I don’t know why I keep expecting different from the completely suburban area where I live. I used to live in Santa Monica. By the beach. In an apartment that was rent controlled. The reason I lived in that apartment was because I was living with a boy who was not at all willing to forge a serious commitment with me but who did want to live with me (only when I told him I wouldn’t live with him). We got on a waiting list for this apartment and finally got in just a month shy of when he left me to go live in Rome and sniff out some Rome pussy (not that I had any idea of the sniffing part). He told me, of course, that we were still boyfriend and girlfriend and that we’d be together when he came back in six months and to please watch and love and take care of his black Nisson convertible. Which I did. For about a month when it ht me like a display in Cost Co. falling on my head that he was not coming back and didn’t love me at least the way I loved him and that I was a fool.
So, I got a roomie. The first one was sort of interesting. Her name was Jessica and she started immediately fucking a director who lived in the penthouse apartment. He moved to New York and started having internet and real sex with men. She one day found a bunch of his emails with real names and addresses of his “men friends” and asked me if I thought it was real. The only reason I was convinced it was the real deal is because this director was telling men that he had a six inch penis. Now, no guy who’s just in it for the fantasy is telling other guys that he has a 6 inch penis. 8 inches minimum! I tried to point that out to her but she didn’t want to believe. So we called one of the number of the men. He admitted to having sex with her boyfriend. Done deal right? Well, about a year ago I ran into them and they live together and have a baby. Good job, Jessie. I’m positive he doesn’t fuck guys anymore.
Next roomie was a model from New York. She was sort of normal except that she was defintitely 42 and was trying to pretend that she was like 27 or something. She wouldn’t ever actually tell me her age but that was weird. We had a workable relationship until she moved in with her masseuse/spiritual guide (I kid you not) and I lived alone til I found the love of my life at the ripe old age of 33. We dated for two years until I moved in with him and when we were finally able to buy a house another two years later it was in the VALLEY. With the jappy moms and non creative types. Or so I’ve experienced so far. I’m seriously thinking about taking out an ad on Craig’s list to meet a mom that I’m “compatible” with. My husband thinks that like begging for all kinds of crazy but I’m at the end of my rope. I must meet some normal or semi normal women. someone with a kind of fucked up childhood who likes to do something creative (knitting doesn’t count) and has a sense of humor. I’m accepting applications. It doesn’t pay well but I will feed you humus and make you laugh.