A month is over and in a long time I haven’t found a minute to write something new. Finding a car and a place turned out difficult and exhausting and when I finally settled down in North Hollywood I felt like I should embrace life and be on the road instead of sitting at home writing blog entries.
After two endless carless weeks I gave up searching craigslist up and down for crappy cars that don’t inspire confidence. I figured you have to either be adventurous, world-weary or a mechanic to buy one of these cars, because, although it says “running well” in the headline, there was a huge BUT to each one of them. Car runs well, BUT the engine has to be renewed. Car is in excellent condition, BUT the gear shift does not work in third gear. Car is the best you can get north of Timbuktu BUT it has no door handles and no tires. Car is a diamond – yeah, rough and uncut at best. I thought to myself: “Why make life harder than it can possibly be”, went to Enterprise, put my foot down (and my credit card) and talked (or say flirted) them into a cheap month-on-month rental contract. Flirting works with insurance guys also. Now I pay slightly more for my rental than I would for my own garbage truck but I can be sure that the car is new and IF there are issues I am able to come back to enterprise and have them figure it out.
When I got to the rental place I had decided on the cheapest category they have: economy. As on the plane economy is probably the worst you can get. Small, tiny, no space, please-hold-your-groceries-out-of-the-window-while-driving-home-type of car. Walking down the aisle of Lamborghinis, Porsches and Lexus I came across a little FIAT 500, knowing that they have an extra category for this supposedly “cool” car. Unfortunately out of my league. And budget. With a bleeding heart and no hope for the FIAT I signed the contract, walked outside and there he waited for me. “Gelato-Man”, my FIAT 500 for the next months. Now I am driving around feeling all Dolce Vita, windows down, music blasting, only because they didn’t have any economy car left at the rental company. “How good can life actually be?”, did I ask myself until the day the warning light started flashing for the first time. So, the first oil change of my life is about to happen soon. My little car is popular. I guess, the first fan-club is about to be founded soon. A friend of mine who is working as a valet parking guy said he’d rather want to park the FIAT, than a monstrous SUV. Thanks people, I am adpoting a fee for touching my car. Charming little Italian guy, I know. Driving around the block will be $5 each, you can purchase an action-photo in the gift shop after your ride.
So much about my new car. Gelato-Man is a wonderful companion, good on gas and a gentlemen-magnet. Oh, look at this little guy, is it yours? Years where you needed a dog to finally have men talk to you are over. This car does it all.
Check on task#1: CAR. Second on the list, yes even before the new summer dress from Forever21: finding a place. To make things easier I decided on being indifferent to living with a guy or a girl. Hey, I get along better with guys anyway, so why not have an awesome time with someone being laid-back, fan of videogames and cold pizza. I somehow didn’t think about the guy not being that indifferent to living with me. After having checked out a place in Silverlake (kind of the Kreuzberg of LA) I changed my mind and started looking for female roommates. Creepy neighborhood plus the guy looked at me as if he would go through my underwear when I am not home and install cameras in the shower. I left the place before I could offer him to go halves on the gains from my sexy pictures.
Finally I found a place and everyone who knows the TV-show Mad Men will high-five me and immediately book a tour of my new home. Audio-guides provided. This place looks like out of the 60s and as long as I didn’t know that everything actually IS from the 60s and works (or say doesn’t work) like that, I was pretty impressed. Jackpot. It is a nice place with two patios, a pool, two living-rooms and an open kitchen. Two roommates come with the house, both female, life is good. I wanted to drive to the next mexican I-sell-everything-as-long-as-it’s-far-from-legal-store to buy a cigar or whatsoever they would sell me to smoke and look all retro at the same time. I wanted to sit on the mustard-yellow couch, feet on the banana-table (it’s a boomerang table I had to learn soon) a scratchy record playing in the background, me holding that cigar while saying: “I want you to do something for me, Pete. I want you to get a cardboard box and put all your stuff in it.” Awesome feeling. My little mind-movie was shattered to pieces when I had to learn that we turn the TV on (Mexican home-shopping channel) when we leave the house. Mexicanos selling vacuums and blenders in ear-deafening pitch all day long only to not have “bandidos” break into our house. I wanted to raise my index finger being all smart-assy and explain to my landlady that those bandits simply need to observe our house and habits for two days to know that this whole backstage plan will not protect us at all. Glad I managed to remain silent, at least for once in my life. I moved into Mad-Men-House and am here still, raising my Brandy Alexander and toasting life and it’s awesomeness.
Next time: What am I doing at the Holocaust Museum? And are you allowed to laugh there?
Picture taken at Griffiths Observatory with my Canon EOS600D, 18-55mm.