when there's nothing left to burn you have to set yourself on fire.

Hello!

How the hell are you? I know it's been a while and I apologize for the delay on posting, but I promise you I have a good excuse. The following is the post I've been meaning to finish, but I wanted to add some pictures and I had to sort through the wreckage to find my camera cord and then I lost my camera for a few days after that. BUT I have found both and finally finished this entry. I'll warn you;it's really long. But whatevs.

Here's the rest that I started a week ago:

[02-12-08]

It has been exactly one week since my last post, and let me tell you, it has been the busiest/craziest/saddest/most frustrating week of my life. Hands down. I'm going to try and not write an epic, but who knows once I get going. I'll try to basically do the cliff's notes version of everything, unless there are really amazing details. Anyway...

On Tuesday I started a blog entry that I may or may not finish. It was called:

the end of an era [the stoop diaries pt. 1]

I was planning on moving at the end of February, so I figured I should do a series of posts recounting my time spent at The Forest Arms. In a way, I owe all of my blogging efforts to that building. Back when I was still blogging on myspace, I wrote a blog entitled "OH GOD".

That was the first post I wrote about a few subsequent posts involving the stoop. That stoop changed my life in a number of ways and I will miss it dearly.




Later that night/early the following morning as I watched the flames billow into the air, I thought it was strange that I had begun such a series only hours before.

ON THE PHONE (wed. afternoon):

ERIC: So, it's gone. What about Sunshine?
ME: Yeah it's gone. I hope her hoodie is ok.
ERIC:...aw...the stoop.
ME: I know.


Wednesday 4am

I sat up quickly; the sounds of screaming and panic outside the window met my ears just as I was about to drift to sleep. Then: sirens. I could see the flashers outside my bedroom window. I got out of bed and she stirred.

"What's wrong?" she asked groggily.

"I don't know yet." It was Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, that amount of commotion was normal for a Friday or Saturday night.

Three loud bangs, like gunshots. And then three more. I placed my body between her and my window and I tensed. If a bullet was to come in there, crashing through the windows, or piercing through the hundred year old plaster, I would absorb it in me. I had to.

A few seconds passed by, more banging that sounded less like gunshots and more like pounding, somewhere, outside. In the courtyard? More screaming. I ran to the bathroom window, which is the most discrete window in my apt and I peaked out through a gap in the blinds. I saw my neighbors running out of the building and then back in, up and down the sidewalk of the beautiful courtyard, running screaming in a state on panic fit for a disaster film, a blockbuster. I saw the fire truck, the ambulance, cop cars pulling up in front of the building.

I panned over, holding steady to the path of people running back into the building and then it caught my eye. I looked up: flames. The windows of the apartment building across the way on the fourth floor were being devoured by flames and great puffs of jet black smoke.

I couldn't believe it. That would mark the second time in my life that I have been inside of an apartment building when it caught on fire. I ran back into the bedroom and turned on the light.

"You've gotta get up. The building's on fire."

She sat up, alert, "What?"

I opened the blinds in my room dramatically, sent the shooting up so they smacked the frame. I gestured out the window, "The fucking building is on fire."

She scrambled for nothing, something, anything, "What do we do?"

"Well, it's on the other side of the building, so we have a second to think about what we wanna grab. And let's just fucking pray that it doesn't make it over here."

"Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay." She repeated it like a mantra, searching for the next thought, waiting for direction, frantic.

"Alright, first we need to change into regular clothes, and layers. We might be outside for a while. And then we need to pack as many bags as we can carry with the shit we can't replace."

"Okay. Okay. Okay."

We changed our clothes and started packing. The screams continued outside. The sounds of breaking glass, probably from flames chewing and then spitting out windows on the fourth floor rained down on the courtyard. More sirens, louder. People were shouting now, women were crying and some of the men were yelling into the night amazed.

We made it out with, quite literally, as many things as we could carry. I felt like crying. I was already tired and now this. I tried to hold tight to the last panic free moment spent in my first apartment, my first little home that had been just mine for a few months. It was nice and quiet and old and charming and mine. Well, sort of, month to month I guess. But, you know, it felt like mine still. I knew in my gut that I might never be able to go back in. The voice of my mother echoed over my shoulder, "prepare for the worst and hope for the best..."

We made our way across the street with the others and I felt like maybe we grabbed too much. It looked like everyone else left in much more of a panic and well before us. Most everyone had their coats on over their pajamas, clutching cats and dogs and cigarettes and each other.

The drizzle of freezing rain did nothing to help put out the blaze that grew to a five alarm fire in a very small amount of time. The wind was much more effective in spreading the fire, as was the 100 year old wooden frame of the building. The fire laughed the faces of the men who faught them as they spread with a ferocity that I have never seen before in real life. It looked like something from Gone With The Wind.







As the fire spread I started rethinking everything I grabbed:

Adeline (burgundy Ibanez)
Jack (black Squire)
my laptop
her laptop
my camera
her camera
chargers (both phone and camera)
photo album
photo box (w/grandma's 120 wedding negatives from 1950)
half empty bottle of Jack Daniels
half empty bottle of Coke
some of her clothes
Wallet

and that's it. I had only the clothes on my body which were made of layers, but did not include a bra.

It was strange; when we made our way to the sidewalk with everyone else, I felt like we had grabbed too much. But as the blaze continued to devour my building, I wished I would've just thrown shit out of my windows. I wish I would've done that with the bass guitar, the amps, and the drums that the ceiling collapsed on top of hours later under the weight of tens of thousands of gallons of water.

Wednesday 5am

After standing outside for an hour, city buses arrived down the street and parked. They allowed everyone/anyone displaced from the building to keep warm on the bus as the firefighters did their best to control the fire that would eventually claim the entire fourth floor, turning it to ash.

The buses smelled like urine, but they were warm, dammit. I wanted to get to my things, but my car was blocked in by all of the fire trucks and all of the stuff I grabbed was inside of it. So I sat and then paced and contemplated.

The fire just kept burning and spreading and ruining our lives. Wild stories spread, one of which I believe despite what my landlord told us the next day. I really believe that the crazy bastard that lived on the fourth floor lit his kitchen and himself on fire. I really, really do. I don't care if Frank says he fell asleep with a cigarette. The story (Frank’s story) just does not add up.

We (the former residents of The Forest Arms) know that he was getting evicted. Mr. 417, aka fire starter, was to be out by midnight but he wouldn't leave. Police were called. Frank was up and involved. Mr. 417 said "hell no, i won't go" and barricaded himself inside.

There were no smoke alarms in the building. I mean, I saw them, walked by them everyday, just sort of assuming that they'd go off if I ever needed them. But they didn't. I heard no sounds, no one pounded on my door or Stanley's.

My next door neighbor woke up to a foot and a half of water pouring into his apartment. He grabbed a change of clothes and bailed wishing he would've grabbed his microwave. I have no idea why. Maybe the microwave was an antique?

Wednesday 6am

I called Kelly to come get us. She was working a shift for 96.3WDVD that night and got off at six. I asked her to come get us and she did. She took us to Rori's with all the things we had grabbed.

My mother called frantic, woken up by my step-dad who was watching the early morning news in bed.

I was exhausted; I tried to sleep, but couldn't. The calls/messages started to pour in and I couldn't keep up with them. I took a break and forced myself to rest for a few hours, almost taped my eyes shut.

Wednesday 11:30am

After sleeping for maybe three hours, we were picked up by my mother and my aunt Debbie. We sat and watched as the building smoldered on. Game plans were made and we parted ways after twiddling our thumbs for a few hours.

I called off work. Returned some phone calls and text messages.

I can't really remember what we did with the rest of the afternoon. I think we might've slept for as long as possible, showered.

OH YEAH!

Wednesday 9pm

We went to Target. I assumed all my shit was gone and I was still feeling very detached from the whole thing. So we went to Target and I bought a cute outfit and we met up with Chelsea and we went to goddamn Como's. Noel and co. were there too. The usual suspects.

No pictures were taken, so there is no evidence of such, but we did go and had a weird time.

Rori didn't drink at all. Well, she had water, but said "no thanks" to anything but.

And then Noel's friend Erin was standing there empty handed, so I asked her, "Are you drinking tonight?"

And she said, "No. I'm driving." How great is that?

I cracked up. It was like a movie, or one of those PSA's they used to show on TGIF on ABC. Do you remember those?

GIRL IN BAR: Are you drinking tonight?
OTHER GIRL: No. I'm driving.

A big glittery rainbow star shoots across the screen and then the tag: The more you know...

It was just like that. I had a sudden desire to watch Boy Meets World or something. Leisha Hailey was on that show once. Yep.



Anyway, Chelsea got really drunk and I drove, completely sober, ps. We went to United and got her chicken fingers that she wouldn't touch until the following morning and drove to Rori's. Chelsea passed out in the bathroom and I had a breakdown. It all hit me. I couldn't bear it and all of my grief came spilling out over my eyelids. I was heavy and still shaky, tired, frustrated. I felt all Nancy Kerrigan and cried out into the night "Why? Why? Why?"



And really, that doesn't matter. I just have a hard time keeping my emotions in check when I'm that exhausted. I still think going out was a good idea.

Thursday 10am

I called Frank, my kick ass landlord who would not cover up his guns even in the freezing rain the prior morning. He told me we would never be allowed in the building ever again. Dum dum dum. Son of bitch, I thought. But he offered to go in and get our belongings for us, if anything could be saved.

I made a bunch of phone calls and so did my parents.

Thursday 12pm

Cast of Characters in order of appearance:

Elida...............................ME
Rori................................my girlfriend
Pamela...........................my mom
Pat.................................my step-dad
Jerry...............................my uncle
Dennis...........................my cousin
Scott..............................my dad
Kelly..............................my friend
Jeff................................another uncle

We waited and I yelled at a couple bums that WOULD NOT LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE. And then all the stupid news cameras that WOULD NOT GO AWAY and "I think we should go inside and show the devastation." TONIGHT AT 11! Those bastards would not quit. They would butt into our conversations and take dramatic shots of my neighbors brushing soot off of their clothes.

I hated those news crews. It was so unnecessary. They had their story and then they bled it dry, bugging the shit out of everyone standing around. I wanted to make them eat and then shit their microphones but I was asked to keep my mouth in check by basically everyone but Pat and my dad. They just smiled.

We put our names on a list and Frank gave us appointments and then went in with garbage bags and burly men and returned with everything they could carry. My neighbors stood anxious, waiting in line. We discussed the timeline right after it happened, passed on the word that we would never, ever be allowed into the building ever again. Period.

FRANK: Alright, you guys, like I said before, you can't go inside. Make a list of what you want and we'll try and grab it.
ASIAN WOMAN: When wir be arrowed to go in?
FRANK: You can't go inside.
ASIAN MAN: Tomorrow?
FRANK: No. Never. You'll never be allowed in again. Ever.
ASIAN MAN: Fo-eva?
FRANK: Yes.
ASIAN MAN: (turning to the ASIAN WOMAN) Fo-eva.
ASIAN WOMAN: (gasps)

Frank and his men worked damn hard all day long. We were allowed to go into my apartment through the windows, but told to listen for creaking. It was a very comforting warning.

Everything was soaking wet and black. It looked like someone hosed it down in muck. It was disgusting. We had gloves and heavy duty garbage bags from Home Depot. We grabbed a lot. But in the days that followed, it has become apparent that most everything is ruined, soaked through with enough toxic water to make removing the smell a task that makes my head hurt so bad that I would rather take a stab at physics.

But we packed it all up and drove away after I took pictures and left a message. Ten bonus points for anyone who knows the reference.




We went back to my mom's and unloaded everything and then ate pizza and I changed my socks and wanted to pass out. But we drove home, Rori and I. And it all started sinking in even more. No home. It's a very strange feeling to lose your home to a fire and anyone who knows the feeling can agree.

I know I was moving out at the end of the month, but I wasn't quite ready to let go of that building. C'est la vie and so on an so forth.

Friday

Went to my mom's and started sorting through the mess, paid a visit to friends at Soho. It was nice. We watched some weirdo music videos and Anime on Logo. Typical Soho on a Friday night in the winter, I suppose.

Saturday

The second longest day of the week, I would learn. I scraped myself out of bed and went through some stuff I had brought to Rori's and then headed to my mom's to continue sorting through the mess.

Later that night, I headed to Detroit and Rori and Noel and I headed to Ann Arbor to meet up with Chelsea. Our original plan that night was to hang out in A2 for a bit at a bar and then drive to Toledo to Gilda's, a bar that I've been to once before with Chelsea. It's one of her old stomping grounds, like Cheers, where everyone knows her name etc.

We got there after 11. I had been very excited to go and it was an alright time, but I think the ride out there and the first half of the ride back were more fun/eventful. I mean, life is about the journey after all. Ta-da! How many cliches will I pack into this baby? I have no idea. Only time will tell. Oh snap!

On the way there, Rori and Noel froze their asses off because Chelsea insists on keeping her window cracked/smoking a cigarette the whole time we were driving. AND she leaves the wipers on. It's sort of her trademark. It always makes me happy though, when we get into her car and then the wipers are on and squeaking across the windshield, just like in the movies. Love it.

We listened to her mix CD on the way there and it was good. She had a little bit of everything. The grand finale was a little ditty you may recall from a few years back, "Mmmbop". Yes.

It was so good. You have no idea. We knew most of the words and Chelsea kept giving me shit because I was poised for the bridge (my fav part of every song) basically from the beginning of the song. This was me:

ME: (leaning forward hands poised in the air) Ok, ready? -or- Here we go...
CHELSEA: Not yet! Damn...

I was really excited.

Gilda's was alright. Chelsea schmoozed and I wandered and drank jack on the rocks, even though I asked for a jack & coke. They poured their drinks so strong, it was ridiculous. But they were cheap too, so it was great/a little too much. I wanted something fruity, so I had something they called a Hurricane. It was delicious. Rori thought it was gross. We agreed to disagree.

Some random girls pushed Chelsea's friend Lindsey over the bathroom stall wall and then threw water on her. I stood in the doorway with my full bladder and was just thankful that nothing like that has ever happened to me before. I mean, I HAVE climbed into a garbage can more than once, but that's not nearly as scary and being hoisted up and then sprayed with water. PS: i hate heights. DO NOT try and do that to me or I will straight up kill you.

We left around two and drove through the storm of the century. It took us 3 1/2 hours to get home. I drove the whole way, pausing briefly to argue with Chelsea and countless other times for food, bathroom breaks and puke breaks (not for me). It was the longest drive of my life. For most of the trip, I couldn't see anything out the windows. I drove 25mph almost the whole way home, which is why it took so damn long.

By the time we made it back to Detroit I wanted to murder my friends and vowed to never go on another excursion with Chelsea without checking the weather first. I was so tired, but wound up from the terrifying drive home, that I couldn't sleep. Again.

I finished listening to Kelly on 96.3 and then laid down and tried to fall asleep. Kelly is effing sweet on the radio, ps. I requested a song on air for her and would've done another, but I was so flaming angry that I thought I might kill someone even though my whole goal that night was to save everyone's lives by being awake/responsible.


I'm gonna skip sunday because it was so long and stupid and I was tired and cold and hungry for most of it.


MONDAY!

On my first day back to work, I walked in the door and my boss grabbed me and said they were cutting back and he hated to have to do it, but they were gonna have to let me go.

I got laid off. Awesome.

Now I am homeless and jobless. But...

I have taken two things away from this, the worst week of my life:

1. I am happy to be alive and having a shitty week. It is much better than the alternative.

2. I have an extraordinary group of people who love me, family, friends, etc. and they're offered more than their share to me during this trying time.

And you know, because of those two things, I know that I'm gonna be alright. I still have air in my lungs and I have today and the day after that and probably the day after that too and that's pretty fantastic.

I'll figure the rest of it out. For now, I'm just really grateful and overwhelmed and tired and loved.

To anyone who has even offered to help in any way shape and form: Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I will thank you all personally, of course. I just want you to know that you've gotten me through this week and probably the week after that and I thank you.

I may or may not continue the post I referenced earlier, the stoop series. I might need a little time to remove myself from everything before I'll be able to go back and examine everything. I wanna let the proverbial smoke settle, because the real smoke has already settled.

And hopefully, this next week won't suck so bad so I'll be able to write my next entry about something really funny instead of depressing. [update: the week has sucked hardcore. but here's hoping for this next week. Cross your fingers!]

Thanks for reading, and giving a shit.

Much love.

The Hallway winter 2006



The Hallway feb 2008



The livingroom winter 2006



the livingroom jan 2008



the livingroom feb 2008



more livingroom winter 2006



more livingroom jan 2008



the kitchen 2006



the kitchen feb 2008



more kitchen winter 2006



more kitchen feb 2007



inside hallway winter 2006



inside hallway feb 2008



bathroom winter 2006



bathroom winter feb 2008





Good times.