Little bit of Rebecca Kean's LA and Life Now

Update: I did indeed move out of the house of recovering addicts. And I did this less than a week after the previous post. Once they drank all my milk, I ski-daddled.

I am now living in room inside a woman's house. My housemate is a very clean, very nice person who works for cancer-research. I rent a room inside her house for $750 a month including utilities. This is pretty good for LA.

I am far more central to LA now than I was before, though I do miss the smell of flowers. Sometimes when I'm working I can smell the ocean, but it's more of a weak stench.

Things of the past week:

I saw a white SUV with a pocket of bullet holes in its side non-chalantly left turn in front of me while I was driving to work. ("It's the Fratelli's!!!!")

I met a man who genuinely, "Yes dear'd" his wife. "Honey, did you ----?" And he, in a monotone, slightly nasal, and attempting to be patient tone, responded, "Yes, dear." And then he made a face at me that clearly said, "She's nuts, but what can I do, I married her." And then the wife, once she's finished doting over her 30-year-old daughter, faces me and makes the face. The, smile and squinch your eyes closed for a moment as if to say, "I know you probably think I'm a little silly, and I am slightly embarrassed about it, but I do it out of love, and for the most part I'm oblivious," face. They were cute.

In other news, my work days have been sprinkled with flirtation. 

A woman told I have a, "Shapely body for a, what's your name?"

"Rebecca."

"A shapely-body for a Rebecca! Hoo-wee!" She wore all black and lots of sequins, and her voice had a natural gravel to it, and she knew how to shake it.

Her friend clarified, "For a white girl. I tell it like it is. You shapely for a white girl!"

Then, before they left, the first woman kind of patted me on the side of my hip, the top most part of my thigh and said, "You are solid!"

Later that night, a man told informed me, excuse the language,
"You have sexy-ass lips! I'm sorry, to just say it like that, but-"

And I laughed, of course, and turned to help his aunt finish her recording. He later told me his name was "DaMon" with the emphasis over the "mawn," and asked for my number. When I told him no, he asked, "Why you do me like that, girl?"

Rebecca Kean is Not an Addict

"Drug or substance of choice?"

"None."

"Are you sober?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been in recovery?"

"I'm not in recovery."

"But you're sober?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been sober?"

"Forever."

"Forever?"

"Yup."

This is an excerpt of my first face-to-face conversation with the House Manager of the half-way house where I am currently staying because it is (!) 500 bucks a month including utilities, which is pretty good anywhere outside the Midwest, as I understand it.

For those of you who don't know, I spent the last two and a half days driving to LA from Kansas City. My job moved and told me I could either move with it or find a new one. They offered me more money, and told me I could choose from Connecticut, New Jersey, Las Vegas, or LA. Adventuresome as I am, I decided to Go West, Young Man.

So far I've met (names changed for safety purposes) Pammy, the House Manager. I suspect she may have been a formerly non-sober tenant herself, but now her vices are only smoking and a kind but suspecting demeanor. I suppose that happens when you live with people who lie to you.

I also met Sandy. "Hi, I'm Sandy," she said with a sleepy smile. She told me it was cool here because it's chill. Two hours later she looks at me with the same smile and says, "Hi, I'm Sandy."

Except the bathrooms, none of the doors lock, and there is a curfew. No kidding. 11pm on weeknights, 1am on weekends. "But I'm a cool manager; you just call or text me and let me know, and you can stay out till 3 if you need to."

There are 23 people staying in the house right, now including me. Chores and kitchenware are communal. It's funny because while it sounds a lot like a college dorm, the reality is more like everyone pretends to live in apartments where everyone just happens to share a kitchen, bathroom, and the front door - no one carries individual keys. And if you happen to meet in the passageway (living room), fine, but that's no reason to bond.

For the most part, the people on the street seem nice enough, though a few gave me funny looks, probably because I'm a young, white, girl walking about around like it's normal. However, the neighborhood is full of families, mostly Hispanic. When I first arrived, a soccer practice was under-way across the street. Around the corner there is a laundromat, a couple clothing stores, a moneylender, and a fresh market plus bakery selling all kinds of Latin-originated sweet rolls. The lettuce was really well priced and so fresh I had to clean off the residual dirt. And as I walk down the sidewalk, averting my eyes from the boys, the LA air smells like flowers.

Also, I plan on moving in about two weeks.