ahream

You know things have started to go downhill when you say to yourself, “Hey, what’s a little asbestosis among friends?”

My apartment is under construction. It has been under construction for four years. And I’ve been informed that they will now be ripping out the windows and sliding glass doors that stretch from one end of the place to the other, which should only take about four months, and um, don’t worry about those asbestos ceilings. Oh, and please take all of your furniture and move it into the bathroom. In fact, if you could put the couch in the shower stall, that would be great.

They sent in an asbestos abatement crew, who drilled a few dime-sized holes around the future rip-age areas and presumably sucked out some stuff. I wasn’t here for obvious reasons, but I did see the crew working on another floor. One guy had his shoes on the wrong feet and was puzzling the mystery of a shop vac. Just gives you the warm fuzzies, doesn’t it?

So I started a mad search for a new apartment.

You know the scene in “When Harry Met Sally” when Harry suggests the only way to find a place is to read the obituaries? If only that worked.

I live on the Westside because to do otherwise would mean my husband would be forced to live in his car during the three hour commute from the suburbs, and it’s hard to brush your teeth and steer at the same time. But living on the Westside requires some compromises. You start to say things like, “Okay, it has no parking, but we could get a beach permit and bike home those last four miles…” Or “Hey, $2,300 a month! What a steal! Oh, wait. It doesn’t come with a roof…”

And that presumes you could kill the fourteen other people ahead of you in line for that parking-less, roof-less $2,300/month piece of paradise. (I’ve been trying to make appointments with leasing agents for days. All booked. Guess what all those mortgage-defaulters are doing?)

So now I’m trying to see the upside of living in my bathroom for four months.

I can bathe while sitting in the recliner!

It’s a toilet. It’s a TV stand. It’s both!

Tub by day, cozy sleeping quarters by night!

Just another day in the City of Angels…And if any of those angels decide to move to Orange County, call me. I want their apartment.

ahream Dispatches from the City of Angels I'm a mystery writer living in and writing about Los Angeles. You can catch my short story, "Running Venice," in the new anthology LAndmarked for Murder. Look for it in bookstores and on Amazon.com now. In the meantime, feel free to poke around. Over at my website you can find even more blog entries than I could fit here, as well as a few other ramblings. Enjoy and come back often.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (0) Most Recent Twitters: A 3-foot long alligator was found walking down the middle of the street in Venice Beach this morning. I love L.A. In case you were wondering, it is very difficult to get a hummingbird out of your house. They are irrational and prone to hysterics. L.A. Finds: The Nickel Diner on Main between 5th and 6th is a made-to-look-old, throwback of a place that melds into the old downtown and is, at the same time, part of the renaissance. They serve their burgers medium, their soda in bottles and offer all they can to locals in need. Flickr Updates: The second Thursday of every month is the Downtown Art Walk. The galleries stay open late, the restaurants are packed, bands perform on the streets. God, I love L.A. What I'm Reading: Attack of the Unsinkable Rubber Ducks by Christopher Brookmyre What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami Want E-Mail Updates? Click here, type your e-mail address into the first field (for public entries) and receive an e-mail note each time a new blog post goes up. (Photo updates, Twitters and "L.A. Finds" features not included. Those you have to swing by and check yourself.) Absolutely, positively no spam. Promise. Other author blogs: Sue Ann Jaffarian Eric Stone Christa Faust Lipstick Chronicles		2007-09-11 4:58 PM Big game apartment hunting You know things have started to go downhill when you say to yourself, “Hey, what’s a little asbestosis among friends?” My apartment is under construction. It has been under construction for four years. And I’ve been informed that they will now be ripping out the windows and sliding glass doors that stretch from one end of the place to the other, which should only take about four months, and um, don’t worry about those asbestos ceilings. Oh, and please take all of your furniture and move it into the bathroom. In fact, if you could put the couch in the shower stall, that would be great. They sent in an asbestos abatement crew, who drilled a few dime-sized holes around the future rip-age areas and presumably sucked out some stuff. I wasn’t here for obvious reasons, but I did see the crew working on another floor. One guy had his shoes on the wrong feet and was puzzling the mystery of a shop vac. Just gives you the warm fuzzies, doesn’t it? So I started a mad search for a new apartment. You know the scene in “When Harry Met Sally” when Harry suggests the only way to find a place is to read the obituaries? If only that worked. I live on the Westside because to do otherwise would mean my husband would be forced to live in his car during the three hour commute from the suburbs, and it’s hard to brush your teeth and steer at the same time. But living on the Westside requires some compromises. You start to say things like, “Okay, it has no parking, but we could get a beach permit and bike home those last four miles…” Or “Hey, $2,300 a month! What a steal! Oh, wait. It doesn’t come with a roof…” And that presumes you could kill the fourteen other people ahead of you in line for that parking-less, roof-less $2,300/month piece of paradise. (I’ve been trying to make appointments with leasing agents for days. All booked. Guess what all those mortgage-defaulters are doing?) So now I’m trying to see the upside of living in my bathroom for four months. I can bathe while sitting in the recliner! It’s a toilet. It’s a TV stand. It’s both! Tub by day, cozy sleeping quarters by night! Just another day in the City of Angels…And if any of those angels decide to move to Orange County, call me. I want their apartment. Read/Post Comments (0) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top