually called back, Ridgway would say she never said she was sorry, and he said that she said she wasn't responsible for any of this whatsoever--and that wasn't entirely it, either.
Which would be just silly to say, 'cuz those people (Adam and friends) wouldn't have even come up there if it wasn't for Jasmine being there, and she was the last to leave. Responsibility in all things. Not to say she meant to do it, far from the truth, but if I'd unintentionally gotten my friend's stuff stolen, I'd not only feel really awful about it, and feel very much responsible, but I'd be offering to help pay it back when I could. Anyway, I'm not saying that Ridgway is purposefully misquoting either--he may have seen it like that, and concluded it wrongly, there've always been a lack of communication with these room mates--it's why I had to do what I did to resolve everything last time, because people wouldn't say everything, or they'd just assume the other knew and get upset that the person didn't act on it.
What I AM saying is, rather than letting it slide, he told it to Jim, and multiple times, and earnestly. He wanted Jasmine gone. Now, I wasn't here so I can't say for positive, but what I've concluded happened is that Jim, not having enough to really solidify what Jasmine actually is saying and also not feeling that his things are yet safe, wanted to sit down with Jasmine and clear absolutely everything out before continuing on. I talked to him some on it, and in his mind, this place is his--James and Ridgway are on the lease, no one else. That means Jim and Ridgway's concerns tend to be what is legally important, and you just don't invite people into the apartment that isn't exactly yours was his understanding. The stories conflicted, and he wanted them to be cleared up, so he told Jasmine that, until everyone's got a chance to sit down and talk it through, she needs to stay somewhere else.
Now, when I heard about this the next day from Jasmine while I was at Zeke's house, I felt that I don't think he would have offered this if he didn't expect her to do it anyway. As much as I was disappointed in James for not standing up for Jasmine earlier, I still trusted him, and do to this day. He's an honest person--sometimes painfully so. There may be a lot of political DNA in James, but I don't think there's a dishonest bone in his body. Jasmine had barely been at the apartments, maybe as much as I'd been. She'd be out partying and living it up in other people's houses, not ours, such as the many times she'd go and stay at Katie Headley's (not to be confused with our own Katie Atkisson).
It seemed to me when there was pressure on her, I think she’d get so frustrated with things that she couldn't function. Then she'd throw up her hands and go party for a week or two at a time. At least it seemed that way to me. She had the emotional constitution of an eggshell in my opinion. But once again, poor communication--and it's not the kind of poor communication where things are said wrong. It's that whatever's been said is assumed to mean something else. In this case, Jasmine took this to mean that James was kicking her out of the house. Now, Jasmine has assumed things many times in the past. Why? I don't know. We all know how to spell Assume.
You can't know the reasons for why someone's doing something. You can deduce, you can hypothetical, sure--but even then, nothing is in concrete, and nothing is for-sure until it is verified. If someone says "Man, I'm hungry." and someone else assumes, "Walker wants money from me so he can buy food", that's wrong. All I said was that I'm hungry. No hidden message, no asterisk, no double-meanings, and no additions...for fuck's sake! There MIGHT be something more to it, but it's not what you think it is, and you should ask...assuming there's anything there at all. Real men speak their minds, point blank, typically. But again, I wasn't there to clear this kind of thing up like I usually do. So, she packs up her game--everything she owns--and she leaves. Forever.
Talk about your shit storms.
James seemed to be ok with that, because none of his concerns were answered. To him, her taking off when there needed to be a talk was her basically telling him either that what Ridgway said was true and she had no way to fight it, or that even if it wasn't true it wasn't worth fighting to keep Jim's friendship. It was over by the time I heard about it, and just as well because I didn't have the energy to do another of what I did. My brain was so fried by now, I was barely on auto-pilot. Now that I'm back and better, I realize I would have done things differently. See, not to be all Disney here, but in my opinion, "Ohana means family." Your people are your people, and you work it out. I wouldn't have kicked her out for one night, I'd'a had words about it then and there. I didn't agree.
People living with you working against you and only for themselves--hoarding, selfish assholes--aren't your people, they've made that clear, but Jasmine hadn't been that.
But it was over, she was content to be in Tracey, moved in with a guy named Josh, and in all honesty things quieted quite a bit when I got back to the Monroe apartments since I originally left--a big difference in November 1 from October 1. But there was also a level of disorientation. For the first time since I moved here, I wasn't hanging out with Jasmine fifteen or sixteen hours a day. After having this relationship occupy my mind even when I wasn't with her--or even awake, for that matter, because I used to dream about her--it was suddenly gone. It was like a chemical imbalance in my brain. I kept wanting to pick up the phone and tell her that I'd be there, and tell her that I really cared. I wanted to ask if we could turn back the clock and just forget whatever put us in this mess, but there was nothing to turn back.
~There's A Light At The End Of The Tunnel!~
~but there's a pit half-way there.~
With that, things were pretty much over in terms of whatever momentum I ran on left. Every ending leads to new complications. We finished out Gyro's, as we were at the end of the run when this happened anyway, and I returned to the Monroe apartments. It was empty, and I had this feeling that I'd completely lost my footing when it came to Jasmine. That's not to say I was not still trying to get back with her, just that when she was living with us, I felt there was a chance. We were still going to be sharing the same room, and maybe things would calm down enough in life that it'd get back on track. Now, it didn't seem as doable, and my brain was so absolutely fried I was literally beyond the drinking-tar stage and clearly into the two like-poles being repelled against each other. My brain would absolutely not compute things that weren't already in memory, and already instinct.
That's not to say we never heard from Jasmine again. I'd get very infrequent updates here and there. She messed up her back really bad at her job (which she managed to keep despite her now living in Tracey--what a commute, and she thought the bus was bad!), she was having constant issues with her mother concerning probably everything under the sun (including the mom taking away her car at some point), we hung out for precisely one day when we went up to some mountains to see her favorite spot in the universe (that was a day full of mixed signals), which was supposed to be spent taking her to the doctor's that she decided to blow off for the fun instead, her getting a paycheck of over $1,000 from our house courtesy of the government paying for her schooling (that her mom was doing her homework for), and of course the most recent and startling of her news, her room mate Josh shooting himself.
~Dead Room-Mates.~
This year was apparently a big year for dead room-mates among my friends. Scott's room mate had taken a gun to his head in the shower only a few months ago, leaving it for Scott to find, and deal with. Alex's room mate also ended up dead, and I was jackass enough to step in it by joking around about why he wasn't there that night at the Gyro's doing his job (Alex tended to not come in sometimes. I was just kidding. Then...the reality of it, and oops.) He knew I was joking and there were no hard feelings, but...then you have this Josh guy that Jasmine was living with, and he also shoots himself. And Jasmine gets to be the one to find it. It is just apparently a bad year for room-mates. I felt for the people that lost their friends and companions--I remember how I felt, and still feel, about Sterling's own death--but I couldn't do anything much to fix it. Useless again.
I'm no stranger to dead friends, or dead room mates, or being around suicidal people. Hell, I used to be that suicidal person, and nothing short of Zak and Rahan was able to save me from that. But, due to Rahan and Zak, I can't actually feel as sorry for the guy that did himself in any, either. I mean, I do feel bad that he suffered so tremendously as to want to end his own life, sure, but...willingly killing yourself is messy business, especially with a gun, and it goes to show the degree of your selfishness and willpower. And I don't mean the unfortunate cleaning bills of the many, many questions you've loaded your friends up with the cops, either, or the family that's gotta pay your outstanding debts now that you've left this plane of existence.
Are you saying there's no one else out there to care about enough to keep on going? Sure, your life is shit, but do you honestly want to make these other people feel horrible about your death too?? No. Of course not. You didn't think about that, you jus--exactly. Selfish. You could be there for someone else, right now, that needs you--but where will you be? Dead. You say, "I can't think of a situation where I'd be useful so"...but, you never do think of that situation. You never know when something will come up that you could help with, Hell you could inadvertently cure cancer right? Only, now you won't, 'cuz you're not there to do it. Life won't always be horrible if you do what you can to get out of it...and even if it is? At least you fought your hardest for it, and for your friends, instead of letting Life win--'cuz it did. It wanted you to give up, and you obliged, and it now laughs.
I don't mean to go off on a rant, but shit like that really pisses me off. I saw through her MySpace and Facebook status-feeds that Jasmine had all these nightmares, and that things were horrible for her 'cuz she saw his (non-existent) face, all that blood...and she was just miserable, and I was pissed at the guy for putting her--and many other like her--through that. It's a time like this you realize how much you care about someone. That was about two weeks ago. She was suffering, so I suffered. That is until a very particular news woke us up, through her Facebook feed of "Jasmine Courtney is going to be ok. i am in love" followed by a whole fruitbowl of new photos of the Prince Charming posted to the MySpace feed to go with it.
~New Boyfriend? Or... ~
As of a few days ago, I saw that status update along with Matt Darnell, and just kinda...blinked. Shock doesn't begin to cover what I felt.
Click to viewJasmine Courtney is in a relationship with Larry Babli, it said.
I didn't have to investigate that, or ask anyone. There was enough "I love you, baby" and fun, excited, lovey-dovey crap all over their pages to clearly see it wasn't a hoax, or some hacker. I thought to myself, "The way it's performed, this had been a long-time coming, and well within the motion. Something like this didn't happen overnight." So why the "I love yous"? The hand-holdings? I wondered, was this in the mix when we were together, was that why things never got as official as this, all published on Facebook? I don’t know for sure what happened here--I don't like to assume, but I felt like I was possibly played, and I investigated. I couldn't confirm anything, 'cuz she also, out of nowhere, removed me as a friend on Facebook, and that's not the only boy she did it to--I'm guessing for the same reasons, which only she would know.
Here’s what I think happened:
It’s only my impression, but I think probably not. But asking around brought me across Justin Strout and her ex Tony, and I realized maybe not with Larry, but with others. I start adding shit together. At best, I was merely on a list of possibilities, and that's what she probably meant when she said, "Even if I did want to be in a relationship, I wouldn't know who to be with!" when she broke up with me. It wasn't a "I'm not sure I love you", it was a "I'm not sure I JUST love you". At worst, those were very explored possibilities. From what I read, this was true. Ow. It's shady at best, and if she wants to end things on such a low note, that's her problem. She IMed me just last night, telling me she didn't remove me and I was still her friend--but I could clearly see that wasn't the case. We didn't get to talk long, and I figure I'll figure it all out down the line.
~I Was Stale?~
Is it possible that I'd become stale? Sure. Did it matter that that I had her back, through all the confusion, through all the abuse she got from her mom, that I cared no matter what anyone said? Gave faithfulness and honesty? Evidently not. I felt kind of burned, 'cuz I was willing to do so much for her--but maybe that was part of the problem. Super-supportive boyfriend might'a just been too boring. Or maybe I was just a pastime, something to latch onto during her tenor at the Monroe apartments...once you got a car in the works, all those doors open up right? By now, enough time had gone by that indifference took over...she wants it this way? Well, fine. I did what I could, and I gave it all. I could get mad--very easily, but what would that do? She even went so far as to tell people, there never was a relationship. Right. Better to go with the guy ten years older than you.
I figured, chivalry might just be dead. Not dead as in no longer practiced, but dead as in no longer a factor: a man is measured by the cars, clothing lines, ice links, money, and minks he's got available to him, not the way that he thinks. Always being there for her, and throwing tremendous amounts of energy into doing anything I could for her--which admittedly was a lot of contacts and legwork only, but still, everything--didn't really add up. It's not thrill-by-the-second, it's not partying or kinky, it's not an asshole treating his chicks like shit a la Edward from Twilight. Fact of the matter is, it's been a terrible year for relationships on Team Walker too; Jeff, Matt Townley, Chris138, Sarah Bronson, and Sarah Cowles make up just a few of the names suffering from the bad endings. My bitching about it certainly won't help them through, and there's too much to be done in this world for me to hang up on this one.
Something always goes wrong whenever I try to have a relationship, it's not to be pitied, it's simply fact. What's important now is that I help change this world for the better, helping others.
~The Sun Is Coming Back Up.~
~Moving to Sunnyvale~
While it'd been in the making for a while there, the ability to get a new place was always a bit uncertain, financially. We went from me and Matt moving in with Jim and Ridgway in a four-bedroom house, to it just being me, Matt, and Jim since Ridgway wasn't paying his dues (according to Jim) in a three-bedroom apartment, to then going to move with Matt, Jim, Jasmine, and I into a three-bedroom, to then Ridgway coming back into the fold to move in with me, Jim, Jasmine, Matt, and Ridgway into a four-bedroom, to then Jasmine leaving and--with her leaving--no financial power to consider a four-bedroom again at this point. Not to mention how many of these houses/apartments we blew through looking for in the process. It was a mess.
The worst of it was, that half-a-year in Florida was completely unnecessary. We could'a lived in Monroe apartments as long as we stayed there already, and been ready to go by the time the lease was through. ...Oh well.
Anyway, as it stood, we needed a new place. Especially with the crime. The idea was to then take over Wally and Cheri's place, since they were moving out of it! It wasn't the most ideal of places to live, trailer homes and all, but they were very nice trailer homes considering what they were, three bedrooms, and down Henderson Avenue which...is a street I avoided for years during my times getting over Abby haha, but it's really not a bad street. It's within walking distance of the PetSmart job, and while there's no 7-11 down the street, the Henderson corner store is nearly good enough. Carl's Jr. is also there, but as far as fast food goes, it's extremely expensive. The move down the street also puts me squarely back in Sunnyvale, and I've always liked it better than Santa Clara or San José anyhow.
But we didn't move into Wally and Cheri's old place.
Turns out, upon looking at the place and if it could be done, they offered Jim what they considered a slightly bigger one, fresh off the market, and Jim took it. I didn't care, so long as we got out of the Monroe spot. Unit #38 was the one we eventually got, although I didn't see it for a very long time. By the time I got out of Gyro's, negotiations were done, and now they were waiting for a deposit--just in time for that Gyro's check. I ended up putting down $800 total that month, which is a good amount; when you start at an apartment, you start with first month's rent, and deposit. $400 would have been in my first-months rent with this place, and $400 went into deposit. Not bad. When I got back, Matt and Jim moved out of the apartment to the new place. With Ridgway barely there, and Jasmine long gone, it was just...quiet.
Oh, and there was absolutely no food. Not like Matt who won't eat certain things because he's somehow managed to be picky in this high-and-dry times, but no, literally, nothing. Not ramen. Not...well, I guess cockroaches? And whatever I got hanging out with Jamie! Which, again, a big thank you to her. ...But we'll get to those down the line. For now, the new place! Things had come to an unfortunate end at the Monroe apartments, and in the end, I suppose we can be thankful that they did. Even still, it was a big chapter in the story of our return to California (or my return, Matt's first time), and it marked the end of the book that would be the Monroe apartments in the first place.
~The Move~
We started the move a few days before the first. By now, I'd gotten a look at the new place. It was...ok. Not great, but for six months? It was better than where we were, by lots. The kitchen was huge compared to our previous places, but it went and took away from the rest of the house; small living room, small hallway. The main bedroom was enormous, but this had the same effect with the other bedrooms in that it's size made them small in the grand design. All the same, I got my own room, and that's more space than I'd been allotted since I left the Troyer's...I wasn't gonna complain. The most daunting thing of all was the move itself. It loomed over our heads for days up until this point. Most really didn't want to do it. Thankfully, we had help offered!
It was in our mind that we split up teams. See, due to the bed bugs and cockroaches, we couldn't move over all our stuff immediately. We had to check it all first, steam clean it, and basically eradicate anything remotely related to our insect nemesis. Wally and Brian offered to get a truck and share that truck with us, but we warned them we can't just swing by and get the things...we have to prepare them. Steam them, repackage them, and without letting them hit floor again, take them into the truck and get them over. We'd put off a lot of packing days for this day, but for some reason, no one liked the two-teams idea; basically the first team would go and get the stuff ready while the second team moved Wally and Cheri's place, and then we'd swing by and finish up.
Instead, they wanted us to help them move first. And then they'd help us move after. Sounds like a fair exchange, right? So, we went to it. Me? I worked PetSmart all morning, an eight hour shift moving heavy shit everywhere. And I don't sleep before my shifts, I sleep after my shifts, so I was absolutely exhausted getting off of work, and injured to boot, and yet I still went in through with the plan. It was Wally, Brian, Jim, Matt, and myself. ...And Brian's new girlfriend Nikki, but she wasn't there to help so much as watch. We moved Brian's stuff, and we moved Wally's stuff, and eventually Ridgway dropped by for an hour to help out even after. And we worked long, and hard, to get that stuff into the truck, and even longer getting it out.
See, the thing about Wally's new place is that it's on the third story of a refurbished hotel; it's been converted into an apartment complex, and wouldn't you know, Wally lives on that third floor. This means elevator or stairs are our means of travel, and in our case, both. And there is nothing that Wally owns that is light except maybe a desk, and even then I think that was Brian's. Not that I minded! I love my friends, and I love helping them, but I felt a little useless because I was worn the fuck out walking into this mess. Brian got cheesed at me for being slow or unresponsive to spoken word, but I gotta say, I didn't mean to. I was strictly just very, very done. What was worse? As soon as we arrived at the new place, Nikki (Brian's GF) took Jim to go get her washer and drier "real fast". He never came back.
However, we were in for a tremendous surprise. Remember Randy, my friend and co-worker at Gyro's? Well, turns out, he lives literally a door away from Wally's. Neighbors. Such a large city, and such a small world, there he is. I was sitting there guarding the door to Wally's place that was left wide open, and I see this hooded fellow come in through the door. He starts walking down obviously, and then...starts to slow...in that way where his head tilts, and you can tell he's considering you. Like he knows you. Like he knows me! What a small world! Not only did the guy give us a hearty hello and greet Wally and Brian in their moving in, offering any help they may need in the future, he helped us move the rest of their things. It was tremendous.
~Gliding Like A Brick~hours
When we were done with Wally's place, it was time to do our own...we'd spent hours on the job, and we were very done in, but we were optimistic--our friends were going to come with us. Not Randy, mind! But he never made a deal in the first place, so we waved a goodbye, but we were excited to be working with Wally and Brian on getting this shit done, and Jim to meet us there. Only...that's not how it worked. When we got there, Brian thought he might need a lamp for his bedroom, so he went back to his old place to get one with Wally...and they never returned. It was just me, extremely fucking spent, and Matt who was extremely fucking crippled, staring up at our apartment and realizing we were going to be the only ones in it riding this round to it's completion.
Matt was beyond pissed. I hadn't seen him that mad since Troyer wrote me up.
We worked very hard. Every single piece of furniture was moved from upstairs to that truck after being thoroughly wiped down with bleach or steam-cleaned. Sometimes both, if the situation called for it. Every piece of furniture except Ridgway's, which..he wasn't here at all, and we had no idea what to do with his stuff. 'Sides, me and Jim made a pact years ago to never move a Captain's Bed again! So everything was stuffed to that truck, and we were beyond spent. Hell, I was beyond spent before I even got there on my limited sleep and full-time stocking with injuries. But, fuck it, had to continue--and by now, Jim had finally arrived...but we needed to get the show on the road.
Thankfully...Wally remembered us! And sure enough, he busted his ass to help us unload that truck. I stayed in it, pulling things to the truck's edge, but for once in a long while, I actually felt pretty useless. Unfortunately, I had no idea how bad it would actually get--the shit storm wasn't over. We still had to do all those boxes, including the ones in the closet that didn't belong to anyone that lived there--from room mates long past. ...This was something along the lines of eight people's worth of possessions. The four of us, plus the two room mates of the past stored in that closet, plus a mixture of all the girl's stuff they'd left behind (Vi, Cheryl, Jasmine). We didn't get to it 'cuz we were tired, but after limited sleep and another day of full-time job...we were at it again, Round Two.
~"You Stay 'Til The Job's Done!"~
The next day was me working 'til 1pm or so, which I was then retrieved from my work by Jim to the house. They'd gone and messed with my things in the Living Room even when I said not to, and consequently threw away some of my things (this is why I told them not to!), but that aside, things were just starting, and underway. Andrew Nagel and Chris Steinwinder were there, and I think Wally showed up too during this afternoon-cinema, and it was all a lot of re-packing, throwing out what we didn't want, and selecting what we did, handing the boxes over to Ridgway and Nagel, and they'd take it down to Chris to be taken away. Sometimes, Ridgway would even come back. Nagel, on the other hand, stayed the whole way through 'til he decided we were probably not going to get it done that night, and left for a dinner with a girl.
But we weren't done, and I wasn't going to be done. The remnants of Ridgway's furniture gone, Chris Steinwinder also went home, and so did Wally, and Ridgway wasn't seeming like he was going to back. I remember Jim suggesting we just stop and give up, and I was fucking livid. I went into Pikey and instructed, "WE STAY 'TIL THE JOB'S DONE!" and, with that inspiration in us, we didn't dare cease. We boxed up fucking everything that was of use, and threw away tons of shit that simply wasn't. Variously, bits of (much appreciated!!) help would show up in the forms of Ridgway, Mike Kempton (AKA the good Mike), and Mr. Chandler Cord--a very cool dude from Jim's workplace. We all shot the shit while packing up old room mate's things from the closet (such as Thomas Bush's stuff--do you remember that fat bastard??), but ultimately they, too, needed to leave.
The only cats strictly with it the whole way through so far had been me, Jim, and Matt--and even Jim had his time kidnapped by Nikki. But we fucking pressed on.
~Wally Comes Through!~
One of the most prominent things in this was Wally. We got help from Chris, Nagel, Chandler, and Mike--I'm not denying that. But I thought in this event, the real tremendous source was Wally. He really went out of his way that last second when we needed him--we were on our "E" tank, and while he'd showed up to help last night and earlier this day, he did it again. Despite Brian, who never once showed up and had the kindness to say "I'm giving away your grill I was going to give you as a gift if you don't pick it up tonight" even though we couldn't 'cuz we were packing up (after helping him, and he wasn't here to help us! AND he gave it away before the night was over anyway!!), Wally was there 100%. He worked, and he over-worked, and he thought he still owed us. I thought he was out of his mind, but it's all perspective I guess. I know he got flack for it, but thanks again Wally. And everyone else, at that.
Finally, at ridiculous in the morning, we were more or less done. We didn't get done everything we wanted, mind--there was still lots of shit we didn't want discarded all around the house. There was still vacuuming, the cleaning itself to be done, but the packing? It was through. We'd packed and moved it all but the shit we didn't want, and a few remnants of Jim's room like a box here, and a battery generator there. Matt was definitely shot by now, so Ridgway took him home, and me and Jim--standing in the center of the mass--took one final look around, and then decided we needed a drink. James had recently come across a brewery for hard liquors that he appreciated and visited enough, and so he had with him a bottle of Hanger One Straight Vodka and St. George Single Malt Whiskey.
He gave me the whiskey, and we drank, and we reflected.
See, me and James had been on-and-off again room mates since 2002. The things we found backed up in that closet were things we saw in our day to day lives years ago, some of them even our own. We'd realized we'd come this long way, this tremendous friendship of ours, and though we had our rocky roads...they were brought about by outside people looking to rock the boat. The point is, we'd survived it all--the hardest times in my life were shared by James, and it was often me and James alone keeping a place afloat. We faced down poverty the likes of which made the poverty we faced getting back here from Florida look like child's play, and we walked home in the worst of storms, and we dodged the greatest of law suits, and weathered the worst of break-ups on our shoulders. ...We'd done it all, and this was one more notch of victory. We were damned pleased with ourselves.
Krystal, the downstairs neighbor, broke up this event by asking where Jasmine was, and Jim saw fit to give her our third bottle--the white brandy. I didn't approve, but hey, she left. And we decided, before it all gets interrupted again, we better leave.
After all, there was tomorrow. Jim had his first day of work, and we all volunteered to come back to do that cleaning--me, Matt, and Ridgway.
~The Cockroach Massacre of 2009~
Round Three. The final showdown with the Monroe apartments starred no one but me and Ridgway. Matt was too done in, and while I was absolutely sore to the limit by now, I can push through usually--and I did. It was up to me and Ridgway now, and no lie, he earned his manliness that day. We went back, and we spent the day cleaning the shit out of that apartment. While everything but a few (very heavy) things were taken that needed to be taken (these few things fit in his car), the place was far from over. There were piles, and piles, of trash and things to throw. Hundreds of little things, hundreds of large, large things. Many, many boxes, stuffed to the brim, with things. We worked muscles 'til they couldn't stands no more, scrubbed every corner, and pretty much kicked fucking ass.
One of the most satisfying events was The Cockroach Massacre of 2009. Basically, we moved the 'fridge to clean under it, and we found their...their base of operations? No, that seems too..small. Their congregation? Their country. There were thousands. It was ludicrous. I got the squirt-bleach, and the toilet-cleaner bleach, and with a Southern zeal that could only be described Yosemite-Sam, I proceeded to aniggalate them. I exploded every thing there was with bleach, dumping, spraying, crushing, it didn't stop. Then we'd move the 'fridge to a whole different spot, and there were just as many then too. ROUND TWO, I'd scream, and a "YEEEEHAW!!"...it was a stomping party with bleach. I think Ridgway might'a been terrified, but I was having the time of my life. It was revenge, pure and simple. There was a linoleum matt made of the same stuff the kitchen floor cut out and put under the 'fridge, presumably to keep it from scratching the surface...
When that was removed, I soaked it with bleach, 'cuz that's where they were most.
By the time I was done, there was probably a funnel-cloud of roach-souls exploding out of the walls of the apartment. It was great. And what's better? We cleaned that fucking place as spotless as it ever could be. Only one, final, challenge remained...it was easily the most difficult thing about this whole ordeal, and it was also the most satisfying of them all. Walker and Ridgway vs. The Couch! With a brief interruption by the apartment manager Tim (which it's funny, 'cuz the worst and best managers I've ever had were both named Tim...and this Tim wasn't the best.), we set to work on that couch, not at all prepared for what we had before us. To be frank, we were pretty done. I was extra done.
After all, we'd filled up three dumpsters worth of trash by the time this was done.
The couch wasn't a light beast. Maybe not the heaviest couch I've ever lifted--that'd be Patricia's one made of steel and hate back at the Townhouse--but it was not too far off. It was cheap, and everyone hated it, and we had no intention of keeping it. My only question was, how the fuck did it get *IN* here?? It was huge! And it didn't fit through that door. No, we tried. Every angle. Multiple times. Holding it in the air for hours, pushing for hours, shoving for hours, every possible way. It was always close, but never, ever, close enough. I was furious, absolutely enraged, and I was looking around--I thought, "If I could only smash it!" and I was thinking a hammer or something, thinking out loud. Ridgway looked like he wanted to give up, but I was too angry to. Then...suddenly. An idea.
My combat boots are steel toed. They're old, so they're God-awful terrible shoes--three years old, and I'm extremely hard on my shoes. But, the steel toes? Good as they've ever been. I slipped off my shoe, reared back, and began to smash it against the legs of the couch. The legs were made of plastic that were sealed into the couch, and screwed in with massive screws just in case. We had no other object to swing, no screwdriver to use, it was this and brute force or nothing--and fuck it if I wasn't angry enough. Ridgway stepped away, and watch me break thick, extremely hearty and durable plastics with a few clean smashes of the boot. Half of them were gone, and we then started for the door...no go. Then Ridgway and I had the idea to throw it out the fucking window, like we promised to do to Nagel and Peter's things in the past.
We had Adam move his fucking car (how he's not arrested yet is beyond me), and dragged it across the house, spent 15 minutes struggling to get it through Ridgway's door with every ounce of our might. In this process, I grabbed the end of the plastic that wouldn't break--the leg that refused to break by steel-toed hammer-boot!--and wrenched it completely off like a man's neck, twisting it around with a thunderous set of very satisfying snaps, and hurled it across the room. It fit. But not through the fucking window. What a fucking let down. I was running out of everything. I was mad. Ridgway wanted to try the door again now that I ripped a third off, figuring if I ripped the fourth off? We might have a shot...he might be right. We went to try, but the huge unforgiving cushions wouldn't give.
...Pulling it back to rest again, we heard jingles. I remembered it had my money.
I wanted to gut it, but I had no knife. Curse me, I didn't even bring my box cutter! If only I had something to cut with, if only!...wait. Another idea. I spied the legs with the screws poking out of the bottom of them, broken on the floor about the room. I picked one up, and using the screw, I slowly cut it all.
When Ridgway cut on, we proceeded to not only gut the couch's tummy and rip into it's back, we cut everything. Literally, every cushion, every ounce of thing in our way, we rended. We then broke it. We broke the shit out of this couch, no man would ever use it again, through rage and Ridgway's weight, it was finally done. I got a LOT of change from it, and we pushed it back to the door in it's skeletal, broken husk...still wouldn't fit, so fucking close. Finally, I said, I was gonna kick it. Ridgway fled down the stairs, and I eased back, and proceeded to give it the Hulk Hogan Big Boot with a charge. It erupted out of the door-frame and down the stairs. We had finally conquered the self-serving Demonic entity that was this couch, and we proceeded to haul it off to another dumpster. Fuck that fucking thing, and fuck anyone that complains about it being in their trash on Monroe Street.
~Aftermath.~
Jim came by shortly thereafter. All that was left was the vacuuming. One look at us, and he insisted he cover it. It took a while, but he did it. Then, we left. On the way home, Jim noted I'd been the only one there all day, every day, through all of it, like he was weirded out I'd do it. I reminded him he should know me by now--just like everyone from Rahan to Fax knows, I help people because that's what I do, and friends are even more to that. Sure, my things were pretty easily done. Sure 98.6% of what I did was every one else's problem, but that's not the point. We're a fucking team, and like I'd said several times before, teams need to fucking stick together. He dug it, and we went back to reminiscence of our long and checkered history 'til we got back...home.
You know, it's still interesting to call this place that. Home's still kinda the Monroe house for me, my aura hasn't settled into this new spot exactly yet. That's not to say I would prefer it there--fuck no. But, it's also not to say I won't miss the place. The single, most greatest moment in my life happened right there in 2129 Monroe Street. Because right there in that Apartment #3, I realized so much that it put me on a great path. Words cannot describe...words cannot describe how it felt to stand there, and look at that place, for one last time. I'm not ashamed to say it, I'm going to miss that place...it's the worst place we've ever lived, but a lot happened there. And just as quickly, we were gone to the next place, and I have a feeling it won't have the same impact on our lives. We'll see. For now? Time to move on. Finally, we were in December.
Getting On With Life,
Walker Pennington.
Thanks: I want to thank the people that helped us make that move. Wally, Randy, Mike, Chandler, Nagel, Chris--you were all tremendous. I'd like to thank my co-workers at Gyro's and PetSmart for being so tremendous and helpful in my life, and I'd like to thank the many that helped me get through my personal-life problems like The BSG (Chris, #2, Mitch, Zeke, Bender, Jacob, Kurtis...), Jesse, Hannah, Jamie, Derek, Sloan, Scott, Anna, Raph, both Sarahs...and finally:
Special Thanks: I'd like to say special thanks to Chris Steinwinder. Many people were there for me, but this dude went tremendously out of his way for me. He saw how absolutely horrid I looked when I heard the various bad newses with Jasmine (all three), and through many of my other hardships surrounding them, and he went completely balls-to-the-wall out of his way to see it undone and me restored. He kept me sane, when that was all but up. Thank you so much.