The last hurrah

January 31st, 2012

I’ve never had issues sleeping, but these past few days I’ve been super restless. My brain feels overloaded with so many things that need to be done and the challenges of house hunting.

When I awake at 10.45am, I am both grateful and surprised. I’m rapidly up, coffee drained from the pot and onto the computer – my IV drip of life. Picking through Craigs List with a fine tooth comb, I wonder how many hours I’ve spent trawling this site? Phone calls across LA. I speak with Solomon in Beverley Hills who works at the plush Mister C hotel as a concierge. We have a lovely chat. His parents are looking for someone to rent a room in their home. They sound elderly and although initially an attractive offer, are perhaps not the flat mates I am looking for. ‘Regardless’ he says, ‘We should meet at the hotel for a drink. I want to introduce you to some people’. Let’s see how that one pans out!?

Today I have more house viewings and have decided to hire a car to get me around town. As I’m leaving to collect the car I can feel the back crunch of period cramps kicking in. A couple of pain killers down the hatch, and off I go with my new smart phone in hand. A local bus through Hollywood, over the hills to Burbank to collect my hire car, watching my GPS navigator all the while and marvelling over my new toy. Ahhh technology.

By the time I get to the rent a car outlet (a fair mission) and right in the middle of the customer service man explaining the 6 different lots of tax about to be charged to my credit card, my vision starts to blur. My brow and upper lip break into a sudden sweat. I feel like I’m in a street fighter video game and I’ve just received an upper cut to the jaw. Kapow! I’m light headed, woozy and can no longer concentrate – here come the cramps in full effect. ‘You looked stressed Ma’am’ the customer service man says. ‘No I am actually feeling really ill, I need to sit down’ I reply. I stumble to the edge of the reception area, find a seat, whilst desperately wanting to lie on the cold floor. He looks on alarmed, disappears and then comes back with a security guard. A few minutes later I muster my energy. I’ve signed all the forms in a haze of pain and bought 4 different kinds of insurance ‘God forbid Ma’am you should have an accident and someone winds up in hospital’. I have the keys. I make for the car. Lot 1B I chant in my mind. I’m in the car on the back seat, eyes closed, sweat now pouring off my forehead and from the back of my neck. I open my eyes and view a spinning air vent on the roof in front. I focus on the vent and deep breathing whilst meditating on the thought; I am not in pain, I am fine, I am feeling fine, everything is going to be alright. Then there’s this overwhelming feeling of being so very alone. I take my pulse. It seems very slow. I have a dramatic moment of thinking what if I die in the back seat? (I know, I know, ridiculous) followed by the more practical, I have house viewings in an hour and half – I’ve got to be fine! Within 45 minutes I’m sitting up. The back of my dress is drenched. I get myself together and head back into the hire reception, apologise and explain the situation. I reassure him, ‘I’m fine to drive a vehicle. Now could you please explain what all these taxes and insurance charges are?’. The cost of the car was supposed to be $9 a day, not $48! Californian tax, airport tax, this tax, that tax. Boom. By this point, what’s done is done, I’ve signed the papers. At best, I am no longer in pain. I hop in the car and take the 2 freeway heading east.

6 house viewings ahead of me. The first is in a great big old house in Korea town. I discover on arrival that the Russian owner is out of town and has the key to the room, so I can’t actually view the room. Great. Peter greets me. He’s 50 odd and came to LA to be a comedian. The long and short of his story is, it never happened. Peter is now a security guard in a bank. He cracks bad and slightly inappropriate jokes whilst talking in a defeated tone. Jonathan appears and kind of saves the day, simply by acting in a normal fashion. He’s a Brit actor, who has been in town many years. We share a cup of tea. I marvel at the huge yard and great space. It’s got a lot of potential, but I have a feeling Peter is going to do my head in. As I’m about to depart, I realise my phone has died and I need it to navigate my way to the next viewing. Thankfully Jonathan has the same phone. I get charged enough to find my way to Silverlake; an area I’m told was the once a hot spot to buy crack, but now a haven of trendy hipsters and cafes. The house is sat behind a big gate. A gate which is locked. I check my phone. It’s dead. Oh no! What to do? I am shouting into the darkness as dogs start barking from every direction. ‘Spencer? Spppeeeennncerrrrr?’. No response. I start wolf whistling, as you do, feeling like a right royal lunatic. A head pops from the upstairs landing as I’m giggling at how silly this all is. They live in the top half of this house and are renting out a small room for top dollar. I can do better than this, I think. Before leaving I get help directing me to my next destination. I meet two gorgeous girls, also in Silverlake and luckily just around the corner. They live in a lovely apartment with killer views. You can see the hills, Hollywood sign, and over Silverlake. One girl is an architect, the other a film producer. I take a rental form and think this could be home. More directions and paper maps drawn to get me to my next stop up the hill to Mt Washington. I’m driving round and around, but can’t find the place. I pull into a service station at the bottom of the hill hoping they might be able to help and end up using the attendants phone to call the next potential flat mate. ‘I’ve been texting you’, he says. ‘I’m not home yet. Can we reschedule?’. Moving swiftly on to the next viewing with Heiko the German from Stuttgart. He looks as if he’s been wrestling with an electricity socket and hasn’t slept in days. I am running out of time, my schedule is out after being lost. I need to be back in West Hollywood for my final viewing in 30 minutes. This has got to be snappy, but this guy does not understand my rush, even though I explain ‘I’m sorry but I have to be…’ Blah blah blah. He talks at a snail’s pace about random things. A housemate comes out, says a brief hello and disappears. Heiko is very serious, very German and there’s something vaguely unsettling about him. The room available is a dream. The closet is so large the current tenant has a double blow up mattress in there for when guests stay. If only the house wasn’t quite so far away from everything and Heiko didn’t linger in the strange department. I got the feeling he was perhaps lonely and craving a good conversation. I finally get out the door and am sitting in the car when tap-tap-tap on the window in an almost pitch dark cul-de-sac Heiko’s standing at the window. ‘I thought you might need directions’ he says. ‘Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. Sorry, no I’m fine. Thank you. See you’, I mutter feeling a bit spooked. I drive round the corner just to be away from the house. I’m sure he was watching me from the balcony. Eeeekkkkk. I proceed to get incredibly lost, drive in circles and am on the verge of tears. Exhausted, I find myself cursing loudly, before somehow navigating my way home.

When I finally arrive back in Weho it’s too late to do the last viewing. I share the day’s events with the girls and then get back on to Craigs list. It feels relentless. I get into bed hoping the girls in Silverlake come through, or perhaps the house in Korea town could be a starting point. I am so ready to move on to the next LA mission. Acting.

House hunting 101

28th of January, 2012

HUGE day in LA. Oh my Gawwwwwdddddd! Time to find me a new home.

My dear friend Frankie very kindly offers to be my driver and wing woman for the day. Little do I realise what a God send she’ll be! As we traverse LA in it’s near entirety, encountering in every port of call a new story and massive education in the share house market, I feel more and more grateful to have a compadre by my side.

We head to our first stop in Hollywood to meet with Dana. The first impressions of this potential home are not looking good; unless it’s a half way house you’re after. As I look down the drive way I realise the Californian bungalows so charmingly described on Craigs List are surrounded by filth, a dumpster and shopping trolleys laden with dirty blankets and plastic bagged personal items used by the homeless as mobile homes. I’m sure she said a lawyer lived here?! The bungalows of which there are 3 are an absolute disaster; they look hurricane ravaged and derelict. A loud voice diverts our attention. ‘Miss Aussstralliaaaa!’. Here is she is – our friendly host Dana with a scabbed up, half beaten and bloated face, wearing a ripped guns and roses t-shirt.  ‘Come on in!’ she cries. Two steps into this place, one glance at the rusty cess pit of a kitchen and we have to get out. I don’t know why or how we even made it this far. ‘I’m so sorry but this is NOT what I am looking for’. ‘OK, nooo problem’. She seems to vanish into a side room, or perhaps down a trap door as we rapidly step back into the driveway. Frankie and I quietly roll our eyes, until we’re in the safety of her car to momentarily ponder what the hell was that?!!!! Acceleration station and we are hooning up the street.

We navigate our way to a lovely looking house in the heart of Hollywood. I meet Nate who’s not long in from the airport having picked up his wife and kids from the airport. They’ve just returned from visiting relatives in Japan. He’s a musician and knows Australia well. He casually drops into conversation he’s been out there a lot to see his old friend Kate Cebrano. I take a look around, but despite his charm, the location and nice house, it doesn’t work. I’d be living with 8 people in total. Him, his wife and two adorable kids occupying the upstairs, and 4 random people, whom I didn’t meet, living downstairs in tiny bedrooms. There’s a pokey kitchen and dark communal living room. I start to think I’m never going to find something quite right.

We take a brunch break and head to a favourite spot of Frankies; ‘Toast’.

We enjoy a sumptuous feast and ginormous iced coffee, whilst contemplating the local fashion. Between a beige bandana worn as a sweat band and a man in a two piece matching camel faux suede suit with geometric patterning cut from its breast piece, I don’t know where to look. It’s like an early 90’s flash back. Later Frankie comes out with a magnificent quote; ‘LA is the place where fashion comes to die’. I wish I had photos to bear witness.

We head on to the next meet, north to Sherman Oaks (north LA). It’s a good location in terms of being near the studios (because of course I will be required to work there sooner rather than later), but it’s just a little bit away from all the action. I meet with Kelly, who seems normal. We climb the stairs of her apartment and there’s a plastic hospital like screen covering off an area and a sign that says Keep Out. I assume there are renovations or something of the sort going on, so I ask. Kelly responds that behind the curtain is where she lives! A la Wizard of Oz! She shows me the room. There are views of the majestic LA mountains, it’s an ok size, so I ask to see the kitchen. ‘Oh no, there’s no kitchen, one of the last tenants burnt it down’ she says. ‘But you’ve got a microwave right there sweetie’. I let her know that I like cooking and a kitchen is important, to which she seems put out. ‘Most of the people who live here are on the go. You can get ready meals from Trader Joes up the road’.

OH dear.

We’re back in the car and heading to Korea town (East LA). An area that’s fast becoming the new place to be with cheaper rent, great Korean bbq restaurants and close to the vibing Down town district. I meet Chris who writes recipes for a living. The house smells like cat piss of which he owns two and is extremely grotty. He’s a cool enough guy, but the gobs of hair in the bath tub make me quietly retch and the black near burn marks all over the carpet doesn’t really do it for me.

I feel deflated. I feel like my criteria is somehow too demanding. I want for too much. The right price, right area, cool people, a little outdoor space to flap my wings, transport near by….is that too much to ask for?!

We head to Frankie’s mate Sam’s house. Her and her bf have recently moved into a 1920’s Chateau style apartment block. There are a number of these stunning buildings dotted round LA with divine courtyards and artsy boho vibes.

We have some tea and chats. It’s a necessary breather in a mammoth day. So many thoughts are whirling round my head. What to do, what to do???

We head home and decide on a little unwind time at a nail spa just around the corner. There are two in one block ( not uncommon I discover, nail spas are everywhere). We take our pick and very gratefully kick back with feet soaking in hot bubbling water, magazines in hand and start the massage option on our reclining lounges. Ahhhh, bliss.

With toe and fingernails painted and recent celeb goss caught up on; we head home for a little down time before heading to a local bar called Winstons. It’s rammed, sweaty and big banging hip hop tunes fill the space. The crowd sings along to tunes I’ve never heard before, booties drop, hands wave in the air, couples gyrate. I’m dazed. The wicked illustrations on the wall catch my eye. I quietly take it all in. A beer or two later, I’m busting out power moves, taking it to the floor and back up again.Then it’s 2am and home time. Hallejuah, this gal is ready for bed! It’s been one seriously long day.