This is an older story I forgot to publish from a few years ago:
It all started with a feather... A blue feather, chosen by my friend Mandy, placed in my hair alongside my blue streak and secured with a plastic bead. "There," she said, admiring her handiwork in the mirror of the salon where she styles hair. "That seems right."
I'd gone to visit Mandy and to support her salon's art show, which was displaying some art she and her fiance Dani had created. I brought my friend Kyle with me, and, although he declined a feather, we enjoyed an impromptu rock concert and some wine- a fun outing with fun people.
The next day was my friend Elissa's birthday, and she'd invited everyone to join her in some karaoke in Culver City... I HATE karaoke, but I love Elissa. She was one of the first friends I made when I came to LA, and has been a social staple in my life ever since. So I had to go and endure some Empty Orchestra.
Ugh.
There was a two drink minimum, but I more than met it by engaging in a drinking contest with my friend Erik, who happens to be Kyle's roommate. Not feeling buzzed at all, I matched Erik drink for drink, baffling him with my abnormally awesome liver. That night, more and more friends showed up- Kyle, John, Zach, Annalisa, Chelsea, Melissa, Sean... all these familiar faces I've been working and playing with over the last year. A mismatched group of Lost Boys. Fighting for survival, bonded through sweat, blood and tears, I was looking at my LA Family. I sat back with the last of Erik's challenge swirling through my system and gazed at my friends as they danced. The same powerful sensation of love and bonding I'd felt with my Band, with my Karate Family, with my Universal Family- here it was again, surging through my veins alongside rum and godknows whatelse.
We are a tribe. I had a feather in my hair. I am a fighter. I am a Warrior.
All of the battles of the last 6 months had been registering in my body, leaving heavy scars on my psyche. I suddenly felt free and liberated. My handsome Dark Haired Boy asked me to dance, so, leaving my cares on the sticky barroom table, I joined my people and danced and sang alongside my fellow Warriors. The night belonged to us.
I left the feather in my hair to remind myself of my new outlook.
I've been suffering for long enough- I'm tired of feeling like a victim- I need to remember that I am strong, I am a fighter, and I can survive.
I kept this attitude when my roommate, Jon, informed me that even though I'd only been living with him and his girlfriend for 2 months, he was in a bad financial state and needed to raise the rent. By $100 a month. Being a badass Warrior, I no longer take shit from anyone, so I told him I'd be moving out. Jon is in a Metal bad called "White Wizzard." They don't suck, but (did I mention they're a Metal band so) they aren't that sucessful, and financial hardships and rockiness within the band were making Jon grumpier and grumpier. I don't need that in my life- I'm a fucking Warrior. Warriors don't take shit from Wizzards.
Over the next few days, things got tense between Jon and his live-in girlfriend, Jane. (not her real name.) Jane is from Thailand, and although there is an occasional language barrier, we both speak Empathy, and had been growing closer as friends. As we spend time together at the gym, or swimming in the pool, she began to confide in me. Things about Jon. Things like, how he told her that "if he ever found out that she'd been sent by the cops to spy on him, he'd have her killed." Things like how he calls her names. Things like how she is forbidden to ask him where he's been, when he's coming home, or who he's been spending his nights with. I'd heard him speaking to her, and telling her how "fucking stupid" she was. I hated how he'd wax philosophically about the beauty of open relationships, but insisted she not see other men. He'd cut her off entirely from all of her friends, and she no longer had a social life because Jon did not allow her to go out.
This came to a head two days after Elissa's birthday, when Jon sent me a text stating that he was intending to have a "mellow night at home," that he'd had a death in his family, and that Jane was spending the night elsewhere and he needed some down time to be with some friends, so could I not have any guests over that night. "Sure," I wrote back. "Understood- I'm sorry you're sad."
I stopped by the apartment to grab a few things, intending to spend the night with my Dark Haired Boy, when I saw Jane, also packing. Jon was not around. I asked where she was headed, since it wasn't like her to spend nights out of the apartment.
"Jon has asked me to sleep in the van tonight."
"What! Why?"
"He say he needs to be with his sister. But he has no sister..."
"Jane, this is stupid- come stay with me tonight- I don't like the idea of you sleeping out in the open streets. It's not safe."
Jane whispers now, looking at the floor. "I think he cheat on me..."
She insisted on following Jon's orders, because he had to meet up with her for some reason that night. She waited in the van all night, and he never arrived. However, when she got back to the apartment the next day, she found Jon passed out in bed next to a bottle of pink tequilla and a bottle of body oil. He'd had sex in their bed, and left the sheets messy.
Taking advantage of his unconscious state, she grabbed his cell phone and began to look through the texts. She found plenty of evidence that he was cheating on her.
She told me this through a storm of tears that afternoon.
"I hate him! He take everything from me, he threaten me, he say he's going to smack me if I ask any question, then he cheat on me in this bed! I want to leave him!"
Being a Warrior, I feel protective of Jane. This man has no right to threaten to hurt her.
"Whatever you need," I said. "I will help you."
Jane looks at me with determination in her eyes.
"I want to fuck him," she said, in perfect English. "On rent. I want to fuck him on rent. I want to leave right away so he is fucked."
"Okay," I said. "Let's make a plan and be smart about this... If you want to move out when I move out, I will help you move. But Jane, if he's threatening to hurt you, I think you should get out sooner. He doesn't love you- no one who loves you would talk to you that way..."
She hugged me around my neck, and promised to figure out a plan to leave.
I talked with a bunch of people about the situation that day, and got some good advice. I also called Jay, just because I missed him and I wanted to talk, but he was not particularly helpful. "You shouldn'tve moved in with them," he said.
"It's not like I had a lot of time to hunt and look- you LEFT me, so this means I am victime to CraigsList."
"That's not my problem," he told me.
Awesome, cool, thanks Jay.
That night, Jon was still out, but I sensed trouble on the morning's horizon. I had such a powerful feeling that something bad would happen, I slept in my clothes and left a lamp on in my bedroom.
Sure enough, at 5:20AM, I awoke to the sounds of them arguing loudly. Then Jane started screaming my name, yelling "Jaime come help me!"
I bolted out of my room to find them squared off in the kitchen, her back to the wall.
"He choke me!" Jane said.
"Grab your bag, we're leaving."
Ah, but Jon the Wizzard was angry now, in full Metal mode.
"Oh so now you're waking up our roommate with this bullshit- you pushed me to the limit, so you can get the fuck out!"
Jane screamed back at him "You cheat on me!"
"OK," I said. "Probably time to get that bag now."
I wedged myself physically between them and stayed there like a wrestling Ref.
Jon was furious. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"
"I'm not getting in the middle of this, I'm just taking her somewhere so you two can cool off."
Jane finally grabbed her purse, and we took off. She was hysterical, crying. "He choke and scratch me!"
She was adamant that we NOT call the cops because then she would be deported.
"That's not how that works," I said. "They don't care about whether or not you're a citizen, they care about whether or not your boyfriend attacked you."
We arrived at Paul's (the Dark Haired Boy) house at 5:30, and texted him out of bed. I'd kept him in the loop, so he wasn't completely shocked to see us at his door. Jane had scratch marks on her back from the Wizzard's guitar fingernails, and was pretty much in shock. I took pictures of her scratches and we convinced her to let us call the cops.
They arrived in true LAPD fashion- an hour later.
They, too, took photos of Jane's scratches and reassured her that they didn't care where she was from, they were just there to get the bad guy. By now Jane was calmed down and able to talk with them about all the awful things Jon had said to her. They listened, sympathetically, then left to go arrest him. Sadly, by the time they arrived at the Wizard's, he'd already gone.
This wasn't surprising as the man already has an arrest record and is behind on his child support payments.
...did I mention he's a pretty awful human being?
I was meeting my huge awesome friend Carlos that afternoon to carpool, but he couldn't get there until 11. That meant Jane and I had to kill a few hours and get as much stuff packed as possible during that time.
I knew Jay lived just down the street from us, also in North Hollywood, so I sent him a text:
"I know it's early but LAPD just left and I'm scared- can you please come over?"
He groggily phoned me back after my 4th call, and told me that it wasn't his job to take care of me anymore and that I should wait in Panera Bread.
Thanks, Jay. Thanks for showing me your true colors- now I can focus on the people who actually give a shit about someone other than themselves, like pretty much every other friend named in this story.
Jane and I spent that night at the Paul's, and came back the following evening to an empty apartment. Paul stayed there, with us, just in case.
Jane and I decided to act normally around Jon (if he came home) for 2 more days until I could help Jane drive her personal belongings to her new place where she'd be living with the one friend she had left. She had about 2 cars worth of stuff, so we'd caravan her out before the Wizzard knew she was gone. We were going to be quick- we were going to be smooth. It was going to be easy, and then he'd be unable to take any agression out on me, because I am his size physically, and he clearly prefers to pick on smaller girls without citizenships.
Thursday arrived, and I rounded some troops to help extract Jane. I was counting on the Wizzard staying gone, but we couldn't be sure, so I put out a request on FaceBook for some fellow Warriors to act as Guardian Angels. My prayer was answered in the forms of Joop, an old friend from Oyster's Secret in Orlando, and Kyle, a new friend from Halloween Horror Nights in LA. We held a pow-wow at a newarby coffee bean and tea leaf and discussed the plan while we waited for Jane.
She arrived, dishevelled.
"He's home," she said, then started to cry. "He make me have sex with him- I feel disgusted."
She began to have second thoughts about whether or not she should move out, but ultimately decided to move forward with the Plan. We were behind her 100%.
"If he hurt you once, he'll do it again."
She agreed.
As soon as she started packing, the Wizzard freaked out and began to yell at her. He bellowed over her shoulders as she began to stuff things into boxes and bags. I signalled to the boys to not leave her side while I went into her closet and began packing her things. Joop and Kyle stood like stanch soldiers in the living room while the fighting escalated. The Wizzard kicked over the kitchen table, flinging hot coffee everywhere, as he ordered Joop and Kyle to get the fuck out of his house. He took an exceptional shine to Kyle, who he insisted was somehow smirking at him.
Kyle may have been, but he also just kind of LOOKS like a smirker, so, what can you do?
To calm things down, I suggested Kyle and Joop wait outside, and we'd keep the door open.
The Wizzard slammed the door shut, and continued screaming at Jane, who by this point was so stressed out she began to vomit.
While she was retching in the bathroom, the Wizzard turned on me, telling me that I was a lying sack of shit for stating that I didn't want to get in the middle of things, and that he wanted me out as well.
Noooo problem.
We loaded everything into my car and Jane's car, but I had a horrible feeling that the Wizzard would do something evil to my cats if I left him alone in the apartment. I have no bedroom door, only a curtain flap, and even if all he did was let them outside, I'd be devastated. I sent out a text to Todd, Paul, and Carlos, all of whom responded instantly. They were on their way. Todd arrived within minutes, and the Wizzard immediately picked a fight with him. This would've been awesome, as any one of my Warriors could kick the Wizzard's ass, but Todd just smirked, which I knew was the best reaction.
I sent Joop to drive my car to Jane's new place, and I sent Kyle home. Todd waited with me until Carlos and Paul arrived. Once they got there, it was obvious.
"You need to get out. Tonight."
Carlos called his girlfriend (and my friend) Shaunelle, and between the four of us, The cats were moved to Todd's, and I was packed and moved out of the Wizzard's and into Paul's within 4 hours. Surprise!
Victory: Warriors.
The next day, I went back for my bed and some shelves (the only items left) with my friend Gabrielle, and her friend Emily. And their boyfriends Nick and Matthew, who are, respectively, Marines and humongous.
The Wizzard literally gnashed his teeth when I arrived with such giant Warriors. He said not a single word to me as we packed, but proceeded to write me a nasty email, which I read over his shoulder as we moved out.
I'll be happy to post the letter online, because it's funny, but it's mostly blaming me for his problems with Jane because I introduced her into my circle of numerous guy friends, who encouraged her to act on her irrational fears. He also stated that I would not be receiving my security deposit back until he found a new roommate to replace me.
This may mean small claims court for me, but I'm OK with that. I can continue fighting, because I am a Warrior. Oh, and there's that little matter about a police report filed against him that he doesn't know about yet- that'll be a fun surprise to break to him!
In the meantime, I'm safe and loved, here with my Dark Haired Boy and my group of Big Hard Fucking Heroes- Joop, Kyle, Paul, Carlos, Todd, Shaunelle, Gabrielle, Emily, Matthew, and Nick, and everyone else who's shown me love and given me the courage to keep fighting and standing up for what is right.
...Jane moved back in the the Wizzard 5 days later, after he promised to marry her early next spring. Paul says, "sometimes the only reward for doing the right thing is knowing that the right thing was done." He may be correct, but I like to think that maybe in helping Jane escape the Wizzard once, we'll have at least given her a little courage.
When I finally take my feather out, I'm going to send it to her.
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
Monday, August 19, 2013
LA Stories: VeilFire
The best part of feeling a little heartbroken is that it's proof-positive that up until very recently, your heart wasn't 100% broken.
And if it wasn't TOTALLY broken before, and it was brave enough to reach out, then it's probably not irrevocably broken now.
So, like the Death Star, it will again be Fully Operational.
As artists, we tend to wear our hearts on our sleeves. This is a terrible idea, but Jesus I really think it's the only way I wanna be. Even though I'm strongerbetterfasterharder, I chose to maintain that character trait. I wear my heart on my sleeve. It keeps my other organs from getting sh*t all over it. Yesterday I was reminded that yeah, in terms of my ex, I got a little gut punch, but I also dodged a bullet. I love that quote from HIMYM: "I made the greatest Train Dodge since 'Stand By Me." ...Well, not that first kid, but the other kids."
And that's how it feels at this point. Of course it initially hurt to hear that my ex was engaged, but it was no surprise. He had to propose to her to justify what he did to me. ("See, it was worth it, right?!?") Someday I'll wish them well, but yesterday wasn't that day. I've been on an amazing adventure the last 2 years, but sure I'm still allowed to feel the feels I feel. That's because I'm not a f*cking monster. I'm allowed to miss the good parts. Then I remind myself that he definitely sucked a dude's dick. Keeps it really simple that way.
After a really good chat with a really good friend, watching the sun set through a thin sliver in the Universal Studios Employee Parking Garage, I cried out all my sad and felt much, much better. Getting past the raw emotion that honestly, I hope I always feel, because it is a spiritual rocket fuel, and listening to a rational voice asking me if I wanted him back after everything he did to me made it very easy: No. Aw FUCK NO. We made speculations about the success of an marriage between a homewrecker and a liar. And then I felt better.
I had a trio of besties meet me at my apartment, and, true to form, they came bearing vodka and incendiary devices. Aaron, Arica and Chelsea arrived and scooped me up. I'd been planning on driving my Celica to California myself, and as such had loaded it with everything I needed to Get Rid Of but couldn't simply throw away. Some of these items I'd already given to Chelsea for various art projects- I'd been on a big "let's do constructive things" kick, but this last item in particular was a Big Ticket Item and needed proper care and handling. And fire.
It was my wedding veil- which I'd found in a box at my mom's right before I moved.
It's been in the trunk of my car, waiting for something special. Fortunately, we had something very special in store. Aaron drives and spirits us away to Chelsea's Thotful Spot, in a recreational area hidden within the city of Los Angeles. We park at a distance and, already giddy from the night air, bound across the streets to an open gate. The heat of the day had dissipated, and the sleek coolness of the night breeze, smoothed even more by a brief skim over a green lake, greeted our flushed faces. I breathed. And it felt so good.
"Pair up," Chelsea said, and two by two we held hands and made our way down a somewhat steep hill covered in row after row of bright white rocks. Like layers of shark's teeth, they gleamed up in the moonlight. I smiled seeing Arica and Aaron work their way down, Aaron in his famous boots and Arica in a borrowed pair of my shoes. The shoes are a gift from my mother, who would have an instant coronary if she had seen what we were up to.
Chelsea holds my hand. "Sorry guys," she says, "I got dibs on the stilt walker." I laugh and we pick a path down, sure-footed as cats all nimbly pimbly and high off a moonlit adventure. We reach the bottom of the slope and a dusty dirt path awaits. I don the veil, which also luminesces in the magic night, and feeling the breeze blow the tulle behind me like a forgotten useless ghost, we walk down the aisle, staying hand in hand.
Eventually we arrive at the Tunnel- kindling is gathered and Chelsea lifts the veil from its position over my face and kisses me. This is the second time in my life this has happened. I was grinning like a fool on both occasions, but this time there were no tears. The filmy gauze is spread over the kindling, and I pour some extra flammable 3-in-1 glue over it as an insurance policy.
Sparklers are administered- the very same sparklers I'd entrusted to my friends the day I left California, promising to come back. They'd been kept, because my friends believed in me. Aaron takes my phone to document the event, and Arica, Chelsea and I each use our sparklers for a different sort of Independence Day.
The veil goes up beautifully, the flames glinting on the Swarovski crystals hand-placed by someone who also loves me.
I thought of the woman who made the veil as it burned. I thought of my wedding. I thought of my ex.
And I felt... love.
Giggling beneath the streets of Los Angeles with sparklers in my hands, I felt so much love.
The veil had to go. I had to let go of that last little piece to get past the emotional hurtle of the day, and I let it go in spectacular fashion.
The little pyre blazed, mirrored by the tiny fireworks on our hands, until not single scrap of tulle was left- even the bag I'd brought it in- everything burned, burned, burned until the hurt from the day was gone, replaced by the warm glow of love. Only the embers remained.
Hello Ember. I know you.
You are the same ones burning in my heart.
But the ones inside me aren't a brushfire threat, and eventually the embers became ashes. After a quick vodka shot, for the safety of the City of LA, and also because it was the right thing to do, we peed on the ashes. All four of us. So hard to do that while laughing so hard. It seems to match the same sentiment my ex ultimately had for our wedding, so perhaps that'll be my toast to them after all. Mazel.
By now I'm intoxicated by night and moon and breeze and fire and oh yes maybe a little vodka- we have a DD, but we also have the park to ourselves, so we plop down by an emerald green lake as the wild geese call out to one another. I can hear their sounds reverberate through our tunnel, reminding me that eventually every living thing, veil, goose, good intention or lie, eventually becomes ash.
All we have is the exact Now.
Someday I will be ash too- and I'm so fucking grateful for every moment I spent surrounded by the love I felt this night. We chat, we share, I am again blown away by the artistic talents of my friends as the most amazing pieces are shyly passed around on iPhones. A nosy turtle periodically pokes his head above water to listen in until our inevitable laughter frightens him off. No one looked at a watch, but suddenly we all collectively knew it was time to go.
Denny's to-go, a shared bottle of wine back at my place, and some sweet goodnights at my front door. It was a really good night, friends. If I am ash tomorrow, I will be thinking not about pain, or regret, but about how grateful I am to have been allowed this opportunity. And if someone pees me out, I hope they're having fun. It's only fair- and it feels AMAZING to have your giblets that warm.
And if it wasn't TOTALLY broken before, and it was brave enough to reach out, then it's probably not irrevocably broken now.
So, like the Death Star, it will again be Fully Operational.
As artists, we tend to wear our hearts on our sleeves. This is a terrible idea, but Jesus I really think it's the only way I wanna be. Even though I'm strongerbetterfasterharder, I chose to maintain that character trait. I wear my heart on my sleeve. It keeps my other organs from getting sh*t all over it. Yesterday I was reminded that yeah, in terms of my ex, I got a little gut punch, but I also dodged a bullet. I love that quote from HIMYM: "I made the greatest Train Dodge since 'Stand By Me." ...Well, not that first kid, but the other kids."
And that's how it feels at this point. Of course it initially hurt to hear that my ex was engaged, but it was no surprise. He had to propose to her to justify what he did to me. ("See, it was worth it, right?!?") Someday I'll wish them well, but yesterday wasn't that day. I've been on an amazing adventure the last 2 years, but sure I'm still allowed to feel the feels I feel. That's because I'm not a f*cking monster. I'm allowed to miss the good parts. Then I remind myself that he definitely sucked a dude's dick. Keeps it really simple that way.
After a really good chat with a really good friend, watching the sun set through a thin sliver in the Universal Studios Employee Parking Garage, I cried out all my sad and felt much, much better. Getting past the raw emotion that honestly, I hope I always feel, because it is a spiritual rocket fuel, and listening to a rational voice asking me if I wanted him back after everything he did to me made it very easy: No. Aw FUCK NO. We made speculations about the success of an marriage between a homewrecker and a liar. And then I felt better.
I had a trio of besties meet me at my apartment, and, true to form, they came bearing vodka and incendiary devices. Aaron, Arica and Chelsea arrived and scooped me up. I'd been planning on driving my Celica to California myself, and as such had loaded it with everything I needed to Get Rid Of but couldn't simply throw away. Some of these items I'd already given to Chelsea for various art projects- I'd been on a big "let's do constructive things" kick, but this last item in particular was a Big Ticket Item and needed proper care and handling. And fire.
It was my wedding veil- which I'd found in a box at my mom's right before I moved.
It's been in the trunk of my car, waiting for something special. Fortunately, we had something very special in store. Aaron drives and spirits us away to Chelsea's Thotful Spot, in a recreational area hidden within the city of Los Angeles. We park at a distance and, already giddy from the night air, bound across the streets to an open gate. The heat of the day had dissipated, and the sleek coolness of the night breeze, smoothed even more by a brief skim over a green lake, greeted our flushed faces. I breathed. And it felt so good.
"Pair up," Chelsea said, and two by two we held hands and made our way down a somewhat steep hill covered in row after row of bright white rocks. Like layers of shark's teeth, they gleamed up in the moonlight. I smiled seeing Arica and Aaron work their way down, Aaron in his famous boots and Arica in a borrowed pair of my shoes. The shoes are a gift from my mother, who would have an instant coronary if she had seen what we were up to.
Chelsea holds my hand. "Sorry guys," she says, "I got dibs on the stilt walker." I laugh and we pick a path down, sure-footed as cats all nimbly pimbly and high off a moonlit adventure. We reach the bottom of the slope and a dusty dirt path awaits. I don the veil, which also luminesces in the magic night, and feeling the breeze blow the tulle behind me like a forgotten useless ghost, we walk down the aisle, staying hand in hand.
Eventually we arrive at the Tunnel- kindling is gathered and Chelsea lifts the veil from its position over my face and kisses me. This is the second time in my life this has happened. I was grinning like a fool on both occasions, but this time there were no tears. The filmy gauze is spread over the kindling, and I pour some extra flammable 3-in-1 glue over it as an insurance policy.
Sparklers are administered- the very same sparklers I'd entrusted to my friends the day I left California, promising to come back. They'd been kept, because my friends believed in me. Aaron takes my phone to document the event, and Arica, Chelsea and I each use our sparklers for a different sort of Independence Day.
The veil goes up beautifully, the flames glinting on the Swarovski crystals hand-placed by someone who also loves me.
I thought of the woman who made the veil as it burned. I thought of my wedding. I thought of my ex.
And I felt... love.
Giggling beneath the streets of Los Angeles with sparklers in my hands, I felt so much love.
The veil had to go. I had to let go of that last little piece to get past the emotional hurtle of the day, and I let it go in spectacular fashion.
The little pyre blazed, mirrored by the tiny fireworks on our hands, until not single scrap of tulle was left- even the bag I'd brought it in- everything burned, burned, burned until the hurt from the day was gone, replaced by the warm glow of love. Only the embers remained.
Hello Ember. I know you.
You are the same ones burning in my heart.
But the ones inside me aren't a brushfire threat, and eventually the embers became ashes. After a quick vodka shot, for the safety of the City of LA, and also because it was the right thing to do, we peed on the ashes. All four of us. So hard to do that while laughing so hard. It seems to match the same sentiment my ex ultimately had for our wedding, so perhaps that'll be my toast to them after all. Mazel.
By now I'm intoxicated by night and moon and breeze and fire and oh yes maybe a little vodka- we have a DD, but we also have the park to ourselves, so we plop down by an emerald green lake as the wild geese call out to one another. I can hear their sounds reverberate through our tunnel, reminding me that eventually every living thing, veil, goose, good intention or lie, eventually becomes ash.
All we have is the exact Now.
Someday I will be ash too- and I'm so fucking grateful for every moment I spent surrounded by the love I felt this night. We chat, we share, I am again blown away by the artistic talents of my friends as the most amazing pieces are shyly passed around on iPhones. A nosy turtle periodically pokes his head above water to listen in until our inevitable laughter frightens him off. No one looked at a watch, but suddenly we all collectively knew it was time to go.
Denny's to-go, a shared bottle of wine back at my place, and some sweet goodnights at my front door. It was a really good night, friends. If I am ash tomorrow, I will be thinking not about pain, or regret, but about how grateful I am to have been allowed this opportunity. And if someone pees me out, I hope they're having fun. It's only fair- and it feels AMAZING to have your giblets that warm.
Friday, January 6, 2012
LA Stories- Himmelschlantern
It was Thanksgiving- or at least, the night we were celebrating Thanksgiving, and Mick, Arica and Chris had invited everyone over to The Nest. The Nest is their tiny apartment in Burbank, so named because of the abundance of pigeons in constant coitus above their doorstep. It's perched at the end of a long flight of stairs, and although it's actually a fairly roomy 2-bedroom, I describe it as tiny because that is how it feels with 23 people packed inside it.
Mick, Arica and Chris are never at a loss for friends- their home radiates both warmth and madness, and is constantly filled to the brim with artists of every imaginable kind. I've never met so many phenomenally gifted people in one place in my life, and the open-door policy at The Nest meant a guaranteed warm fuzzy holiday. I picked my friend Chelsea up in North Hollywood on the way, and we headed on over to greet our friends at the dinner. Since I was moving soon, I brought the entire contents of my fridge over to donate.
Placing the Trader Joe's bags down and shedding a jacket meant a solid 15 minutes of hugging. Not the typical gladhanding you'll see at most parties, but genuine coming-up-for-air love amongst people I'll love my whole life long. One of these people, Aaron, arrived shortly after we did, and we all passed a pair of matching hamsters around the dinner table and drank wines no one's ever heard of.
The residents of The Nest had pasted a large macabre paper turkey on the wall, and Arica handed each of us a construction paper feather to write on.
"Write down what you're thankful for, and we'll give the turkey a tail," she instructed.
We did so, and then, after a round of introductions from our Hostess, we commenced to reading the feathers out loud.
I had two favorites that night:
One girl, who'd had more than her share of wine, mentioned that "she loved us, and she was coming for us."
A pause.
"Like, sexually, or like a stalker?" Chelsea asks as the room exploded with laughter.
Since most of us were too drunk to read our own handwriting, Arica took over and collected feathers from the remaining participants. Several people, independent of one another, had written that they were thankful for Batman and breasts. Arica read one, trying to make out the scrawl...
"Batman... Shit- ...Tits?"
I found this hilarious, and decided that Shit-tits was surely the most awful nickname possible.
Aaron was talking over a group of people at Aaron-volume, which is always a delightful 11.
I wanted his attention.
"Aaron..."
Nothing.
"Aaron!"
Still nothing.
"Hey Shit-Tits!"
He turned toward me, finally hearing. "Yeah?"
Ohhh god I almost peed.
Chelsea and I had spent most of the night trying to keep Aaron from drinking an entire bottle of grenadine, so this temporary new nickname gave us a lot of post-grenadine-passive aggressive pleasure.
At some point, John and Elissa showed up, having split their night by spending the first half at a karaoke competition to support our friend Kyle. It was a big night for Kyle, and I'd been torn as to whether to attend the dinner or the show, but somehow John and Elissa wormholed it and made it to both.
Arica continued to read feathers.
John, ever clever, deftly whipped out a rhyming ode to The Nest and our friends.
Aaron had written something charictaristically profound and touching, about how our friendships had changed him. In Latin. (Showoff.)
Chelsea had devoted hers to her love of her friends as well.
Batman and tits were touched on again.
No one noticed that my feather was omitted- I'd done so myself by folding it into a tiny square and hiding it in my pocket while Arica was collecting them.
How could I express all my love for these people on a single paper feather?
I'd written my Thankfulness down.
I could've written about the time Arica and Aaron showed up at my doorstep to tuck me in after some melodramatic post of mine on FaceBook.
I could've written about the time Aaron and Sean held me on the couch while I sobbed because no one would check my moles on my back for cancer, and how Aaron had sung the theme song to "Dif'rent Strokes" and made me laugh though my tears.
I could've written about the time Aaron pulled me aside at my own party and encouraged me to look at my friend's faces. "Next time you wanna call Jay, call one of us instead," he said.
Instead, I wrote this:
"I'm thankful that the night I put a bottle's worth of pills in my mouth, I thought about you guys instead."
I would not have been around for Turkey and stuffing that night if it were'nt for the very people I was sharing it with. They have each, in their own way, saved me from myself and pulled me out of the black.
I treasure my friends with every beat of my heart- because the day I longed for it to stop, they filled it to capacity and refused to let me quit.
But that sort of sentimentality was too heavy for the evening. Too much weight for a feather to bear. So I kept it in my pocket and enjoyed the night, basking in the warm glow of wine, Batman, and Shit-tits.
...Then my phone rang.
It was Kyle.
He wasn't calling to revel from his win at the competition, like I thought- he was actually calling with a serious concern: one of us was missing.
Kyle's roommate Erik had just gone through a really rough time and been forced to go find work in San Francisco. As he was our friend, too, and for all intents and purposes my drinking buddy, we were all sad to see him go. We'd kept in touch, but no one had had contact with him for about two weeks. He hadn't updated his facebook page. His phone was shut off. Erik had not shown up to work or come home for three days, and his SF roommates were worried enough to call the police. They also called Kyle, who called me.
I gathered John and Elissa, Aaron and Chelsea, and we headed immediately to Kyle's.
He was more than a little rattled.
Kyle had only that day begun to pack Erik's belongings to send up North to him, since a new roommate was moving into Erik's spot.
"I just feel so guilty," he explained as he paced his apartment.
Kyle didn't want to be alone with Erik's Box of Stuff. Kyle and Erik were really close, and Kyle was legitimately freaking out.
He was scouring FaceBook when we arrived.
Someone had apparently instructed Erik's ex-girlfriend to start calling local hospitals, and when that didn't pan out, she began calling morgues.
We got really worried- Erik is a great guy, but he likes to drink and he has a mouth on him. Our minds were spinning with possibilities.
Most of them bleak.
I hate to admit it, but I assumed the worst- I had a horrible feeling that Erik was somewhere in the bay- my own dark secrets sat heavily on a folded up feather in my pocket, and I was terrified that we hadn't been there when Erik needed us the most...
Kyle is a Guy's Guy- or at least has those tendencies. He'll drink beer and watch his beloved Raiders and eat his share of hot wings, but at heart he's an artist as well and pretty susceptible to freaking out, like the rest of us. A lot of residual feelings of unresolved issues with Erik, stress, and guilt were foaming up in him, and we could see it in his eyes.
Naturally, we tried our best to remain positive. There was a cigarette run and a case of beer purchased, with all 6 of us in a car meant for 5, but we were determined to be supportive.
Chelsea and I were in the middle of soliciting duck pics from our guy friends (see the "GingerWolf" blog for more on that) when Kyle stopped us.
"Can we just listen to this for a moment- just for a second?"
The Beatles' "Hey Jude" came pouring out of Kyle's computer speakers as he sat in his chair.
"It's Erik's favorite..." he explained, needlessly, as Paul McCartney began to sing.
"And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain."
As the song played, we sat motionless and silent.
"It's the fool who plays it cool."
Kyle broke down, lowering his head to his chest and burying his face in his hands.
"The movement you need is on your shoulder."
And so were we- on Kyle's shoulder, there, with him.
I don't know how the five of us bamf'd into place, but we formed this protective ring around our friend- something Chelsea would later describe as a Cuddle Puddle.
"Let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin."
As if my heart had never been broken before, it broke again that night for Kyle. Each of us had tears in their eyes as we ached for our friend.
"Take a sad song and make it better."
We held Kyle, almost trying to physically absorb his hurt and spread the burden amongst us. We all held him close and tight while he wept for his friend. Our friend. We were so scared and so fiercely protective at that moment, each realizing the fragility of life.
One of us was missing. Cling tightly to those you love.
The song repeated a few times as we held each other.
"Na, na na na na na naaaaa," came the chorus.
We all prayed for Erik's safe return.
"Hey Jude."
Since my roommate had become a creeper (please read "The Creeper- part 2: And The Darkness) and Kyle didn't want to spend any time alone where Erik used to be, I invited him to spend the night at my place with me and Chelsea. I like to think sharing a bed with a blonde and a redhead helped take his mind off things for a while.
The next day was my last day to pack, and my next-to-last-day in town. Erik was on my mind as I gathered up my belongings and said my "see ya laters." I couldn't bear to tell anyone "goodbye."
That night my core group was meeting at a bar, but since Aaron was 20 at the time, he couldn't go.
I scheduled some time for him to meet me at my place so I could get a one-on-one chance to say what we needed to say. He showed up, right on time, like he always does, wearing his long black coat and his cake-stomping boots.
Aaron has dark black hair and even blacker eyes, which absorb everything and spit it back out with some sardonic twist. He held me tight and I wondered if he knew that he'd saved my life.
A while back, a Cinematographer had given me a Himmelschlantern, which I'd refrained from packing several times to have it at the ready- it's a candle-lantern, which fills up with the hot air from a candle, and lifts up, glowing away into the sky. I'd been saving it for a special occasion- first, for an LA Anniversary with Jay that never happened. Then, perhaps to send my wedding rings off in style. But no, tonight was the night- to convey the things I could not say, and to send off a message of love and hopefulness into the sky.
Aaron and I carefully removed the packaging, careful not to tear the blue paper which made up the skin of the lantern.
"Making to two pieces the candle and hands," the German-to-Chinese-to-English directions read.
Okayyyy. We went outside onto my North Hollywood sidewalk and readied ourselves with the Himmelschlantern and a lighter.
"Prepare special parings for friends," was the final instruction.
We attached the candle to the frame.
"I'm making my paring for Erik," Aaron said.
"Me too."
As Aaron held the lantern skin ready, I lit the candle. Or at least, I tried.
The damn thing would NOT light.
We tried again.
"Maybe we're not paring hard enough," Aaron suggested.
We par'd the fuck out of that thing, and tried every possible way to get the candle to ignite, It simply wouldn't. Time and bizarre engineering prevented the wax from doing anything other than scorching.
"Hmm," I said.
"Hmm." Aaron said, then "...Wanna just set the Himmelschlantern on fire?"
It was a great plan- but the damn fireproof (for obvious safety reasons) paper would not ignite.
"Got any lighter fluid?"
Yes, yes I did- my super-sweet ex, Paul to the rescue again, from thousands of miles away. When you live with a fire-poi juggler, he leaves you with lighter fluid. This is the natural order of things.
I found Paul's stash in the garage and we tested a spot on the Himmelschlantern. It looked good to go.
We took turns dousing it and blazing it, as cars passed by unphased by the destruction in the street.
As the embers flew up and away into the chilly night, we made our parings.
Whatever the fuck a paring is.
Finally, it had charred and crisped to nothing.
We kicked the ash into submission, him in his famous boots and me in mine.
The black soot still sits on my suede, reminding me of that night and our scorched-earth policy.
"Well, that's that," he said.
It was and it wasn't.
I clung so tightly to him- we were both scared and sad and completely assimilated. I knew I'd leave a piece of my heart behind with each of my friends, but Aaron has a sizeable chunk and it physically hurt to watch him walk away. I hate saying goodbye when the future is uncertain.
I hated not knowing where Erik was.
I hated... leaving.
All I could do was trust that the fibers of my intentions had made it through the smog layers and up to where the dreams go in LA. The glittering stratosphere where stars are made.
EPILOGUE
The next night, while driving with my brother through Arizona, I saw a shooting star. It may have been Himmelschlantern fragments because I wished with all my heart on it for Erik's safe return.
Within an hour I heard the news: he was alive and safe, checking out of a hospital.
Feathers and Himmelschlanterns. Sleepovers and Shooting Stars.
I miss you friends- but you're here safe in the embers of my burning heart.
Mick, Arica and Chris are never at a loss for friends- their home radiates both warmth and madness, and is constantly filled to the brim with artists of every imaginable kind. I've never met so many phenomenally gifted people in one place in my life, and the open-door policy at The Nest meant a guaranteed warm fuzzy holiday. I picked my friend Chelsea up in North Hollywood on the way, and we headed on over to greet our friends at the dinner. Since I was moving soon, I brought the entire contents of my fridge over to donate.
Placing the Trader Joe's bags down and shedding a jacket meant a solid 15 minutes of hugging. Not the typical gladhanding you'll see at most parties, but genuine coming-up-for-air love amongst people I'll love my whole life long. One of these people, Aaron, arrived shortly after we did, and we all passed a pair of matching hamsters around the dinner table and drank wines no one's ever heard of.
The residents of The Nest had pasted a large macabre paper turkey on the wall, and Arica handed each of us a construction paper feather to write on.
"Write down what you're thankful for, and we'll give the turkey a tail," she instructed.
We did so, and then, after a round of introductions from our Hostess, we commenced to reading the feathers out loud.
I had two favorites that night:
One girl, who'd had more than her share of wine, mentioned that "she loved us, and she was coming for us."
A pause.
"Like, sexually, or like a stalker?" Chelsea asks as the room exploded with laughter.
Since most of us were too drunk to read our own handwriting, Arica took over and collected feathers from the remaining participants. Several people, independent of one another, had written that they were thankful for Batman and breasts. Arica read one, trying to make out the scrawl...
"Batman... Shit- ...Tits?"
I found this hilarious, and decided that Shit-tits was surely the most awful nickname possible.
Aaron was talking over a group of people at Aaron-volume, which is always a delightful 11.
I wanted his attention.
"Aaron..."
Nothing.
"Aaron!"
Still nothing.
"Hey Shit-Tits!"
He turned toward me, finally hearing. "Yeah?"
Ohhh god I almost peed.
Chelsea and I had spent most of the night trying to keep Aaron from drinking an entire bottle of grenadine, so this temporary new nickname gave us a lot of post-grenadine-passive aggressive pleasure.
At some point, John and Elissa showed up, having split their night by spending the first half at a karaoke competition to support our friend Kyle. It was a big night for Kyle, and I'd been torn as to whether to attend the dinner or the show, but somehow John and Elissa wormholed it and made it to both.
Arica continued to read feathers.
John, ever clever, deftly whipped out a rhyming ode to The Nest and our friends.
Aaron had written something charictaristically profound and touching, about how our friendships had changed him. In Latin. (Showoff.)
Chelsea had devoted hers to her love of her friends as well.
Batman and tits were touched on again.
No one noticed that my feather was omitted- I'd done so myself by folding it into a tiny square and hiding it in my pocket while Arica was collecting them.
How could I express all my love for these people on a single paper feather?
I'd written my Thankfulness down.
I could've written about the time Arica and Aaron showed up at my doorstep to tuck me in after some melodramatic post of mine on FaceBook.
I could've written about the time Aaron and Sean held me on the couch while I sobbed because no one would check my moles on my back for cancer, and how Aaron had sung the theme song to "Dif'rent Strokes" and made me laugh though my tears.
I could've written about the time Aaron pulled me aside at my own party and encouraged me to look at my friend's faces. "Next time you wanna call Jay, call one of us instead," he said.
Instead, I wrote this:
"I'm thankful that the night I put a bottle's worth of pills in my mouth, I thought about you guys instead."
I would not have been around for Turkey and stuffing that night if it were'nt for the very people I was sharing it with. They have each, in their own way, saved me from myself and pulled me out of the black.
I treasure my friends with every beat of my heart- because the day I longed for it to stop, they filled it to capacity and refused to let me quit.
But that sort of sentimentality was too heavy for the evening. Too much weight for a feather to bear. So I kept it in my pocket and enjoyed the night, basking in the warm glow of wine, Batman, and Shit-tits.
...Then my phone rang.
It was Kyle.
He wasn't calling to revel from his win at the competition, like I thought- he was actually calling with a serious concern: one of us was missing.
Kyle's roommate Erik had just gone through a really rough time and been forced to go find work in San Francisco. As he was our friend, too, and for all intents and purposes my drinking buddy, we were all sad to see him go. We'd kept in touch, but no one had had contact with him for about two weeks. He hadn't updated his facebook page. His phone was shut off. Erik had not shown up to work or come home for three days, and his SF roommates were worried enough to call the police. They also called Kyle, who called me.
I gathered John and Elissa, Aaron and Chelsea, and we headed immediately to Kyle's.
He was more than a little rattled.
Kyle had only that day begun to pack Erik's belongings to send up North to him, since a new roommate was moving into Erik's spot.
"I just feel so guilty," he explained as he paced his apartment.
Kyle didn't want to be alone with Erik's Box of Stuff. Kyle and Erik were really close, and Kyle was legitimately freaking out.
He was scouring FaceBook when we arrived.
Someone had apparently instructed Erik's ex-girlfriend to start calling local hospitals, and when that didn't pan out, she began calling morgues.
We got really worried- Erik is a great guy, but he likes to drink and he has a mouth on him. Our minds were spinning with possibilities.
Most of them bleak.
I hate to admit it, but I assumed the worst- I had a horrible feeling that Erik was somewhere in the bay- my own dark secrets sat heavily on a folded up feather in my pocket, and I was terrified that we hadn't been there when Erik needed us the most...
Kyle is a Guy's Guy- or at least has those tendencies. He'll drink beer and watch his beloved Raiders and eat his share of hot wings, but at heart he's an artist as well and pretty susceptible to freaking out, like the rest of us. A lot of residual feelings of unresolved issues with Erik, stress, and guilt were foaming up in him, and we could see it in his eyes.
Naturally, we tried our best to remain positive. There was a cigarette run and a case of beer purchased, with all 6 of us in a car meant for 5, but we were determined to be supportive.
Chelsea and I were in the middle of soliciting duck pics from our guy friends (see the "GingerWolf" blog for more on that) when Kyle stopped us.
"Can we just listen to this for a moment- just for a second?"
The Beatles' "Hey Jude" came pouring out of Kyle's computer speakers as he sat in his chair.
"It's Erik's favorite..." he explained, needlessly, as Paul McCartney began to sing.
"And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain."
As the song played, we sat motionless and silent.
"It's the fool who plays it cool."
Kyle broke down, lowering his head to his chest and burying his face in his hands.
"The movement you need is on your shoulder."
And so were we- on Kyle's shoulder, there, with him.
I don't know how the five of us bamf'd into place, but we formed this protective ring around our friend- something Chelsea would later describe as a Cuddle Puddle.
"Let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin."
As if my heart had never been broken before, it broke again that night for Kyle. Each of us had tears in their eyes as we ached for our friend.
"Take a sad song and make it better."
We held Kyle, almost trying to physically absorb his hurt and spread the burden amongst us. We all held him close and tight while he wept for his friend. Our friend. We were so scared and so fiercely protective at that moment, each realizing the fragility of life.
One of us was missing. Cling tightly to those you love.
The song repeated a few times as we held each other.
"Na, na na na na na naaaaa," came the chorus.
We all prayed for Erik's safe return.
"Hey Jude."
Since my roommate had become a creeper (please read "The Creeper- part 2: And The Darkness) and Kyle didn't want to spend any time alone where Erik used to be, I invited him to spend the night at my place with me and Chelsea. I like to think sharing a bed with a blonde and a redhead helped take his mind off things for a while.
The next day was my last day to pack, and my next-to-last-day in town. Erik was on my mind as I gathered up my belongings and said my "see ya laters." I couldn't bear to tell anyone "goodbye."
That night my core group was meeting at a bar, but since Aaron was 20 at the time, he couldn't go.
I scheduled some time for him to meet me at my place so I could get a one-on-one chance to say what we needed to say. He showed up, right on time, like he always does, wearing his long black coat and his cake-stomping boots.
Aaron has dark black hair and even blacker eyes, which absorb everything and spit it back out with some sardonic twist. He held me tight and I wondered if he knew that he'd saved my life.
A while back, a Cinematographer had given me a Himmelschlantern, which I'd refrained from packing several times to have it at the ready- it's a candle-lantern, which fills up with the hot air from a candle, and lifts up, glowing away into the sky. I'd been saving it for a special occasion- first, for an LA Anniversary with Jay that never happened. Then, perhaps to send my wedding rings off in style. But no, tonight was the night- to convey the things I could not say, and to send off a message of love and hopefulness into the sky.
Aaron and I carefully removed the packaging, careful not to tear the blue paper which made up the skin of the lantern.
"Making to two pieces the candle and hands," the German-to-Chinese-to-English directions read.
Okayyyy. We went outside onto my North Hollywood sidewalk and readied ourselves with the Himmelschlantern and a lighter.
"Prepare special parings for friends," was the final instruction.
We attached the candle to the frame.
"I'm making my paring for Erik," Aaron said.
"Me too."
As Aaron held the lantern skin ready, I lit the candle. Or at least, I tried.
The damn thing would NOT light.
We tried again.
"Maybe we're not paring hard enough," Aaron suggested.
We par'd the fuck out of that thing, and tried every possible way to get the candle to ignite, It simply wouldn't. Time and bizarre engineering prevented the wax from doing anything other than scorching.
"Hmm," I said.
"Hmm." Aaron said, then "...Wanna just set the Himmelschlantern on fire?"
It was a great plan- but the damn fireproof (for obvious safety reasons) paper would not ignite.
"Got any lighter fluid?"
Yes, yes I did- my super-sweet ex, Paul to the rescue again, from thousands of miles away. When you live with a fire-poi juggler, he leaves you with lighter fluid. This is the natural order of things.
I found Paul's stash in the garage and we tested a spot on the Himmelschlantern. It looked good to go.
We took turns dousing it and blazing it, as cars passed by unphased by the destruction in the street.
As the embers flew up and away into the chilly night, we made our parings.
Whatever the fuck a paring is.
Finally, it had charred and crisped to nothing.
We kicked the ash into submission, him in his famous boots and me in mine.
The black soot still sits on my suede, reminding me of that night and our scorched-earth policy.
"Well, that's that," he said.
It was and it wasn't.
I clung so tightly to him- we were both scared and sad and completely assimilated. I knew I'd leave a piece of my heart behind with each of my friends, but Aaron has a sizeable chunk and it physically hurt to watch him walk away. I hate saying goodbye when the future is uncertain.
I hated not knowing where Erik was.
I hated... leaving.
All I could do was trust that the fibers of my intentions had made it through the smog layers and up to where the dreams go in LA. The glittering stratosphere where stars are made.
EPILOGUE
The next night, while driving with my brother through Arizona, I saw a shooting star. It may have been Himmelschlantern fragments because I wished with all my heart on it for Erik's safe return.
Within an hour I heard the news: he was alive and safe, checking out of a hospital.
Feathers and Himmelschlanterns. Sleepovers and Shooting Stars.
I miss you friends- but you're here safe in the embers of my burning heart.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
LA Stories- The Flood
The entire city of LA is flooded today, and I am no exception. However, unlike the torrents of piss, needles and bottle shards frothing merrily along Hollywood Boulevard, I am flooded with love.
I guess a blue moon accompanied these rains, because for the first time in what feels like a year, I slept trough the entire night without jerking awake with my heart racing.
I have a friend with a very calming influence crashing on our futon, and I guess the additional presence allowed my subconscious to relax a little with Jay being gone again. Paul's a good guy- the kind you feel safe around while the Outside Monsters lurk beyond the barred windows.
I slept the whole night through with Jack sleeping above my head and Johnny at my feet. Sure, they're syphoning my body heat, but I syphoned theirs right back in some sort of bizarre circuit of fur and dreams.
My friend had left early, but I slept until 11 (!!!) and got up and made a cup of tea. This simple act already meant that this morning ranked up amongst the best I've had in LA.
I then checked FaceBook, and got a really sweet message from another writer, complimenting my blogs. Matt Martins- an unbelievably prolific guy with a genuine gift. If I wrote a fraction of the amount Matt does... well. Anyway, I admire him tremendously, and sipping tea while having my ego stroked felt fantastic.
I also had messages from Erika and Bryan, who let me know that they missed me and were thinking about me. I always feel loved when I hear from my friends, but usually the sensation is accompanied by a pang of loss. I did not ache this time- probably because I know I'll see them soon.
It was then time to head to the post office. Ordinarily, this doesn't fill me with joy, but today, it filled my arms, my backseat, and my living room. With Joy: the sendable kind- if it fits, it ships, and apparently quite a lot fits.
Jay's Mom and Dad sent us box after box of goodies, and I happily hauled them to my car in the pouring rain. I think some of them have food inside! I also had a package from Jackie and Lizzie, which I was eagerly looking forward to opening when I got home.
After that, a friend I'd done a job for called to tell me he could pay me, so I drove to North Hollywood, where he was disassembling furniture. Since my cup was brimming with good karma, part of me wanted to go home and nap, but all the good vibes from the day had given me enough energy to not make a selfish choice. I helped with the furniture, then gave him a much-needed ride to run an errand. Then I took him out to lunch. Then I severely undercharged him for my portion of the paycheck. He deserves all this and more, because he's a wonderful friend and I'd been hoping for a chance to do something nice for him. As we chewed on chicken during a rainy lunch, it tasted really good. Because doing the right thing always does.
Eventually, Los Angeles traffic ferried me back to Hollywood, where I ran errands of my own and went to Target. I tried on clothes and everything fit. I liked the way my body looked in the yellowing lights of the gum-encrusted dressing rooms. I didn't buy anything I tried on, but being happy with my body for a change is still a novelty, and for a narcissistic moment I let it happen and didn't berate my thighs or my veins. I looked at myself in the mirror in observation instead of criticism. And it was nice.
Plus I found really cute socks.
I navigated the streets home and found a rock-star parking spot, naturally. And why shouldn't I? It's an awesome kind of day! Waiting for me on my doorstep was a box of Harry and David's gourmet snacks- another gift from Jay's parents, who have by now completely spoiled me rotten. They feel slightly guilty for flying Jay home for the week, and as a sort of hostage-negotiation, have sent me food. Consider me appeased. I ate a designer pear and some truffles and stretched out on the couch before making a second trip out to the car.
The rain had let up, but the Street Monsters weren't out yet, so I made it there and back without encountering a single crackhead. Success!
This trip meant I'd scored Jackie and Lizzie's package, which was a belated birthday gift. Inside the box, I found toys, bracelets, an obscene picture book, a card, FOOD (!!!) and several brightly colored tinsel balls on a string, tied to a stick. The card explained that this was meant for the cats, and not me.
I called Jackie to thank her and her sweet fiance, and played with Johnny Danger, who had instantly gone into a frenzy of ecstasy when he discovered the toy.
I chatted with her on her drive home, and then lazed on the couch while writing this.
The song goes, "it never rains in sunny California, but it pours, man, it pours."
Totally accurate- but today I was showered with the most wonderful of everything, and I am so grateful.
Today gets a 10 out of 10.
I guess a blue moon accompanied these rains, because for the first time in what feels like a year, I slept trough the entire night without jerking awake with my heart racing.
I have a friend with a very calming influence crashing on our futon, and I guess the additional presence allowed my subconscious to relax a little with Jay being gone again. Paul's a good guy- the kind you feel safe around while the Outside Monsters lurk beyond the barred windows.
I slept the whole night through with Jack sleeping above my head and Johnny at my feet. Sure, they're syphoning my body heat, but I syphoned theirs right back in some sort of bizarre circuit of fur and dreams.
My friend had left early, but I slept until 11 (!!!) and got up and made a cup of tea. This simple act already meant that this morning ranked up amongst the best I've had in LA.
I then checked FaceBook, and got a really sweet message from another writer, complimenting my blogs. Matt Martins- an unbelievably prolific guy with a genuine gift. If I wrote a fraction of the amount Matt does... well. Anyway, I admire him tremendously, and sipping tea while having my ego stroked felt fantastic.
I also had messages from Erika and Bryan, who let me know that they missed me and were thinking about me. I always feel loved when I hear from my friends, but usually the sensation is accompanied by a pang of loss. I did not ache this time- probably because I know I'll see them soon.
It was then time to head to the post office. Ordinarily, this doesn't fill me with joy, but today, it filled my arms, my backseat, and my living room. With Joy: the sendable kind- if it fits, it ships, and apparently quite a lot fits.
Jay's Mom and Dad sent us box after box of goodies, and I happily hauled them to my car in the pouring rain. I think some of them have food inside! I also had a package from Jackie and Lizzie, which I was eagerly looking forward to opening when I got home.
After that, a friend I'd done a job for called to tell me he could pay me, so I drove to North Hollywood, where he was disassembling furniture. Since my cup was brimming with good karma, part of me wanted to go home and nap, but all the good vibes from the day had given me enough energy to not make a selfish choice. I helped with the furniture, then gave him a much-needed ride to run an errand. Then I took him out to lunch. Then I severely undercharged him for my portion of the paycheck. He deserves all this and more, because he's a wonderful friend and I'd been hoping for a chance to do something nice for him. As we chewed on chicken during a rainy lunch, it tasted really good. Because doing the right thing always does.
Eventually, Los Angeles traffic ferried me back to Hollywood, where I ran errands of my own and went to Target. I tried on clothes and everything fit. I liked the way my body looked in the yellowing lights of the gum-encrusted dressing rooms. I didn't buy anything I tried on, but being happy with my body for a change is still a novelty, and for a narcissistic moment I let it happen and didn't berate my thighs or my veins. I looked at myself in the mirror in observation instead of criticism. And it was nice.
Plus I found really cute socks.
I navigated the streets home and found a rock-star parking spot, naturally. And why shouldn't I? It's an awesome kind of day! Waiting for me on my doorstep was a box of Harry and David's gourmet snacks- another gift from Jay's parents, who have by now completely spoiled me rotten. They feel slightly guilty for flying Jay home for the week, and as a sort of hostage-negotiation, have sent me food. Consider me appeased. I ate a designer pear and some truffles and stretched out on the couch before making a second trip out to the car.
The rain had let up, but the Street Monsters weren't out yet, so I made it there and back without encountering a single crackhead. Success!
This trip meant I'd scored Jackie and Lizzie's package, which was a belated birthday gift. Inside the box, I found toys, bracelets, an obscene picture book, a card, FOOD (!!!) and several brightly colored tinsel balls on a string, tied to a stick. The card explained that this was meant for the cats, and not me.
I called Jackie to thank her and her sweet fiance, and played with Johnny Danger, who had instantly gone into a frenzy of ecstasy when he discovered the toy.
I chatted with her on her drive home, and then lazed on the couch while writing this.
The song goes, "it never rains in sunny California, but it pours, man, it pours."
Totally accurate- but today I was showered with the most wonderful of everything, and I am so grateful.
Today gets a 10 out of 10.
LA Stories- Wizzards vs. Warriors
It all started with a feather... A blue feather, chosen by my friend Mandy, placed in my hair alongside my blue streak and secured with a plastic bead. "There," she said, admiring her handiwork in the mirror of the salon where she styles hair. "That seems right."
I'd gone to visit Mandy and to support her salon's art show, which was displaying some art she and her fiance Dani had created. I brought my friend Kyle with me, and, although he declined a feather, we enjoyed an impromptu rock concert and some wine- a fun outing with fun people.
The next day was my friend Elissa's birthday, and she'd invited everyone to join her in some karaoke in Culver City... I HATE karaoke, but I love Elissa. She was one of the first friends I made when I came to LA, and has been a social staple in my life ever since. So I had to go and endure some Empty Orchestra. Ugh.
There was a two drink minimum, but I more than met it by engaging in a drinking contest with my friend Erik, who happens to be Kyle's roommate. Not feeling buzzed at all, I matched Erik drink for drink, baffling him with my abnormally awesome liver. That night, more and more friends showed up- Kyle, John, Zach, Annalisa, Chelsea, Melissa, Sean... all these familiar faces I've been working and playing with over the last year. A mismatched group of Lost Boys. Fighting for survival, bonded through sweat, blood and tears, I was looking at my LA Family. I sat back with the last of Erik's challenge swirling through my system and gazed at my friends as they danced. The same powerful sensation of love and bonding I'd felt with my Band, with my Karate Family, with my Universal Family- here it was again, surging through my veins alongside rum and godknows whatelse. We are a tribe. I had a feather in my hair. I am a fighter. I am a Warrior.
All of the battles of the last 6 months had been registering in my body, leaving heavy scars on my psyche. I suddenly felt free and liberated. My handsome Dark Haired Boy asked me to dance, so, leaving my cares on the sticky barroom table, I joined my people and danced and sang alongside my fellow Warriors. The night belonged to us.
I left the feather in my hair to remind myself of my new outlook. I've been suffering for long enough- I'm tired of feeling like a victim- I need to remember that I am strong, I am a fighter, and I can survive.
I kept this attitude when my roommate, Jon, informed me that even though I'd only been living with him and his girlfriend for 2 months, he was in a bad financial state and needed to raise the rent. By $100 a month. Being a badass Warrior, I no longer take shit from anyone, so I told him I'd be moving out. Jon is in a Metal bad called "White Wizzard." They don't suck, but (did I mention they're a Metal band so) they aren't that sucessful, and financial hardships and rockiness within the band were making Jon grumpier and grumpier. I don't need that in my life- I'm a fucking Warrior. Warriors don't take shit from Wizzards.
Over the next few days, things got tense between Jon and his live-in girlfriend, Jane. (not her real name.) Jane is from Thailand, and although there is an occasional language barrier, we both speak Empathy, and had been growing closer as friends. As we spend time together at the gym, or swimming in the pool, she began to confide in me. Things about Jon. Things like, how he told her that "if he ever found out that she'd been sent by the cops to spy on him, he'd have her killed." Things like how he calls her names. Things like how she is forbidden to ask him where he's been, when he's coming home, or who he's been spending his nights with. I'd heard him speaking to her, and telling her how "fucking stupid" she was. I hated how he'd wax philosophically about the beauty of open relationships, but insisted she not see other men. He'd cut her off entirely from all of her friends, and she no longer had a social life because Jon did not allow her to go out.
This came to a head two days after Elissa's birthday, when Jon sent me a text stating that he was intending to have a "mellow night at home," that he'd had a death in his family, and that Jane was spending the night elsewhere and he needed some down time to be with some friends, so could I not have any guests over that night. "Sure," I wrote back. "Understood- I'm sorry you're sad."
I stopped by the apartment to grab a few things, intending to spend the night with my Dark Haired Boy, when I saw Jane, also packing. Jon was not around. I asked where she was headed, since it wasn't like her to spend nights out of the apartment.
"Jon has asked me to sleep in the van tonight."
"What! Why?"
"He say he needs to be with his sister. But he has no sister..."
"Jane, this is stupid- come stay with me tonight- I don't like the idea of you sleeping out in the open streets. It's not safe."
Jane whispers now, looking at the floor. "I think he cheat on me..."
She insisted on following Jon's orders, because he had to meet up with her for some reason that night. She waited in the van all night, and he never arrived. However, when she got back to the apartment the next day, she found Jon passed out in bed next to a bottle of pink tequilla and a bottle of body oil. He'd had sex in their bed, and left the sheets messy.
Taking advantage of his unconscious state, she grabbed his cell phone and began to look through the texts. She found plenty of evidence that he was cheating on her.
She told me this through a storm of tears that afternoon.
"I hate him! He take everything from me, he threaten me, he say he's going to smack me if I ask any question, then he cheat on me in this bed! I want to leave him!"
Being a Warrior, I feel protective of Jane. This man has no right to threaten to hurt her.
"Whatever you need," I said. "I will help you."
Jane looks at me with determination in her eyes.
"I want to fuck him," she said, in perfect English. "On rent. I want to fuck him on rent. I want to leave right away so he is fucked."
"Okay," I said. "Let's make a plan and be smart about this... If you want to move out when I move out, I will help you move. But Jane, if he's threatening to hurt you, I think you should get out sooner. He doesn't love you- no one who loves you would talk to you that way..."
She hugged me around my neck, and promised to figure out a plan to leave.
I talked with a bunch of people about the situation that day, and got some good advice. I also called Jay, just because I missed him and I wanted to talk, but he was not particularly helpful. "You shouldn'tve moved in with them," he said.
"It's not like I had a lot of time to hunt and look- you LEFT me, so this means I am victime to CraigsList."
"That's not my problem," he told me.
Awesome, cool, thanks Jay.
That night, Jon was still out, but I sensed trouble on the morning's horizon. I had such a powerful feeling that something bad would happen, I slept in my clothes and left a lamp on in my bedroom.
Sure enough, at 5:20AM, I awoke to the sounds of them arguing loudly. Then Jane started screaming my name, yelling "Jaime come help me!"
I bolted out of my room to find them squared off in the kitchen, her back to the wall.
"He choke me!" Jane said.
"Grab your bag, we're leaving."
Ah, but Jon the Wizzard was angry now, in full Metal mode.
"Oh so now you're waking up our roommate with this bullshit- you pushed me to the limit, so you can get the fuck out!"
Jane screamed back at him "You cheat on me!"
"OK," I said. "Probably time to get that bag now."
I wedged myself physically between them and stayed there like a wrestling Ref.
Jon was furious. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"
"I'm not getting in the middle of this, I'm just taking her somewhere so you two can cool off."
Jane finally grabbed her purse, and we took off. She was hysterical, crying. "He choke and scratch me!"
She was adamant that we NOT call the cops because then she would be deported.
"That's not how that works," I said. "They don't care about whether or not you're a citizen, they care about whether or not your boyfriend attacked you."
We arrived at Paul's (the Dark Haired Boy) house at 5:30, and texted him out of bed. I'd kept him in the loop, so he wasn't completely shocked to see us at his door. Jane had scratch marks on her back from the Wizzard's guitar fingernails, and was pretty much in shock. I took pictures of her scratches and we convinced her to let us call the cops.
They arrived in true LAPD fashion- an hour later.
They, too, took photos of Jane's scratches and reassured her that they didn't care where she was from, they were just there to get the bad guy. By now Jane was calmed down and able to talk with them about all the awful things Jon had said to her. They listened, sympathetically, then left to go arrest him. Sadly, by the time they arrived at the Wizard's, he'd already gone.
This wasn't surprising as the man already has an arrest record and is behind on his child support payments.
...did I mention he's a pretty awful human being?
I was meeting my huge awesome friend Carlos that afternoon to carpool, but he couldn't get there until 11. That meant Jane and I had to kill a few hours and get as much stuff packed as possible during that time. I knew Jay lived just down the street from us, also in North Hollywood, so I sent him a text:
"I know it's early but LAPD just left and I'm scared- can you please come over?"
He groggily phoned me back after my 4th call, and told me that it wasn't his job to take care of me anymore and that I should wait in Panera Bread.
Thanks, Jay. Thanks for showing me your true colors- now I can focus on the people who actually give a shit about someone other than themselves, like pretty much every other friend named in this story.
Jane and I spent that night at the Paul's, and came back the following evening to an empty apartment. Paul stayed there, with us, just in case.
Jane and I decided to act normally around Jon (if he came home) for 2 more days until I could help Jane drive her personal belongings to her new place where she'd be living with the one friend she had left. She had about 2 cars worth of stuff, so we'd caravan her out before the Wizzard knew she was gone. We were going to be quick- we were going to be smooth. It was going to be easy, and then he'd be unable to take any agression out on me, because I am his size physically, and he clearly prefers to pick on smaller girls without citizenships.
Thursday arrived, and I rounded some troops to help extract Jane. I was counting on the Wizzard staying gone, but we couldn't be sure, so I put out a request on FaceBook for some fellow Warriors to act as Guardian Angels. My prayer was answered in the forms of Joop, an old friend from Oyster's Secret in Orlando, and Kyle, a new friend from Halloween Horror Nights in LA. We held a pow-wow at a newarby coffee bean and tea leaf and discussed the plan while we waited for Jane. She arrived, dishevelled.
"He's home," she said, then started to cry. "He make me have sex with him- I feel disgusted."
She began to have second thoughts about whether or not she should move out, but ultimately decided to move forward with the Plan. We were behind her 100%.
"If he hurt you once, he'll do it again." She agreed.
As soon as she started packing, the Wizzard freaked out and began to yell at her. He bellowed over her shoulders as she began to stuff things into boxes and bags. I signalled to the boys to not leave her side while I went into her closet and began packing her things. Joop and Kyle stood like stanch soldiers in the living room while the fighting escalated. The Wizzard kicked over the kitchen table, flinging hot coffee everywhere, as he ordered Joop and Kyle to get the fuck out of his house. He took an exceptional shine to Kyle, who he insisted was somehow smirking at him.
Kyle may have been, but he also just kind of LOOKS like a smirker, so, what can you do?
To calm things down, I suggested Kyle and Joop wait outside, and we'd keep the door open.
The Wizzard slammed the door shut, and continued screaming at Jane, who by this point was so stressed out she began to vomit.
While she was retching in the bathroom, the Wizzard turned on me, telling me that I was a lying sack of shit for stating that I didn't want to get in the middle of things, and that he wanted me out as well.
Noooo problem.
We loaded everything into my car and Jane's car, but I had a horrible feeling that the Wizzard would do something evil to my cats if I left him alone in the apartment. I have no bedroom door, only a curtain flap, and even if all he did was let them outside, I'd be devastated. I sent out a text to Todd, Paul, and Carlos, all of whom responded instantly. They were on their way. Todd arrived within minutes, and the Wizzard immediately picked a fight with him. This would've been awesome, as any one of my Warriors could kick the Wizzard's ass, but Todd just smirked, which I knew was the best reaction.
I sent Joop to drive my car to Jane's new place, and I sent Kyle home. Todd waited with me until Carlos and Paul arrived. Once they got there, it was obvious.
"You need to get out. Tonight."
Carlos called his girlfriend (and my friend) Shaunelle, and between the four of us, The cats were moved to Todd's, and I was packed and moved out of the Wizzard's and into Paul's within 4 hours. Surprise!
Victory: Warriors.
The next day, I went back for my bed and some shelves (the only items left) with my friend Gabrielle, and her friend Emily. And their boyfriends Nick and Matthew, who are, respectively, Marines and humongous.
The Wizzard literally gnashed his teeth when I arrived with such giant Warriors. He said not a single word to me as we packed, but proceeded to write me a nasty email, which I read over his shoulder as we moved out.
I'll be happy to post the letter online, because it's funny, but it's mostly blaming me for his problems with Jane because I introduced her into my circle of numerous guy friends, who encouraged her to act on her irrational fears. He also stated that I would not be receiving my security deposit back until he found a new roommate to replace me.
This may mean small claims court for me, but I'm OK with that. I can continue fighting, because I am a Warrior. Oh, and there's that little matter about a police report filed against him that he doesn't know about yet- that'll be a fun surprise to break to him!
In the meantime, I'm safe and loved, here with my Dark Haired Boy and my group of Big Hard Fucking Heroes- Joop, Kyle, Paul, Carlos, Todd, Shaunelle, Gabrielle, Emily, Matthew, and Nick, and everyone else who's shown me love and given me the courage to keep fighting and standing up for what is right.
...Jane moved back in the the Wizzard 5 days later, after he promised to marry her early next spring. Paul says, "sometimes the only reward for doing the right thing is knowing that the right thing was done." He may be correct, but I like to think that maybe in helping Jane escape the Wizzard once, we'll have at least given her a little courage. When I finally take my feather out, I'm going to send it to her.
I'd gone to visit Mandy and to support her salon's art show, which was displaying some art she and her fiance Dani had created. I brought my friend Kyle with me, and, although he declined a feather, we enjoyed an impromptu rock concert and some wine- a fun outing with fun people.
The next day was my friend Elissa's birthday, and she'd invited everyone to join her in some karaoke in Culver City... I HATE karaoke, but I love Elissa. She was one of the first friends I made when I came to LA, and has been a social staple in my life ever since. So I had to go and endure some Empty Orchestra. Ugh.
There was a two drink minimum, but I more than met it by engaging in a drinking contest with my friend Erik, who happens to be Kyle's roommate. Not feeling buzzed at all, I matched Erik drink for drink, baffling him with my abnormally awesome liver. That night, more and more friends showed up- Kyle, John, Zach, Annalisa, Chelsea, Melissa, Sean... all these familiar faces I've been working and playing with over the last year. A mismatched group of Lost Boys. Fighting for survival, bonded through sweat, blood and tears, I was looking at my LA Family. I sat back with the last of Erik's challenge swirling through my system and gazed at my friends as they danced. The same powerful sensation of love and bonding I'd felt with my Band, with my Karate Family, with my Universal Family- here it was again, surging through my veins alongside rum and godknows whatelse. We are a tribe. I had a feather in my hair. I am a fighter. I am a Warrior.
All of the battles of the last 6 months had been registering in my body, leaving heavy scars on my psyche. I suddenly felt free and liberated. My handsome Dark Haired Boy asked me to dance, so, leaving my cares on the sticky barroom table, I joined my people and danced and sang alongside my fellow Warriors. The night belonged to us.
I left the feather in my hair to remind myself of my new outlook. I've been suffering for long enough- I'm tired of feeling like a victim- I need to remember that I am strong, I am a fighter, and I can survive.
I kept this attitude when my roommate, Jon, informed me that even though I'd only been living with him and his girlfriend for 2 months, he was in a bad financial state and needed to raise the rent. By $100 a month. Being a badass Warrior, I no longer take shit from anyone, so I told him I'd be moving out. Jon is in a Metal bad called "White Wizzard." They don't suck, but (did I mention they're a Metal band so) they aren't that sucessful, and financial hardships and rockiness within the band were making Jon grumpier and grumpier. I don't need that in my life- I'm a fucking Warrior. Warriors don't take shit from Wizzards.
Over the next few days, things got tense between Jon and his live-in girlfriend, Jane. (not her real name.) Jane is from Thailand, and although there is an occasional language barrier, we both speak Empathy, and had been growing closer as friends. As we spend time together at the gym, or swimming in the pool, she began to confide in me. Things about Jon. Things like, how he told her that "if he ever found out that she'd been sent by the cops to spy on him, he'd have her killed." Things like how he calls her names. Things like how she is forbidden to ask him where he's been, when he's coming home, or who he's been spending his nights with. I'd heard him speaking to her, and telling her how "fucking stupid" she was. I hated how he'd wax philosophically about the beauty of open relationships, but insisted she not see other men. He'd cut her off entirely from all of her friends, and she no longer had a social life because Jon did not allow her to go out.
This came to a head two days after Elissa's birthday, when Jon sent me a text stating that he was intending to have a "mellow night at home," that he'd had a death in his family, and that Jane was spending the night elsewhere and he needed some down time to be with some friends, so could I not have any guests over that night. "Sure," I wrote back. "Understood- I'm sorry you're sad."
I stopped by the apartment to grab a few things, intending to spend the night with my Dark Haired Boy, when I saw Jane, also packing. Jon was not around. I asked where she was headed, since it wasn't like her to spend nights out of the apartment.
"Jon has asked me to sleep in the van tonight."
"What! Why?"
"He say he needs to be with his sister. But he has no sister..."
"Jane, this is stupid- come stay with me tonight- I don't like the idea of you sleeping out in the open streets. It's not safe."
Jane whispers now, looking at the floor. "I think he cheat on me..."
She insisted on following Jon's orders, because he had to meet up with her for some reason that night. She waited in the van all night, and he never arrived. However, when she got back to the apartment the next day, she found Jon passed out in bed next to a bottle of pink tequilla and a bottle of body oil. He'd had sex in their bed, and left the sheets messy.
Taking advantage of his unconscious state, she grabbed his cell phone and began to look through the texts. She found plenty of evidence that he was cheating on her.
She told me this through a storm of tears that afternoon.
"I hate him! He take everything from me, he threaten me, he say he's going to smack me if I ask any question, then he cheat on me in this bed! I want to leave him!"
Being a Warrior, I feel protective of Jane. This man has no right to threaten to hurt her.
"Whatever you need," I said. "I will help you."
Jane looks at me with determination in her eyes.
"I want to fuck him," she said, in perfect English. "On rent. I want to fuck him on rent. I want to leave right away so he is fucked."
"Okay," I said. "Let's make a plan and be smart about this... If you want to move out when I move out, I will help you move. But Jane, if he's threatening to hurt you, I think you should get out sooner. He doesn't love you- no one who loves you would talk to you that way..."
She hugged me around my neck, and promised to figure out a plan to leave.
I talked with a bunch of people about the situation that day, and got some good advice. I also called Jay, just because I missed him and I wanted to talk, but he was not particularly helpful. "You shouldn'tve moved in with them," he said.
"It's not like I had a lot of time to hunt and look- you LEFT me, so this means I am victime to CraigsList."
"That's not my problem," he told me.
Awesome, cool, thanks Jay.
That night, Jon was still out, but I sensed trouble on the morning's horizon. I had such a powerful feeling that something bad would happen, I slept in my clothes and left a lamp on in my bedroom.
Sure enough, at 5:20AM, I awoke to the sounds of them arguing loudly. Then Jane started screaming my name, yelling "Jaime come help me!"
I bolted out of my room to find them squared off in the kitchen, her back to the wall.
"He choke me!" Jane said.
"Grab your bag, we're leaving."
Ah, but Jon the Wizzard was angry now, in full Metal mode.
"Oh so now you're waking up our roommate with this bullshit- you pushed me to the limit, so you can get the fuck out!"
Jane screamed back at him "You cheat on me!"
"OK," I said. "Probably time to get that bag now."
I wedged myself physically between them and stayed there like a wrestling Ref.
Jon was furious. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"
"I'm not getting in the middle of this, I'm just taking her somewhere so you two can cool off."
Jane finally grabbed her purse, and we took off. She was hysterical, crying. "He choke and scratch me!"
She was adamant that we NOT call the cops because then she would be deported.
"That's not how that works," I said. "They don't care about whether or not you're a citizen, they care about whether or not your boyfriend attacked you."
We arrived at Paul's (the Dark Haired Boy) house at 5:30, and texted him out of bed. I'd kept him in the loop, so he wasn't completely shocked to see us at his door. Jane had scratch marks on her back from the Wizzard's guitar fingernails, and was pretty much in shock. I took pictures of her scratches and we convinced her to let us call the cops.
They arrived in true LAPD fashion- an hour later.
They, too, took photos of Jane's scratches and reassured her that they didn't care where she was from, they were just there to get the bad guy. By now Jane was calmed down and able to talk with them about all the awful things Jon had said to her. They listened, sympathetically, then left to go arrest him. Sadly, by the time they arrived at the Wizard's, he'd already gone.
This wasn't surprising as the man already has an arrest record and is behind on his child support payments.
...did I mention he's a pretty awful human being?
I was meeting my huge awesome friend Carlos that afternoon to carpool, but he couldn't get there until 11. That meant Jane and I had to kill a few hours and get as much stuff packed as possible during that time. I knew Jay lived just down the street from us, also in North Hollywood, so I sent him a text:
"I know it's early but LAPD just left and I'm scared- can you please come over?"
He groggily phoned me back after my 4th call, and told me that it wasn't his job to take care of me anymore and that I should wait in Panera Bread.
Thanks, Jay. Thanks for showing me your true colors- now I can focus on the people who actually give a shit about someone other than themselves, like pretty much every other friend named in this story.
Jane and I spent that night at the Paul's, and came back the following evening to an empty apartment. Paul stayed there, with us, just in case.
Jane and I decided to act normally around Jon (if he came home) for 2 more days until I could help Jane drive her personal belongings to her new place where she'd be living with the one friend she had left. She had about 2 cars worth of stuff, so we'd caravan her out before the Wizzard knew she was gone. We were going to be quick- we were going to be smooth. It was going to be easy, and then he'd be unable to take any agression out on me, because I am his size physically, and he clearly prefers to pick on smaller girls without citizenships.
Thursday arrived, and I rounded some troops to help extract Jane. I was counting on the Wizzard staying gone, but we couldn't be sure, so I put out a request on FaceBook for some fellow Warriors to act as Guardian Angels. My prayer was answered in the forms of Joop, an old friend from Oyster's Secret in Orlando, and Kyle, a new friend from Halloween Horror Nights in LA. We held a pow-wow at a newarby coffee bean and tea leaf and discussed the plan while we waited for Jane. She arrived, dishevelled.
"He's home," she said, then started to cry. "He make me have sex with him- I feel disgusted."
She began to have second thoughts about whether or not she should move out, but ultimately decided to move forward with the Plan. We were behind her 100%.
"If he hurt you once, he'll do it again." She agreed.
As soon as she started packing, the Wizzard freaked out and began to yell at her. He bellowed over her shoulders as she began to stuff things into boxes and bags. I signalled to the boys to not leave her side while I went into her closet and began packing her things. Joop and Kyle stood like stanch soldiers in the living room while the fighting escalated. The Wizzard kicked over the kitchen table, flinging hot coffee everywhere, as he ordered Joop and Kyle to get the fuck out of his house. He took an exceptional shine to Kyle, who he insisted was somehow smirking at him.
Kyle may have been, but he also just kind of LOOKS like a smirker, so, what can you do?
To calm things down, I suggested Kyle and Joop wait outside, and we'd keep the door open.
The Wizzard slammed the door shut, and continued screaming at Jane, who by this point was so stressed out she began to vomit.
While she was retching in the bathroom, the Wizzard turned on me, telling me that I was a lying sack of shit for stating that I didn't want to get in the middle of things, and that he wanted me out as well.
Noooo problem.
We loaded everything into my car and Jane's car, but I had a horrible feeling that the Wizzard would do something evil to my cats if I left him alone in the apartment. I have no bedroom door, only a curtain flap, and even if all he did was let them outside, I'd be devastated. I sent out a text to Todd, Paul, and Carlos, all of whom responded instantly. They were on their way. Todd arrived within minutes, and the Wizzard immediately picked a fight with him. This would've been awesome, as any one of my Warriors could kick the Wizzard's ass, but Todd just smirked, which I knew was the best reaction.
I sent Joop to drive my car to Jane's new place, and I sent Kyle home. Todd waited with me until Carlos and Paul arrived. Once they got there, it was obvious.
"You need to get out. Tonight."
Carlos called his girlfriend (and my friend) Shaunelle, and between the four of us, The cats were moved to Todd's, and I was packed and moved out of the Wizzard's and into Paul's within 4 hours. Surprise!
Victory: Warriors.
The next day, I went back for my bed and some shelves (the only items left) with my friend Gabrielle, and her friend Emily. And their boyfriends Nick and Matthew, who are, respectively, Marines and humongous.
The Wizzard literally gnashed his teeth when I arrived with such giant Warriors. He said not a single word to me as we packed, but proceeded to write me a nasty email, which I read over his shoulder as we moved out.
I'll be happy to post the letter online, because it's funny, but it's mostly blaming me for his problems with Jane because I introduced her into my circle of numerous guy friends, who encouraged her to act on her irrational fears. He also stated that I would not be receiving my security deposit back until he found a new roommate to replace me.
This may mean small claims court for me, but I'm OK with that. I can continue fighting, because I am a Warrior. Oh, and there's that little matter about a police report filed against him that he doesn't know about yet- that'll be a fun surprise to break to him!
In the meantime, I'm safe and loved, here with my Dark Haired Boy and my group of Big Hard Fucking Heroes- Joop, Kyle, Paul, Carlos, Todd, Shaunelle, Gabrielle, Emily, Matthew, and Nick, and everyone else who's shown me love and given me the courage to keep fighting and standing up for what is right.
...Jane moved back in the the Wizzard 5 days later, after he promised to marry her early next spring. Paul says, "sometimes the only reward for doing the right thing is knowing that the right thing was done." He may be correct, but I like to think that maybe in helping Jane escape the Wizzard once, we'll have at least given her a little courage. When I finally take my feather out, I'm going to send it to her.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
LA Stories- $10,000
"How much does it cost to move to LA?"
The answer to that is "More than $10,000."
I don't know HOW much more, but I can chronicle exactly what we spent our money on, and you can extrapolate from there, and determine how much you think you'll need for YOUR Epic Adventure.
So, without furthur ado, I humbly submit my Financial Guide to Completely Blowing $10,000...
MOVERS:
Way back in Spring of 2009, My husband Jay found a web site where we entered how much we had to move (estimated boxes, items of furniture, and distance,) and a moving company called us within a DAY with a bid to move us for only $1,200! Way too good to be true- and it was! But since we had to get 2 cars out there AND we wanted to ride together, a van seemed like the way to go. We wanted to have our Manifest Destiny adventure in a car so we could pull over and see the sights and explore our way across Rt. 66- this was a phenomenal luxury, and the one thing I'll never regret- driving together across America was an amazing journey, and you can read about it in my Manifest Destiny Journals that mark the beginning of my FB "notes."
We wanted to hire a moving van so we wouldn't have to worry. My Dad arranged to drive my car out for me once we'd settled, since he's a former pilot and can fly back for free, and wanted to drive 66 with his new wife as well. My Mom volunteered to keep our 2 cats for us until she could take them with her when she'd fly out to visit in September. This meant a trip free of yowling, miserable cats, sneaking pets in and out of "no pet" motels, and a happier stay with Jay's Aunt and Uncle, who let us live with them in Long Beach until we found an apartment. They are not cat people, but they are generous beyond belief and invited us to crash in the guest bedroom of their gorgeous condo for 5 weeks while we dealt with finding an apartment in LA.
Speaking of the generosity of others, I should also mention that if you're very lucky, a few Guardian Angels will help you along the way. Hopefully, you'll have some awesome people in your life who love you too. You'll find that love and support go a long, long, long way when you're in a new environment.
Since the bid on the moving truck was so great, we took the bait and hired the movers, who tacked on an additional $1,000 to their estimate after everything was loaded in the truck. They showed up 7 hours late, which made us miss my own farewell dinner after my Fringe play. Instead of the 5 guys they promised, two showed up. Only one spoke english- barely. A Florida downpour delayed them even furthur, and they wound us shoving paperwork in our hands saying sign, sign, while our stuff was getting soaked in the rain. We felt really uneasy. We felt trapped- but we felt like we had no choice- our stuff was either getting rained on or already on the truck, and it was 1:30 in the morning. We were exhausted. We signed. Big mistake. I came down with some sort of bizarre stomach flu and spent much of the next day barfing. I think my stomach knew we'd been cornholed.
The plan was for the Moving Company to store our stuff in a storage unit in Burbank until we found an apartment, then unload it for us when we found our new place.
Somehow, our stuff wound up being stored in Louisianna- or maybe Texas. They never did give us a straight answer, and stopped returning our calls when it was apparent that we were pissed.
HOUSE HUNTING:
Once we got to Long Beach, we'd drive the terrifying commute to LA and look for apartments, and I'd cry a lot. Apartment hunting is difficult- you have to drive around and call every posted "For Rent" sign you see, and make plans with the owner to see the unit. But hours go by in between viewings, and no one in LA will let you use their bathroom. So you sit, uncomfortably, looking at listings in a random McDonald's with WiFi, hoping that the few bucks you're spending to use their internet qualifies you to be a peeing customer. Plus, that stomach virus? Yeah, it kind of lingered, so anything I ate was a guaranteed horror-story in about 20 minutes. Being stuck in LA traffic with a belly full of rapidly-deteriorating Carl's Jr. is assuredly a lower level of Hell.
The apartments we found within our price range ($700-$900/month) were abysmal. Dark, squallid, depressing holes of depravity on shitty little streets full of barred windows and tipped over grocery carts. I would go inside, look at the hideous mouldering bathroom, the tiny windowless bedroom, and a kitchen the size of a shower stall. The owners would tell us, "oh, you'll have to buy a stove. And a refridgerator." The one window in the place inevitable featured a magnificent vista of a cinderblock wall. Each and every one we visited made me physically ill. I could clearly imagine myself living there, growing severely depressed, and hanging myself, but I doubted any of the structural support would be able to handle my dead weight. Yellowed, tumerous walls closed in on me at every turn. And I cried. I cried at McDonald's. I cried at the Chevron where we bought gas so I could pee. Pretty much anywhere I went to leak liquid, I leaked liquid. Also, since we had no jobs lined up, people were incredibly reluctant to let us rent, despite our offer to put down deposits and first AND last month's rent. They knew we weren't going to find jobs for a while. They were pretty smart.
HOME AT LAST:
We finally took a friend's suggestion and looked into the "Artiste Apartments" collection of apartment buildings. They're all over LA, and initially catered specifically ti Industry folk. Now, pretty much anyone can live there. Even people without jobs. We found a building with a unit we LOVED, on Cherokee Avenue, just off Hollywood Blvd. The Walk of Fame. The Walk of Stars. The Boulevard of Broken Dreams. We figured it was the LA equivalent to living inside the Statue of Liberty. An iconic address, a historic neighborhood steeped in movie magic and lore. It was $1,300 a month, (more than we paid in Orlando for our 3-bedroom luxury condo) but it was the LA-version of HUGE. It was bright and airy inside, and it felt happy. I couldn't envision myself swinging from any closets- but I could imagine myself typing, looking out a window. A good sign. Jay loved it too- even the building had charm. Built in the 20's as a hotel, it had survived 90 years without Earthquake damage. I felt safe from Earthquakes there. We put down our first month's rent as a deposit and waited for a unit to open up.
It was going to be another 3 weeks, but Jay's Aunt and Uncle were so kind and let us stay in their super-comfortable, clean guest bedroom. They live in a million-dollar condominium, so it was going to be an adjustment once we moved to Hollywood, but we were ready. Our next task was to track down our movers, who were still dodging our calls. Finally, we used a fake name to get our contact back on the phone. Our stuff would arrive in COMPTON within a week. (Compton is not a nice part of the world, and you DON'T want stuff stored there overnight because it won't be there the next day.)
GETTING FULLY HOSED:
They'd agreed to place our things in a smaller truck so it would fit down our tiny street, but suddenly, that was no longer part of the deal. I had finally scored paying work for the first time on "Iron Man II," so Jaime and his friend Jenn were going to have to go put our life into a U-Haul while I was at work. If I cancelled my first day at Central Casting, there was a chance they'd blacklist me and we couldn't risk it. So Jaime and Jenn went alone to Compton to get our things, and it's a damn good thing I wasn't there to see the carnage: everything we owned was in shambles- entire boxes had ripped open, cubes were crushed into spheres, legs were snapped off of furniture, anything glass had shattered, anything wooden was scratched or gouged beyond repair. A brand new unopened IKEA entertainment center we'd packed was strewn about the storage unit. Our TV dangled at a precarious 44-degree angle. Jay and Jenn took photos of the disaster scene, then loaded it while the moving representative (who did not work for the company, he was just there to "supervise,") WATCHED. To make matters worse, they wouldn't release our stuff to us unless we gave them, you guessed it, another $1,000. The "Supervisor" suggested Jay and Jenn give him a tip of a couple hundred bucks, since he'd had to spend a few hours of his day watching Jay and Jenn loading a truck. They declined.
Once Jay and Jenn arrived at our new apartment, our friend Carlos met up with them, and helped unload. Another friend, Keith, also pitched in. More photos were taken as we realized the extent of the damage, and when Jay and I began unpacking, we realized that LOTS of stuff was missing. One of a kind, irreplacable stuff. Like a crystal elephant bank we'd been given by Jay's parents as an engagement gift. And my pega-mouse. A step-ladder. Whoever rifled through our stuff had been sloppy because I found my rare limited edition X-Men comic (well, at least part of the cover of it- it was mangled and torn) "repacked" in with our automotive supplies. 60% of our dishes, which had been packed by Ericka, who packs things professionally for traveling theatre companies, were shattered.
So our move cost us $3,400 to use this moving van company.
I'd say don't use them, but they get sued so often they have a different name every week. All I can suggest is please be more cautious then we were. Way, way more cautious.
We'd saved up $10,000.
We were out $3,400.
For those of you keeping score, that left us with $6,600.
BEDDING:
We'd left my 11-year-old mattress at home, which meant we had to buy a new mattress, which was $1,000, including delivery.
This left us with $5,600.
THE MYSTERY OF LOS ANGELES REFRIDGERATORS:
In LA, most places do NOT come with a fridge- surprise! I have no idea where they GO, but they're not in any apartments when you get there. Somewhere, perhaps the La Brea Tar Pits, millions of refridgerators lie in wait of they day they are discovered by Anthropologists of the Future. These Scientists will deduce what I already know: Los Angelinos are dicks, and take their fridge away just so you can't have one.
If you Craig's list it you can get one in "decent" condition for $500.
We were fortunate to have a friend in Jenn, who is loaning us her brand-new fridge. It's clean and large and cold and we love it.
We still had $5,600.
AIR CONDITIONING:
Most places we could afford did not come with Central Air, so plan on spending at least $100 for a window box unit. Or two. You'll want two. Plan on spending $200.
We bought one unit, but again, Jenn saved the day (actually the whole Summer!) and loaned us a second unit for our bedroom window. This has been a gift that keeps on giving, because during the day, the one in our living room keeps the desert heat of the city from killing us in our apartment. It's loud and imperfect, but it's soooo cold and a joy to have. At night, the one in our bedroom acts with dual-purpose: keeping us cool and creating white noise to drown out the sounds of the raving lunatics on the streets. Our windows are ground level, so we hear EVERYTHING on our street without these as sound buffers. Every arrest, every argument, every Schizophrenic freak out, every Ambulance Siren, every wailing drunk, every chatty whore, every whining Tranny. Everything.
$5,500.
RENT AND OTHER RAPINGS:
We moved into a 1-bedroom 1-bathroom place in the heart of Hollywood. This costs us a Deposit of $1,300 and then our first month's rent was (and is) $1,300.
Because we live in Hollywood, there is NO parking. If you want to give yourself a panic attack and try to parallel park on an incline while people are zooming around you into incoming traffic while you're backing up a hill, be my guest- if you're lucky enough to find a spot. Or, you can circle, like we did, for up to 45 minutes at a time before giving in and using the city parking garage adjacent to our building. This costs $10, whether you're in there 5 minutes or 12 hours. If you're parked for 12 hours AND 5 minutes, bam- another $10.
Because of the really high rate of vehicular theft and GTA in our neighborhood, (one car is broken into or stolen every single night within a mile of our apartment,) it's a numbers game. It's not a matter of IF we get broken into, it's WHEN. And if you leave ANYTHING in your car it's an open invitation for a busted window. This has happened to countless friends of mine out here. Even the suction mount of a GPS implies that the GPS unit might be hidden in the car, so strip it, buddy. Or pay an insurance deductible for a new window. Every week.
I parked on Franklin Street, near my street, once, and someone decided to drag their car key alllll along the side of every car on the street. Bastards.
Long story short, it got too disturbing to have to tiptoe past sleeping homeless people to get inside our cars. It's cold at night in LA, and it would be in their best interests to try and break a window- if they score something they can sell, awesome for them. If they get caught, they spend the night in jail where they can have a shower, a meal, and free butt-sex.
Plus, parking over shattered tempered glass was unsettleing- the person parked there right before you was robbed. So, we pay a monthly fee of $100 per car to park in the garage unlimited. This makes our monthly rent $1500 for a 1BD/1BTH.
For those of you keeping score,
$5,500 minus $1,300 minus $1,300 minus $200 for parking =
$2,700.
Now, if you don't become a California citizen and start paying state taxes, and getting your car emissions checks, you are taking a risk. If you're pulled over for any reason (tail light's out, you're black, etc.) then they can fine you $500 for flying under their radar. AND you have to get your car smog-checked, which is $60. Unless your car is older, and needs a new catalytic converter, which is also outrageously expensive. That times two for me and Jay... yikes.
PROVISIONS:
Groceries are cheap at Trader Joes and Target and expensive at Ralph's and Albertson's. You have to go to all four to get everything you need for a household.
We spent about $300 on cleaning supplies and restocking all our food.
This brings our total to: $2,400
You might get free cable, water and power with your building, but you'll also get a monthly gas bill in the cold months.. It's around 7 to 15 bucks each month.
INCOME:
Sign up with Central Casting so you can do background work! This costs $25 per person, but you can start work right away if you speak fluent Farsi, are old with your own poodle, a size 4 with your own stenograph machine, or have a ferrari from 1982-1987.
It's so hard to get work because so little is being made in LA, but if you call the lines at just the right time, you can get on a crowd scene or a "passerby" and be OK. Here's how the pay rate for that goes:
Extra work nets you $8/hr, if you're not in SAG. You come home with $80/day after a long day and taxes. And you don't have to pay to eat that day.
If you ARE in SAG, congratulations! (You will never work.) If you do get lucky and score a day, which will be rare, you'll get $140 or so.
Jay decided to join a Calling Service, which calls him instead of him calling an automated help line. This service charges $60 per month. Jay thinks he'll need new headshots before he goes soliciting any agents. Those will be expensive too.
So, subtract $25, $25, and $60, and that leaves us with:
$2,590.
JOBS?
I did a ton of volunteering, and worked three internships at the same time for free for three months, trying to make ANY connections which would lead to a paying job. They only lead to other non-paying jobs, because they knew I was a chump.
Occasionally, my friend Launa would hire me on (and pay me!) as a personal assistant, and a little bit of cash would float our way. This is what we used for rent, which could only be paid in cash.
I worked Halloween Horror Nights and Grinchmas while Jay took a job as a living statue in New York to try and help make ends meet. We'd been in town 6 months- we couldn't run out of money yet!
I took a job I knew I'd loathe (pornceptioning) because we needed the money. We also needed the insurance benefits, badly. So I sucked it up (metaphorically) for as long as I could, then after my insurance kicked in it was time to go. I thought I might have to travel home for some peak summer hours just to make enough money to pay rent for an empty apartment in LA. Jay was traveling as a Production Assistant, and the pay isn't terrific but it's getting us by while I'm temping and picking up the odd job around town, cleaning spiderwebs out of shoes, mopping up semen, etc.
PENNY-SAVER!
Other penny-pinching methods come in to play, too, if you get creative- visiting Planned Parenthood (a free clinic) for your lady-part needs is scary, but helpful. Food stamps are also an exciting, morale-destroying way of saving on the grocery budget. Eating bunless hot dogs- and nothing but bunless hot dogs- for a few days will surely make you smile next time you go to balance the ol' pocketbook. Fruit and meat are luxuries of the past. Forget them- you can get everything you need from a generic supplement vitamin! I've saved dozens of dollars by not shaving my legs when Jay's out of town! In fact, spending an entire day in bed, with the curtains drawn and the air conditioner mercifully blocking out the world, not eating or bathing for days on end has been a really economical way of life!
CREDIT CARDS
We'd LIVED off our remaining credit cards, which vanished FAST. I used my card to fly to and from Florida so I could stay current at Universal in case we flame out here and have no choice but to move back. I had to fly home to meet their attendance requirements, and keep a job waiting for me just in case.
Despite the fact that we'd scratched just enough work up to barely pay our rent in cash and buy food, we have been unable to create any savings. Plus, shit happens:
You will break an axle. You will be attacked by hostile natives. You will get dysentary and die. But for real- You'll get sick and have to go to the doctor. I did. ($100.) I also popped a tire on LA's swiss-cheese pot-hole streets. ($140.) My cat got really, really sick and it cost us $2,300 to save his life.
At a certain point, your credit card companies will catch on that your debt-to-income ratio has changed, and they will reduce your credit limit to practically nothing without warning. This happened to us last week.
GRAND TALLY:
This brings our Grand Total tooooo:
$290 remaining.
So, after parking passes ($200) and groceries, there goes the last of our "savings" and the last of our credit.
We're both working, and we made rent again this time, but it's slow-going to find temp work, and Jay's traveling show wraps at the end of this month.
It's been a year and two months.
And that, friends, is $10,000 worth of Los Angeles.
The answer to that is "More than $10,000."
I don't know HOW much more, but I can chronicle exactly what we spent our money on, and you can extrapolate from there, and determine how much you think you'll need for YOUR Epic Adventure.
So, without furthur ado, I humbly submit my Financial Guide to Completely Blowing $10,000...
MOVERS:
Way back in Spring of 2009, My husband Jay found a web site where we entered how much we had to move (estimated boxes, items of furniture, and distance,) and a moving company called us within a DAY with a bid to move us for only $1,200! Way too good to be true- and it was! But since we had to get 2 cars out there AND we wanted to ride together, a van seemed like the way to go. We wanted to have our Manifest Destiny adventure in a car so we could pull over and see the sights and explore our way across Rt. 66- this was a phenomenal luxury, and the one thing I'll never regret- driving together across America was an amazing journey, and you can read about it in my Manifest Destiny Journals that mark the beginning of my FB "notes."
We wanted to hire a moving van so we wouldn't have to worry. My Dad arranged to drive my car out for me once we'd settled, since he's a former pilot and can fly back for free, and wanted to drive 66 with his new wife as well. My Mom volunteered to keep our 2 cats for us until she could take them with her when she'd fly out to visit in September. This meant a trip free of yowling, miserable cats, sneaking pets in and out of "no pet" motels, and a happier stay with Jay's Aunt and Uncle, who let us live with them in Long Beach until we found an apartment. They are not cat people, but they are generous beyond belief and invited us to crash in the guest bedroom of their gorgeous condo for 5 weeks while we dealt with finding an apartment in LA.
Speaking of the generosity of others, I should also mention that if you're very lucky, a few Guardian Angels will help you along the way. Hopefully, you'll have some awesome people in your life who love you too. You'll find that love and support go a long, long, long way when you're in a new environment.
Since the bid on the moving truck was so great, we took the bait and hired the movers, who tacked on an additional $1,000 to their estimate after everything was loaded in the truck. They showed up 7 hours late, which made us miss my own farewell dinner after my Fringe play. Instead of the 5 guys they promised, two showed up. Only one spoke english- barely. A Florida downpour delayed them even furthur, and they wound us shoving paperwork in our hands saying sign, sign, while our stuff was getting soaked in the rain. We felt really uneasy. We felt trapped- but we felt like we had no choice- our stuff was either getting rained on or already on the truck, and it was 1:30 in the morning. We were exhausted. We signed. Big mistake. I came down with some sort of bizarre stomach flu and spent much of the next day barfing. I think my stomach knew we'd been cornholed.
The plan was for the Moving Company to store our stuff in a storage unit in Burbank until we found an apartment, then unload it for us when we found our new place.
Somehow, our stuff wound up being stored in Louisianna- or maybe Texas. They never did give us a straight answer, and stopped returning our calls when it was apparent that we were pissed.
HOUSE HUNTING:
Once we got to Long Beach, we'd drive the terrifying commute to LA and look for apartments, and I'd cry a lot. Apartment hunting is difficult- you have to drive around and call every posted "For Rent" sign you see, and make plans with the owner to see the unit. But hours go by in between viewings, and no one in LA will let you use their bathroom. So you sit, uncomfortably, looking at listings in a random McDonald's with WiFi, hoping that the few bucks you're spending to use their internet qualifies you to be a peeing customer. Plus, that stomach virus? Yeah, it kind of lingered, so anything I ate was a guaranteed horror-story in about 20 minutes. Being stuck in LA traffic with a belly full of rapidly-deteriorating Carl's Jr. is assuredly a lower level of Hell.
The apartments we found within our price range ($700-$900/month) were abysmal. Dark, squallid, depressing holes of depravity on shitty little streets full of barred windows and tipped over grocery carts. I would go inside, look at the hideous mouldering bathroom, the tiny windowless bedroom, and a kitchen the size of a shower stall. The owners would tell us, "oh, you'll have to buy a stove. And a refridgerator." The one window in the place inevitable featured a magnificent vista of a cinderblock wall. Each and every one we visited made me physically ill. I could clearly imagine myself living there, growing severely depressed, and hanging myself, but I doubted any of the structural support would be able to handle my dead weight. Yellowed, tumerous walls closed in on me at every turn. And I cried. I cried at McDonald's. I cried at the Chevron where we bought gas so I could pee. Pretty much anywhere I went to leak liquid, I leaked liquid. Also, since we had no jobs lined up, people were incredibly reluctant to let us rent, despite our offer to put down deposits and first AND last month's rent. They knew we weren't going to find jobs for a while. They were pretty smart.
HOME AT LAST:
We finally took a friend's suggestion and looked into the "Artiste Apartments" collection of apartment buildings. They're all over LA, and initially catered specifically ti Industry folk. Now, pretty much anyone can live there. Even people without jobs. We found a building with a unit we LOVED, on Cherokee Avenue, just off Hollywood Blvd. The Walk of Fame. The Walk of Stars. The Boulevard of Broken Dreams. We figured it was the LA equivalent to living inside the Statue of Liberty. An iconic address, a historic neighborhood steeped in movie magic and lore. It was $1,300 a month, (more than we paid in Orlando for our 3-bedroom luxury condo) but it was the LA-version of HUGE. It was bright and airy inside, and it felt happy. I couldn't envision myself swinging from any closets- but I could imagine myself typing, looking out a window. A good sign. Jay loved it too- even the building had charm. Built in the 20's as a hotel, it had survived 90 years without Earthquake damage. I felt safe from Earthquakes there. We put down our first month's rent as a deposit and waited for a unit to open up.
It was going to be another 3 weeks, but Jay's Aunt and Uncle were so kind and let us stay in their super-comfortable, clean guest bedroom. They live in a million-dollar condominium, so it was going to be an adjustment once we moved to Hollywood, but we were ready. Our next task was to track down our movers, who were still dodging our calls. Finally, we used a fake name to get our contact back on the phone. Our stuff would arrive in COMPTON within a week. (Compton is not a nice part of the world, and you DON'T want stuff stored there overnight because it won't be there the next day.)
GETTING FULLY HOSED:
They'd agreed to place our things in a smaller truck so it would fit down our tiny street, but suddenly, that was no longer part of the deal. I had finally scored paying work for the first time on "Iron Man II," so Jaime and his friend Jenn were going to have to go put our life into a U-Haul while I was at work. If I cancelled my first day at Central Casting, there was a chance they'd blacklist me and we couldn't risk it. So Jaime and Jenn went alone to Compton to get our things, and it's a damn good thing I wasn't there to see the carnage: everything we owned was in shambles- entire boxes had ripped open, cubes were crushed into spheres, legs were snapped off of furniture, anything glass had shattered, anything wooden was scratched or gouged beyond repair. A brand new unopened IKEA entertainment center we'd packed was strewn about the storage unit. Our TV dangled at a precarious 44-degree angle. Jay and Jenn took photos of the disaster scene, then loaded it while the moving representative (who did not work for the company, he was just there to "supervise,") WATCHED. To make matters worse, they wouldn't release our stuff to us unless we gave them, you guessed it, another $1,000. The "Supervisor" suggested Jay and Jenn give him a tip of a couple hundred bucks, since he'd had to spend a few hours of his day watching Jay and Jenn loading a truck. They declined.
Once Jay and Jenn arrived at our new apartment, our friend Carlos met up with them, and helped unload. Another friend, Keith, also pitched in. More photos were taken as we realized the extent of the damage, and when Jay and I began unpacking, we realized that LOTS of stuff was missing. One of a kind, irreplacable stuff. Like a crystal elephant bank we'd been given by Jay's parents as an engagement gift. And my pega-mouse. A step-ladder. Whoever rifled through our stuff had been sloppy because I found my rare limited edition X-Men comic (well, at least part of the cover of it- it was mangled and torn) "repacked" in with our automotive supplies. 60% of our dishes, which had been packed by Ericka, who packs things professionally for traveling theatre companies, were shattered.
So our move cost us $3,400 to use this moving van company.
I'd say don't use them, but they get sued so often they have a different name every week. All I can suggest is please be more cautious then we were. Way, way more cautious.
We'd saved up $10,000.
We were out $3,400.
For those of you keeping score, that left us with $6,600.
BEDDING:
We'd left my 11-year-old mattress at home, which meant we had to buy a new mattress, which was $1,000, including delivery.
This left us with $5,600.
THE MYSTERY OF LOS ANGELES REFRIDGERATORS:
In LA, most places do NOT come with a fridge- surprise! I have no idea where they GO, but they're not in any apartments when you get there. Somewhere, perhaps the La Brea Tar Pits, millions of refridgerators lie in wait of they day they are discovered by Anthropologists of the Future. These Scientists will deduce what I already know: Los Angelinos are dicks, and take their fridge away just so you can't have one.
If you Craig's list it you can get one in "decent" condition for $500.
We were fortunate to have a friend in Jenn, who is loaning us her brand-new fridge. It's clean and large and cold and we love it.
We still had $5,600.
AIR CONDITIONING:
Most places we could afford did not come with Central Air, so plan on spending at least $100 for a window box unit. Or two. You'll want two. Plan on spending $200.
We bought one unit, but again, Jenn saved the day (actually the whole Summer!) and loaned us a second unit for our bedroom window. This has been a gift that keeps on giving, because during the day, the one in our living room keeps the desert heat of the city from killing us in our apartment. It's loud and imperfect, but it's soooo cold and a joy to have. At night, the one in our bedroom acts with dual-purpose: keeping us cool and creating white noise to drown out the sounds of the raving lunatics on the streets. Our windows are ground level, so we hear EVERYTHING on our street without these as sound buffers. Every arrest, every argument, every Schizophrenic freak out, every Ambulance Siren, every wailing drunk, every chatty whore, every whining Tranny. Everything.
$5,500.
RENT AND OTHER RAPINGS:
We moved into a 1-bedroom 1-bathroom place in the heart of Hollywood. This costs us a Deposit of $1,300 and then our first month's rent was (and is) $1,300.
Because we live in Hollywood, there is NO parking. If you want to give yourself a panic attack and try to parallel park on an incline while people are zooming around you into incoming traffic while you're backing up a hill, be my guest- if you're lucky enough to find a spot. Or, you can circle, like we did, for up to 45 minutes at a time before giving in and using the city parking garage adjacent to our building. This costs $10, whether you're in there 5 minutes or 12 hours. If you're parked for 12 hours AND 5 minutes, bam- another $10.
Because of the really high rate of vehicular theft and GTA in our neighborhood, (one car is broken into or stolen every single night within a mile of our apartment,) it's a numbers game. It's not a matter of IF we get broken into, it's WHEN. And if you leave ANYTHING in your car it's an open invitation for a busted window. This has happened to countless friends of mine out here. Even the suction mount of a GPS implies that the GPS unit might be hidden in the car, so strip it, buddy. Or pay an insurance deductible for a new window. Every week.
I parked on Franklin Street, near my street, once, and someone decided to drag their car key alllll along the side of every car on the street. Bastards.
Long story short, it got too disturbing to have to tiptoe past sleeping homeless people to get inside our cars. It's cold at night in LA, and it would be in their best interests to try and break a window- if they score something they can sell, awesome for them. If they get caught, they spend the night in jail where they can have a shower, a meal, and free butt-sex.
Plus, parking over shattered tempered glass was unsettleing- the person parked there right before you was robbed. So, we pay a monthly fee of $100 per car to park in the garage unlimited. This makes our monthly rent $1500 for a 1BD/1BTH.
For those of you keeping score,
$5,500 minus $1,300 minus $1,300 minus $200 for parking =
$2,700.
Now, if you don't become a California citizen and start paying state taxes, and getting your car emissions checks, you are taking a risk. If you're pulled over for any reason (tail light's out, you're black, etc.) then they can fine you $500 for flying under their radar. AND you have to get your car smog-checked, which is $60. Unless your car is older, and needs a new catalytic converter, which is also outrageously expensive. That times two for me and Jay... yikes.
PROVISIONS:
Groceries are cheap at Trader Joes and Target and expensive at Ralph's and Albertson's. You have to go to all four to get everything you need for a household.
We spent about $300 on cleaning supplies and restocking all our food.
This brings our total to: $2,400
You might get free cable, water and power with your building, but you'll also get a monthly gas bill in the cold months.. It's around 7 to 15 bucks each month.
INCOME:
Sign up with Central Casting so you can do background work! This costs $25 per person, but you can start work right away if you speak fluent Farsi, are old with your own poodle, a size 4 with your own stenograph machine, or have a ferrari from 1982-1987.
It's so hard to get work because so little is being made in LA, but if you call the lines at just the right time, you can get on a crowd scene or a "passerby" and be OK. Here's how the pay rate for that goes:
Extra work nets you $8/hr, if you're not in SAG. You come home with $80/day after a long day and taxes. And you don't have to pay to eat that day.
If you ARE in SAG, congratulations! (You will never work.) If you do get lucky and score a day, which will be rare, you'll get $140 or so.
Jay decided to join a Calling Service, which calls him instead of him calling an automated help line. This service charges $60 per month. Jay thinks he'll need new headshots before he goes soliciting any agents. Those will be expensive too.
So, subtract $25, $25, and $60, and that leaves us with:
$2,590.
JOBS?
I did a ton of volunteering, and worked three internships at the same time for free for three months, trying to make ANY connections which would lead to a paying job. They only lead to other non-paying jobs, because they knew I was a chump.
Occasionally, my friend Launa would hire me on (and pay me!) as a personal assistant, and a little bit of cash would float our way. This is what we used for rent, which could only be paid in cash.
I worked Halloween Horror Nights and Grinchmas while Jay took a job as a living statue in New York to try and help make ends meet. We'd been in town 6 months- we couldn't run out of money yet!
I took a job I knew I'd loathe (pornceptioning) because we needed the money. We also needed the insurance benefits, badly. So I sucked it up (metaphorically) for as long as I could, then after my insurance kicked in it was time to go. I thought I might have to travel home for some peak summer hours just to make enough money to pay rent for an empty apartment in LA. Jay was traveling as a Production Assistant, and the pay isn't terrific but it's getting us by while I'm temping and picking up the odd job around town, cleaning spiderwebs out of shoes, mopping up semen, etc.
PENNY-SAVER!
Other penny-pinching methods come in to play, too, if you get creative- visiting Planned Parenthood (a free clinic) for your lady-part needs is scary, but helpful. Food stamps are also an exciting, morale-destroying way of saving on the grocery budget. Eating bunless hot dogs- and nothing but bunless hot dogs- for a few days will surely make you smile next time you go to balance the ol' pocketbook. Fruit and meat are luxuries of the past. Forget them- you can get everything you need from a generic supplement vitamin! I've saved dozens of dollars by not shaving my legs when Jay's out of town! In fact, spending an entire day in bed, with the curtains drawn and the air conditioner mercifully blocking out the world, not eating or bathing for days on end has been a really economical way of life!
CREDIT CARDS
We'd LIVED off our remaining credit cards, which vanished FAST. I used my card to fly to and from Florida so I could stay current at Universal in case we flame out here and have no choice but to move back. I had to fly home to meet their attendance requirements, and keep a job waiting for me just in case.
Despite the fact that we'd scratched just enough work up to barely pay our rent in cash and buy food, we have been unable to create any savings. Plus, shit happens:
You will break an axle. You will be attacked by hostile natives. You will get dysentary and die. But for real- You'll get sick and have to go to the doctor. I did. ($100.) I also popped a tire on LA's swiss-cheese pot-hole streets. ($140.) My cat got really, really sick and it cost us $2,300 to save his life.
At a certain point, your credit card companies will catch on that your debt-to-income ratio has changed, and they will reduce your credit limit to practically nothing without warning. This happened to us last week.
GRAND TALLY:
This brings our Grand Total tooooo:
$290 remaining.
So, after parking passes ($200) and groceries, there goes the last of our "savings" and the last of our credit.
We're both working, and we made rent again this time, but it's slow-going to find temp work, and Jay's traveling show wraps at the end of this month.
It's been a year and two months.
And that, friends, is $10,000 worth of Los Angeles.
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