Re-reading my journal lately, I noticed I kinda sound like a manic-depressive. Anywa, I'm not. I'm really a decently happy person, I swear. However, I am going to post this one last pissy (and lengthy) post about housing just to finish off the bad vibes, exorcise the demons and whatnot. So sorry about this.
the hunt
I've been afraid to write about this for reasons of pure, silly superstition that talking about something makes you less likely to receive it. However, though I do believe in God (in my own little way to be sure) I do NOT believe that God would punish me for talking about something I'm excited about. Though he/she probably should because I always do this. I think and dwell and think and dwell and then get my "wittle" heart broken. Which is silly, immature and illogical, and SOOO me. And also because I knew what a lengthy, self-indulgent rant it would turn out to be.
So I've moved three times in three years since I have come to Los Angeles and while I can say that I have seen more of the city up close and personal than some lifetime residents (my last roommate never lived further than three miles from her high school and STILL lives over there!) I can also say I am starting to feel like a nomad and an economic victim. While moving forms such a big part of who I am to the point I am making a half-hour video artwork about it, I moved into the space that I have right now thinking it would be my last space in LA. It was a little out of our price range but the deposit, move-in deal, location, look and feel were all right on. The Boy and I moved in two months later (also the only apartment building willing to hold an apartment empty for us for over a month) with all kinds of relief and expectations. Relief now has transformed into rent anxiety and expectations have been dashed to pieces.
I love the city, I really do. And I even got into a tiny-fight with an old dear friend about it- Isn't it better to make the city accessable to the middle class? Why push the middle class further and further into the peripheral so they don't see or feel the ecological, economic and social impications of turning a Downtown center into a corral for homelessness and hoity-toity penthouses? But here we are- gas is over $2.50 a gallon and is actually, unfathomably, (among other economic facotrs of course) affecting our ability to pay the rent. I got a new job. I got a raise. And we still can't pay the rent. The Boy works long hours. The Boy works Saturdays. And we still can't pay the rent. Meanwhile, my building is busy at work breaking all kinds of promises which I might be a little more forgiving of if I wasn't sending in my rent check on the fifth instead of the first for the past three months. I'm unhappy. I'm up at six to the sound of construction. I can't pay my rent. I don't feel safe. I don't feel comfortable around the new staff they've hired. And I still can't pay the rent. My bike got stolen. My friend was assaulted walking home from work. No one "takes responsibility." No one is "liable." I love Downtown. But I don't love drowning in a sea of apathy. And I certainly don't love not being able to PAY MY FUCKING RENT.
So we're trying to move. We're going to try and break the lease and go somewhere else. Somewhere cheaper and bigger. Somewhere with grass, albeit a little bit of it. But dammit, I'm not leaving the city. I love the city and I believe what I believe. But sometimes it's really hard to stand by that. We found a great place and we were the first to see it. Then all of a sudden a second couple emerges out of the ether and now early next week we find out if we were the lucky ones. Meanwhile, our not-so-old age, our not-so-good credit and our not-so-desirable (to landlords) pets are under scrutiny and we can't do anything about it. It's not a court case- we can't defend ourselves ("I was eighteen! My mom lost her job, I had to get a credit card! I swear to god I take money seriously!") It's just a fucking apartment. But here, it feels like a life-or-death struggle. It feels like a Gladiators battle for housing.
I tried to have this conversation with my Dad the other day. I guess I wanted someone outside of my frame of reference to understand, or at least try to. My Dad works construction and was less than receptive.
"Everyone wants it built until it inconveniences them."
"That's not the point, Dad. the point is they made promises and didn't keep them. And this isn't exactly a cheap place to live."
"If you want to have this argument you're going to lose."
You're right Dad, I AM probably going to lose. At least that's how it feels right now. But Jesus, is it so wrong to want to be the winner? And all I want to win is a clean, comfortable place to live that I can afford and I know I am getting my money's worth. And I want to stay in the city. I know people can do it- I hear the glory stories all the time.
"My friend found an amazing place in Silver Lake last year for $850!"
"I got a two-bedroom in Hollywood with hardwood floors for $1200!"
"Just last week my sister rented this amazing loft for only $1000!"
I have this work friend who summed it up best when she said, "The thing about LA is that you know all these things are fucked up about it. And yet you still love it and want to stay. Something about it just makes you want to stay. Maybe because it's always such a battle for the little things, that if you left it would feel like you lost or gave up, and you're slinking away with your tail between your legs."
So there it is. My rant. Definitely making a big deal out of something little to be sure, but just had to get it off my chest. Thanks for reading.
the hunt
I've been afraid to write about this for reasons of pure, silly superstition that talking about something makes you less likely to receive it. However, though I do believe in God (in my own little way to be sure) I do NOT believe that God would punish me for talking about something I'm excited about. Though he/she probably should because I always do this. I think and dwell and think and dwell and then get my "wittle" heart broken. Which is silly, immature and illogical, and SOOO me. And also because I knew what a lengthy, self-indulgent rant it would turn out to be.
So I've moved three times in three years since I have come to Los Angeles and while I can say that I have seen more of the city up close and personal than some lifetime residents (my last roommate never lived further than three miles from her high school and STILL lives over there!) I can also say I am starting to feel like a nomad and an economic victim. While moving forms such a big part of who I am to the point I am making a half-hour video artwork about it, I moved into the space that I have right now thinking it would be my last space in LA. It was a little out of our price range but the deposit, move-in deal, location, look and feel were all right on. The Boy and I moved in two months later (also the only apartment building willing to hold an apartment empty for us for over a month) with all kinds of relief and expectations. Relief now has transformed into rent anxiety and expectations have been dashed to pieces.
I love the city, I really do. And I even got into a tiny-fight with an old dear friend about it- Isn't it better to make the city accessable to the middle class? Why push the middle class further and further into the peripheral so they don't see or feel the ecological, economic and social impications of turning a Downtown center into a corral for homelessness and hoity-toity penthouses? But here we are- gas is over $2.50 a gallon and is actually, unfathomably, (among other economic facotrs of course) affecting our ability to pay the rent. I got a new job. I got a raise. And we still can't pay the rent. The Boy works long hours. The Boy works Saturdays. And we still can't pay the rent. Meanwhile, my building is busy at work breaking all kinds of promises which I might be a little more forgiving of if I wasn't sending in my rent check on the fifth instead of the first for the past three months. I'm unhappy. I'm up at six to the sound of construction. I can't pay my rent. I don't feel safe. I don't feel comfortable around the new staff they've hired. And I still can't pay the rent. My bike got stolen. My friend was assaulted walking home from work. No one "takes responsibility." No one is "liable." I love Downtown. But I don't love drowning in a sea of apathy. And I certainly don't love not being able to PAY MY FUCKING RENT.
So we're trying to move. We're going to try and break the lease and go somewhere else. Somewhere cheaper and bigger. Somewhere with grass, albeit a little bit of it. But dammit, I'm not leaving the city. I love the city and I believe what I believe. But sometimes it's really hard to stand by that. We found a great place and we were the first to see it. Then all of a sudden a second couple emerges out of the ether and now early next week we find out if we were the lucky ones. Meanwhile, our not-so-old age, our not-so-good credit and our not-so-desirable (to landlords) pets are under scrutiny and we can't do anything about it. It's not a court case- we can't defend ourselves ("I was eighteen! My mom lost her job, I had to get a credit card! I swear to god I take money seriously!") It's just a fucking apartment. But here, it feels like a life-or-death struggle. It feels like a Gladiators battle for housing.
I tried to have this conversation with my Dad the other day. I guess I wanted someone outside of my frame of reference to understand, or at least try to. My Dad works construction and was less than receptive.
"Everyone wants it built until it inconveniences them."
"That's not the point, Dad. the point is they made promises and didn't keep them. And this isn't exactly a cheap place to live."
"If you want to have this argument you're going to lose."
You're right Dad, I AM probably going to lose. At least that's how it feels right now. But Jesus, is it so wrong to want to be the winner? And all I want to win is a clean, comfortable place to live that I can afford and I know I am getting my money's worth. And I want to stay in the city. I know people can do it- I hear the glory stories all the time.
"My friend found an amazing place in Silver Lake last year for $850!"
"I got a two-bedroom in Hollywood with hardwood floors for $1200!"
"Just last week my sister rented this amazing loft for only $1000!"
I have this work friend who summed it up best when she said, "The thing about LA is that you know all these things are fucked up about it. And yet you still love it and want to stay. Something about it just makes you want to stay. Maybe because it's always such a battle for the little things, that if you left it would feel like you lost or gave up, and you're slinking away with your tail between your legs."
So there it is. My rant. Definitely making a big deal out of something little to be sure, but just had to get it off my chest. Thanks for reading.