Digitopus

Stella’s Ghetto-Fabulous Night in the ‘Hood

It was Saturday night, 11pm, when the phone rang and we heard the joyous news, "We found your car." 16 hours after it had been taken, the BR Police Stolen Car Division had tracked Stella down. She was sitting in a bad part of town (near I-10 off Florida Blvd. on Convention St. for those of you from here) with two individuals inside. The very nice officer explained to us that they blocked them in before they had a chance to run.

Apparently Stella was just being taken on a joy ride. We got her back sans a lot of my personal things (my access badge for work, a bunch of CDs, my Scorpion necklace hanging from my rearview mirror, my cell phone and cell phone charger, $15 and all my change, my favorite sunglasses, and, worst of all, my apartment keys). But, she also returned with a few new items - a slew of CDs and a little nugget of pot. (Cops did a real thorough search, eh?) The top was down when she was brought back, and the inside smelled like cigarettes, marijuana and gin & juice (I swear). Apparently they were having a grand 'ole time in my car. The cop said it's unlikely that the person who took it was the person they found in it - that stolen cars usually swap hands many times.

And I'm thinking, 'Huh?' How's that work? "Hey man, take this car for a spin - I just stole it. When you're done havin' fun in it, pass it on to a friend."

It's laughable now - you have to find something to laugh at in this weekend of horrors. These things happen in 3's - and the third was the central a/c breaking in the apartment. No longer able to leave the door open, we've been sweating bullets.

We changed the locks Saturday night, but we still feel very unsafe. I stayed home yesterday to take care of things, get the car cleaned up, and let the apartment maintenance men in and the phone rang. It was obviously a calling card - I let the machine get it. They called back right away - wondering if it was someone I knew, I answered it, and they hung up as soon as I said 'Hello'. Someone trying to see if anyone was home? Very likely.

I no longer fear having the gun in the apartment that Baret bought a few weeks ago - now I'm glad it's there.

Our bad string of luck hasn't ended yet. This morning, JoJo (one of my other kitties) came in with, what appears to be, a broken leg. We're taking him to the vet as soon as we get home from work.

But you have to find the humor in these bad times. Right? Then let me leave you with the list of CDs left in my car by the joyriders: two 2Pac, two Master P, two rap mixes, High Boyz, Solja Slim...and...Sarah McLaughlin.

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Lost a Cat, Lost a Car

I write this with a headache, and not much sleep. Forgive the sloppiness.

Last night we had to put Gilly to sleep. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. I really can't talk about it.

Baret and I came home and got sloshed, and ambled up to bed around midnight. We, as we often do, left the door open so JoJo could come and go as he pleased and because it felt so nice outside.

About 4am, we heard the sounds of windchimes - I have some hanging downstairs. Coming out of a drunken sleep, I also heard my keys jingling in the door where they sat. Baret sat up, thinking quicker than me, and saw a black man leaving my apartment! He yelled "Wtf?!" and ran downstairs. He told me what he saw and when I looked over, I saw my keys missing. "I heard the keys - the keys" I told him, still half-asleep and groggy. Still thinking quicker than me, he ran outside. I heard him all the way outside yell "Fuck!" and he came running back in. He grabbed the phone and I heard him saying "My car was just stolen."

What a fucking night. This guy now has keys to my apartment, and he knows my name (my badge for work was in the car). We think he must've staked us out, b/c he went straight to the correct car. My key, though obviously a car key, was a copy. It did not say Miata on it. Somehow he knew we sometimes sleep with the door open. Usually when we do this, we lock the gate to the patio. But in our grief-inspired drunk, we neglected to last night.

The cop was a fucking asshole to us. "You left your door unlocked?" he asked, like we were the two dumbest idiots in the whole world. It's a big thing around here lately - what with the serial killer in the last year, and the recent capture of a "serial snuggler" (for real). But we were drunk and in mourning - we were stupid, ok?! He was so rude - we offered him a glass of water and when he left Baret thanked him and told him to have a good nite; he didn't even answer him. Next time I see a fucking sign that says "Back the Blue! Pay raise in 2003", I'm going to rip it in half.

I'm Gillian-less and carless. We were supposed to leave for camping tomorrow, b/c we couldn't stand to be at the house with all these memories. Everything reminds me of her. The only comfort I can find right now is imagining in my head waking up in time to see that fucker, and shooting him in the back of the head. Is that horrible of me? At least anger is keeping me going. Otherwise I might just crawl into a ball and not stop crying.

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