So with all big moves, some things (like this blog) tend to be left behind as one desperately tries to sort one's shit out. Which is what I've been doing for the last (fuck, how long has it been since I last posted?) forever days...sorting massive amounts of shit out...and around...and throwing it up in the air like it just don't care (that doesn't make any sense)(the phrase was in my head so I felt I had to use it). It's been crazy and frustrating and I've found that stress from shit sorting should never be done when one is suffering from PMS.
I'm currently in California, sitting in our new sparsely decorated apartment on a borrowed futon. The things that we shipped via boat got delayed when it met up with some massive hurricane (you might have heard about it) and said boat has only just recently joined a massive queue to get through the Panama Canal. Basically our things, which we estimated to be with us now, will not be with us until December. It's not that big of a deal. It's an inconvenience to have basically nothing but it's manageable. Though it's only manageable because we have some really awesome friends.
While I've only been back in California for a week now, it's been a real eye opener on what we had been missing in the UK, which is of course friends. Having friends is a wonderful thing. I think after awhile you get used to any situation (lack of friends included) and you forget how fantastic having them around is (a bit like having a dishwasher again). While we don't have a car yet, we have been borrowed no less than 3 cars to use. My kitchen is stocked with the basics (cups, plates, silverware, etc) that I haven't bought. This futon I'm sitting on, the free coffee table that someone got us, the bunk beds that we've de-bunked so we don't have to sleep on the floor, the iPad loan before we got internet, the “go to our house any time to do wash, the door is open” before we had a washer\dryer, and lastly, the free babysitting when I do shit sorting – all given to us from our friends WITHOUT US EVER ASKING. I told my friend, Patrick, as I was thanking him for the million-th time (and which he was giving me shit for as friends are wont to do) how overwhelming it all was. In the best possible way of course. My heart swells from the generosity of it all and makes me so happy to be back.
But enough of that mushy girl shit.
You all, California is fucking nuts. I don't want to say that I had forgotten that about this place but I certainly dulled it down. I was away long enough where “California is fucking nuts” was a mere whisper in the breeze compared to all the sunshine and palm trees my mind kept floating to. But California is fucking nuts and everyone who has ever lived here knows it's fucking nuts but you've got to kind of embrace the nuttiness of it all or you'll hate it and decide to move back to Kansas or where ever it is the fuck you're from.
We live in a triplex and our landlord lives in the apartment next to us. It hasn't been an issue so far. He's Armenian but I swear to god he thinks he's Italian (or maybe I just don't enough Armenians to stereotype them). His decorating taste borders on the bouncy red castle of tacky and the entire building is decorated with murals. Our backyard has a lovely Tuscany type scene complete with a bottle of wine and a black cat. Inside we have the house of mirrors in every shape and size. Curious on how you look today? Walk into our place and I can show you yourself from every possible angle in every room. Will I paint over the mural or take down the mirrors? No. Well maybe those wavy mirrors in the kitchen. But otherwise no. It's fucking nuts and it's part of the place and while I have a habit of complaining, these are the type of things that are funny complainings and I'll kept them up for the simple conversation it's going to bring at all our BBQ's.
We bought our washer and dryer off of Craigslist. I tried to buy from a private owner but I kept getting , “It's already sold” (then take down your fucking ad asshat) and out of desperation, called one of the listings that seemed a bit dodgy (it wasn't a proper store but they had loads of washers and dryers for sale for cheap). What ended up happening is we drove out to Orange to meet up with two Mexicans in a pick up truck who took us to their storage unit. My spidey senses were tingling but I was running out of clean knickers so I carried on. I know! I could have been murdered but I really needed clean pants! Anyhow, I picked out a set with no idea if they worked or not, had no idea where they came from, paid for delivery and held my breath for a good result. And you know what? It was fucking nuts as it turned out fine. They delivered the set within the hour of seeing them, installed them for us and when the dryer was determined not to be heating properly, they fixed it for free. Result! Clean underpants!
There's been the lady I saw at Ralph's who easily had over 50 thousand dollars worth of plastic surgery done who was counting out pennies to pay for her generic paper towels and tin of generic soup. There's been the resighting of the guy who bikes around with his dog in a trailer while the dog barks nonstop at traffic (or perhaps to tell the guy that he would very much prefer not to be riding around in the back of a bike not strapped in). The Orange County moms who call their children Colton and Maximilian....and all who have perfectly coiffed Bieber hair at age 3.
This place is Fucking Nuts....and I love it.