latest and not so greatest
So I haven't posted in my own journal in forever...that's mainly because I always mess up and somehow end up losing all that I type.
Anyway, I'm sitting here in a smoky, smelly apartment...and I WISH I could say it was because I burned dinner. Alas, that is not the case.
Four weeks ago I was happy to move to my new home in the ghetto. I didn't care that it was too much money for a small apartment in the ghetto of Santa Ana, California. All I've cared about over these past few weeks is A) being back in my own place; B) NOT having a hellish commute to work; and C) decorating my new ghetto fabulous apartment. My dogs and I have been so happy. Each day I've done something a little new. Right after I moved in, I went out and bought ALL new furniture. I've never done that before. Two weeks later, it arrived. And I smiled. I felt grown. I felt happy. I was scheduled to share that happiness with my friends tomorrow - in that I was going to have a BBQ housewarming party.
I took today off (um, er, I guess that would technically be yesterday - I took yesterday, Friday off). I did a few things around the house. And I needed to do the grocery shopping for tomorrow (today). After a comedy of errors, I finally ended up making it to SAMS Club. I returned home to fire trucks...lots and lots of fire trucks. Now before anyone gets too alarmed, my apartment didn't burn down. However, my next door neighbor's did. And when I say neighbor, I don't mean across the street, different complex neighbor. I mean the neighbor with whom I share a wall with.
So another neighbor briefs me on what happened (there was smoke, he kicked in the door, ended up calling 9-1-1, blah, blah, blah)...the neighbor whose home it was (Karen) was not home. My first thought...her dogs...she has five dogs...where are her dogs...did anyone get the dogs??? A while later I found Karen there...sitting in the courtyard....crying...apologizing to me...feeling horrible...being miserable. I didn't know what to say. It was horrible. It's an even longer story than I'm already writing, but she's a very sad lady. Her husband died a couple of years ago...quite recently her favorite doggie was badly injured. Now this. And, sadly, two of her dogs didn't make it out. Her favorite, Kiki, was one of them. I cried with her (at the same time feeling guilty for being so incredibly grateful that for some strange reason I had taken my dogs with me to the store).
After almost five hours of standing around, wondering what was going on, we were allowed to return to our homes. They didn't want us to stay, but most of us insisted because we didn't want to leave all of our belongings when most of us don't have doors (they were kicked in by the fire dept). So we return...we assess...we regroup...I had the only "real" damage. Mine was the only door not able to close...heck, my door wasn't even attached to anything...in fact, part of my door-frame was ripped off. Also, in the process of kicking in my door, they shattered my brand new, not even two-week old dining room table and messed up one of the chairs. I cried. Again, feeling guilty because I know it's a million times worse for Karen right now. But I still can't help but be upset and frustrated and so incredibly over such crappiness that goes on with me. Not even two weeks old and it's literally destroyed. Much like the time (only 8 months ago) when my car was only about two weeks old (after having to buy a brand new car because of totaling mine in an accident) has a rock hit it and puts a huge crack in it.
So I'm sitting here in my smelly, a little less smoky apartment...with no door...no dining room table...TONS of food for a BBQ that isn't going to take place. I wait while the workers decide whose door to direct their attention to first (um, hello...here...only one here with NO door attached to ANYthing...and ONLY PERSON here ALONE). **sigh**
Updated to add: we still don't know what's happening with the apartment. We (the doggies and I) have been living in an empty apartment in another building, which may sound all well and good, but not when you don't have anything. What we have: a refrigerator, my top mattress, patio chairs, and doggie toys (and, of course, some clothes so I can go to work).
Anyway, I'm sitting here in a smoky, smelly apartment...and I WISH I could say it was because I burned dinner. Alas, that is not the case.
Four weeks ago I was happy to move to my new home in the ghetto. I didn't care that it was too much money for a small apartment in the ghetto of Santa Ana, California. All I've cared about over these past few weeks is A) being back in my own place; B) NOT having a hellish commute to work; and C) decorating my new ghetto fabulous apartment. My dogs and I have been so happy. Each day I've done something a little new. Right after I moved in, I went out and bought ALL new furniture. I've never done that before. Two weeks later, it arrived. And I smiled. I felt grown. I felt happy. I was scheduled to share that happiness with my friends tomorrow - in that I was going to have a BBQ housewarming party.
I took today off (um, er, I guess that would technically be yesterday - I took yesterday, Friday off). I did a few things around the house. And I needed to do the grocery shopping for tomorrow (today). After a comedy of errors, I finally ended up making it to SAMS Club. I returned home to fire trucks...lots and lots of fire trucks. Now before anyone gets too alarmed, my apartment didn't burn down. However, my next door neighbor's did. And when I say neighbor, I don't mean across the street, different complex neighbor. I mean the neighbor with whom I share a wall with.
So another neighbor briefs me on what happened (there was smoke, he kicked in the door, ended up calling 9-1-1, blah, blah, blah)...the neighbor whose home it was (Karen) was not home. My first thought...her dogs...she has five dogs...where are her dogs...did anyone get the dogs??? A while later I found Karen there...sitting in the courtyard....crying...apologizing to me...feeling horrible...being miserable. I didn't know what to say. It was horrible. It's an even longer story than I'm already writing, but she's a very sad lady. Her husband died a couple of years ago...quite recently her favorite doggie was badly injured. Now this. And, sadly, two of her dogs didn't make it out. Her favorite, Kiki, was one of them. I cried with her (at the same time feeling guilty for being so incredibly grateful that for some strange reason I had taken my dogs with me to the store).
After almost five hours of standing around, wondering what was going on, we were allowed to return to our homes. They didn't want us to stay, but most of us insisted because we didn't want to leave all of our belongings when most of us don't have doors (they were kicked in by the fire dept). So we return...we assess...we regroup...I had the only "real" damage. Mine was the only door not able to close...heck, my door wasn't even attached to anything...in fact, part of my door-frame was ripped off. Also, in the process of kicking in my door, they shattered my brand new, not even two-week old dining room table and messed up one of the chairs. I cried. Again, feeling guilty because I know it's a million times worse for Karen right now. But I still can't help but be upset and frustrated and so incredibly over such crappiness that goes on with me. Not even two weeks old and it's literally destroyed. Much like the time (only 8 months ago) when my car was only about two weeks old (after having to buy a brand new car because of totaling mine in an accident) has a rock hit it and puts a huge crack in it.
So I'm sitting here in my smelly, a little less smoky apartment...with no door...no dining room table...TONS of food for a BBQ that isn't going to take place. I wait while the workers decide whose door to direct their attention to first (um, hello...here...only one here with NO door attached to ANYthing...and ONLY PERSON here ALONE). **sigh**
Updated to add: we still don't know what's happening with the apartment. We (the doggies and I) have been living in an empty apartment in another building, which may sound all well and good, but not when you don't have anything. What we have: a refrigerator, my top mattress, patio chairs, and doggie toys (and, of course, some clothes so I can go to work).