The New Apartment Chronicles:: Chapter 5

I am moving [tomorrow, officially]. But sadly, not to Silverlake. Instead, I am moving in with the Senior Cokes [my parents]. Overall, this is depressing. Because 1) moving is depressing [and for some reason, causes me major mental trauma], and 2) living with ones parents after the age of 18 is depressing [and as of Friday, I will be 11 years past 18. Fuck. That is also depressing. Maybe more depressing than living with my parents.]

In an effort to find the silver lining, here are the pros and cons to living with Senior Cokes for the month of September::

Con:: Living with my parents is definitely going to hinder my social life. And by “hinder,” I mean a practically annihilate.

Pro:: Maybe this will be good for me or something. A forced detox/hiatus? A reason to go to the gym maybe? Plan some weekend getaways??

Pro:: It is only for a month!!

Con:: A whole fucking month!!

Pro:: I will save money.

Con:: I have to move twice instead of once and I must pay for storage. [which, btw, is kind of expensiveR than I thought].

Pro:: Parental food making and laundry skills at my disposal.

Con:: Constant parental supervision at their disposal.

Pro:: I will have lots of quality time with Maxine the Dog. [best. dog. ever!]

Con:: I will have lots of quality time with the Senior Cokes.

Pro:: I will be blocks from the beach and with pool.

Con:: I don’t go to the beach, ever. And despite my constant moaning about wanting a pool, I probs won’t use it.

Con:: I still have to find a place.

Con:: I am living with my parents.

Con:: I am living with my parents.

Con:: I am living with my parents.

Pro:: I am not homeless (or dead, or legless, or witless, or a witness against the mob, etc. etc.)

Life lesson:: Living with one’s parents is better than being homeless, but worse than not living with one’s parents.

Actually, it just occurred to me that I am actually more depressed about aging than the whole living fiasco. But then it also occurred to me that the only way to stop aging is to be dead. Which brings me to…

Life Lesson #2:: Getting old sucks, but dying young sucks more. And both dying young and aging suck worse than living with the Senior Cokes.

So anyhow, I will shut up now and stop being schizophrenic.

The New Apartment Chronicles: Chapter 4

I spent Saturday in the sweltering heat of Silverlake looking for my next home.  I battled the street closures of Sunset Junction [seriously, I walked up Hyperion at one point which was a HUGE fucking mistake because Hyperion is apparently the most never-ending block in the history of blocks which resulted in my having to walk all the way over to Melrose [fucking Melrose people of Los Angeles!!!  From Sunset!!] before I could walk over to Lucile…which is literally ONE STREET OVER.  I was 10 mad].  I battled my evil shoes which shredded my feet [and made me cry].  I battled hordes of other frenzied apartment seekers.* 

And finally I found THE ONE.  Apparently, so did someone else.  And this someone else must have a fax machine tucked away in their tush because they somehow beat me to it and STOLE [ok fine, not stole, but damn] my apartment out from under me!  So there a 90% chance that I have still not found a place.  But in a last ditch effort, I have written a woe is me email to my future potential landlord asking them to please reconsider because 1) I am awesome, and 2) more importantly, I am willing to pay more than the other joker.  

*  By noon o’clock, I had had enough of apartment hunding.  I still had appointments, but the skin was literally peeling off my feet and dang, it was really hot.  So I called it a day and headed to Sunset Junction for the only thing that would make things better – alcohol.  Once I got to the gates, I learned they only take cash money.  I mean, who carries cash money these days?!  I lost it and called my friends on the Inside and sobbed into the phone:: “I…can’t….take….this.  [sob] [sob]  I. [sob] am going home. [sob].”  Thankfully, they told me to stay put and came to the gate with a crisp American $20.  Day saved. 

The New Apartment Chronicles: Chapter 3

Every time a new apartment appears, I get excited and giddy. Each one sounds so nice. Newly remodeled, hardwood floors, extra cove that can be used as an office or as an extra bedroom, updated bathroom. As I drive to each new prospect, I am certain that the one I am about to see will be The One.

Initially, they each look fine. Maybe even a keeper. But then a closer look quickly reveals the flaws. Lack of parking. Unstable floor boards. Low ceilings. Hardwood style linoleum as opposed to the real deal. NO SPACE FOR MY SHOES!!!

My apartment hunting experience is turning out to be alarmingly similar to my dating experience.

On the plus side, I have decided for sure FOR SURE that I want to live in Silverlake.

The New Apartment Chronicles: Chapter 2

Craigslist is my enemy right now. I have been obsessively perusing [since last night's panic attack] its endless pages in search of an apartment and I keep coming up with squat. Not only that, but I am starting to be convinced that there are five users, and they keep posting the same alleged “Luxury Hancock Park Apartment” ad five thousand times. It is starting to get me really agitated. Because I have seen that apartment, and let me tell you, it is not luxury. And it is not even *in* fucking Hancock Park.

<begin refresher for future posters on the Craigslist housing site>

1. “Luxury”, per google, is defined as::

• something that is an indulgence rather than a necessity
• lavishness: the quality possessed by something that is excessively expensive
• wealth as evidenced by sumptuous living

Not Luxury. Not Hancock Park.

2. The county recorder/border chief I am not, but I know for damn certain that any parcel of property west of La Brea is *not* [I REPEAT - NOT] *in* Hancock Park. Just sayin.

<end refresher>

I think I may have no option but to move into the overpriced complexy type living places on Rossmore [that do have pools *]. I will lose much money [goodbye future new, sexy, expensive shoes], but maintain what modicum of sanity I have managed to hang onto through my [somewhat] limited years during which I have moved too many times.

Moving, as it turns out, can be added to list of things that is for suckers.

* pools are awesome [unlike moving, if you didn't already get that].

The New Apartment Chronicles:: Chapter 1

Dear Landlords Posting on Craigslist::

Pico and Crenshaw is not “Hancock Park Adjacent.”

A studio is not a one bedroom.

A storage space does not equal a loft.

It is not an “$1800 move in special” if it costs $3000 to move in.

Please, stop fucking with me.

Faithfully,

Diet Coke