I Got Called A "Bitch" By A Total Stranger. . .again

I was unloading my groceries as my car was parked on the street outside my apartment building when I was approached by a wiry, shirtless man who had been pacing the sidewalk while carrying what looked to be t-shirt that was wrapped around something and held tight by duct tape.

"You going into that apartment complex?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Will you let me in? My son lives there," he said.

"I don't know you, dude. I don't let people in that I don't know," I replied.

At this point he was still pacing around me on the sidewalk.

"My son lives here. He lives with his grandma who is like 85 and can't hear the phone to let me in. I can go by the leasing office with you if it makes you feel better"

Me: "How about you just call the leasing office from the main gate and have them escort you to the apartment?"

He didn't wait for me to finish, but bounded down the sidewalk away from me towards the front gate. Thinking this was settled, I grabbed my bags and headed to the side entrance that's locked and for residents only. I was unlocking it when I noticed the guy was right behind me.

"You don't mind, do you?" he asked again.

"Yes. I absolutely do mind. But I guess you're not going to care about that at all and just do what you want to do."

At this point he followed me into the complex and started raising his voice that FINE. I could follow him down to the leasing office and he'll prove that he's been there before if it makes me feel better. Fine. I told him that it would be great if could go down there and at least have them escort him to the apartment he was to visit. He started to head down there and then he stopped when he thought I wasn't looking and muttered "Fucking bitch."

Me with groceries still in my arms: "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?"

"I said you're a fucking bitch. All uppity and shit. I told you we could go to the leasing office together but you still didn't want to let me in and then you gave me attitude."

Me: "I didn't give you attitude. I told you twice that I wouldn't let you and yet you still followed me in."

At this point he came back towards me and went from being about 20 feet away to about three feet away.

"You had to say that 'I was gonna do what I wanted to do anyway," after I said I'd go to the leasing office and everything."

Me: "I would say that I had a pretty accurate accessment since you did what you wanted to do and we're sitting here with your finger in my face instead of actually going down to the leasing office. But come on. Let's go."

We proceeded to go to the leasing office where Alex, our leasing agent, verified that the man had a son who lived there (and wasn't a resident himself) and the guy acted like he was vindicated.

"Should he be let into the premises against a resident's wishes?" I asked.

"Well, no,"  Alex said.

At this point, the guy bounded out and towards the apartment he was visiting. The leasing agent told me he'd call the apartment and make sure everything was okay. To make things doubly creepy, the kid he was visiting was the family that lives in the apartment across from us. And when I say across from us, I mean that our doors are about 4 feet apart. 

Next time, I'm calling Chef out to help. Although I have a feeling if Chef had been there, there might have been some hand to hand combat.

My Conversation With a Porn Star

I meet all kinds of people in
our apartment fitness center.

Here's how I know that I live in LA: I had a conversation with a porn star this morning without leaving my apartment complex. 

I was in the complex gym getting my cardio on when I noticed a short, thin very blonde woman in full make-up and false eyelashes working out. I recognized her instantly as our resident porn star. Before I get accused of making assumptions about someone based on how they look, I will back this statement up with proof beyond her looks that she works in the industry. 

Two years ago, Chef was outside on our patio very early one Sunday morning and spotted a man getting out of a Honda Accord, going to the back and peeing on the side of the road. This man was none other than the Hedgehog himself, Ron Jeremy. Ron then proceeded to greet the small blonde woman mentioned above as she exited the apartment complex with the following:

"Are you ready to ______ some ______ today?" 

I'm not really a shy person, but honestly, I think the blanks are better. You can put so many different words in there and come up with something that's probably similar to what was said. Actually, you can probably put two very innocuous words in there and it still sounds dirty. For instance "Are you ready to hug some koalas today?". Just sayin'.

Anyway, she started a conversation with me and I immediately noticed her either Russian or some other Slavic country accent. She was sporting green velour pants with a matching hoodie and a hot pink t-shirt. All of which were adorned with rhinestones spelling out various things that I didn't have time to read. She asked me if I worked out so early every day, and I said that I was actually running about 30 minutes later today than usual. 

"It's just crazy to work out this early. I mean, don't you get tired by the afternoon?"

I said that I didn't because I went immediately to work so I had to do it then. It was 7 a.m. Early, sure, but not absurdly so. 

We then chatted about the poor cell phone reception of the complex and the spotty function of the TVs in the fitness center. She was nice and I have a feeling she didn't talk to women a ton. She just gave off the impression that she was thankful for even a seemingly uneventful conversation. 

I have to say that between here, the bad ass disabled lady, the very odd screenwriter and the creepy roadie for several bands, I have met the oddest assortment of people in our complex's weight room. And I kinda like that. 

What to do when you come home to three TV camera crews outside your apartment

The police let Chef get really close to the wreck. 

If you're me, you first wonder: what the hell are these people doing here? Then "I hope there wasn't a mass murder in my apartment complex." Then "I should just ask because I'm a PR person and journalists just LOVE when we get all inquisitive and shit."

Earlier in the day, there had been an accident on the street outside our apartment. And by "outside our apartment," I mean the 4 lane boulevard that is about 25 feet from our windows. It's a nice street, has steady but not heavy traffic, and is a straightaway. All of these reasons make it the perfect place for the customs shop at the end of the block to test out the godawful, loud and mostly illegal creations they put together. On a daily and sometime nightly basis, we would hear the startling sounds of loud, engines peeling out at about 100 mph. Sometimes accompanied by a pop.

On this occasion, the pop was not the usual nitrous tank reserve, but the car blowing a tire, then proceeding jump the middle median, take out several small trees, flip upside down and land on its roof from the furthest lane over from hence it began.

Luckily, the only person hurt was the a-hole that was driving the thing. Someone in the neighborhood spotted a guy form the customs shop coming out and removing the nitrous tank before the police showed up. The street was closed for about 5 hours.

I guess a slow Saturday in news plus the Fast and the Furious 6 tie-in were too much for our news stations to handle. They even did live shots from literally feet from my bedroom window, even though the action had been over for hours. (FYI the photos show the opposite side of the street. Our complex is bigger and looks a little more. . . .updated)

Here's the news story and some additional pics that Chef took:

The street racing car- photo by Chef

The guy who was driving survived, but was in bad shape. Photo by Chef

I Made a Friend Today

This morning started like most morning but because I was headed to the airport instead of work, I was in the gym a little later than normal. I walked in and saw a girl in a wheelchair that I've seen around the complex a few times. I nodded and then got on the treadmill for my workout.  I was 23 second from being done when I heard a crash. I looked over and saw the girl had fallen.

Apparently, I reacted quickly and calmly and was by her side to help in record time. I asked if she needed help getting back in her chair and she said yes, please. We figured out the logistics which at one point included me grabbing in between her legs and really close to her crotch to help hold down the chair cover while she slid back.

"Are you in the healthcare field?" she asked as she was back in her chair.

"No, why?"

"You were just so quick and calm in reacting. I really appreciate it. I couldn't imagine what I would've done f you hadn't been here," she said. "I'm Tiffany."

I exchanged names and we chatted a little longer. Turns out she's being followed now for a reality show on paraplegic women. She said she was glad they weren't here to catch this. Basically she was so lost in stretching she ended up tipping the chair over. I  wondered if that ever happened because I know if I were in a wheelchair I'd still carry my klutziness with me.

Anyway, I made a new workout room/ complex friend. I think I've met about 10 percent of the complex in that place and so far only one creepy guy. That's pretty good odds.

It was a Month since I Slept in A Bed

California Hot

This is a little embarrassing to admit, but last night was the first night in more than a month that I slept in a bed. You might ask why and the answer is simple: it's been hot as balls.

Or at least "California hot." I firmly believe that each state has it's own version of hot. In Indiana, hot meant that it felt like you were stepping into a bath tub when the front door opened and you were on things like "Ozone alerts" when it got really hot. For those of you not in the know, an "ozone alert" day meant that you should not go to the drive-thru or mow your lawn. I assume as to not contribute to more ozone-destroying behavior, but I can't be entirely too sure.

In Tennessee, hot was similar to that of Indiana but with a valley that just managed to recycle heat over and over. It also had a tendency to rain for a few hours which just made it hotter.

California hot is easily the most bearable of the hots I'm most accustomed to (I'm not even going to mention the week I was in New Orleans in June--that's just a swampland of crazy people). It's undeniably hot--lately it's been over 100 degrees each day, but it's not necessarily humid so it feels nicer. It's hard to explain that to people who've lived here their whole lives, but any transplant from the South knows what I'm talking about.

Anyway, it's been hot here and part of being in California where it's only normally hot like 5 days a year means that there aren't a lot of apartments or condos or houses with central heat and air. It's just not a necessity which means that they don't invest in it. So, our apartment has a window AC unit in the living room which doesn't get the bedroom cool AT ALL. Usually we just turn the AC off and open the bedroom windows. But after two days of tossing and turning because I was roasting in my sleep, I decided to take matters into my own hands and move my bedding into the living room where I could sleep in direct air-shot of the air conditioning.

At first it felt like camping out to have our stuff strewn in our living room. And I LOVED snuggling down at night and watching TV with Chef and not worrying about when he was coming to bed. Plus we trained the cats to sleep together instead of alternating some to leave out of the bedroom. It felt like a pallet of loveliness. So much so that I just kept it out. Who needs a living room floor anyway? We don't have kids so it's not hurting anyone. It's kind of like having cereal for dinner for a week straight. As an adult, it's my prerogative.

I was getting ready to pick it up last week and then a huge heatwave came in and it was back to 100-plus degree temperatures, so that wasn't happening. Last night, I finally threw in the comforter and picked it up. Our living room has never looked so big. And you'd like that I would've missed my bed more than I have, but I have to say, it was nice to change things up for a while. A new scene. Plus if I ever had to get rid of my bed, I know that I could handle it just fine.

Just the Picture Freaks Me Out

Look what Chef saw today on our PATIO! (or at least near our apartment). I'm not usually scared of snakes, but this pic freaked me out. I also thought it was a HUGE snake until Chef told me it was actually a small lizard. "More specifically an Adult Western Skink," he wrote. I couldn't believe it. 

Between the skink and the possum (Pete the killer possum from college's brother, apparently), I'm beginning to wonder if living in the DEAD middle of one of the largest cities in the world is even slightly a deterrent for fauna. This is freaking me out.

On a side note, Chef has always been a good photographer and just got a new camera for Christmas. He's got a real talent for making even creepy looking skinks look good, so I'm kind of excited to see him take my "after" pictures in a few weeks. Make this SKANK look good :)

Things My Husband Will Sleep Through

I locked myself out of the apartment this morning. It was one of those slow motion moments when I looked down and saw my car keys, not my house keys. With my hands full of my water bottle, my car keys, my iPhone, headphones and trash, I was in too much of a clustered hurry to pay close enough attention. And I paid for it.

I went ahead and worked out because I figured it was closer to Chef's time to get up (well, a little closer) and therefor I might have more of a chance of him waking. Oh how wrong I was. My quest to get into the apartment began at 5:45 a.m. Here's a list of things I did, yelled or tried to get in or wake my husband:

• 15 phone calls to his cell phone
• 21 text messages including some of these gems:
• Wake up, please!
• I'm locked out
• please please wake up
• Knuckles are raw
• I'm getting desperate here. Please please wake up.
• Going to see if security can let me in.
• No luck.
• Need to get to work.
• Still trying.
• Mondays suck
• I'm sure our neighbors hate me
• How are you not hearing any of this??
• I think you might be dead
• Cop knocks every two minutes (aka that three knock rhythm that cops use when trying to alert people they're there)
• Kicking the door
• Going to our windows (which were open. However, there was a large embankment and a large fence separating the embankment from the sidewalk) and yelling Chef's name.
• Throwing pretty large stones at the window screen so that I got the fan knocked out of the window.
• Asking the security guard to try and hike me over the fence.
• Trying to squeeze under the fence.

In the end (and by end I mean TWO HOURS after I first started trying to wake Chef up), it was a few more stones thrown at the window and me yelling his name again.  His first response after I walked through the door: "Why did you try to call me? You know that never works?" It was only after a few minutes explaining the steps above that we both started laughing.

Two things:

1) I must have chilled out a little because I didn't cry, scream or have a nervous breakdown even being 90 minutes late for work. 

2) If Chef and I choose to have a kid, I hope that kid will inherit Chef's ability to sleep through things (among other things).

Valet at Villa Vicente

The good news: Our apartment complex is continually updating its appearance and amenities for residents.

The bad news: this typically means weeks of messes and inconvenience on end.

The latest case of this is the parking lot resurfacing project going on now. The parking garage is a two deck lot with gated entry. The top deck (where I park) is cheaper because it's not covered. But honestly it's California. It's not like I'm going to have to shovel snow off my car or something. Anyway, the lot is being resurfaced so it's cut down to half it's normal size. To accommodate this hazard of parking and to eliminate any parking related homicides that might occur, the complex provides a valet service.

The valet service parks the car for us and gets it when its time to go--free of charge, of course. They're on site 24 hours a day and the complex even sprung to have extra valets during the peak periods. The pain is that I have to wait. I'm not big on waiting. They ask me every day when I get home if I'm going to be leaving again that night. I don't know that. I barely know what I'm having for dinner let alone if I might want to leave again.

It also added about 7 minutes on to my door to door time this morning. Extra time to walk a new route to the valet station that required me passing my own car to get to the station where the keys were and then waiting while the valet walked the route back to my car. My mornings are hectic enough as it is, and my commute time doesn't need any help getting longer.

I lived for so long in an apartment complex that never did any upgrades that this is abnormal. Or maybe I'm just a spoiled brat.

Weird Things that Have Happened At Our Apartment Lately

Our apartment is in a pretty safe part of town. It took me rolling into the unsafe areas before I realized how safe it was. Plus having a security officer here from 6 p.m. to 9 a.m. every night is a bonus, as well. And the gates and entry code system are enough to baffle in the most Native English-speaking delivery person, so I'm fairly certain they'd at least momentarily thwart a thief.

Despite the safety some weird things still happen in our or around our complex. Here are some instances that have happened lately:

• While I was gone last week, Chef spotted Ron Jeremy (yes, THAT Ron Jeremy) outside of our complex picking up a "trashy" looking blonde. He then proceeded to pee in between his Honda Civic and the car behind it while sporting some sweat pants. He then got into the car with the awaiting blonde and drove away. This was 6 a.m. on a Saturday morning.
• This morning I was jerking awake because we had our window open and an a-hole on a Harley decided that it was fine to rev his engine when he started the bike just a few feet from apartments. It was 7:15. On a Sunday. Harley drivers suck for the most part.
• And last, but not least, we were chillin' this evening and our front door flew open. A guy took two steps in before Chef glared at him and said "Excuse ME?". The guy had been drinking and was probably on his way from the pool to a friend's apartment but he got the wrong apartment. To be honest the doors don't have numbers on them, only a little placard in the outside hallway, so I've been known to hit the wrong doorway. But I've never gone in. Our doors are generally locked, but I'd been doing laundry and its hard to unlock the door with arms of clean laundry.

And that's enough to kind of shrug and say "LA" with a "whatcha gonna do about it?" attitude.

Things I've Noticed Lately (Elliptical Edition)

Here are some random observations from my morning time on the elliptical. Please note that these things popped into my head at 5 a.m., so they may be a little odd:

• When did the fat on my face start jiggling when I run? Did this always happen or did it start when I hit a certain age?
• What is the term for the upper ass area that not quite hip, not quite back but still holds weird pockets of fat? How do you get rid of those things?
  
• Why does the guy (and I'm sure it's a man because he leaves the gym a mess) who comes in late at night insist on turning the AC units down as low as they can go? And then open the gym doors to the cool night air? Does he not know he's letting out "bought air"?
• I love that random southern sayings like "bought air" can still creep into my thoughts.
• Why did the apartment people put the air conditioning units up too high for a person of normal height to reach?
• If I were attacked walking from my apartment to the complex gym, I would make the attacker head to the gym or at least chase me there because it's got cameras.
• I know that by nature they're full of trash, but there has to be way to make the dumpsters not spew a stream of hot garbage air into your face when you close them. Why isn't someone working on this?
• Early morning news crews / anchors are bad no matter how large the market.

That's it for this installment of "Things I've noticed lately" Elliptical edition. Enjoy!

I Wish I Could Be Like Our Neighbors

I want to openly thank our upstairs neighbors for they are so nice and helpful to our life here in LA. Honestly, I don't know what I'd do without them. Their habits have inspired me and I think could inspire you. So, here are ways my neighbors are great:

• They aren't bound by the standards of time. They live a life free of things like "early mornings" and "respectable hours." They can stay up until 6 a.m. -- and often do--without the confines of society weighing them down.
• They're environmentally conscious. They are so reluctant to throw things in the trash that they often freely give them to mother nature. In fact, they often give to her specifically on the five foot area of shrubbery by our patio. We should honor their offerings, but don't. I often feel guilty when I'm forced to throw their trash away as I know it's not what they clearly intended.
• Their cleanliness is beyond reproach. I only aspire to the level of cleanliness that our upstairs neighbors live with every day. I think about that as the showers of soapy water come cascading down upon Chef and my's heads on the patio. This happens about every two weeks and is literally sending gallons of water and soap down upon our patio. I think they're trying to tell us that we need to clean our area as well.
• They are very frugal. Our neighbors are so frugal. Instead of spending the dollar or so to have a new key made, they use a rock--obtained for free mind you--to prop open our locked gates for all hours of the night.
• Our neighbors are hospitable. They feel confined by our security system and its unapproachability with codes and having others "be let in". Luckily, they work around that one with the above.

I can only hope that in time I will rise above my current level of thinking and break my habits of being unneighborly. Wish me luck.

What's red, pink and cream all over?

Answer: Me.

I got my hair dyed on Friday after work. Dyed and trimmed. Took about an hour, which isn't bad. My one request to the stylist was to make the red pop a little more. Granted it had been 6 weeks since the initial dye, but the fade was not enough to account for the fact that I wasn't quite red. I had a red tint, but the color didn't pop like I had wanted.

I would've thought it was just me, but when I went back to my stylist, she said she had written "more copper" on the card with my hair color on it. So, it's nice to know my stylist and I were on the same page. She's a keeper.

Anyway, with freshly red locks on my head, I discovered that I can only really wash my hair a few times a week instead of every day. Blonde hair doesn't really fade. It just loses luster. Brunette and red fade and red fades the most and quickest. So, my stylist recommended that I not only use my color safe shampoo and conditioner, but also limit my washes. So I invested in some good dry shampoo and I hope it does the trick to make my color last.

But I digress. So the hair is definitely red. The cream is my skin color. My pale skin. Except my pale skin is not so pretty. It's actually not bad on my face (except for the tendency to freckle), but my legs are pretty pale and not in a good way.

Which leads to the pink. Knowing that my paleness needs some help and knowing that it's Sunday and pretty, Chef and I decided to hit the pool in our complex. We tag teamed the cleaning of the apartment this morning and then decided our reward would be an hour or so laying by the pool.

It was glorious. Nice, bright sun. 78 degrees. The only thing that was out of place was that we had to have two chairs (the only two lounge chairs left) that were partially shaded at times. That made it a little chilly for a few minutes, but overall, a nice 90 minutes in the sun listening to music and reading. These are the times that I start to think that I live in a resort and not necessarily an apartment complex.

The pink comes about 20 minutes after we get back to the apartment. My shoulders and face are warm to the touch and slightly sunburned. I hate to say burned because I've been sunburned. This is more like a sunkiss that lasted too long. A sun hickey, perhaps?

It's the worst kind of injury . . .or at least my least favorite

If you know me, you know that I have a major phobia of nail injuries. Not just my own, but I can't stand other people's either. When Mila bit through Chef's finger nail last week, I almost vomited in my mouth. I think it goes back to my first lost toenail. I was hit by a pitch in the foot when I played softball in high school. It made my toenail turn smurf blue and then it eventually popped off. I remember being upset and having a hard time wearing shoes.

Well, I think it might happen again. Two days ago I pulled the door over my foot and stubbed my big toe. . .hard. Really hard. I remember cursing for about 5 minutes and then hobbling on my way. It wasn't until I realized that my big toe was still hurting at the end of the day AND that I couldn't wear high heels because it made my toe throb, that I thought it might be something bad. The only thing is that I can't see my nail because it's painted. I'm guessing that I wouldn't want to see it because my toe is now twice its normal size and the nail is very tender. I think it might come off, which frankly has me a little skeeved out. I'm worse with my own nail injuries than anyone else's. I've resigned myself that the name might go. UGH.

On a brighter note, we are only one dresser away from having most of the boxes unpacked. I've got to unpack the office supplies for the desk area, but other than that, it's looking nice. Pictures to come! Of all the things, I'm really looking forward to sleeping with Chef in a king size bed instead of the Full sized we have been relegated to the last few years.

Nearly there. . .

Oh My, IKEA!

It started out as an innocent trip to get a desk chair and dresser. It ended up being a 4 hour ordeal of redecorating to the highest degree. I knew it would probably be a long trip, but didn't know it would take THAT long. I'd never been to an IKEA store before, so I didn't know how it was set up, but it seemed easy enough: check out the showroom, write down what you like, go through the "marketplace" for sheets, towels, non-large furniture, and then to the warehouse area to pick up the furniture. Didn't make it to the cafe, but maybe next time.

So, we had a list of things we needed, and a "game plan" to test things out. I can't say that I didn't feel slightly lucky that I had Chef to do a few things: 1) lift the heavy furniture from the warehouse section, 2) carry the big ass bag to the car and 3) give his opinion on lots of things. Honestly, there comes a point when you look at so many pieces of furniture that they kind of start blending together.

Anyway, we found desks, beds, couches, chairs, duvets, pillows, cabinets, dressers and bookcases we liked. We didn't buy everything we liked, but we did get quite a bit more than a dresser and a desk chair. And the great thing is that it's gonna get delivered tomorrow and we have someone coming to pick up the old furniture. It just makes me wonder if we shouldn't have just ditched the old furniture before we left and traveled with just a trailer. Oh well, it's over now. Pictures to be posted when we get things settled here. We still have a few items to exchange from Target and a few more to purchase. We're getting close to having everything here we really need. Except for food. Still haven't made a trip to the grocery. Mostly because the kitchen is still kind of a mess.

Four hours in IKEA in Burbank and an updated apartment. I'm ready to be settled, really. Not much longer now.

Why I Hate My Apartment Complex

It started with a call around noon. My apartment complext called my personal cell phone and it went a little something like this:

"Hello, Ashley? This is Chastity from Westmont apartments. I'm calling to see why you haven't paid your rent this month."

Me: We paid our rent this month.

C: I'm showing that your rent was due on the first and you haven't paid it.

Me (scrambling to my computer to fervishly sign in to my online banking): Hold on for a second. Actually, I did pay. My bank account shows that you all cashed my check on August 4th for the amount of XXX. The account number on the back of the check that you endorsed is XXXXXX.

C: Oh, it's not showing up in our system. There must be a computer error that shows your rent being due twice in a month. I'll call IT and have them fix it.

End of phone call.

As I was sitting there with my hear pounding, I started to get fired up. We have never been late in paying our rent in the 6 years that Chef and I have lived together. Six years in one place. Never late. But the company calls us 16 days past the rent day and 12 days after the late fee day to accuse us of not paying. And there's no "I'm so sorry for this" or any kind of apology. Nothing. So now I'm fired up and I can't let it go. So I wait two hours and then call her back to express how disappointed I was in how the situation was handled and it just made it worse. Here's how that conversation went:

C:Westmont Properties, this is Chastity.

Me: Chastity, this is Ashley LAST NAME calling in regards to my rent payment.

C: Now which apartment are you in again? I've made a lot of calls today.

Me: Apartment XXX in XXXX complex.

C: Oh, right with the computer error.

Me: Yes, that was me. I was just calling to let you know that I'm disappointed in how the situation was handled.

C: Excuse me?

Me: I know that you are probably making a lot of calls concerning late rent but I am hurt that we've been tenants for more than 6 years, hadn't missed a payment and weren't treated better.

C: I don't know what to say. I mean, I said I was sorry. It was a computer error. And, you say that I make a lot of late rent calls, but I really don't. So I don't know what you want me to say.

Me: Actually, you didn't say you were sorry. That's why I was calling you back.

C: Well, I am sorry and now I've said it three times in this call.

Me: I'm disappointed in the manner and tone with which you made the call.

C: I am honestly shocked because I didn't have any tone with your call. It was a computer error and we fixed it. I'm sorry. What more do you want? I didn't yell or scream or anything.

Me: I'm hoping you wouldn't ever yell or scream at a tenant. I guess I wanted a little courtesy for having paid consistently on time and for an apology.

C: I've said I'm sorry.

Me: Fine. Goodbye.

C: Goodbye.

The above is why we will not be renewing our lease at this place. And why if you rent in Nashville, I would NOT recommend any place managed by Westmont Properties.