I have had my share of craziness in this lifetime, and as my therapist loves to remind me, just because a lot has already happened doesn’t mean I will be exempt. This theory has proven out quite regularly.
For instance, I had a neighbor last September who had a shoot out with the police. A neighbor who literally shared a wall with my apartment. Thankfully, I heard gunshots and got the hell outta dodge to stay with some friends. I came back the next morning and my street was blocked off, with a big black truck sitting on the street next to my apartment house. I dealt with the whole ordeal fairly well; after hearing the first gunshots I hid for about 5 minutes and then decided calling the police was a good move. I stayed with friends for a week and a half. I didn’t unravel.
But I still had a moment when I saw that blocked off street where I couldn’t stop the cursing that flowed proficiently from my mouth, and the trembling that spread through my fingers, and the hysteria grasping at my mind.
I felt like a big black X marking the spot where missiles go to die.
But you know that the badass thing is that I defied death for the SECOND time in my life. (You could say more if you count my stupidity in drunk driving, but since I’m counting things out of my control, we’ll skip that for now) I walked around singing Titanium for the next week and wearing my Bulletproof perfume (made by Tokyomilk, if you were wondering).
“I AM TITAANNIIIIIUMMMMM!!!!” I belted, with great aplomb. Basically I was saying, “COME AT ME, BITCHES! You can’t take me down!”
Last night I again proved that I am in the business of defying death. I kinda feel like Batman.
(I say Batman because he’s my favorite and he’s cool and superhero-y but also normal. We’re pretty much twins. Also, coming back from the dead, anyone?)
For the second time in a year, drama went down at my apartment. It began with strange banging noises that I at first paid no mind to. My cat started freaking out and I started paying attention. I thought I heard something at my back door, which also happens to be in my bedroom. I crept in there and flipped on the light. Then I flipped it off and peered out the window. Nothing. So I flipped on the light again and pulled the curtains over my blinds.
The banging continued, along with some glass crashing and the neighbor dog barking. I was very aware of all the noise and a little wigged out but figured it was some drama upstairs. The sound moved downstairs, into the uninhabited cellar basement below my apartment. Then I stood up and felt a very distinct, very heavy shake underneath my feet. Instantly I knew that someone was in the basement who was not supposed to be.
This basement is reached by cellar doors, DIRECTLY outside my back door. The handle for the cellar door is maybe 6 inches from my back steps.
I freaked out. I grabbed my cell phone and purse and left, cautiously, through the front door. The hallway was dark. I tried to flip the lights and they weren’t working. So I made a beeline straight for me car, almost peeled away from the curb, drove around the block and called the police.
Honestly at this point, I almost feel like the dispatcher is my homegirl. “Yooo heyyy girl wassup it’s Laurie again. Yeah another emergency I’m defying, not much else up tonight, you?” We’re tight.
I gave her all the information and hoped she would tell me when I could go home, but, unfortunately she could not. Since she couldn’t, I drove around the block to see what was happening.
Only to see an extraordinarily familiar sight – my street blocked off and my apartment surrounded by cop cars.
This gave me an extreme head rush and again, cued excessive cursing. I tried to figure out what to do, who to contact, who to call. That’s almost impossible when you have adrenaline doing a mad dance through your bloodstream. After searching my very rattled brain for ideas, I sent a text to people I randomly picked from my address book. Looking back at them this morning, it was a little nonsensical, kind of like drunk texting. Then I drove back towards my apartment so I could talk to a cop and see what the hell was happening and when I could come back.
I met up with housemates across the street from my apartment as police continued to surround it and go for the guy in the basement. They had apparently told my housemates to go across the street. My poor housemates, I hysterically babbled to them while I tried to figure out how to find a cop to talk to without getting myself in major trouble or freaking all the cops out. I also bummed a cigarette off of them; they were both smoking and my hysterical mouth beyond my control spit out, “Can I have a cigarette?”
I get really, really weird when I’m hysterical.
What I found out from housemates was that the guy was apparently running from the police, had asked my neighbor upstairs to let him in and when she wouldn’t, went down to the basement and tried to hide. From other reports there may or may not have been gunfire involved; I gratefully did not hear this. What I heard in itself was PLENTY.
I finally talked to a policeman, got his card, and headed to a friend’s house for the night. My adrenaline was still pumping. I’m sure the cigarette didn’t help. My thoughts were totally spacy and went from thing to thing without a consistent logic. (My friend also said this morning that my eyes looked a little crazed last night.)
I walked into my friend’s house and immediately sat down on the floor and did not want to move. She wrapped a robe around my shoulders and gave me a cup of chamomile tea, and regaled me with stories of her life which thoroughly distracted me until I calmed down enough to sleep.
Today, I’m back to my defiance. My life is so ironic that I can’t help but be amused. All I have to say is…
Cuz bitch, I am a PRO-FESS-IONAL DEATH DEFIER.
What about you? Any death defying stories? Any crazy neighbors? You know you’re dying to tell me about it! <–see what I did there? Ha, ha…