Just kidding - the light was a train

There I was thinking that everything was good. And then Z's computer woes got worse. And worse. And then hit total suck rock bottom bad. So instead of watching the sun sink into the Pacific Ocean from our camp site in Big Sur we spent the day in Circuit City transferring data from old hard drive to new laptop. But hey, it wasn't so bad. In the end, the new computer worked and the data was saved and we were treated to a fantastic meal and so everything was fine.

On Friday we drove to LA through the baking Central Valley. We were dreading the trip until Z realized how lucky we were to be in our own car (borrowed from Z's parents - far better than a rental) and not in some cockroach-infested dusty bus on a broken seat for 14 hours. Six hours later we arrive in LA in one piece despite the loveseat that someone dropped into the middle of our lane at the bottom of the grapevine, and me sandwiched between a truck and minivan. Hooray for good brakes!

And we see Aunt Sylvia (one of the kindest people I know) and enjoy her airconditioned house and eat some food before heading over to our storage unit to pick up a few things.

Or so we think. Turns out that the world had some more suck for us.

Back in Ethiopia, I remember Z telling me that there'd been a small flood in the storage room but that everything was OK. I didn't really give it too much thought. We were, after all, in Ethiopia and therefore unable to do a single thing. And hey! Everything was OK, right?

Well, it turns out that it isn't all OK. More than a few boxes were completely rotten, the cardboard disintegrating in our hands and cockroaches scuttling around inside. And the contents? Beyond rescue. Some of the stuff doesn't matter - it's just stuff, after all. But those four scrapbooks of mine? Gone. That great photo of Z with Steve Martin? Gone. My clothes? Gone. Z's shoes? Gone. We filled a dumpster with boxes and mould and scrapbooks and photos and clothes and broken plates and a rolling pin that looked like it belonged in a mycology lab. And it sucked.

Before we left on our honeymoon, we pared down our belongings to the essentials - the important stuff. We have now pared down some more. There's some lesson here about detachment but hell if I can stomach it right now.

After some discussion, we arrived at the conclusion that we needed to find another storage space. Which meant renting a van. Except no-one will rent a cargo van for a one-way trip (we find this out at Enterprise after speeding from Woodland Hills to Van Nuys to catch the store before it closes (at NOON on a Saturday) and to get the last cargo van available). And all the trucks have been rented because it's the last weekend of the month. So I call and call and call as Z washes out a box of kitchen stuff and repacks it. And I call. I find some woman with a heavy Russian accent who offers to help secure a U-Haul van. She says she'll try her best and call me back. Then I get through to Budget in Northridge and they have a truck - but we have to get it today. As in right now. So, back in the car to go speeding off to Northridge. And yay! We have a truck.

So we go and have a wonderful evening with Tano and Holly and Header. The latter is sweet enough to bring me a brand new dress that she bought to make up for the fact that I'd just lost all my clothes. Z approves of the plunging neckline.

Sunday morning rolls around. We are not driving via Santa Barbara where I was supposed to meet up with my advisor to go diving at Santa Cruz Island. No, I've had to cancel that, too. Instead, I'm in the shower when Z comes in to say there's some woman on the phone with a heavy Russian accent who's threatening to charge us for a U-Haul truck because we haven't come to pick it up. Oh, and good morning.

At this point, I want to give the world the finger. Instead, I call the woman back and she yells at me. I apologize for upsetting her and she yells and I apologize again and let her yell some more. She never says anything about charging us - I don't think she will. I think she just needed to get angry.

So, we load up the truck with mouldy stuff and head out of LA, stopping for a delicious breakfast at 1:00pm at Burger King (shudder) - but there's nothing else in the strip mall hell that is the valley. And we drive home past Cowshwitz up I-5, me bopping away to the iPod (not mouldy) and Z listening to my damp CD's. We unload into Z's folks' garage with their help and find parking for the truck on a Sunday evening in Russian Hill. We fall into bed at 9:00pm.

This morning, I returned the truck and had to fight the woman at Budget over "damage" to the truck that I did not do nor notice when I inspected the truck in LA. She points it out to me several times and I can barely see it. It's the kind of thing you would only notice if you were used to looking at trucks - compartively, I can see that the piece is bent. But just looking at one truck, I can't tell. Fortunately, her manager agrees with me and I leave with our full deposit.

And now I'm sorting through out stuff, removing the mould, doing loads and loads and loads of laundary, and carrying stuff to Henry the drycleaner and praying that he'll be able to salvage the good stuff. My moms-in-law has been a fabulous help, braving bags of mouldy, still-damp sheets and helping to sniff-test Z's clothes (that takes a brave nose).

As for me, I'm just trying to remember that this is a new week. And I'm trying to believe that it's all going to be OK. I mean, at some point, things have to get easier for us, right???