ITEM! It seems it's not definite that I'm fully out of the house yet. The guy who maybe be buying the old house has trouble securing the loan. So, it's not official whether I'm moving out or not- although plans are implemented to help Obi-Wan Dan and the Dragon Lady move their stuff up to their retirement home in Las Vegas (another couple caught up in the migration fever just like my dad, my stepmother and aunt did). The plan calls for me to rent a new storage space close to the house and close down the old one out in buck fuck Northridge (not a easy place for me to get to by transit in the Valley - I have one out there because I used to rent a house nearby over twelve years ago) so I can combine it with the new one - plus leave room to store Obi-Wan Dan's insurance office file cabinets and watch over them for a period of four or five years until the statue of limitations at least runs out or whatever the fuck the state of California says you have to do with expired insurance records.
Then sometime in April after they have the big estate sale, me and Becky's (former Deposit Man editor) husband are going to drive up with a U-Haul truck to the retirement condo in Vegas and unload whatever needs unloading and both of us are going to impose on my dad to crash at his place before Obi-Wan Dan puts us back on a plane to the Valley where we will resume our mundane existences and resume with the packing and go where we have to go. I don't know why I'm putting myself through this rigorous routine- maybe it's because deep down, I feel as though they're my surrogate family and if it wasn't for them, I'd probably still be at the drawing board with my self publishing Deposit Man venture with nowhere to go.
This leaves me in a conundrum in searching for low rent housing, so I can keep meeting my goals. I'm hoping the light at the end of the tunnel will be the inclusion of adding the Deposit Man solicitation in the Diamond Previews catalog after I get The Last Great Gate of Mortality Act 2 off the press plus a good amount if work done on Act 3. All I know, it's a race against time and now would be a good time for a certain family member who says she owes me some money to give me that certain financial boost, or I'm going to have to resort to hanging my feet up at weekly hotels until things get done. I have been exploring the options of either the $ 300 or 400 a month range in places that are usually rare occurrences in my neighborhood (anywhere else is just not safe enough or too dodgy looking), if one is patient, one or two will creep by.
ITEM! A couple of weeks back, just at the height of the hoopla concerning the Mel glibbness of Passion of the Christ , I was gung ho on going to see it, thinking it would be a good chaser after seeing the remake of Dawn of the Dead or Secret Window sandwiched in between - but unfortunate some incident which occurred on a MTA bus a couple of Fridays ago convinced me that maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all. For the past twelve years since I've been living in and out of the San Fernando Valley, and the years that I've been taking public transportation, I've had a few select run ins with the same motley crew of eccentric individuals - one who stands out in particular, it seems every time we run into each other, we're always engage in shouting matches above the roar of the bus engine. And the reason why? This smelly fat fuck who hops on board (usually somewhere on Ventura Blvd - but for some inexplicable reason- he just happened to be in front of the Warner Bros Ranch Facility and I don't think he was there to protest the cancellation of Angel like the rest of the schmoes I've been seeing lately) the bus usually always has a napsack full of stupid handmade religious pamphlets and nearly 90 per cent of the time he always comes up to me to specifically shove one in my face (after he asks me if I prefer English or do I prefer the one in Spanish?). Of course, at first I politely refuse - 'cause I count on this douchebag's loss of memory after the countless times I've confronted him, he seems to forget all the times we've clashed in the past- including the time that an old high school buddy of mine and I went and tossed the leftovers we had in a bag from In 'n Out Burger at his face. But when I do refuse to take his cheap ass Kinko's flyers advertising Jesus Saves and whoever gives a flying fuck about the second coming - he throws a cheap shot at me and profoundly announces in a voice that everyone can hear that I'll be acquiring a one way ticket to hell at the almighty's expense. This time, he didn't have a clever comment to say and instead went around the rest of the bus passing out his wares. So I opened up to where I left over in this Caleb Carr novel I'm trying to finish and no sooner do I find my page - boom, a goddamn flyer is smushed in my face. I look up and there's fat fuck with his molar missing grin and I have no recoarse but to propel myself into wiseass mode:
I calmly reach out to shake his hand and I feign a confession of my sins.
I say: Hey, you know something, I got to fess up - I admit, I did talk to Jesus last night.
And of course, this affirmation piques his curiosity and the hole of those missing molars grow wider and wider. Eh, he thinks he's on a winning streak.
'Well, yeah, he told me to give you a message.
I can almost spot a wet spot growing around his zipper - not that I was really checking, mind you. It's the stench of his breath, you understand that is appalling to face. Now he looks as if he's at the point of world dominance.
"Yeah mac, he told me to tell you to go fuck yourself if you stick that fucking Watchtower propaganda bullshit in my face ever again- NOW SIT THE FUCK DOWN OR I'M GOING TO SHOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM UP YOUR FAT FUCKING ASS!!
I think by this point, I've got everyone's undivided attention on the bus, including the bus driver. But rats, wouldn't you know it? I reached the Warner Bros main lot- I calmed down and realized that it probably wouldn't reflect well on me if I started a dragged out free for all in front of the place of my employment. Especially when I have my security badge twirling around my neck.
But, in whenever you're in a position or crisis of someone trying to push their wishy washy belief of a fairy tale existence in your face - please feel free to use my example- those reborn Christian fruities will do a backflip everytime.
It almost feels like I'm living what Marty goes through in the first ten pages of my forthcoming book.