Continued From "Shit Storms pt. II"...


<h1>~The Sun Is Coming Back Up.~</h1>

<h1>~Moving to Sunnyvale~</h1>

While it'd been in the making for a while there, the ability to get a new place was always a bit uncertain, financially. We went from me and Matt moving in with Jim and Ridgway in a four-bedroom house, to it just being me, Matt, and Jim since Ridgway wasn't paying his dues (according to Jim) in a three-bedroom apartment, to then going to move with Matt, Jim, Jasmine, and I into a three-bedroom, to then Ridgway coming back into the fold to move in with me, Jim, Jasmine, Matt, and Ridgway into a four-bedroom, to then Jasmine leaving and--with her leaving--no financial power to consider a four-bedroom again at this point. Not to mention how many of these houses/apartments we blew through looking for in the process. It was a mess.

The worst of it was, that half-a-year in Florida was completely unnecessary. We could'a lived in Monroe apartments as long as we stayed there already, and been ready to go by the time the lease was through. ...Oh well.

Anyway, as it stood, we needed a new place. Especially with the crime. The idea was to then take over Wally and Cheri's place, since they were moving out of it! It wasn't the most ideal of places to live, trailer homes and all, but they were very nice trailer homes considering what they were, three bedrooms, and down Henderson Avenue which...is a street I avoided for years during my times getting over Abby haha, but it's really not a bad street. It's within walking distance of the PetSmart job, and while there's no 7-11 down the street, the Henderson corner store is nearly good enough. Carl's Jr. is also there, but as far as fast food goes, it's extremely expensive. The move down the street also puts me squarely back in Sunnyvale, and I've always liked it better than Santa Clara or San José anyhow.

But we didn't move into Wally and Cheri's old place.

Turns out, upon looking at the place and if it could be done, they offered Jim what they considered a slightly bigger one, fresh off the market, and Jim took it. I didn't care, so long as we got out of the Monroe spot. Unit #38 was the one we eventually got, although I didn't see it for a very long time. By the time I got out of Gyro's, negotiations were done, and now they were waiting for a deposit--just in time for that Gyro's check. I ended up putting down $800 total that month, which is a good amount; when you start at an apartment, you start with first month's rent, and deposit. $400 would have been in my first-months rent with this place, and $400 went into deposit. Not bad. When I got back, Matt and Jim moved out of the apartment to the new place. With Ridgway barely there, and Jasmine long gone, it was just...quiet.

Oh, and there was absolutely no food. Not like Matt who won't eat certain things because he's somehow managed to be picky in this high-and-dry times, but no, literally, nothing. Not ramen. Not...well, I guess cockroaches? And whatever I got hanging out with Jamie! Which, again, a big thank you to her. ...But we'll get to those down the line. For now, the new place! Things had come to an unfortunate end at the Monroe apartments, and in the end, I suppose we can be thankful that they did. Even still, it was a big chapter in the story of our return to California (or my return, Matt's first time), and it marked the end of the book that would be the Monroe apartments in the first place.

<h2>~The Move~</h2>

We started the move a few days before the first. By now, I'd gotten a look at the new place. It was...ok. Not great, but for six months? It was better than where we were, by lots. The kitchen was huge compared to our previous places, but it went and took away from the rest of the house; small living room, small hallway. The main bedroom was enormous, but this had the same effect with the other bedrooms in that it's size made them small in the grand design. All the same, I got my own room, and that's more space than I'd been allotted since I left the Troyer's...I wasn't gonna complain. The most daunting thing of all was the move itself. It loomed over our heads for days up until this point. Most really didn't want to do it. Thankfully, we had help offered!

It was in our mind that we split up teams. See, due to the bed bugs and cockroaches, we couldn't move over all our stuff immediately. We had to check it all first, steam clean it, and basically eradicate anything remotely related to our insect nemesis. Wally and Brian offered to get a truck and share that truck with us, but we warned them we can't just swing by and get the things...we have to prepare them. Steam them, repackage them, and without letting them hit floor again, take them into the truck and get them over. We'd put off a lot of packing days for this day, but for some reason, no one liked the two-teams idea; basically the first team would go and get the stuff ready while the second team moved Wally and Cheri's place, and then we'd swing by and finish up.

Instead, they wanted us to help them move first. And then they'd help us move after. Sounds like a fair exchange, right? So, we went to it. Me? I worked PetSmart all morning, an eight hour shift moving heavy shit everywhere. And I don't sleep before my shifts, I sleep after my shifts, so I was absolutely exhausted getting off of work, and injured to boot, and yet I still went in through with the plan. It was Wally, Brian, Jim, Matt, and myself. ...And Brian's new girlfriend Nikki, but she wasn't there to help so much as watch. We moved Brian's stuff, and we moved Wally's stuff, and eventually Ridgway dropped by for an hour to help out even after. And we worked long, and hard, to get that stuff into the truck, and even longer getting it out.

See, the thing about Wally's new place is that it's on the third story of a refurbished hotel; it's been converted into an apartment complex, and wouldn't you know, Wally lives on that third floor. This means elevator or stairs are our means of travel, and in our case, both. And there is nothing that Wally owns that is light except maybe a desk, and even then I think that was Brian's. Not that I minded! I love my friends, and I love helping them, but I felt a little useless because I was worn the fuck out walking into this mess. Brian got cheesed at me for being slow or unresponsive to spoken word, but I gotta say, I didn't mean to. I was strictly just very, very done. What was worse? As soon as we arrived at the new place, Nikki (Brian's GF) took Jim to go get her washer and drier "real fast". He never came back.

However, we were in for a tremendous surprise. Remember Randy, my friend and co-worker at Gyro's? Well, turns out, he lives literally a door away from Wally's. Neighbors. Such a large city, and such a small world, there he is. I was sitting there guarding the door to Wally's place that was left wide open, and I see this hooded fellow come in through the door. He starts walking down obviously, and then...starts to slow...in that way where his head tilts, and you can tell he's considering you. Like he knows you. Like he knows me! What a small world! Not only did the guy give us a hearty hello and greet Wally and Brian in their moving in, offering any help they may need in the future, he helped us move the rest of their things. It was tremendous.

<h2>~Gliding Like A Brick~</h2>

When we were done with Wally's place, it was time to do our own...we'd spent hours on the job, and we were very done in, but we were optimistic--our friends were going to come with us. Not Randy, mind! But he never made a deal in the first place, so we waved a goodbye, but we were excited to be working with Wally and Brian on getting this shit done, and Jim to meet us there. Only...that's not how it worked. When we got there, Brian thought he might need a lamp for his bedroom, so he went back to his old place to get one with Wally...and they never returned. It was just me, extremely fucking spent, and Matt who was extremely fucking crippled, staring up at our apartment and realizing we were going to be the only ones in it riding this round to it's completion.

Matt was beyond pissed. I hadn't seen him that mad since Troyer wrote me up.

We worked very hard. Every single piece of furniture was moved from upstairs to that truck after being thoroughly wiped down with bleach or steam-cleaned. Sometimes both, if the situation called for it. Every piece of furniture except Ridgway's, which..he wasn't here at all, and we had no idea what to do with his stuff. 'Sides, me and Jim made a pact years ago to never move a Captain's Bed again! So everything was stuffed to that truck, and we were beyond spent. Hell, I was beyond spent before I even got there on my limited sleep and full-time stocking with injuries. But, fuck it, had to continue--and by now, Jim had finally arrived...but we needed to get the show on the road.

Thankfully...Wally remembered us! And sure enough, he busted his ass to help us unload that truck. I stayed in it, pulling things to the truck's edge, but for once in a long while, I actually felt pretty useless. Unfortunately, I had no idea how bad it would actually get--the shit storm wasn't over. We still had to do all those boxes, including the ones in the closet that didn't belong to anyone that lived there--from room mates long past. ...This was something along the lines of eight people's worth of possessions. The four of us, plus the two room mates of the past stored in that closet, plus a mixture of all the girl's stuff they'd left behind (Vi, Cheryl, Jasmine). We didn't get to it 'cuz we were tired, but after limited sleep and another day of full-time job...we were at it again, Round Two.

<h2>~"You Stay 'Til The Job's Done!"~</h2>

The next day was me working 'til 1pm or so, which I was then retrieved from my work by Jim to the house. They'd gone and messed with my things in the Living Room even when I said not to, and consequently threw away some of my things (this is why I told them not to!), but that aside, things were just starting, and underway. Andrew Nagel and Chris Steinwinder were there, and I think Wally showed up too during this afternoon-cinema, and it was all a lot of re-packing, throwing out what we didn't want, and selecting what we did, handing the boxes over to Ridgway and Nagel, and they'd take it down to Chris to be taken away. Sometimes, Ridgway would even come back. Nagel, on the other hand, stayed the whole way through 'til he decided we were probably not going to get it done that night, and left for a dinner with a girl.

But we weren't done, and I wasn't going to be done. The remnants of Ridgway's furniture gone, Chris Steinwinder also went home, and so did Wally, and Ridgway wasn't seeming like he was going to back. I remember Jim suggesting we just stop and give up, and I was fucking livid. I went into Pikey and instructed, "WE STAY 'TIL THE JOB'S DONE!" and, with that inspiration in us, we didn't dare cease. We boxed up fucking everything that was of use, and threw away tons of shit that simply wasn't. Variously, bits of (much appreciated!!) help would show up in the forms of Ridgway, Mike Kempton (AKA the good Mike), and Mr. Chandler Cord--a very cool dude from Jim's workplace. We all shot the shit while packing up old room mate's things from the closet (such as Thomas Bush's stuff--do you remember that fat bastard??), but ultimately they, too, needed to leave.

The only cats strictly with it the whole way through so far had been me, Jim, and Matt--and even Jim had his time kidnapped by Nikki. But we fucking pressed on.

<h2>~Wally Comes Through!~</h2>

One of the most prominent things in this was Wally. We got help from Chris, Nagel, Chandler, and Mike--I'm not denying that. But I thought in this event, the real tremendous source was Wally. He really went out of his way that last second when we needed him--we were on our "E" tank, and while he'd showed up to help last night and earlier this day, he did it again. Despite Brian, who never once showed up and had the kindness to say "I'm giving away your grill I was going to give you as a gift if you don't pick it up tonight" even though we couldn't 'cuz we were packing up (after helping him, and he wasn't here to help us! AND he gave it away before the night was over anyway!!), Wally was there 100%. He worked, and he over-worked, and he thought he still owed us. I thought he was out of his mind, but it's all perspective I guess. I know he got flack for it, but thanks again Wally. And everyone else, at that.

Finally, at ridiculous in the morning, we were more or less done. We didn't get done everything we wanted, mind--there was still lots of shit we didn't want discarded all around the house. There was still vacuuming, the cleaning itself to be done, but the packing? It was through. We'd packed and moved it all but the shit we didn't want, and a few remnants of Jim's room like a box here, and a battery generator there. Matt was definitely shot by now, so Ridgway took him home, and me and Jim--standing in the center of the mass--took one final look around, and then decided we needed a drink. James had recently come across a brewery for hard liquors that he appreciated and visited enough, and so he had with him a bottle of Hanger One Straight Vodka and St. George Single Malt Whiskey.

He gave me the whiskey, and we drank, and we reflected.

See, me and James had been on-and-off again room mates since 2002. The things we found backed up in that closet were things we saw in our day to day lives years ago, some of them even our own. We'd realized we'd come this long way, this tremendous friendship of ours, and though we had our rocky roads...they were brought about by outside people looking to rock the boat. The point is, we'd survived it all--the hardest times in my life were shared by James, and it was often me and James alone keeping a place afloat. We faced down poverty the likes of which made the poverty we faced getting back here from Florida look like child's play, and we walked home in the worst of storms, and we dodged the greatest of law suits, and weathered the worst of break-ups on our shoulders. ...We'd done it all, and this was one more notch of victory. We were damned pleased with ourselves.

Krystal, the downstairs neighbor, broke up this event by asking where Jasmine was, and Jim saw fit to give her our third bottle--the white brandy. I didn't approve, but hey, she left. And we decided, before it all gets interrupted again, we better leave.

After all, there was tomorrow. Jim had his first day of work, and we all volunteered to come back to do that cleaning--me, Matt, and Ridgway.

<h2>~The Cockroach Massacre of 2009~</h2>

Round Three. The final showdown with the Monroe apartments starred no one but me and Ridgway. Matt was too done in, and while I was absolutely sore to the limit by now, I can push through usually--and I did. It was up to me and Ridgway now, and no lie, he earned his manliness that day. We went back, and we spent the day cleaning the shit out of that apartment. While everything but a few (very heavy) things were taken that needed to be taken (these few things fit in his car), the place was far from over. There were piles, and piles, of trash and things to throw. Hundreds of little things, hundreds of large, large things. Many, many boxes, stuffed to the brim, with things. We worked muscles 'til they couldn't stands no more, scrubbed every corner, and pretty much kicked fucking ass.

One of the most satisfying events was The Cockroach Massacre of 2009. Basically, we moved the 'fridge to clean under it, and we found their...their base of operations? No, that seems too..small. Their congregation? Their country. There were thousands. It was ludicrous. I got the squirt-bleach, and the toilet-cleaner bleach, and with a Southern zeal that could only be described Yosemite-Sam, I proceeded to aniggalate them. I exploded every thing there was with bleach, dumping, spraying, crushing, it didn't stop. Then we'd move the 'fridge to a whole different spot, and there were just as many then too. ROUND TWO, I'd scream, and a "YEEEEHAW!!"...I think Ridgway might'a been terrified, but I was having the time of my life. It was revenge, pure and simple. There was a linoleum matt made of the same stuff the kitchen floor cut out and put under the 'fridge, presumably to keep it from scratching the surface...

When that was removed, I soaked it with bleach, 'cuz that's where they were most.

By the time I was done, there was probably a funnel-cloud of roach-souls exploding out of the walls of the apartment. It was great. And what's better? We cleaned that fucking place as spotless as it ever could be. Only one, final, challenge remained...it was easily the most difficult thing about this whole ordeal, and it was also the most satisfying of them all. Walker and Ridgway vs. The Couch! With a brief interruption by the apartment manager Tim (which it's funny, 'cuz the worst and best managers I've ever had were both named Tim...and this Tim wasn't the best.), we set to work on that couch, not at all prepared for what we had before us. To be frank, we were pretty done. I was extra done.

After all, we'd filled up three dumpsters worth of trash by the time this was done.

The couch wasn't a light beast. Maybe not the heaviest couch I've ever lifted--that'd be Patricia's one made of steel and hate back at the Townhouse--but it was not too far off. It was cheap, and everyone hated it, and we had no intention of keeping it. My only question was, how the fuck did it get *IN* here?? It was huge! And it didn't fit through that door. No, we tried. Every angle. Multiple times. Holding it in the air for hours, pushing for hours, shoving for hours, every possible way. It was always close, but never, ever, close enough. I was furious, absolutely enraged, and I was looking around--I thought, "If I could only smash it!" and I was thinking a hammer or something, thinking out loud. Ridgway looked like he wanted to give up, but I was too angry to. Then...suddenly. An idea.

My combat boots are steel toed. They're old, so they're God-awful terrible shoes--three years old, and I'm extremely hard on my shoes. But, the steel toes? Good as they've ever been. I slipped off my shoe, reared back, and began to smash it against the legs of the couch. The legs were made of plastic that were sealed into the couch, and screwed in with massive screws just in case. We had no other object to swing, no screwdriver to use, it was this and brute force or nothing--and fuck it if I wasn't angry enough. Ridgway stepped away, and watch me break thick, extremely hearty and durable plastics with a few clean smashes of the boot. Half of them were gone, and we then started for the door...no go. Then Ridgway and I had the idea to throw it out the fucking window, like we promised to do to Nagel and Peter's things in the past.

We had Adam move his fucking car (how he's not arrested yet is beyond me), and dragged it across the house, spent 15 minutes struggling to get it through Ridgway's door with every ounce of our might. In this process, I grabbed the end of the plastic that wouldn't break--the leg that refused to break by steel-toed hammer-boot!--and wrenched it completely off like a man's neck, twisting it around with a thunderous set of very satisfying snaps, and hurled it across the room. It fit. But not through the fucking window. What a fucking let down. I was running out of everything. I was mad. Ridgway wanted to try the door again now that I ripped a third off, figuring if I ripped the fourth off? We might have a shot...he might be right. We went to try, but the huge unforgiving cushions wouldn't give.

...Pulling it back to rest again, we heard jingles. I remembered it had my money.

I wanted to gut it, but I had no knife. Curse me, I didn't even bring my box cutter! If only I had something to cut with, if only!...wait. Another idea. I spied the legs with the screws poking out of the bottom of them, broken on the floor about the room. I picked one up, and using the screw, I slowly cut it all.

When Ridgway cut on, we proceeded to not only gut the couch's tummy and rip into it's back, we cut everything. Literally, every cushion, every ounce of thing in our way, we rended. We then broke it. We broke the shit out of this couch, no man would ever use it again, through rage and Ridgway's weight, it was finally done. I got a LOT of change from it, and we pushed it back to the door in it's skeletal, broken husk...still wouldn't fit, so fucking close. Finally, I said, I was gonna kick it. Ridgway fled down the stairs, and I eased back, and proceeded to give it the Hulk Hogan Big Boot with a charge. It erupted out of the door-frame and down the stairs. We had finally conquered the self-serving Demonic entity that was this couch, and we proceeded to haul it off to another dumpster. Fuck that fucking thing, and fuck anyone that complains about it being in their trash on Monroe Street.

<h1>~Aftermath.~</h1>

Jim came by shortly thereafter. All that was left was the vacuuming. One look at us, and he insisted he cover it. It took a while, but he did it. Then, we left. On the way home, Jim noted I'd been the only one there all day, every day, through all of it, like he was weirded out I'd do it. I reminded him he should know me by now--just like everyone from Rahan to Fax knows, I help people because that's what I do, and friends are even more to that. Sure, my things were pretty easily done. Sure 98.6% of what I did was every one else's problem, but that's not the point. We're a fucking team, and like I'd said several times before, teams need to fucking stick together. He dug it, and we went back to reminiscence of our long and checkered history 'til we got back...home.

You know, it's still interesting to call this place that. Home's still kinda the Monroe house for me, my aura hasn't settled into this new spot exactly yet. That's not to say I would prefer it there--fuck no. But, it's also not to say I won't miss the place. The single, most greatest moment in my life happened right there in 2129 Monroe Street. Because right there in that Apartment #3, I realized so much that it put me on a great path. Words cannot describe...words cannot describe how it felt to stand there, and look at that place, for one last time. I'm not ashamed to say it, I'm going to miss that place...it's the worst place we've ever lived, but a lot happened there. And just as quickly, we were gone to the next place, and I have a feeling it won't have the same impact on our lives. We'll see. For now? Time to move on. Finally, we were in December.

Getting On With Life,
Walker Pennington.

Thanks: I want to thank the people that helped us make that move. Wally, Randy, Mike, Chandler, Nagel, Chris--you were all tremendous. I'd like to thank my co-workers at Gyro's and PetSmart for being so tremendous and helpful in my life, and I'd like to thank the many that helped me get through my personal-life problems like The BSG (Chris, #2, Mitch, Zeke, Bender, Jacob, Kurtis...), Jesse, Hannah, Jamie, Derek, Sloan, Scott, Anna, Raph, both Sarahs...and finally:

Special Thanks: I'd like to say special thanks to Chris Steinwinder. Many people were there for me, but this dude went tremendously out of his way for me. He saw how absolutely horrid I looked when I heard the various bad newses with Jasmine (all three), and through many of my other hardships surrounding them, and he went completely balls-to-the-wall out of his way to see it undone and me restored. He kept me sane, when that was all but up. Thank you so much.<hoto 2>