|
Friday, Jun. 13, 2003 / 11:05 a.m. ~She, Obsessed With the Documentation of it All~ (I started on this last night, but a lightning flash and simultaneous crack of thunder prompted me to log off � this morning I tried to log on at home again, just to check email, something I never do at home before work, and my modem couldn�t get a dial tone. I tried the phone line, nothing, but it sounded engaged� I unplugged the modem, the phone worked, so now I�m thinking my modem is dead � Alas, I finish this from the cube.) At times, it feels like too much is happening, and there is a rush to document it all, on my part anyway. Like I don't want to forget any of it, just because it's unusual, or abnormal, or worthy of noting. Places to document vary, and some I've already written, then I think of this, of being here, and what to put here, how much, which parts, and now..... Now I'm so tired. I took a little online test that showed I like obscure grammar, that ellipses with more than three periods are very fine with me. Why just three? ... Who cares? I want to create my own style, no, I have created it. Tonight on the way home I saw a rainbow. And clouds that looked silver and pearl-y, shiny almost, big and white and gray and dark and light and sunshine on one side, and wind blowing, and mimosas in bloom, the 'possum killed just days ago already but a blur on the road. I remembered wanting to paint clouds, wanting to move to Taos, to be Georgia O'Keefe, but I can't paint, it's not my talent, I take pictures. Okay, take pictures of the sky, the clouds, the light. We could go backwards, let's start at the note at my front door, not that there is a back door, or a side door, there is a porch door (see? this will take a while), but the front door, stuffed in between the knob and the jam (knobs and jam, sounds like a tea time snack), was a memo, Re: ATTEMPTED ROBBERY. The off duty police officer was a hero. I'll agree. I think I'm glad he lives here. Should I back up? Can I be brief? How to be brief? I printed out the menu for my favorite little cafe, the Mediterranean place, the coffeehouse/hangout/restaurant/cafe with the servers from exotic places like Lithuania, and Bulgaria, and Croatia, all bellies exposed and tight shirts and jeans that only come to there. Here, my favorite place, this is what the food is like. And she said, "Let's go, it doesn't have to be a Friday", "Um, well, tomorrow, I guess", "LET'S GO TOMORROW then", she ordered. Kukla. Kukla is demanding. I said she is a one night stand for friendship. Maybe it's more like an affair. She is my friendship mistress, I use her for her company, her willingness, she doesn't ask questions, she just agrees, but she demands. It must be a bit of D&S, but who is whom? Thunder is thundering, don't want to lose data. Faster, faster. Get to the point, but there are so many. We went, and Q followed (although I�d not invited her and didn�t know Kukla had), and they came in my apartment to wait whilst I fed felines, and I forgot Kukla hates animals, she's not allergic, I'd forgotten why she waits outside, why she honks her horn, why she barely came to the door last Saturday. I showed them the inside, the library, the books, apologized for 'the mess', that no one sees but me, and made N and G sit pretty for Q whilst I fed them. "Sit, sit... okay, here you go!" Suppertime sitting. Sometimes I like to say, "God is great, god is good, let us thank him for our fud", you know, to rhyme with good. Just to be silly, as we don't believe in god, N, G, nor I. Q was so impressed, and after they ate, the felines, and I had on tie dye and jeans with big hole in ass, and Dino boxers ("Flintstones" Dino) underneath to appear under said hole, and plaid flannel Chucks and we were ready to go, N came out to say hello, and "I ate my supper, who are YOU?" to Kukla. HAH!!! The cat always gravitates to the cat hater in the room. I'd forgotten, completely. Kukla jumped! "Let's get out of here!", said she, and so we did. Driving in a convoy of women, one car per each, just like in "Swingers", but not following so closely, cops stopping speeders all along the highway, and beyond, and why?, we wondered, each, separately. Fleeing the storm, the one that looked like the one we're about to have now, the same shiny gray and silver clouds, the wind, the big puffy layer upon layer of clouds, looming, moving, faster, and making all the trees look like deep green broccoli florets, everything prettier. And dodging potholes intown, we, in our caravan, our convoy, and we got there, and I gave them the tour, and Q, who thinks Applebee�s is dinner out, had seen nothing like it, she said so. And she was so afraid, so afraid to try anything new, and she had to ask for extra dressing for her Caesar Salad With Chicken, and Kukla had to get the Lithuanian to recite the specials three times. I felt like I was out with people who�d never left their houses before this night. I drank wine, and I ate my favorite salmon sandwich, and I drank Sambuca after, and they left and I went to the bar, and a jazz combo started playing - sax, keyboards, stand up bass, drums, and it was perfect. I watched the bartender with the plain white t-shirt, and the broadest shoulders ever shake martinis like his life depended on it, and the other one, the female, who seemed to stand so close to him. They stood, talked, then they rushed, and rushed, and I drank water, my liqueur, cappuccino, and more wine, and I sat, and got someone to make sure no one put �rufies� in my drink while I went to the bathroom (funny bar moment there, just asking, joking)�. But it was nice, and I�d told Kukla and Q I wish I could live in Europe and Kukla asked why I want to leave this wonderful country. If you have to ask, how can I tell you? This particular cafe is a bit of Europe, and it reminds me of a life I�d rather live. One that�s slower, one with jazz in the background, and one where all the people have foreign accents. Spontaneously, I decided to leave, I knew I couldn�t drink more, I didn�t want to sit at a bar and not drink, so I decided to drop in on Brent. Spontaneously. I had to pass his building, why not? It wasn�t too very late, er, was it? Nice to see him, but why aren�t my friends more affectionate, sans alcohol? I have to be the one to offer up a �Hello, I haven�t seen you in almost a year!� hug?! Either way, nice, nice, nice to see him, to sit in his deluxe apartment in the sky, look at his art, the painted door I (not so secretly) covet, listen to his MP3s, smoke, talk, sit, etc. But it was a work night, and though I was out and about, and alcoholized, and thus social, not necessarily everyone else in town was, so I left after not long, and then at Brent�s urging, and why in HELL?, went down 8 floors to knock on the door of his ex-roommate, with whom it just so happens I had sex on a couple of odd occasions, rather, again� spontaneously. Thank god he didn�t answer. I guess 1:00 on a Thursday morning is kind of late, if you�re not out and about after drinking a lot of wine, and Sambuca with appropriate floated espresso beans, and eating seared salmon on thick bread with sun dried tomato mayonnaise, and mozzarella wrapped prosciutto, and cantaloupe, and grapes, and, and, and� Ellipses galore. Thank god he didn�t answer. I didn�t know what I was going to say. I didn�t want to sleep with him, it was just a joke, more or less, or a surprise, and it was clearly at Brent�s urging. Just urging inspired spontaneous surprise. Shortly after 1:00 I was driving home. Maybe a 15 minute drive, on the Interstate mostly. (I�m getting to the main point, but this is my documentation, and however long it takes is fine, short diary entries are for people with nothing to say.) Okay, here�s where it gets interesting. On the way into �town� we�d seen cops everywhere, really, sitting on the sides of the road, keeping people doing the intown 55 mph, and stopping people, lights flashing, and it was like an omen of some kind. After the whole evening was done, and I�d done all I could do, I turned on to my little street, an �apartment complex row� of sorts, and two police cars blocked the entrance to the complex I pass first. No lights, it was dark, they just sat there, diagonal to the entrance, blocking it. I came to my complex, pulled in, no parking, as per usual on a weeknight after midnight (everyone tucked in snug as bugs in rugs), had to park down by the mailboxes, and as I walked up to my apartment, not thinking much of being outside late at night, in an apartment complex parking lot, MY apartment complex parking lot, I saw more cars, darkened, no flashing lights, just cars blocking the road just a few yards away, the road leading to the back of the complex. Hmmmm�, thought I. I came in, thinking how insane it was that I�d been knocking on that poor boy�s door only half an hour or so earlier, and what was I hoping would happen? That he�d open it? And then what? I was removing clothes when I heard voices outside, saw some flashing lights, and I looked out, so the same cars blocking the road, quite directly under my bedroom window. Police cars. Several, marked, unmarked, and TV news vans. A guy lugging a big video camera. Hmmmmm�, thought, I, again. I closed the curtains out which I�d been peeking, picked up the phone and called Nelson, as I�d been thinking of him since last Saturday night�s late night drunken lovefest. It was a strained conversation, at best, and we somehow got on my least favorite topic, or one of, anal sex, and appreciation or disgust at, thereof, and I regretted calling him. But I heard voices outside the whole time, and I peeked out, but didn�t want to be a �Looky Lou�. I knew it would be on the news, whatever murder, murder/suicide, break-in, rape, robbery, whatever it was. I knew it was big though. And apparently it was. My apartment complex was in the headlines all day yesterday, it was splashed across the news, and yet no one came to me and said, �Hey, are you okay? Isn�t that where you live?� � goes to show ya. Apparently someone tried to rob a resident, as the poor guy was unloading his 12 pack of Coke, and his weenies, or whatever other groceries from his SUV or whatever (I have few details). Sort of �Give me some money� or something, so the guy gave him a bit, and then words were exchanged, and the robber pulled out a handgun, and the robbee pulled out his! An off duty cop!!! So the cop shoots the robber, and this is how it�s supposed to happen in the game of cops and robbers, even when one is off duty, officially. The shot up robber runs, across the street, to the other apartment complex where I�d seen the cops blocking the entrance. And thus the excitement began. And ensued. And yellow crime tape was strung up, and investigators investigated, and oh yeah, the robber was shot like three times in the chest and was chased and caught and is recovering from surgery last I heard. And our cop is a hero. And it all happened whilst I was sitting upon a couple of large floor pillows, on the floor, in Brent�s deluxe apartment in the sky. 10 floors up. I just missed it. If I�d been home I would have heard the shots, I would�ve been in bed, watching Letterman, I would have looked out my bedroom window and seen the �suspect� running, holding his chest maybe. Splashed across the news, my apartments, must be putting a bit of a damper on potential new residents coming for a look-see, eh? So, they sent us all a memo, and it says, �Last night someone tried to rob one of our residents (a _______ Police Officer) outside building ____. While we are saddened and disturbed whenever there is a violent incident, we want to express our pride and admiration for the off duty officer who confronted a dangerous individual, prevented a criminal act from occurring, and avoided injury to himself or any innocent bystanders. Because of his heroic actions, this criminal was apprehended. We have requested additional patrols of our property by _______ Police.� And call if you have questions, blah, blah, blah. Nice, huh? It feels weird. Even though I remember my first Saturday night, six years ago, sleeping in my new bedroom, hearing gunshots outside. And I remember after signing my lease, finding out the convenience store where the employee was shot and killed a week or two before was the one a few yards from our complex. Fun. Crime happens everywhere, and I try to be cautious. I do. Life goes on. And the same day I write about, the eventful one, the chockfull one, Wednesday, was also the day I was home at lunch, looking out the window at the mailman putting the mail in the boxes, wondering if he had my new CDs, when a knock came at my door, and it was a UPS man in the shortest, tightest, little brown shorts I�ve ever seen, bringing me my CDs. So I listened to Bossa Nova at work that day, and I fell asleep to it as police investigated outside my bedroom window that night. And yesterday I learned it�s really hard to talk to strangers on the phone, customer service-wise, when one is hungover and tired from too little sleep. Alas, I persevere. There is more to note, more that�s worthy, but I�ve fallen behind, and I don�t even know if my modem is working at home, so this will be uploaded shortly, and I will proceed from there. Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)
Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
  |