Moving

Moving in general is very obnoxious.  It's one of my least favorite things; shoving all your stuff in boxes and trying to cram them into your car.  Maybe making an extra trip or two to get it all because, hell, your whole life has to be put away only be to be taken out again.  It's one big hassle.  I hate it.

That fuckin' mural.   I was so sad to see it go and
Rolfe just slapped white paint on it like it was nothing.

But sometimes it's just hard.  Emotionally.  That time I had to paint over the mural in my dorm room, when I had to leave Cary Street and college, leaving my life on the opposite coast, and right now.  God, if Bobby didn't live in a studio (and I wasn't consumed by loathing every time I saw his passive-aggressive landlords) I would probably beg him to let me stay.  As it is there is barely room to breathe, but somehow that works.  Basically because he and I work.  Miraculously, we are both the right amount of honest and laid back that sharing a space has been easy for us (I think; I mean, Bobby, I hope you agree).  Sometimes dishes are left in the sink, but at the same time neither one of us has a problem saying "could you like clean out the sink real quick?"  So it's been very pleasant living sitch.

Alice and I in As You Like It

Which has been incredibly lucky;  Bobby and I had very limited contact before he moved to the west coast, and I didn't think we'd get along so well.  Sure, we were acquaintances during As You Like It, but in a the-cast-hangs-out-after-rehersals-sometimes kind of way. Honestly, I didn't really like him at the time (Sorry Bobby!).  If not for our mutual desire to move to San Francisco, I don't think I'd talk to him now anymore than I talk to my costar Alice (read: none) who I absolutely adored.  Much like with Abigail, I feel like I've stumbled onto a pretty easy friendship that I didn't expect to exist.  Once you peel away those presentational layers of people (and living together, even for a couple weeks, can do that pretty quickly), you can find some real cool people underneath.

I'm getting too philosophical/psych major-y and not explaining my thinking enough.  The point is: Bobby's a good roomie and actually a friend. I'm reluctant to leave because I'm worried these girls will be neither.  I fear we won't connect and that they'll be uptight about random shit.

Oh well, as with this whole "move to the west coast" experience I've just gotta jump in and see what happens.

The real criteria by which I judge apartments

I secretly believe that there is some force in the universe that communicates with me through signs and metaphors (serioulsy though, I'm an atheist), and I believe that force will be telling me that an apartment is "the one" when one of three things happens while I am at a showing (if all three happen, I will shit myself):

• I eat an amazing meal in a nearby restaurant
• There is affordable gas in the neighborhood
• It is sunny

Not one of these things has happened yet; therefore, I am still homeless.

Point of interest: I had an amazing meal and it was marginally sunny when Bobby and I were in the Mission that one time; therefore, I have started looking in the Mission.

MISSED CONNECTION

To the befreckled girl in the red trench. We met at an apartment showing in the Inner Sunset. You recently moved here from Boston, you went to Northeastern for Pre-Med, but hated Physics and decided to take some time off. You've been to India and studied in Spain where they speak Spanish with a lisp. Your father went to William and Mary and this is your first time living east of the Mississippi, too. You're sleeping on a couch right now, just like me. We were both competing, to be as charming, as enticing, as interesting to these sisters so we could live in their apartment. But I only wanted to talk to you. I wanted to ask you about Boston, I wanted to know why you decided to move to San Francisco, I wanted to talk to you about sewing, and India. I didn't want to talk to them. I wanted to shut them out. I wanted you to be the one who was showing the apartment. I liked you. I felt a connection. After we left, we stood outside in the dark fog and talked about how hard it is to find a place out here, to get noticed, to make a connection. I wanted, so badly, to tell you what I was feeling. But like a 15 year old girl without experience in such matters, I looked into your eyes and hoped you would just understand. Maybe you did. I hope you did. "Can I have your number? We should be roommates!" I wanted to blurt out. How easy... how awkward. "Good luck!" we said simultaneously, turning away. *Jinx* I thought as you disappeared into the fog.

Where I Live Now

"Melissa, this post doesn't seem like it's going to be about that job you alluded to on facebook a couple week ago." You're sure right! It's isn't. I'll post about it eventually I promise, just haven't really wanted to, yet.

I'm staying in a cottage behind a strange little house that looks like it hasn't been updated since 1951, save maybe a coat of paint or two. From the front it's a quaint little white house with blue shutters, from the back it's a quaint little blue house with white shutters. And then parts of it are red too, very patriotic you could say. The paint, of course, is pealing in big patches that you almost don't notice because the grass is so overgrown and faded red car in the driveway is such an eyesore. It's dusty windows and backseat full of junk make you wonder if it's there to drive, or because they ran out of storage space in the shed.

The shed is a nightmare adventure from an episode of Hoarders or American Pickers. To quote Bobby, "When I got here there was no room for bikes." Dusty, smelly, and dark I can't imagine there is actually anything they care about in there. I think the first thing I saw was a row of tropical colored T-shirts eaten away by insects and time. And each time I open it up I see something new. Last time I found what looked like an old 1970's style public school desk. I've also found more clothes than I can fathom, an armoir, and another bike. It's like a page out of Eye Spy in there.

And then AND THEN you go to the backyard. OH MAN. Talk about finding something new everyday. I honestly don't understand. There's so much garbage in these people's backyard that you can barely find the cottage. And I can't understand how it got there. Sure, the gardening supplies, the outdoor furniture, those make sense. But it's the tea-sets, the rugs, and plastic containers that throw me. What thought process goes "Oh, I am just going to leave this tea set out here, and never miss it." How do you not need your tea set later? How do you not notice it when you back outside? How do you decide to just wait and get it later? It's in a stack! Just pick it up and take it inside! There are ceramic pots crushed into the soil under the flowers. I know they compost here, but I don't really think that's how it works.

I'm being harsh; they are very nice people- the landlords who live in the house and leave teapots in the yard and t-shirts in the shed... I just don't understand. To Bobby's credit, he's doing a really good job fixing the cottage up. It's very homey on the inside and I've been charged with watering his plants while he's away. On the front of the place at least. After the front facade, it's a jungle. There's this structure on the side of the house that I just can't identify and mystery furniture hidden under some of the plant debris that Bobby's cleared from the front. There are bricks and stepping stones under layers of leaves, vines, and out of control bushes. Also extra trashcans. Full. Can't be without those.

Well, babysteps I guess. Honestly it's a really nice space and I'm really enjoying staying here with all its quirky charm and sunny East Bay weather. I have to admit that I do have this really strong desire to give the front door a fresh coat of paint. A nice bold color. The cottage is white, so I'm thinking mauve or plum, a nice deep purple. I actually think it could work. But I'm a pretty flashy person, so maybe I should refrain from repainting while Bobby's away. Not many guys would jive with a purple front door, haha.

Apartment Hunting is Like Auditioning

All you need is about a minute and a half of the other person's time to know definitively if it's going to work out.

This woman called me for a "phone interview" and made it so difficult to have a conversation, and then just wouldn't shut up long enough for me to get a word in, and then paused at these really awkward times like she wanted me to comment, and I just didn't understand what she wanted me to say and ohmygodpeople: I think I hate them.

East Bay

I must be impossible to live with or have some severe personality defect because I almost never get along with my roommates. San Francisco is a very expensive city, and one of the biggest draws of looking elsewhere was the lower cost of living. For awhile I was ready to pick up and move to Denver just because I could get a large one bedroom for the price of a closet in a house with 4 roomies in San Fran (hell, I'm still considering it).

Living in San Francisco is a bit more expensive than living in D.C. (except the metro isn't such a rip off). A decent one bedroom is about $2,000/month. In Denver, a one bedroom that makes me go "what in the world would one person need all that space for?!" is about $800/month.

So the point is, unless I was moving to Denver, I was pretty much resigned to the fact that I would have a roommate (or 4) that I would undoubtedly hate. Which was, without me realizing it, totally stressing me out. Recently, my friend Bobby (who did exactly what I'm doing last year) told me to check out the East Bay where he's living now. I rummage through some old emails from my cousin who lives out there and she gives me some specific neighborhoods. Oh my gosh, am I glad I did.

I could totally afford a one bedroom/studio in the East Bay.

I reconcile the idea that I wouldn't be living in the city by running two sentences through my head: "You'd live in Arlington wouldn't you?" (In a heartbeat) and something Bobby said, "The people in East Bay are more down to earth than the people in the city" (I don't doubt this for a second. Seriously, you should see some of the apartment listings: 'New roommate must be a vegetarian working for a non-profit willing to ride their bike everywhere and be a productive member of our start-up commune'... yikes!).

So, I feel a little lighter, and a little more determined to head to SF in August. Thanks for the good advice Bobby!