This Used to be my Bedroom

That lovely black area there? That's my bedroom window.

I thought that I would finally get on it and show you the wreckage...

An open letter to God:

Your Highness (or whatever you like to be called),

I have a complaint and yes, I am aware that issues of this nature should be directed to the specific department of complaints, but I have been screaming and yelling to them for about a year now and nothing has changed.

Please review with me, if you will, the past two years of my life.

Ahem…

First, you rip my from my favorite apartment by sending Spliffany back to Orlando. This would have been fine if you could have gotten me a raise or a suitable roommate. But, no…

Then you give me a pretty nice apartment with a washer and dryer and a roommate who is never home. (This was both a blessing and a curse.) And then, because she was never there anyway, when she decided to move in with her boyfriend, you force me to go on the hunt again, for an apartment.

Then, once I have finally started the process of finding a place and moving, you throw a dead guy at me. Quite literally. And he breaks my car and my back. Just in time to pack up all of my belongings (YET AGAIN) and move.

Then you give me a fantastic apartment for a pretty modest amount of money but you put it on the other side of the RIVER…which, just so you know, is NOT the ocean. (I would think that you would know these things, since you are the creator and whatnot.)

When it is time for renewal or escape, Spliffany decides to move back and we start the hunt for the perfect place (AT THE BEACH) which we find. It is huge and adorable and the neighbors didn’t seem like psychos and we love it. And then Spliffany goes to put down the deposit and we find out that the owner showed it to us, not knowing that someone had already gotten it. On to the next place.

We found a great apartment to move into only a few blocks from the one that we loved and we put a deposit down on it. Six days before I am set to move, you send gypsies to my house to steal my jewelry and my dairy products (and scare the bejesus out of me).

You arrange it so that I can move into the new apartment (that I only kind of liked) a week early so that I didn’t have to stay alone in the gypsy stink of the old one, but you make me pay an extra $350 that I had to borrow (and you know I don’t do that) from JGJ.

Once I finally got settled in, you decided to torch the apartment below me and almost kill my cat. And I KNOW that you’re aware that I would literally JUMP into a fire to save my cat. You do not MESS with the Ernge. All of this, forcing me to move, yet AGAIN into another (seemingly perfect) apartment.

This time, the landlord seems a little wacky but nothing we can’t handle. And we move in and we go out ONE time and basically get told that we are not allowed to move about the house in heels (or at all) at any time that may annoy someone in a five mile radius of our apartment. We also may not, under any circumstances, speak while sitting on the porch or in any room with a window open so as not to portray a negative image of our neighborhood. Also, we must not have magnets with funny slogans or the word “beer” on them. You also informed us, through our OCD landlord, that the word “dog” cannot be send in a normal tone of voice and that it must also accompany a scowl and disapproving shake of the head. This also goes for the word “basketball hoop”. Because clearly, anyone who plays basketball is no friend of yours.

All of this and my job started to suck more than ever.

Is there something that I have done to anger you? Is there something I can do to lift the curse that you have seemingly put on my head? Can you please cut a sista a break? I would really appreciate it. Seriously.

Your attention to this matter will be greatly appreciated.

Sincerely,

The Criz

Shit Luck

Just when you think things can’t get worse…

So, after the burglary and the impromptu move, I was pretty sure that I had suffered my share of unfortunate events. I had gotten the internet set up in the new place, my room was almost in order, and Spliff would be moving in in just a few days. Things were looking way up.

And then on Wednesday, (the one year anniversary of the infamous car accident) I was getting my things together to leave work and wrapping up a phone call with an insane patient, when my cell started ringing. I listened to my voicemail and immediately, my heart sunk.

“Crystal. There’s an emergency. The apartment has burned.”

I know what you’re thinking. “There is no way.” But you would be wrong. It is quite possible for someone to be burglarized on Friday, have to spend all weekend packing and moving and then to have their apartment catch on fire 5 days later. I know this, because if it is going to happen to someone, it will happen to me.

Mrs. P drove me to the scorched apartment while I freaked out and demanded to know where Ernge was. No one knew. No one had seen him at all. I won’t go into the gory details, I’ll just get right down to the nitty gritty.

The apartment below me had caught fire around 3:30 on Wednesday afternoon.
There was no one inside. (Except Ernge.)
I arrived at around 5:30 to talk to police and firemen and landlords.
When I walked in, I went straight to a hiding place that JGJ had said Ernge had used when I was out one day, said his name, and heard an ever so soft, “Meeeow…” and I was able to get him out, calm him down and get the layer of black off of him.
The fire itself didn’t destroy anything of mine (at least, not that I have discovered so far) but the smoke may have ruined several articles of my clothing. I can’t be sure until I am unpacked.
My bedroom was destroyed and the edges of every room where stained with soot and the smell, I fear, will follow me in a black cloud.
I was homeless for three nights and staying in a hotel with JGJ, Pica, Ernge and Raphael. (Yes, my fish lived too.)
Spliff and I found an apartment on Friday, moved in yesterday and are currently enjoying our first morning in our much bigger, much more home-like sort of place (which is three doors down from Jess and 2 blocks from the water).
Ernge is fine. And loud as ever. He is having a little trouble adjusting to all the new places he has been lately, but I think that seeing that he has (in the past week) met a burglar, and been trapped in a fire, he is doing better than anyone could have guessed. Oh yeah, and he is my hero.
I am finally starting to feel like a human being again. I am able to wake up in my own bed, make coffee and start the blogging. In our “office”. Yeah, because I always wanted one, and now because I have shit luck, I have one!
The people at work have been very, very supportive. I have received checks and cash from my coworkers as well as prayers and well-wishes and phone calls and love. And I appreciate everything. It has been a tough time. Tougher than I thought I could take. But I made it. And provided that, in the last few days of Hurricane Season, one doesn’t come and knock my house down (knock on wood), I think things are right with the world now. Besides that, Spliff and I are roomies again!

So…now…the thank yous.

JGJ: You are simply the best boyfriend a girl could ask for. You have done so much for me and I can’t even begin to tell you how much it all means to me. Thank you for putting up with my attitude and frustration and fits of crying and for keeping me sane. And thank you for single-handedly making the world a more bearable place. I couldn’t have done it without you. Olive juice.

Spliff: Thank you for making it easier for me to laugh at this whole thing. If anyone can do that, it’s you. Because even though it was your apartment too, your not freaking out too badly and ability to make jokes, made me feel like the end of the crap was near and that soon, we would be right back where we started.

Spliff’s Parents: Thank you for being here to help me and Spliff settle in. She is lucky to have great people in her life. God knows, if it weren’t for my friends, I would be screwed.

Everyone who has called to check in or ANYTHING AT ALL: Please know that I am infinitely grateful for everything all of you have done. I am beside myself with gratitude and am amazed by the outpour of support I have received. I wish I could express how much it all means to me.

The fates: Thank you for (somewhat harshly) showing me that that last apartment was not for me. I would have been happy with a note, mind you. You didn’t have to set the damn thing on fire so that I not only spaz out for days, but think my cat is dead and have to buy a new wardrobe. But again, there are worse things than shopping. So…next time, if you need to tell me something, seriously, you can slip a note under my bedroom door. I don’t mind. It’s the one with the crazy parrot head hat on it.

To my new apartment: Thank you for being the best ever. Thank you for having three bedrooms but costing less than the (scorched) two bedroom that we just rented. Thank you for having a huge balcony and a backyard. Thank you for having 23 windows.

That’s all I have time for now folks. I have to, again, change my address and all that stupid shit that you have to do when you move twice in a week.

Violation (Now with Added Calcium)

When I walked into my building on Friday, I could see that one of my windows was broken. Silly me, I thought maybe a kid had been playing and thrown something into it. I was wrong. When I got inside, I realized that my worst fear had become a chilling reality. My apartment had been burglarized. El yaaaay!

I called 911 and waited two hours (with Jenn who was the best EVER and left work early, brought me a big beer and distracted me from the mess that was my apartment) by the time the cops got here, my neighbor had gotten home and realized that her apartment had been hit too. But they didn’t break the windows, they just opened them and crawled inside. The cop was super nice (and Ernge LOVED him) and he was sympathetic and explained the process after taking the list of items missing from my shaky hand. My neighbor, her boyfriend and his friend, Jenn, JGJ and I sat outside and drank beer (because we were instructed not to touch anything until the Crime Scene Unit guy got here) until the apartments were both covered in black dust.

The guy across the hall got home at around 9:30 and he realized that he had been hit as well, we offered HIM beer and he joined us outside while we (again) waited for the cops. It was a long night but after many, many beers and talking to my neighbors (who I have never spoken to before), I felt…at least…a little better. Although…it was an odd crime.

Items taken from my apartment:
Several gold rings (irreplaceable and most of them custom made.)
3 copies of my resume
$20 in change
3 one dollar bills.
A half pint of skim milk
A half a piece of cheese
A few pretzel sticks from an open bag
Some cereal

Items left or used in my apartment:
Black, faded Coors Light shirt found under my bed.
Filthy washcloth (that I used to own.)

Items taken from across the hall:
Tool box
Two cell phones
A Fresca
Half gallon of milk
A pair of boxer shorts

Items left or used in apartment across the hall:
Shower (filthy and disgusting.)
Razor. (evidently the guy needed a shave.)

Items taken from next door to me:
One orange bike.
Slice of left over pizza.
One Mastercard.
Several gold rings.
One can of Busch beer
One bottle of Juicy Juice

Items left or used in apartment next door to me:
One bath towel (damp when she got home.)
One black tool box. (from apartment across the hall)
One half gallon of milk (taken from across the hall)
One pair of black boxers left in the trash(taken from across the hall.)
Filthy white socks. (in the trash.)
Microwave (they must have hung out a while. Heated up the pizza and had a beer.)

That’s all I can remember right now. But I have said it before and I will say it again…if it can happen, man, it will happen to me.

Needless to say, I am paying extra to move into my apartment today and tomorrow. My boss will probably kill me because I can’t be there tomorrow…but I would rather have my boss pissed at me than be…ummm…violated any further. That’s all I got.

Peace out, bitches.

Crash

Just when you think the universe is on your side.

Today I left work early to get some errands done and possibly slip in a nap somewhere since I, again, have been unable to sleep. So, I finish the errands, make myself into a giant Crystal burrito in my bed, and sleep for two hours. Lovely. When I woke up, I called The Idiot, got in the car and headed out to run more errands which would include, trash bags (that I didn’t have the patience to find at Publix yesterday), cigarettes, gas, and coffee (so that I wouldn’t be tempted to go right back to sleep).

Trash bags…check…
Cigarettes…check…
Gas…check…

For the coffee, I decided to avoid the Starbucks that is located directly across the street from the gas station I was at, and head out to the other end of the beach. Partially because I felt I needed time to get myself in order and motivated for packing, and partially because I hadn’t spoken to The Idiot in a while and figured that, I had time while I was in the car.

So, we chat while I drive, while I get my coffee, while I return to my end of the beach. Somewhere about halfway home, I glance in my rearview mirror and notice that the white van behind me is swerving to avoid another vehicle that is seemingly trying to run him off the road. The white van turned down a side street leaving me directly in the path of the other vehicle.

“Oh my god.” Was all I could get out before he hit me. He slammed right into the back of my car, never slowing. I could see the lights flashing behind him. The earpiece had been knocked from my ear, the coffee was now on my face, hair and clothes, instead of in the cup. The lid was knocked off (and still never retrieved) so when I pulled over and realized what was happening and picked up my phone to dial 9-1-1, it was sticky and The Idiot was still there.

Long story short:
I am fine, but my favorite sweater is not.
Fiona is fine, but her taillight is not.
The Idiot came and stayed with me.
I talked to 87 cops and got to wear a fireman’s coat. (Which weighed 25 pounds).
Evidently, the guy shot someone in NY and stole the car there.
Then he drove it here and hit a Mercedes.
Then the cops tried to pull him over, he tried to get away and hit 3 more cars.
He was life-flighted. And the cops said he wasn’t doing well.
He might not make it, but they hinted that there were “other” injuries.
My back hurts but I am going to go to my doctor tomorrow.

I learned:
Police reports blow.
The Beach cops are NOT assholes.
Firemen have heavy coats.
If you are involved in a vehiclular homicide, they impound your vehicle, even if you didn’t do it.
Starbucks is evil. And not cool to have on your face.

I’m out.