2005-02-14 - 9:51 a.m.

So yeah, in an attempt to counter all the Super Funsies from the last entry, I will attempt for a wee bit more of frivolity in this here entry. The only question: How? Well, I'll tell ya, my alarm - the erstwhile "Dream Machine" - woke me up this morning by blaring that 1987 Eric Carmen chart topper, "Hungry Eyes". And I'm sure you, like me, think of two things when you hear that song. #1 - Dirty Dancing and #2 - the word "Hungry". That said, when I think of the words, "Dirty Dancing" and "Hungry" in conjunction I have no choice but to think of our old friend Kate. I knew you'd understand. So now, in a style reminiscent of our talks with Justin and Hannah, but not truly seen since the Coty takeover, I hand over the Stuff & Things reins to Kate. Happy Valentine's Day to all of you out there in massacre land!

---------------------------------------------------------------

The Fire In My Apartment Building: A Drama/Love Story

So I couldn't fall asleep the other night for like the billionth Sunday in a row, finally fell asleep at about 12:50. Was asleep for about 20 minutes dreaming about raindrops on roses or whiskers on kittens (you know, just some of my favorite things) when I heard a knock on my door. "I can totally sleep through this. If I ignore it, they will go away," I thought - still groggy and confused.

More knocking, loud banging, "Ladies wake up." I'm annoyed. Partly because I have just fallen asleep and partly because I ain't no lady. I start to get up to scream at our neighbors, Cassie is stumbling out her room, hair mussed up and looking stunning and Nicole, nine iron in hand for protection, is already at the door. It's our neighbors letting us know there's a fire in the building. What? Huh? Can't see anything without my contacts, but it seems extra fuzzy and thick up in the hallway. And it reeks of smoke. I put on my flip flops, have about 37 anxiety attacks on the way down the fire escape, and meet up with a dozen firefighters and all the other tenants in the building out front.

No one knows where the fire is coming from, no one can locate my landlord who has his "emergency number" go straight to voicemail. Figures, that jackass Santa Claus wanna-be is never around when it's important. (Editor's Note: My landlord looks eerily like Santa Claus, you know, if Santa Claus's face were made out of weathered leather). He also wasn't around when there was no heat or hot water in the building for three days in January or when our bathroom was leaking water into the apartment below, but I'm not bitter. Except I am. A lot. And it has nothing to do with the fact that I live at a place called Wallingford Square. Ok, that's part of it too. [We can't ALL live in the Rollinsford Business District - Zach] Anyway the drama continues because someone is still in their apartment, probably passed out and unaware due to not a single fire alarm going off in the entire building. (Side Note: After the whole fire ordeal, my landlord told us that he turned off all fire alarms last year because they kept going off and it was annoying) What? I'm not the fire chief/building inspector of Kittery, but something doesn't seem quite "up to code" with all this. Hehehe, up to code.

So that was pretty sweet, because you know, if one person hadn't had the nose of a crack hunting police dog we could all be like her. Completely unaware of the impending doom. The firefighters finally find her, which is the only thing they do for the next hour, and come to think of it, I don't know that they found her so much as she was sitting in her car keeping warm. At this point, randoms are on the street asking questions and somehow providing more answers to the firefighters than those who live there. Very Dane Cook "Officer I smelled the smoke so I came out. I was drinking a beer at the corner pub, I will provide it as exhibit A." Good stuff. [I personally was "in the kitchen . . . washing a dish". - Z] Anyway, an hour later we are no closer to finding the source of the fire, but about 10 of the 12 firefighters have started ragging on one short fat firefighter about what he can't fall asleep without and laughing at him. I'm assuming it was a teddy bear or a Tony Danza blow up doll, but I could be wrong because assuming makes an ass out of u and me.

It's about this time that I realize I'm in flip flops and capris and it's about as warm as a meat locker. Cassie suggests I get her sneakers in Nicole's car. Which in theory was a good idea until I realized they had been out in the cold all night. Perfect way to warm up your soon to be frost bitten feet is to put them into some ice slippers. Hahaha fun. We start checking out the firefighters. Nicole likes the one in the red hat. I fall in love with the puppy with the broken paw and Cassie lusts for her bed. One of our neighbors is taking this time to introduce himself to everyone in the building. I think his name was Silva or Charro or Fafu. [ . . . ! - Z] Something exotic like that. A while later, after I have lost my mind and my humor for the situation, the firefighters break into the restaurant downstairs using axes and other firefighter type tools and realize that the fire originated there.

Weird, they have all sorts of oveny hot things in the restaurant. Who would have thought? Best part about it, the fire started because of some oily rags or something, melted some plastic container above it which contained water and put out the fire almost immediately. Probably before McGruff smelled it four flights above, probably before the seven fire trucks, two police cars, and ambulances arrived, and way before the crazy crack head walking at 2 am came out to check what was going on. And my landlord never showed. Because he was out of town. And not near a phone. And I totally understand that because landlords can just up and leave whenever they please. Especially if said landlord pulls PT hours at the North Pole. So in the end I got about 3 hours of sleep. From about 3 until 7. It's pretty tough to fall asleep when you are constantly in fear that you smell smoke and will burn to crispy bits. Which may seem a little overdramatic since the firefighters said it was safe, but the 62 Wallingford Sq building was built circa 1783 and is made out of wood that is just waiting to be kindling. Call me crazy, but I'm finding a way out of this hell hole ASAP. Just saying is all . . .

----------------------------------------------------------

Awwww, what a nice Valentine's Day story. It really warms the heart! Get it? "Warms" the heart? Because the story was about fire! Which is warm! Oh fuck it, I'm off to get my first paycheck from my new job! Bitches!

It's been real,

Aspy

ps - New poll! Huzzah! First though, the results from the last one: What's everyone looking forward to the most in 2005? Tied at third place with 5 votes and 16% of the votes each was, "Sox World Series Repeat Winners in October" and "NewsRadio DVDs Season 1 & 2 in May". 2nd place, with 7 picks and 23% of the vote was, "Finding out just what the fuck is happening on that island on the Lost Season Finale in May". And 1st place, with 29% of the vote, and 9 votes, went to "Hopefully regular 'Book Club' nights to follow the exploits of Yorick, 355, Snow, Bigby, Spider-Man, etc." Yeah, well, we've all seen how prophetic that isn't. Anyway, go vote anew in the new poll!

�

<-- Back to the Salt Mines! - Onward, to the Bee-Mobile! -->

�