It's official... I'm getting hitched! Date to be announced. :)

Oh, and I should have internet connected tonight or tomorrow. Like that shouldn't bring unpacking to a screeching halt.

I bought Pooh a new bed over the weekend. $89. Oz slept on it last night while he stayed on the thin one bought right after the fire. Sheesh.

Good news Mom... you can tell Dad I have a toaster!

It went well. Now no one has to figure out how much antique china is worth. Woot!!!

I'm really sorry I haven't been able to keep you all better posted on what's going on here. I'm stealing the internet signal from the neighbors and it's kind of hit or miss for actually working, so bear with me a few more days until I get into the house.

Yes, that's right, only a few more days until I move into the house! Okay, I'm excited about the house, but it's still a very sore spot. I feel like if I could click my pair of ruby slippers (which I don't have) together, I don't know where I'd land. My old place doesn't exist, my current place isn't mine, and my new place doesn't exist yet either. It's really weird.

But, there is a house, and it has stuff in it that I own. And soon it will be "my place".

And tomorrow, I get to go back into my apartment. For 2 hours, I will get to go in and drag out the things that can be salvaged. I will work hard to get out the things that can't be replaced. That's what I care about and what I'm after. I've made my peace with the rest, but damnit, I'm getting the sentimental stuff.

Ole ole ole, ugh ugh ugh!!!

(Oh, and the signal has gone out 3 times while I wrote this!!!)

For those who are interested, I've started a housewarming registry at Target.com and Bedbathandbeyond.com as "Tiffany Big Burn King", where "Tiffany Big Burn" is my first name. Should you feel so compelled, go see it. I'll be adding more as I am able to steal internet signals from my neighbors and Huddle House. Don't you judge me.

I officially move in on Friday, but it will be a process. Looks like I'll be on the sleeper sofa for a week or two. Aaaah, the good life!

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Check out my new pretty things!

Have you ever seen where a fire started? Who knew one little cigarette butt could do so much damage? One cigarette butt took down a whole building, and nearly everything in it. Thankfully, all living things made it out. Unfortunately, lots of things that are still useful, still meaningful, and still sorely missed, are still inside. They will never come out. Because of one little cigarette, my Great Grandmother's fine china, my friend's family photographs, my bike, a friend's jewelry, and countless other treasures, will be bulldozed to the ground with the building. My insurance company will cut me a check, and I'll never touch that china again. I will not pass it on to my daughter some day. Now, I know my Great Grandmother would not have anyone get hurt trying to get her china out, but it does not change the fact that one person's carelessness took so much from the rest of us. It is almost unbelievable. It would be unbelievable if it happened to someone else. But we all know it didn't.

And after getting in a heated discussion with my insurance adjuster this morning about whether or not she would transfer my benefits to an available corporate apartment offered by my hospital or leave me in a slightly shady hotel, I'll be moving tomorrow. She implied that I was milking the system and trying to stay in temporary housing to avoid finding a permanent home and suck more money out of the insurance company. I firmly, and in no uncertain terms, reminded her that I was in no way obligated to take substandard housing to save my insurance company money while using a benefit for which I had been paying a premium for years. I mean, seriously, the house I looked at yesterday was the Taj Ma-Hole and had mold growing in the closet. NOT GOOD. Needless to say, tonight is my last night in the hotel, tomorrow I start at the corporate apartment, and I think she was crying before I stopped talking... oh, and my short term housing has been extended to Oct. 23, WHICH I DIDN'T EVEN ASK FOR. What is wrong with people?

But proving that it pays to know people that know people, one of my former patients (who probably loves me a little too much) really pulled one out of his hat and contacted a friend who has been trying to sell his (overpriced) house for quite a while without success. Everyone loves a good sob story (and money), so sure enough, the guy was willing to meet me and show me the house. I almost peed my pants before I even got out of the car.

I could live on the porch alone. And it's painted in almost the same colors as my apartment was. And I pink puffy heart it. And I didn't even think to take pictures downstairs of the two other bedrooms, or bathrooms, or living room, or lower porch... or POOL TABLE. Or riding lawn mower. Jealous?

And there's a double stove-thingy/bread-warmer-whatever-it's-for-thingy. And the fridge is HUGE. And check out the spiral staircase and reading nook with storage/playroom. Otis and Oz may never come in off the porch... Pooh King may not either, come to think about it.

So a week later, things are settling back into a more "normal" pace. Well, as normal as you can get for being a week out from having lost most of your material possessions. We've basically settled back into a nomadic life, but that will be over Oct. 23, when my new lease starts. It will be different than decorating the new apartment was, but I can do it. :)

I didn't even cry today. Really. A little misty, maybe, but no crying.

Okay, so that last post-by-text blog was a bust.

What it was supposed to say is "I'm okay." So is Pooh King, and so are the cats.

My apartment building burned on Friday morning. I awoke early, around 4:30am, to beating on my door, the doors around me, yelling, screaming, etc. It wasn't until I got to the front of my apartment (bedrooms are in the back) that I heard the fire alarm and could tell that the man was yelling "FIRE! THERE'S A FIRE! YOU HAVE TO GET OUT NOW!" It was scary and confusing, but my brain was starting to gear up. The first things I realized were that a) I was naked and needed to put on clothes, and b) the cats had scattered and I didn't know where they were. I threw on clothes and started calling the cats, all the while the Fire and Rescue guy was beating on the door screaming for me to come out. This happened over about 15 seconds I think. I kept yelling to the man that I was up and trying to get my cats, to quit beating on the door, he was scaring them and they wouldn't come. When I went to the door to tell him to quit, that I just needed a minute, he grabbed my arm and pulled me out the door. There was no time to get the cats. The fire was in the walls and they couldn't tell where it was or where it would come out next. I knew in my heart he was right, and that the best I could do was give them the best chance I could, but I had to get out. But hell if I wasn't going to give my cats a chance. My inner black woman came out and I shucked a 300 pound man off my arm like he was a flea. I ran back into the apartment, opened the porch door and propped it open. I hoped that would give them enough air if it got smoky, and an option to make a jump for it if the fire made it around to my apartment before the Fire Department got it put out. It was horrifying.

Pooh had to be drug out into the hall. Why not? My apartment was quiet and didn't smell like smoke. The hallway was full of smoke and screaming people, and seemed like hell itself. I grabbed my shoes, purse, and Pooh's leash, which were all by the door, and ran. That was 4:33.

When I got outside and could only see smoke coming up from the back of the building, I tried running back to the stairs to get to my apartment so I could get Otis and Oz. The same 300 pound man tackled me before I made the first step. My inner black woman might have shucked him, but she could not break his tackle.

We have a Volunteer Fire Department, which takes a while to gather, since those guys were sleeping peacefully at home and were awoken at the same time we were. Overall, we were incredibly lucky, as one of the volunteer fireman lived in our own building and 2 or 3 other fire and rescue volunteers lived in our complex, therefore got the 9-1-1 dispatch and got us out of bed about 20 minutes before the fire trucks arrived. Everyone got out alive. (Oh, they had to drag out the jackass college kid who was obviously on some kind of drugs and refused to leave, preferring to watch TV in his bedroom while the 4th floor burned, until the firefighters broke through his window and dragged him out. He fought them all the way. Asshole. He was the one person who had to go to the hospital and be treated for injuries, and I hope the fire department sends him a bill.)

During that time we watched the building smoke, then the fire break over the back and engulf the roof. All the while, I was praying that Otis and Oz would be okay. Of all domestic animals, cats are the smartest when it comes to fire and the most likely to survive. I mean, Oz survived a Colorado trailer park dumpster, as my sister is quick to point out, so I hoped chances were good she'd go to the porch, and I hoped Otis would follow. The first water went on the fire at 5:11am. Once the VFD got there, they had trouble with the pressure in the hydrants, which significantly hindered their ability to fight a blaze this size.

When the fire was out, the firemen went in to my apartment 2 or 3 times to try to find them with no luck. They kept coming out and saying "We didn't find them, but we didn't find their bodies either. Sometimes they don't surface for a day or two. You did a good job by opening the door. They probably jumped. They'd be hurt going from the 3rd floor, but they'd make it. You should go to the woods and call them." Yeah, I tried going to the woods, but every time I tried to say "Otis" or "Oz" the word would get stuck in my throat and I would sob. I could only call "kitty kitty kitty" and I watched the bedroom window of my apartment the whole time.

At about 12:30pm a firefighter came and got me. They were taking me in to try to find the cats. They had decided to let us go in and get out what valuables we could, and they wanted me to be able to go in first. My apartment had not been burned at all, but there was about 2 inches of water standing on top of the carpet, and water was pouring out of parts of the ceiling. The apartment above me had been incincerated, as had the rest of the 4th floor.

I was calling the cats from the time I hit the door, but they didn't make a sound. Again, the words were getting caught in my throat, but I forced them out. If my cats were alive, they needed to hear me. They had to know that I had come back for them... that I had to be dragged out without them. I went to the closet, where Ozzie likes to hide on the shelf. When she wasn't there, I got on my hands and knees and started poking between the slats on my platform bed that supported the boxspring. I did one side with no luck. When I got to the head of the other side, I poked into them. They were as hot as freshly baked break and didn't move. Didn't meow. I poked them again and again, screaming to the firefighter to come help me (she was looking in the spare bedroom and pulling photos off the wall). We flipped the mattress on the floor, got the boxspring up, and cut and pulled it open. Oh, they were moving and yowling then! Oz took a few laps around the bedroom with Firefighter Dee in hot pursuit. Looking back now it's kind of funny. Here was this little cat running through inches of water, and a firefighter in full gear trying to run after her. After two laps, I gave her Otis and the carrier I had retrieved from the porch and she carried him out. I got Oz with no problems after that.

I did get to go back in and get most of my quilts, photos, and a lot of clothing out. About 2/3 of my amazing Dansko collection is gone. There just wasn't time to get everything, and with that much water standing and running down the walls, not everything could be saved. I'm grateful to have what I have, even though I do still have daily episodes of tearful longing for my "stuff" and the desire to be able to walk back into my apartment and see it as it was before it became a water feature. What kills me is that so much stuff in there is perfectly fine, I just can't get it because the structure has been deemed unstable and unsafe for people to be in. My bike is still hanging on the porch, and the curtains are blowing in the windows. I am certainly luckier than the people on the floor above me, for they got virtually nothing back. I have renter's insurance, so that will replace my furniture and household stuff. But how do you replace your great grandmother's china that's sitting in a box in the closet? Yeah, you can't really do that.

But you can't replace these guys either... and I've got them.

Yeah, I've got them!

I have nothing but wonderful and grateful things to say about our volunteer fire department, and the 4 other volunteer companies who responded. If you want to do good in the world, support them. How many times can you say that you have gotten out of your bed to put your life in harm's way to help someone else? Now, how many times have you done it FOR NO PAY? These people are amazing, and they are my heroes.

Now, if you want to see something REALLY pretty, go see me bring sexy back to fire fashion and plastic hairbands! That's right, I'm famous, baby!