There's No Place Like Home *clicks heels

This Is My Life

Below is an email to a friend who wanted to know why I'm leaving LA again.

1857 N Wilton Pl, Los Angeles CA 90028. <------ That's why I'm leaving. Moving into this "dream apartment" was the worst thing that has ever happened to me.


Hi X,

I wrote a book here, so pardon the length... but I know you appreciate a good story. :)

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Remember that apartment I mentioned moving into last December? The one that was "the best thing that has happened to me in years?" The one that "wants only to be graceful and beautiful?" The antiquated historical monument where John Huston lived in 1933? My ultimate cinematic reverie?

Well, that fantastic phantasm dissolved into the most nightmarish ordeal I've ever endured.

How?

It all began mid-June, when I started noticing (what I thought were) mosquito bites each morning. I assumed the buggers got into the apartment through the holes that the sparrows tore in my kitchen window screen (which was a gauzy fabric-y material that they were using for their nests). So I taped up the holes.

But I was still being bitten every night. I thought maybe it was a spider, so I cleaned and cleaned and washed the bedding in hot water, etc.

And STILL. the bites were more frequent and more serious--they were like welts, actually. My arms looked like they had track marks. The bites were all over my face, arms, legs, feet. Everything. I have pictures, but I'll spare you.

It got so I couldn't sleep at all.

I asked my building manager if anyone else was getting these mysterious bites. He said "no."

My mom visited me last May and noted the birds that were nesting outside my window in the heating duct... and she suggested maybe I had "bird mites." So I had the building maintenance guy seal off the duct (which, fortunately was vacant at the moment--no birds were harmed in this story!).

I bought Mite-a-cide. I bought DDT. I bought every repellant for every pest known to man. I slept with the lights on. I just couldn't imagine what was biting me.

It actually occurred to me in a moment of weakness that maybe I had (GASP) scabies. SCABIES!!!??? I thought, "who the hell gets scabies from nobody?!" Because "nobody" was who I had been hanging out with during my classes. My doctor assured me that I did NOT have scabies, but that I did need to be careful about getting a Staph infection--some of the welts were starting to look gnarly.

I asked my building manager to have my apartment inspected by an exterminator. The "exterminator" said he didn't find any trace of anything, and he apparently left without spraying.

I said to the building manager, "Make him come back! He needs to spray! I'm being eaten alive!!" And building manager said he "didn't have time for this bullshit." He brushed me off completely for a week.

So I cried. For days I cried. I hadn't been sleeping mind you, so I was not behaving rationally at this point.

A week passes. Then a knock on my door. It's the building manager, looking sheepish. "We'll be spraying your apartment tomorrow. We'll also be spraying a few other apartments. And the family who lives below you is being evicted; they are ground-zero for one of the worst bed bug infestations I've ever seen."

BED BUGS!!!! Grooooooossssss! That was what had been biting me!

I actually rejoiced. At least I wasn't crazy! And an exterminator was coming! My hero! My savior!

I moved all my furniture away from the walls; removed all my pictures from the walls. I bought an air-tight plastic mattress cover. I bagged all my clothes, washed every piece. I scoured every inch of the bed frame, sprayed it endlessly with phenoxybenzyl cyclopropanecarboxylate / N-octyl bicycloheptene dicarboximide (aka "Good Night").

Did I mention I washed everything I own? Twice? I spent several days at the laundromat. I did something like 28 loads of industrial sized laundry.

When the exterminator sprayed my apartment he said, "you should see the place below you--the bugs are crawling the walls in broad daylight."

But sprayed he did and I felt incredibly relieved. That night I had the first good night of sleep I'd had in a month. And when I woke up I found.............. NEW BITES.

What happened next was a series of frustrating events: staying at the Farmer's Daughter Hotel for a week ($$$), throwing out TONS of clothes, books, magazines, my map collection, throwing out my beautiful bed (I've been sleeping on my kitchen chairs, lined up in a row), arguing that my carpets need to be ripped out (the building manager refused).

Because it turns out that bed bugs can live 18 months without feeding, I have to get rid of almost everything, and what few possessions I decide to keep need to sit in a storage unit for two years. So my lovely parents rented a "POD" that is presently in my Mom's back yard... I am shipping small (hopefully decontaminated) boxes with my most valued possessions, and she is putting them in the pod for two years. Everything else is in the garbage. I had to slash/deface my beautiful upholstered chairs so that no one would take them and risk cross-contamination. Instead of Goodwill, almost all of my clothes went in the garbage.

I've lost everything. I'm like a newborn baby. And, appropriately, I want my mommy. So I am moving back to MN to recuperate. My parents are helping me with the expense of completely re-furbishing my new apartment, which is the only good thing to come out of this.

My new apartment!!!!

It's right by St. Anthony Main, it's a beautiful 2 bedroom with a lovely garden, a fireplace, a garage. And it's CHEAPER than my studio in Hollywood.

If you were to tell me six weeks ago that I'd want to run screaming from this apartment, I'd have told you that you were insane. And I certainly never thought I'd want to go back to Minneapolis. But right now there's nothing I want more.

So that's my story! Life is weird, isn't it.

Tagged

It's 12:30 AM and I'm uber-wired from studying, so I decided to fill out this 45-question meme.

Hopefully I will bore myself to sleep...




1. What kind of SOAP is in your bathtub right now?
Cremosin Tval

2. Do you have any watermelon in your refrigerator?
No, but there's grapefruit, strawberries and melon.

3. What would you change about your living room?
It'd be nice to just have one (4oo square foot studio), but I'm NOT complaining. I love this apartment.

4. Are the dishes in your dishwasher clean or dirty?
don't have a dishwasher (hand wash only), but I can't sleep unless they're clean.

5. What is in your fridge?
Spinach, greek feta, roma tomatoes, dill havarti, cucumber, baby carrots, hummus, milk, iced tea, yogurt, eggs, bread, grapefruit juice, green goddess juice, tapatillo and various other hot sauces & dressings, sliced turkey... plus various meats are frozen in the freezer.

6. White or wheat bread?
Funny: I bought a loaf of buttermilk white for the 1st time in my life this week. So good. But I usually buy Ezekiel.

7. What is on top of your refrigerator?
sugar packets, honey, olive oil, wine (if I have it), balsamic, peanut butter, cereal, cereal bars, more cereal.

8. What color or design is on your shower curtain?
a map of the world.

9. How many plants are in your home?
13

10. Is your bed made right now?
Yes. I make it as soon as I get up.

11. Comet or Soft Scrub?
Comet, although I know it's sort of toxic. I'm a clean freak.

12. Is your closet organized?
there are five closets in this awesome apartment, so yes... they are organized because there's room for everything for once in my life.

13. Can you describe your flashlight?
it's waiting in the night stand with a fresh battery. Not sure what else to say.

14. Do you drink out of glass or plastic most of the time at home?
It's probably a tie, although I love to drink iced beverages out of glass mason jars.


15. Do you have iced tea made in a pitcher right now?
yes

16. If you have a garage, is it cluttered?
no garage... but my trunk is rather cluttered at the moment.

17. Curtains or blinds?
Both; blinds and curtains on almost all windows.

18. How many pillows do you sleep with?
There are 4 on the bed, 2 on each side.

19. Do you sleep with any lights on at night?
No lights. There's enough ambient light from outside.

20. How often do you vacuum?
Pretty regularly. Once a week or as needed.

21. Standard toothbrush or electric?
Standard, elbow grease-powered.

22. What color is your toothbrush?
I replace them so often... I'm not sure.

23. Do you have a welcome mat on your front porch?
don't have a front porch.

24. What is in your oven right now?
Nothing. It's a manual ignite antique Wedgewood and I'm scared of it (for good reason).

25. Is there anything under your bed?
A collapsed box.

26. Chore you hate doing the most?
I don't "hate" any chores; I love the apartment, clothes, etc... so looking after it all is a pleasure.

27. What retro items are in your home?
a lot of antiques, but nothing really "retro" in the sixties/seventies sense of the word.

28. Do you have a separate room that you use as an office?
there's a nook that formerly housed a murphy bed, which is where my desk/computer is. And there is a separate wardrobe area with a built-in chaise lounge where I read sometimes... and a table/chairs in my kitchen where I frequently study. So yes, cumulatively I have an office space.

29. How many mirrors are in your home?
5 large mirrors

30. Do you have any hidden emergency money around your home?
no. Good idea, though.

31. What color are your walls?
Depends on what part of the apartment: pinks, golds, greens and reds.

32. Do you keep any kind of protection weapons in your home?
yes, I am a dangerous weapon.

33. What does your home smell like right now?
it always smells faintly sweet; I'm notorious for this. Not sure what the smell is, likely an amalgam.

34. Favorite candle scent?
lime, tea rose, or maybe vanilla sometimes

35. What kind of pickles (if any) are in your refrigerator right now?
No pickles, but tangy pepperoncini for sandwiches.

36. What color is your favorite Bible?
I have a beautiful leather-bound gold-leaf King James that my Grandma gave me, which I treasure.

37. Ever been on your roof?
Yes, amazing view of the Hollywood sign, Grifith Park... and all of Hollywood for that matter.

38. Do you own a stereo?
I have various sound system accoutrements, yes.

39. How many TVs do you have?
One little tiny old TV that my friend Aly K gave me when she moved away.

40. How many house phones?
Just my iPhone these days.

41. Do you have a housekeeper?
No, I like to clean.

42. What style do you decorate in?
I don't have a "style" that I can identify, but I was born into a family with great taste and they keep giving me things.

43. Do you like solid colors in furniture or prints?
I have never owned printed furniture but I think a seersucker love seat would be awesome.

44. Is there a smoke detector in your home?
Yes, several. And they all work. Trust me.

45. In case of fire, what are the items in your house which you’d grab if you only could make one quick trip?
car keys, banking info, passport, maybe a few treasures... like that bible my grandma gave me.

δίγαμμα

I've spent the last hour pouring over the latest magnificently illustrated column by the marvelous Maria Kalman. It's a beautiful tribute to a brilliant, insatiably curious Renaissance man. Check it out. Kalman notes that the subject spoke six languages and was also "a scientist, philosopher, statesman, architect, musician, naturalist, zoologist, botanist, farmer, bibliophile, inventor, art and wine connoisseur, mathematician... [as well as] Govenor, Secretary of State, Minister to the Court of Louis XVI, Vice President, President..."

The mind reels.

I can't help but wonder what it must be like to have all portions of the brain functioning at maximum capacity, and how it must feel to see it all come together-- art and reason, math and "beauty." For my entire life, the math part of my brain has been functionally catatonic... what do mathematicians mean when they say "math is beautiful?"

I'm learning about Greek architecture in one of my classes, and my course textbook states that the Parthenon "may be expressed algebraically as x = 2y + 1." The book goes on to state that the "stylobates ratio of length to width is 9:4, because 9 = (2 x 4) + 1." (Gardner's Art Through the Ages: A Global History, 13th Edition, Volume 1, pp 127).

But it's not just buildings (which are in essence configurations of geometry) that can be explained in this way. The book also covers Pythagoras' assertion that "harmonic chords in music are produced on the lyre at regular intervals that may be expressed as ratios of whole numbers--2:1, 3:2, 4:3. He and his followers, the Pythagoreans, believed more generally that underlying proportions could be found in all of nature, determining the form of the cosmos as well as of things on earth that beauty resided in harmonious numerical ratios. By this resoning, a perfect statue would be one constructed according to an all-encompassing mathematical formula."(pp 124)

A statue? Really??

Huh.

This September I'll begin studying algebra... so maybe my teacher can explain this concept to me, because I just can't grasp it. It's like the math part of my brain is a dead limb. I can yell at it and poke it with a stick... I could even hurl a discus at it... but it just lies there, lifeless and inert. Wake up, right brain!! If algebra doesn't rouse you, maybe my forthcoming astronomy class will. Consider yourself warned, you lazy motha.

It's ten-thirty peee-eem, on June first, in the year of two thousand and nine.

I'm valiantly trying to stay awake after a lovely steamy bit of hydrotherapy. Do you take baths? You should. I recommend making it as hot as you can stand it, adding salts and oils and bringing in a HUGE bottle of cold water and drinking it all as you soak and scrub and sweat. It's hard work people! But seriously, sweating out all those toxins... changing your oil, so to speak, is so good for you. Scrub that skin, rotate those tires! Vroom! I don't know. Don't ask me. Take a bath/don't take a bath. Suit yourself.

I'm starting school in fourteen days. Re-starting school, I should say. Actually, starting over would actually be the most accurate way to describe it. See I've been in school off-and-on for the last ten years, studying everything under the sun (mostly political science, philosophy, creative writing, journalism, psychology, African American studies, you get the gist), which is all very wonderful... until one starts to wonder about graduating. That handy diploma, that elusive golden fleece, that magic carpet that will sweep me off to the land of milk and honey. Yeah, I'm waaaaaay far away from getting that, in spite of my ten zillion credits. Item: I've studied several different languages with little or no regard for the fact that one must reach a certain level of proficiency to complete college requirements. I've managed to maintain minimal proficiency in French, ASL, Arabic, Latin and (starting in fourteen days) Spanish. While it is wise to diversify, it is stupid to scatter one's efforts.

And then there's math, which I've managed to avoid completely. I've created a parallel universe in which math doesn't exist. Sort of like Schrodinger's Cat. Is it alive? Is it dead? Who knows? I feel this quantum feat of selective consciousness should be worth some college credit, but alas my counsellor begs to differ. So I will begin [at] the beguine, the ground zero for all math flunkies: pre-algebra. That's alright, go ahead and laugh. I will be thirty-three in August and I will be taking pre-algebra. I'm hoping that I will uncover a latent genius for polynomials and vector spaces, and go on to discover ground breaking equations and be an inspiration to mathematically challenged drop-outs everywhere! That'd be cool.

But in all seriousness, I can't avoid math any longer. I believe it will pay excellent dividends to confront and conquer this fucking nightmare once and for all. In the immortal words of Eleanor Roosevelt: "Believe in yourself. You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you stop to look fear in the face. You must do that which you think you cannot do."