*Note: This is not the neighbor's house next door. I lifted a random house image online for dramatic effect. No copyright infringement intended.

Ha!  Bet you are just sitting at your computer rubbing your hands in glee, having waited 8 months for THAT headline to one of my blog posts.

Natural disasters seem to be something of a recurring theme in my life the past week or so.  There was the flooding in Huntly, Matt’s town (oh, by the way, yes he did get in touch with me finally — his internet was down prior and he was unable to leave the house to text me due to heavy rain and gales.  True story:  men in Scotland don’t carry umbrellas.  Apparently not very manly or something.  It caused Matt no end of consternation here to know that an umbrella is a very unisex item, whipped out on the rare occasion that it even casually mists over in Southern California).

Then there was the fire in Pomona/Diamond Bar I drove through on the freeway on November 3rd — the hills were ablaze every 500 yards for several miles, leading me to think it was arson, but it turned out a malfunctioning truck caught fire and the occupants didn’t notice, so they kept driving, merrily sending out an occasional shower of sparks into the dry brush as they drove until finally some poor soul managed to flag them down.  You can see my hastily snapped (and not-at-all-dangerous, I swear!) camera phone photos by clicking the links above.

Then there was an hour ago, when I was unceremoniously awakened by the sound of a woman yelling.  It was Sheree, one of my neighbors in another trailer on the lot.  She was dragging a hose around and spraying down our trailers, calling to another woman on the lot to keep her doors and windows closed.  At 1:30 a.m.  Huh? Sleepily, I poked my head out of my door to find out what was going on.

“The house next door is on FIRE!!!!!” she cried.  “We need to water everything down so that sparks don’t catch us!”

The word “fire” galvanized me into (albeit clumsy) action; I threw a chunky, black, oversized Nightmare Before Christmas blanket around myself and ran outside.  My trailer is right next to the property line, and over the fence I could see, perhaps a hundred yards away or less, a building completely ablaze, engulfed in flames.  I would later find out that it was a large garage-type structure being used as storage, but I wasn’t sticking around to find out.  I didn’t want to be in my trailer if things went up in smoke (which, by the way, was acrid and filling the air, huge columns billowing up into the sky).

So, I ran out of there.

I wasn’t thinking particularly clearly, especially in my half-asleep state, so I left everything.  Purse, glasses, keys, cell phone, shoes… you name it.  You know, anything that could possibly actually be of any use to me whatsoever.  Good to know that I can handle a crisis situation rationally and intelligently, right?

I fled barefoot over the pebbly ground of the lot, tearing my feet up rather nicely.  I heard Sheree bellowing Sage’s name, trying to wake her up in her nearby guest house, but Sage wasn’t responding, so I darted to her gate, screaming my head off.

“FIRE!!!!!  FIIIIIRE!!!!!  SAAAAAGE, WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPOHMIGAWDFIIIIIIIIIRE!!!!!”

Fezzik and his buddy, Sage’s dog Piglet, streamed out the front door barking rabidly, raising the alarm at the wild-eyed intruder with the sleep-matted hair, before realizing Oh, hey!  It’s just you!  We totally love you!!!!!

Sage, unlike me, either sleeps clothed or is the fastest dresser you will ever meet, because within mere seconds she was out the door, fully alert, and in a tank top and shorts.  I, meanwhile, looked like Carrot Top in a black flannel tube dress.

Sage woke our landlord, who apparently fell out of bed in his panic and gave himself a charley horse in his leg (but at least he thought to throw on a robe), and we ran out into the street, where the fire trucks had already started to arrive (Sheree, ever the hero, called 911 — you rock, Sheree!)  The neighbor was out front, and she was surprisingly very calm.  Nobody slept in that building, thank goodness, but she told us that all of her Christmas stuff was in there and went up in flames.  Right now, it’s looking like arson.  Neighbors had reported a suspicious truck driving away from the scene quickly.

It was right about then, that I realized that I was very naked, standing in the middle of the street, amidst a bunch of firemen and police officers, with only a blanket to protect my modesty.  Everyone else, including the neighbors, was at least in some state of dress.  My fellow tenants noted my sudden discomfort and cracked jokes about me coming out to find myself a cute firefighter (sorry, Matt!  Hehe).

The firefighters managed to smother most of the fire within 30 minutes or so, and it was again safe to go back to our trailers, so I limped back inside, my feet hurting much more on the trip back, now that I was coming down from the adrenaline rush that came from fleeing fucking fire. But one of the power lines is now spouting big showers of sparks, so the lights in here are flickering every time it happens, which makes me think that we may lose electricity soon.  Not that it matters too much, because in about 3 hours I need to drive out to Irvine anyway (I picked up some temp work there this week).

Perhaps I’ll head to the local gas station and pick up a snack or something.  Now I’m all awake and I don’t know if it’s worth it trying to get back to sleep.  Blegh.