So, there was an episode of Third Watch at my apartment building last night. As I was sitting at my desk, poking a story with a stick and waiting to go out to celebrate a friend's birthday, I heard... sounds in the stairwell of my apartment building. At first, I had assumed the male shrieks and gasps were perhaps one of my upstairs neighbours having too much, erm... fun. My reaction was more one of annoyance as the spells would stop, and then start again, not to mention there's a kid of perhaps 8 who lives beneath me, and if I could hear the guy, you bet the kid, his mum and his granny could.

However, when my upstairs neighbour Heather called me, she said the guy was alone and lying on the floor in front of the apartment across from her, and through the peep hole, she couldn't tell who it was. She asked if she should call the cops, and I was all "Hell, yeah!" About five minutes later a black and white showed up, and two lady cops came and rousted him--he was drunk or stoned or something and just flipping out. I could overheard the conversation and it was just too deeply surreal. He was looking for some chick named April who is/was his girlfriend. Cagney and Lacey were all "Do you live here? No? Okay, you can't stay here. You're freaking people out. Do you have ID?" Needless to say, no. No ID.

Heather and I were on the phone, doing play by play out our various windows as the EMTs arrived with an ambulance and strapped the guy down and just carted him off, sirens blaring.

Somebody had a shitty Valentine's day.

I, on the other hand, survived my first solo VD in 5 years just fine for the most part, though I am sporting some fun bruises from the tumble I took, trying to step around a raised booth at Liar's Club to get to the dancefloor. Stone cold sober, no less. That takes skill, ladies and gentlemen. Left the club at 2am and had the singular experience of being probably one of the only sober people (other than what I assume to be the majority of the staff) at The Melrose at just shy of 3am. Would that the same could be said for the table full of Trixies across from me, who crooned "Te amo! Mucho gusto!" at the waitstaff incessantly. God bless drunk white girls and their high school Spanish. I wanted to kill them, but the waiters seemed amused and incredibly tolerant, so I restrained myself admirably. After quite possibly the best plate of hash and fried eggs (and i had decaf, because I have half a brain, tho really, I ought to have been drinking leaded and smoking, just to appease my inner Dead Of a Heart Attack I'm Sure Chicago Cop) in the 'verse, I came home and pretty much fell into bed (since I'd gotten up at 7am that morning).

So, anyway--yay for survival. I'm also sore from my second week-end in a row of dancing, and my 4th kick-boxing class yesterday morning. Took a loooooooong hot bath, and read The Woman In The Dark, which is the first Hammett I've read that fell totally flat for me. I think it's because we stay with he dame the whole time. I like the boys better. Of course, I have OD'd on the Continental Op lately, so it was a nice break. The Op can be a bit grim after a while. I still haven't finished The Thin Man, which is such a departure from his other stuff that I can't quite reconcile it...