- Was sick for 10 days straight (first time in over 15 years).
- Formed a triad with Sarah Jayne and Roni.
- Was hit by a drunk driver.
And those are just the BIGGER events. Throughout all of this I still managed to be productive at work, and process a ton of shit.
Details after the cut to spare you the boring details....
First the move. We had 60 days to vacate, although the way the notice was served meant we had 62 (if the 60th day falls on a weekend, yada yada. The CA civil code for landlord/tenants is actually a fascinating read). We left the place is better condition than we received it. Of course, since it turned out the new occupants were none other than the tweaker-in-law and sister of the landlord (he was the fun gentleman who thought he could show up any time he liked -- apparently 24 hour notice or some sort of schedule was beyond his meager capabilities), that wasn't enough to keep them from trying to deduct anything they could from the deposit.
In the end we got MOST of it back... the 300 bucks they deducted for things that were NOT legitimate was simply not worth going to small claims court over. For example, fun fact: You don't have to patch small halls or paint after a period of time, as that's considered normal wear and tear. Even better is the fact that they either have to send you an itemized list (with copies of the receipts) for repairs AND the check by 21 days after you vacate, or your due the while deposit back. A lot of landlords count on y'all not knowing that, at least in Cali.
Never mind that there is also a statute that notes that the notice to terminate MUST include text detailing your right to a walk through and a chance to "address deficiencies" TWO WEEKS prior to vacating. I was so distracted by the packing, move, and flu that I didn't catch it until after we started dealing with retrieving the deposit. Essentially that meant we were due the whole check anyway, but as I said, I simply do not have the bandwidth to sue for 300 on principle. Of course, if they were found in bad faith I could have doubled my deposit return, but again... really not up for that crap.
Especially not after getting hit by a drunk driver after the move. No, literally the day of the move, after a really long fucking day.
Kim spent the whole day helping us, and was as pushed past as us all. I had just managed to get things working in the TV department, and it was nearly 11. Roni was toast, and I had spent most of the day in a fog (this flu is EVIL -- you get sick for a day or two, get better, and then you relapse and get REALLY sick -- but more on that later), but was in the best shape of us all.
We now live about 4 long blocks from Kim's place, which is just far enough that I wouldn't let her walk home even if I thought she could. So we climbed into the Saturn VUE and I got her there in short order.
Alameda, even on a Friday night, is pretty dead by 11 -- flashing red stop lights and empty streets, which suited me fine. I thanked Kim for all her help, and she walked up to her door. I backed out of the driveway and was starting to drive off, when I was startled by a car that seemed to appear out of nowhere behind me... with no headlights at all, which is why I hadn't spotted it sooner.
Mind you, at that point it was about half a block away, so it wasn't like I was cutting him off. However, I thought it was some poor dude that had forgotten to turn his lights on. I waved at him to try to get his attention... and he stopped.
I waited. He just stared at me... so I figured I should just go. But as I started to go, he started to drive AROUND me.
I stopped again, thinking that he was going to pass, double yellow line be damned. And then HE stopped again.
Oddly enough, my first thought wasn't "drunk", it was "is this old guy having a stroke?!" He appeared to be about 70, after all.
I was about to lean out and wave him around, when he revved up his engine and rammed me.
He was only about half a car back at that point, and since I was looking out the window I could see his hood fold as he hit me. Now I was angry AND confused.
I got out of the car to ask him "WHAT THE FUCK??" (funny how being deliberately rammed wakes you right up), when Kim walked back up... she hadn't even gotten into her car when she heard what she thought was me revving my engine, and then the crash. She asked if she should call 911 -- to which I said "hell yes!!".
The old guy sat behind the wheel, staring at me like I was insane. Just as he was rolling down the window, a woman drove up from the opposite direction and asked if I was okay -- oh, and that the guy was intoxicated. As I had not had a chance to even talk to old guy behind the wheel, I wondered how SHE knew.
Turns out she was absolutely correct -- old drunk FKA old guy was telling me that I had "cut him off", and that he was just trying to "make a right turn" (which would have been interesting, considering the right turn was another 50 feet up). I responded with the obvious observation that he had hit ME after we were both at a dead stop.
I should have saved my breath. It turns out that the Very Nice Lady (I never did get her name!) had passed this lovely example of humanity as... seriously... he was walkingstaggering across the street from a liquor store, jaywalking (or staggering) just as she drove by... and he flipped her off. She realized that this decidedly impaired individual was about to DRIVE, and so had slowed down to see if he actually tried.
That's why she saw the accident in her rear view mirror -- she was about to call APD herself to narc on the guy when he rammed me.
Things got strange for a minute or two. A couple of Kim's friends from the house she rents an apartment in heard the screaming (I was in full New York bellow initially... I toned it down when I realized the man was drunk off his ass and remembered that it was after 11 PM) and came out to make sure everything was okay.
So old drunken dick decides to get out of his car, where he proves how sober he is by falling sideways. I realize that there will be no reasoning with this man, especially when the first thing he says to me is "YOU'RE DRUNK!" with that calm certainty that indicates he's WELL beyond the legal limits.
It was about this time that this shining example of the human condition called Kim a "fat fucking dyke bitch" for calling the cops, and when her friend M said "that was uncalled for", he told her to "go eat some pussy" or words to that effect, performing the Lesbian Salute (imagine Spock doing the Live Long and Prosper gesture, only he's really old, drunk, swarthy, and waggling his tongue between the V).
At this point M's partner was about to beat the crap out of numbnuts, leaving me in the odd position of potentially saving the life of this dumbass. Mind you, I hadn't heard what he said... he had turned away from me and I was busy talking to the Very Nice Lady. Had I overheard said remarks, I might have been less inclined.
He then tried to climb into his car, saying "I'm outta here." While the saner amongst us made noises that this would make it felonious hit and run, I, like a moron, stood in front of his car long enough to distract him.
Whatever else I can say about Alameda PD, they show up when you call. Within 3 minutes of Kim's call there were 4 squad cars on the scene.
From there it was pretty quickly established... well, Very Nice Lady was there to verify everything I said. Adding to the surrealness of all of this was this was the coldest night of the year -- we were already at 30 degrees F, which is insane for the SF Bay Area. One of the officers suggested I wait in Kim's place while they discussed things with the gentleman in what also turned out to be a Saturn (one of the early to mid-90's sedans... it still had those obnoxious automatic seat belts and no air bags).
Sitting in a living room and watching my own accident scene? Really weird.
I knew things weren't going well for old drunk guy when he couldn't even stand straight. Even so, I didn't relax until they cuffed him.
(It's funny, I was completely not at fault, but you STILL feel guilty in those situations.)
As lucky as one can get in those situations, he had hit me in such a way that his car was totalled, but my rear bumper and quarter panel popped out like one of those old "Don't you wish everything was like rubber maid?" commercials. The car was not only drivable, if you didn't look closely it didn't look like I was in an accident at all. There was a strange sliver of his fender that had pierced the back of my bumper, shirken like, but otherwise the lights all worked.
The epilogue to that mess: The man was so toasted he couldn't give an account of the accident. No, not that he changed accounts, he literally couldn't even remember what had happened. I am certain that this man could not recognize me on the street should I have the extreme misfortune to encounter him again. Repairs to the Saturn are fully covered -- ironically he also has insurance through State Farm.
So I felt better the next day, and over the nest week and a half began the long, hellish process of turning the new place from a storage unit filled with boxes to something resembling a place we lived in. Originally SJ was going to visit again in April, so I was hoping to have it ready.
However, over the next week plans changed... substantially. SJ's soon to be ex went completely out of his mind with paranoid jealousy... or jealous paranoia. I will not go into details, as that's not my place -- but the upshot was that she decided to get the hell out of the UK while she could.
Suddenly the 4 plus weeks I had was 10 days. She arrived on March 12th. Since it was a Saturday we caught Rocky at the Retro Dome in San Jose (I HIGHLY recommend it!).
The next day I woke up feeling funky. I hardly ever get sick twice in as many weeks, so I assumed it was just exhaustion.
12 hours later I was spiking a fever and feeling like 10 sorts of hell. I assumed I had picked up something new. Kim later told me that she had something like that, as have many others, where you feel sick, think you're better, and then... WHAM.
As someone who usually powers through those things I wasn't too worried. I called in Monday, thinking by Tuesday...
But then Tuesday I felt worse. Wednesday I woke up... and realized I wasn't going anywhere.
Thursday I felt better enough that I forced myself in to work. There I learned that several people who are as work ethical as myself had been taken out as well, and for at least a week. I barely made it through the day, and Friday... called in. If it hadn't been a weekend, I would have needed at least two more days.
Here it is the 30th, and I'm still recovering somewhat!
All this, plus finding myself in an honest to goddess triad. That's been weird enough, but since SJ and I were both around during the BBS days we established a lot of the same history with the same people. As a result I have both learned of the screaming hypocrisy behind certain events of many years ago, not to mention the compulsive need of some people to push their faux "concern" behind my back. Bluntly, I'm done -- I've made attempts to reconcile, and, failing that, at least keep things amicable. At this point I wouldn't piss on San Diego if it was burning, but won't fuck with anyone currently residing there unless they fuck with me. In other words, I'll pretend I never knew y'all if you extend the same courtesy to me and mine.
Otherwise, I'll name names, dates and places. Details. Oh, and test results -- still negative, asshole.
Well, that's enough for one night... I plan to do more damage later, though. I, for one, have enough trouble dealing with my own feelings without having to consider the feelings of people who would sooner shit on my name than give me the time of day.