The Milla Times Journal

• the household: i received a rather pricey bill from the County of Los Angeles last month, called a “supplemental tax bill” (since property taxes don’t tax homeowners enough). the bill unsettled me — particularly its amount — so i paid a visit to the tax assessor’s office to get a few questions answered. after standing in three different lines in various offices, talking to countless people who couldn’t help me, a not-on-break employee finally noticed that the bill was not prorated as it should have been but instead was billed at the full amount for the fiscal year, meaning i was being taxed for a time period when the bank who repoed the house owned the house. County assured me it would repair the mistake and i would get a new bill in the mail for just my portion.
  
  a few weeks later, i received the new supplemental tax bill in the mail. the bill was for the same amount as before but now included a refund check that covered the bank’s portion. i called the County and asked what happened? “the refund is to help you pay your bill,” they told me. “why didn’t you just deduct the amount of the refund from the total?” i asked. “because that’s not how we do things.”



• that earthquake: in case you missed it, LA was rattled by a 5.4 a few weeks back. i was at work when it happened, on the 33rd floor of a downtown highrise, talking to a coworker in New York when the trembling started. when i’m faced with frustrating, frightening situations, my impulse is to start swearing like a goddamn cocksucking motherfucker, so that’s what i did — while on the phone with a virtual stranger. “fuck, shit, goddamn motherfucker. it’s an earthquake happening. I NEED TO CALL YOU BACK!!” then i dove under my desk and stayed there until the shaking subsided. first call went to Mo, who’s stationed at home during the day, “how’s the house???” Mo said house was fine, held up well. we hung up a moment later and i realized i forgot to ask him how he and the dogs held up. fuck.



• those Olympics: at first, i was resigned not to watch them because i knew that watching them would mean becoming obsessed with them. now that i’m obsessed, i’ve become slightly depressed over the fact that these young athletes have accomplished more in their short lives than i ever will with the remainder of mine. i used to think that being a rock star was the greatest profession on earth because it meant never having to get up early, but now i’m convinced that being an athlete is the way to go, because even though athletes need to rise early, they get to eat a lot and spend their days popping off endorphins. i’m also convinced that i will marry Michael Phelps.



• the day Juice went missing: i swore far more that day than i did the day of the earthquake. but yes, there was a day the other week when Juice got out and got gone. she was found an hour later a block away with some kind neighbors who took her in, but fucking hell, that hour Mo and i spent scouring the streets looking for her was the shittiest hour of my life. i actually held it together quite well until the moment i saw her again, at which point i started bawling like an asshole, at which point she started licking my face. i spent the rest of the day in such a state, my only relief lying on the floor cuddling with both dogs while my heart tried to reconstitute itself.

Labels: dogliness, home, money

voila! this is a view of the kitchen from the front door. the wall on the left used to be three times as long and separated the kitchen from the living room, but it’s been scaled back so that the kitchen has effectively become part of the living area in one gargantuan main room.


view from the kitchen door: and there’s Pinko following on my heels, thinking that my being in the kitchen might mean a piece of food will fly out of my hands and into her mouth.


prefers lamb to chicken: contrast this with Juice’s boyfriend, Max, who insists that any food be served to him while he’s sitting in my chair.


sink wall: remember the sink wall in the old kitchen — the one where washing a dish meant hitting your head against an overhead wine cabinet?


it works! here’s Mo the architect, designer (and installer!) of this perfect kitchen, washing his hands at the sink. notice how he is not hitting his head on anything.


that view again: i know i keep bragging about it, but it just never gets old. it’s so good that Mo and i decided not to furnish the kitchen with a dishwasher since the view is what we’re forced to look at while washing dishes, which means that dishes don’t stay dirty for very long.


coffee station: you’ll be shocked to learn that morning coffee is made here. just shocking! this is also the only part of the kitchen equipped with the dope walnut countertop made by Mo.


don’t eat the chilis: they are plastic, though the other fruits are real. notice how there are no dirty dishes in the sink.


those floors: sadly, there is no pretty view to gaze at while washing them so they don’t stay as clean as the dishes. that’s mostly because of the shedding shepards i once thought were a good idea to get. i’m on the verge of shaving them.


the cabinetry: Mo’s idea was to match the cabinetry with the dark floor so that the floor would appear to be extending up the walls. everyone thought we were insane when we told them the kitchen cabinets would be chocolate brown instead of a lighter shade, but i think they’re rockin like dokken.


the hardware: pretty much everything in the kitchen was purchased from Ikea for relatively cheap, including the sink, faucet, white laminate countertops and all the shelving. the only splurge was the hardware, which consists of these ultra-cool stainless steel and frosted glass pulls. they are smooth like pearls, meaning the dogs will lick them continuously for food particles.


stove wall: except for two wall panels and the one cabinet above the fridge (see two photos up), the kitchen has no overhead cabinets, just open shelving.


stove station: this handy dandy setup puts everything needed for cooking within arm’s reach, except for the take-out menus, which are in a neighboring drawer.


the corner: i love these C&B wall boxes, which used to house CDs at my old apartment. the small mirrors in the corner also do a great job reflecting light around the kitchen. Mo has strategically placed many of these small mirrors all around the house, some in corners that are too tight for me to fit my fat head into to check whether i have spinach stuck in my teeth. i’ll try anyway and Mo will have to butter my big head to get it unstuck.


the other rooms: beyond that white door is the house’s sole bathroom — it’s the original bathroom that came with the house, which means it’s ugly. to the left is the office, and to the right is the master bedroom. (to the right in the foreground is the piece of shit maytag refrigerator, bought for cheap at a used appliance store, that needs to be defrosted every few weeks, otherwise all the perishable food spoils. but i’ll complain about that some other time.)


those new yorker covers: it’s kinda disingenuous since Mo and i aren’t big readers of The New Yorker, but Mo is a fan of the illustrator, Chris Ware, who did a series of Thanksgiving covers for the magazine. Mo also has his fantastic but depressing Rusty Brown lunchbox, which tells the story of the most dejected kid in high school. get it as a gift for all your loser friends.


the kitchen door: the door leads to the deck that hugs the side of the house and provides access to stairs that lead down to the basement, where the washer and dryer live. oh yeah, did i mention how the door showcases the great view?


one more from a different angle: this is the last one i’ll ever post! at least in this set of photos.


i lied: this is the last i’ll post. gorgeous, ain’t it?

Labels: home, home improvement

i took three glorious days off of work the other week, which, when combined with the holiday three-day weekend, made for six whole days without work, a condensed summer vacation during which i did a whole lot of nothing. it was a beautiful type of nothing that has no consequences save having to do a something later. haha, i say now to that lengthy to-do list i wrote at the start of my respite before the inertia of sleep and leisure took over. i read it over now and marvel at how silly i was to think i should spend any part of my six days off at Amoeba trying to sell them the used CDs they refused to buy the last time i was there. haha, ha and ha.

the week was not entirely without activity, however. my first day off was spent at marvelous Six Flags Magic Mountain, my beau Mo in hand, riding roller coasters in 100-degree heat. we went on a whim with two-for-one coupons and, as it was a tuesday, barely wasted any time standing in line, and did well to snatch the seats at the front of the train for each ride.

the last time i spent a day at Magic Mountain was 14 years ago during my first year in college, meaning i rode a bunch of new rides this time around, many of which kicked my ass — make that my head. by 4pm, i was spent and queasy; i found myself having to sit still for 15 minutes after each ride to recalibrate my equilibrium, which was flirting dangerously with vertigo. but i refused to be outdone by my childhood hangout so i fought the nausea and trucked on, riding a few more coasters before finally conceding to my wussyhood. by then, we had ridden 10 roller coasters and managed to walk away from the park in a cloud of euphoria, our faces sunburned but smiling and with a fun caricature that we put on the fridge.



if the day at Magic Mountain served as a grad night of sorts to my abbreviated summer vacation, the rest of my week served as the rest of those three months between school years, when laziness rules divine and uninterrupted. i slept in every day, rising reluctantly yet cheerfully, stirred out of bed only when the sound of a dog panting over my face became too smelly to ignore. then i’d languish on the deck with a cup of coffee for an hour while thinking about how little i planned to do with the day.

most days were spent tooling around the house, which didn’t get a whole lot of my attention beyond the usual admiration. i did knock out a few low-effort things on my house list, like reorganizing the kitchen’s contents and setting my desk up in the office, but as far as the labor-intensive work i planned to do in the garage, well haha and ha again.

afternoons were spent reading in bed, with the new ceiling fan making a breeze. as always, my summer reading list is long and i barely managed to power through anything, finishing off just two books before week’s end, one of which i highly recommend. i also had some freelance work happening, including half a dissertation on homicide in Jamaica, in addition to the regular work i do for the ASC.

as evenings approached, i’d get in the kitchen to start the meal-making. Mo and i had a few cookouts, some of which involved good friends who came by to sample our world-famous hamburgers, mashed potatoes and gazpacho. we sat on the deck every night, eating like royalty, our meals topped off with fresh watermelon, while the dogs laid at our feet, mouths ajar and drooling. i left the house only on a few choice occasions — when i felt compelled to shop for food and cute shoes and for a half-hour massage and steam room visit. sadly, i never made it to Amoeba. (ha)

the highlight of the week is one of those had-to-be-there kind of things that involves a lot of 4th of July fireworks. namely, the multitude of fireworks i witnessed blowing up over Highland Park while i sat on my deck, transfixed for three hours. a neighbor mentioned the yearly display casually, saying he’s had to tranquilize his dog before and now just stays across town with his daughter on that night. but i thought nothing of it since most fireworks are illegal in Cali.

haha on me. by 8pm, the place was on fire in a strange mix of disneyland and baghdad. explosions went off every few seconds, followed by colorful sparkles that seemed to occupy every inch of the night sky. to say that there were hundreds of fireworks going off at once is not an exaggeration. to the left, right, overhead, down the road and everywhere else saw a Tijuana firework exploding. from my perfect vantage point on the deck i could see my neighbors’ yards full of bright flashes and booms, while Juice paced nervously through the house, whimpering.

i kept expecting a lull, something to taper off the festivities so i could go back into the house and replenish my vodka spritzer, but the fireworks kept popping for hours like a bag of microwaveable popcorn, with the last few kernels erupting around midnight. all the while, Mo and i sat on the deck in silence, muttering a few holy shits under our breath as a rainbow of fruit flavors blew up all around us. i was stunned, hypnotized, amazed. i had never seen so many fireworks in my whole life. it was AWESOME. everyone in the world is invited to my house next year to see the show along with me.

the week ended predictably: with a major case of sunday blues that pushed me into bed teary-eyed, declaring to Mo that i never wanted to work again and that i better win the lottery before my alarm went off the next morning at 6:30am or else something bad would happen. predictably, something bad did happen: my alarm went off the next morning at 6:30am, forcing me out of bed without cheer to start work at my new job, which i agonized over like it was the first day of school.

Labels: holidays, home

ready to come inside? it’s not so scary anymore. in fact, it’s downright gorgeous — so gorgeous that i die a little inside each time i have to leave the house.


welcome: Juice and Pinko will be your faithful tour guides for this journey and will demonstrate how well the house facilitates their doing of nothing — but doing it in style. here, Juice demonstrates her favorite pastime of floor laying, with her trusty sidekick Pinko at left aiding her in the leisurely pursuit.


view from the front door, looking left: would you like a seat? how about a cup of coffee? what about a laptop or book? now put all those together and you’ll have a good sense of what i do when i’m lounging in this chair.


view from the front door, looking right: wanna lie down? you’ll have to clear it with Mo, as the couch is generally his to lounge on. mine, too, sometimes.


view out the picture window: after the walls were patched up, primed and painted, Mo and i just didn’t have the heart to put holes in the new craftsman-esque trim we add to the windows and doors, so we went with free-standing screens instead of drapes in the living room, bought for cheap from overstock.com. the three-panel screens have adjustable shutters that we keep open during the day to let the light in. the screens don’t extend all the way to the top of the window, but given the house’s position on the block, only the birdies sitting in the massive tree in the front yard will ever be able to peek in through the opening at the top to see Mo and i, um... reading on the couch. yeah, reading.


hey, where did our tour guides go? where they always go: to the deck to take in the cool air and nice view below while sun tanning. i don’t blame them. i do the same thing, minus the sun tanning and usually with wine.


roasted meat: Pinko will usually outlast Juice in the sun by a good half hour or more and come in smelling like a barbecued hot dog. then i put ketchup and pickles on her and feed her to Juice.


back in the house: when Pinko does finally come inside, she’ll usually collapse on the bamboo floors and pant a puddle around her own head. then i’ll swoop in with paper towels to blot out the puddle and gently remind Pinko that we’re not renters anymore.


Chuy who? i do love the floors, even though they are hard as hell to keep clean. like a black car, they pick up and amplify every piece of dust of dirt, so i find myself sweeping, vacuuming and mopping them almost daily. but when they are clean, they are stunning. they are also everywhere in the house, including the kitchen. so far, they have been quite durable, which is not to say they are totally unscratched as my playful pets have indeed left their marks, but i imagine that hardwood would have picked up more marks than the brand of bamboo i chose, which is (supposed to be) harder than the white oak and maple species of wood.


the three blues: with a few exceptions, the darkest blue is reserved for the innermost walls of the house, the ones without doors and windows. the medium blue is for the outer walls that contain the doors and windows and are opposite the dark blue walls, which allows for the natural light to bounce onto the dark walls and lighten them; the lightest shade of blue was used for the trim. also note the Arroyo Seco Parkway poster, bought especially to honor the new house and neighborhood. if you’ve ever been (stuck in traffic) on the historic 110 freeway near Pasadena, which was built in the 1930s with overhead bridges so low that trucks are forbidden on its roads, you’ve likely seen signs that are identical to this poster.


immediate left of the front door: beyond the short wall that houses my Blitzstein’s Lightbulb Man is the kitchen. that wall used to be twice its width and painted maroon. to the left of that wall is a foyer that leads into the two bedrooms and the one bathroom.


the cluster effect: Mo’s philosophy on art-hanging is to cluster pieces on some walls while leaving other walls largely empty. clearly, this is the art wall, with the opposite wall, which holds the blue dog painting and not much else, serving as the bare wall. watching Mo drill multiple holes into this wall caused me great discomfort, enough to declare that the items on this wall shall remain permanently affixed to it. there will be no changing of the art in the future, as that might necessitate the making of more holes.


his and hers: Mo’s four Buff Monster cans next to my 1980 Moscow Olympiad poster, the only Olympics the USA ever boycotted.


wall of tyranny: i don’t collect many things, but i’ve decided that the nesting dolls of russian leaders will be that one collection obsession of mine. Mo bought me my second set recently, a unique set that has Putin on top with 12 leaders incubating inside him, including a rice-sized Nicholas II and a pea-sized Marx and Engels. next, i’m keeping an eye out for a Medvedev set.


the coziest chair in the world: it really is. i quite enjoy sitting on it. behind it is a sneak preview of the kitchen, to be covered in the next chronicle.

Labels: home, home improvement

i know, you don’t really care about how it’s been being a homeowner for three weeks. you’d rather see the after photos that show the gorgeous bamboo floors and beautifully painted walls that don’t resemble monkey shit. rest assured, they are coming. it’s just that no one room is truly done and fully presentable. bedroom is close, but it’s still missing window treatments and closet doors. the office is piled high with boxes. kitchen is without backsplash and needs its baseboards painted. and the list goes on ad infinitum. i won’t bore you with it here.

ok, maybe i can bore you a little bit: why is it so hard for ikea to make backsplashes for its countertops? why is it that when you buy an entire kitchen from ikea, as i did, you have to buy an extra block of countertop and cut the backsplash from it yourself? wouldn’t it make more sense for ikea to carry precut backsplashes for its countertops as a basic constituent part of a kitchen?

alright, bitching done. thanks for playing. let’s resume with our originally scheduled program of praise for homeownership…

so far, it’s been pretty fantastic. i’m not sure whether it’s homeownership itself that is fantastic or just the fact that i’m living in a place i dig a whole lot. i did like my old place a whole lot, too, but it was small. about 650 square feet of bite-sized charm that worked perfectly when it was just Juice and me, but when Mo and Pinko joined our equation, life at home became decidedly less charming and more sardine-like.

but now we all have space. now, Mo no longer lives out of his suitcase — as he has for the past two years — because he has a closet of his very own. now, he no longer has to use our living room as his studio because he has an office of his very own. and there’s space for storage: a basement and a garage. and there’s the driveway where i park my car. a driveway so big that it fits TWO whole cars, meaning my friends no longer bitch about parking when they come over because we’re not in west hollywood anymore, Toto, and they can park right alongside me in the uber-driveway.

so yes, the space is nice. the house itself is also extraordinarily nice. (yes, yes, photos are coming.) i find myself walking around the place daily, studying every molding and kissing every piece of hardware in the kitchen before i lie in bed and cuddle with the refrigerator.

in short, i’m in love: deeply, passionately profoundly in love. every love song i hear on the radio reminds me of the house. every vacation i daydream about taking involves me hanging out at home. i miss the house when i’m at work and spend my days imagining all the things we can do together in the future. i’m not sure if the house has become my new boyfriend or my new baby, but i’d breastfeed it if i could. if it needed a kidney, i would so deliver. i love it so much that i find myself telling Mo daily, “have i told you how much i love the house today?” only adding as an afterthought, “and you, too, baby!” then i go make out with the baseboards.

i know, it’s the honeymoon phase — and i hope it lasts as long as possible. i like this phase, need it really, so when the ceiling crumbles and plumbing floods the basement later on, i’ll have developed a solid love for the house and won’t mind pouring the time, money and effort needed to make it great again. so for now, i’m happy to have that love grow and sustain me later when things turn to shit, which i’m sure they will. i’m sure there’ll be situations that make me curse the day i stopped being a renter, situations borne of uncooperative appliances and unexpected expenses. already, there has been a toilet that broke, outlets that have gone boom and a kitchen overrun by ants. and i anticipate many more unhappy surprises of the subflooring variety when future phases of construction begin on the house, with one (hopefully) beginning later this summer.

but for now i’m happy to relish in the newness of this love, when anything seems possible. i’ll regard this time always with fondness, as it marks the start of the next profound relationship of my life, akin to when i first brought my puppies home and first committed to Mo.

and did i mention the view? the glorious view that serves as the backdrop of each waking moment at home, comforting me during each meal, during each cup of coffee in the morning and glass of wine in the evening, the view that has already done wonders for my usually variable mood. it does indeed soothe me after a hard day’s work, “adding minutes to my life,” as my new buddy Miguel says. it’s the one thing that will make all future household drama bearable as all i’ll need to do when things get tough is step on the deck, take a few calming breaths and stare.

Labels: home, love

as you might have guessed, i’ve spent the past few weeks slaving away at home, lately in more temperate weather, with the house starting to look somewhat presentable. i’ve actually had some folks over to see it, including my perpetually critical parents, who kindly pointed out everything that still needed to be done while also throwing in some compliments. they also brought me about a year’s supply of toilet paper, paper towels and aluminum foil, with my ma saying that i could use a microderm.

it’s very close to being complete, getting closer by the day, and once i buy closet doors for the bedroom and hallway, install window treatments and the ceiling fan in the bedroom, hang the big mirror as well as the art and dry-erase board, finish the cabinetry in the kitchen and redo the house’s exterior plus the deck, i’ll be ready for the big housewarming party. at this rate i’m only three years away.

in the meantime, i thought i’d post additional photos, some of which were taken by my contractor during construction, sent to me only a week ago.


kitchen rewind: behind that maroon wall is the house’s kitchen. correction: was the house’s kitchen. Mo spent a good chunk of time there, notebook and tape measure in hand, sketching the new and improved kitchen.


more ugly: besides the obvious ugly of the cabinetry, in typical Chuy fashion, the kitchen’s layout made no sense. the countertops consisted of granite scraps glued together haphazardly with no backsplash. also note how the kitchen’s only window is obscured by an overhead cabinet.


sink wall: perhaps the sink should have been facing the window instead, because in its old location it was impossible to wash dishes without hitting your forehead on the wine cabinet above. but maybe the former owners were all circus midgets who didn’t have that problem.


square one: nothing was worth salvaging from the kitchen, so we tore everything out to start from scratch. we also demolished about half of the maroon wall to open up the space and join the kitchen area with the living room. also note the multitude of electrical outlets in the kitchen, positioned in the most random places. my theory is that Chuy wanted to hone his outlet-wiring skills so he practiced in the kitchen by wiring eight different outlets on two separate walls. i can’t say he was very good at it, considering the fact that the fridge blew an outlet one week after it was plugged in, spoiling the groceries i had filled it with a day earlier.


indisposed: ok, so one thing from the kitchen was saved — the garbage disposal. sink was scrapped.


back to the floors: this shows the condition of the wood that “supported” the subflooring in the living room. these are the boards my contractor was able to rip apart with his bare hands, the boards that prompted me to call Terminix to schedule the termite holocaust.


82 years? the theory is that these were the original floors from when the house was built in 1926, but something tells me they can’t possibly be THAT old, can they?


floored again: the day the contractors tore out the old subflooring, i arrived to the house after work to see the yellow CAUTION tape cops put around crime scenes taped to my front door. the crew told me not to enter, but i couldn’t resist so i opened the front door only to peek in and saw that there really weren’t any floors in the living room, just openings that provided a view into the crawlspace underneath the house. this reminded me of the one time i dissected a frog in biology class and saw its exposed organs.


plywood to the rescue: i went home that day and told Mo the architect about the floorless house and he assured me that the house was heavily anesthetized and not feeling any pain. he also assured me that the frog i dissected in high school was dead long before i tore it open with my knife.


to the next 82: i hope my mythical grandchildren don’t have as hard a time with these floors as i did. i also hope those ungrateful little shits appreciate the new door added to the kitchen and the new window for the sink that will allow them to gaze lovingly into the valley below while they’re washing my dentures.


more floors: the bamboo needed to sit in the house for a couple days before installation so it could acclimate to the house’s natural humidity. a small plank also lived in my purse for a few weeks, visiting stores with me to make sure that any product i bought for the house matched the floors.


click and groove: i went with espresso-colored bamboo by Teragren. great company, LEED-certified, harvests only mature bamboo to produce super-hard floors that can take a beating.

i need to throw my contractor, Platon, a plug here, with my most aggressive suggestion that anyone undergoing a home-improvement project call him. he was beyond fantastic to work with, so fantastic that he’ll be the first and only person i’ll call when more improvements need to be made to my house. he was always responsive, totally genuine, faultlessly polite, and his quote — like the work itself — was unparalleled. great in every way. i couldn’t be more satisfied.

he gave me permission to post his number here, so here it is: 818.279.3118. his full name is Platon Markarian, company is Da Vinci Group. call him immediately.

Labels: home, home improvement

by all accounts the move wasn’t a disaster. i found a moving company that worked very efficiently for a reasonable rate. the movers were cute hungarian guys who showed up, carefully moved my junk and then quietly left — in about four hours. the only thing complicating the move (and the many days that followed it) was the bullshit sun, which decided to become unbearably hot via a weeklong L.A. heat wave. first day of the heat wave was on move day itself, may 15.

also complicating matters was the fact that the house was not exactly “complete” on move day: the kitchen needed to be built, closets assembled, light fixtures installed, appliances delivered, among many other things. this meant several days of laboring around the house in an oppressive heat that must have produced 70 buckets of sweat. during this time i was downing two gallons of water a day and peeing not at all.

add to the dehydration sun blisters on my face, a sunburned nose, chapped lips, chronic sneezing borne of summer allergies and you’ll have one frazzled, yet happy homeowner hit with the ugly stick. my new neighbor, a fantastic lady named Lisa, ran up to me during the move with arms open yelling, “welcome to the neighborhood!” as she approached, however, and got a closer look, she blurted, “damn, you look beat.” in my heat delirium she reminded me of my mom, and when i fell into her arms for the welcoming hug, i hung onto her tightly and almost asked her to hold me and tell me it would all be ok. nevermind that i was layered in sweat and smelled like a sewer.

once the movers pulled out of the driveway, i moved my car into it to unload a few items, and that’s when it hit me: like, wow, i’m parked in a driveway, my own driveway, that leads to my house, my own house. i have a house in front of me that’s my house, and my own car is in my own driveway leading up to my own house.

this was significant not only because i had a house, but more so because i finally had a parking space — something that never happened during my ten years of living in hollywood, where i had only street parking. but now i had an actual parking space and would never again need to redden my wrists by attaching six shopping bags full of groceries to them so i could make the two-block walk from my car to my apartment. now i would never again need to play the fun morning game of, “dude, where’s my car?” or “dude, i forgot about street cleaning and now have a parking ticket.”

i welled up with emotion at the thought of my new parking space and let the happy tears spill out. this was it. i had come home. i tried taking a few breaths but almost choked on the hot air. with windows up, the sun had baked my car extra crispy and ruined my own moment in it.

i darted into the house and saw the mess of boxes piled high in each corner. two nervous dogs circled my legs and panted uncontrollably, their drool spilling onto the new bamboo floors i just paid for. i walked over to Mo, who stood idly amid the mess, also unsure where to begin. he looked over at me, tilted his head and said, “damn, you look like hell.” felt like hell, too. still i asked him, “can i have a hug?” he looked reluctant, “ok, but only a quick one. it’s too hot.”

it was too hot — easily 105ºF. too hot to really do anything, and i wanted nothing more than to sit in a bathtub full of ice with a fan pointed at my face, but i knew that the one bathtub in the house needed serious scrubbing and the fan was packed away somewhere unknowable so i rolled up my figurative sleeves (i was wearing a tank top) and went to work.

Labels: home

tented: the circus came to town, or maybe just to my house. but this circus didn't feature elephants riding around on tricycles, only termites being gassed to death under the big tent.


kill 'em all! props to Terminix for bringing the poison, though it would have been nice if they also brought a keg and maybe some pizza.


wondering if they sell these as stickers: because i'd probably get a few to stick all over the new plywood subflooring.


praying they don't find a cat in there: Terminix told me to warn my neighbors with curious kitties that the big tent would be coming. he said the amount of dead cats they find in tents is astronomical. i did my best to warn the neighbors but still felt anxious as hell throughout the three-day fumigation that a cat would wiggle in, die and kill my chances of making nice with my new neighbors.


send in the clowns: this better do the trick.

Labels: home, home improvement

ready to come inside? are you sure you’re ready? are you positively sure you’re sure? because it’s a fucking disaster in here.


floored: remember when i mentioned that the floors revealed a few soft spots and dips after the tile was pulled up? yeah, i’d like to forget about that, too; it’s a very painful, expensive memory. my contractor didn’t like it much either. he insisted on pulling up the oak hardwood floors that were underneath the star of Chuy. then he decided to pull up some of the subflooring. guess what he found?


rotted wood: apparently the subflooring hadn’t been replaced since it was installed — in 1926, when the house was built. termites and time took their toll. contractor called me at work and said maybe three or four boards could be salvaged. he advised that all of the subflooring in the living room be replaced, along with some of the beams, if i wanted even floors. and if i didn’t want to replace them, i would need to sign a waiver saying i didn’t heed his advice and wouldn’t sue him if the end result sucked. he showed me the wood, specked with black lines of termite feces. he picked up a board and tore it apart with his hands. he gave me an estimate and told me the labor to replace the floors would tack another week to the job. i took about ten seconds to think it before saying, “do it.”


plied: the new subflooring turned out to be big sheets of plywood that were cut and sanded to fit nicely together. thankfully, the subflooring in the bedrooms was in good enough shape to be left alone.


this is the bathroom: it was the only room in the house that was not under construction, so it turned into the tool depot for the crew. i certainly wanted the bathroom to undergo a makeover — with its cheesy wainscoting, chipped marble tile and nauseating rose paint — but given the subflooring surprise, the battle against this ugly would have to be saved for another day.


dump: construction on the house lasted roughly three weeks and produced a hellish amount of trash.


demoted: the speaker that was once in the ceiling cried out amid the rubble. i thought of scooping it up from the trash and placing it next to the star of Chuy in the garage, but decided to pass. sadly, once it was removed from the ceiling it lost all its charm.


disaster averted: the hole in the ceiling that cradled the speaker was indeed patched. with that, the portal to the netherworld of the previous owners was closed forever. good riddance.


walled: the crew also patched the area where we demolished the wall that once separated the master bedroom into two smaller bedrooms.


doored: they also added a door to the kitchen.


souled: and replaced the kitchen window with a smaller one to accommodate a sink. the kitchen plumbing also underwent rearrangement, not to mention major overhaul of the cabinets (to be covered in a separate post).


those colors: once the patches were made, the plumbing moved, subflooring replaced, i wouldn’t need to see those colors ever again, because the crew then primed the place to get it ready for painting, the floors ready for the bamboo installation, while i waited eagerly for them to finish.

Labels: home, home improvement

ready to come inside? are you sure you’re ready? are you positively sure you’re sure? because there is something in here that will rival the ridiculousness of the speaker that’s implanted into the ceiling.


it’s not a mirage: the floor in the living room really is ceramic tile. and that thing in the center really is a medallion.


star of Chuy: Mo and i have created a character named Uncle Chuy whom we blame for all the ugly in the house. he’s the evil mastermind behind the pepto pink paint, the shit-smeared room, the speaker in the ceiling and medallion in the living room. although this isn’t saying much, the medallion is actually one of the few things in the house that Chuy must have executed when he wasn’t totally drunk. it was clearly his passion project.


check the wheelbarrow! Mo’s painstaking project was pulling the tile up, which he did, one tile at a time.


the ripper stripper: that piece of machine couldn’t cut water. we rented it for the day, hoping it would speed up the floor demo like the guys at the rental shop said it would. sadly, it did nothing but make a lot of noise, and was returned the shop two hours later with regrets. i almost ripped a new one into the store guy for suggesting that i should pay for the rental. (clearly, i was not at Micky Mouse Hardware.)


meanwhile: i was pulling up the laminate flooring in the bedrooms and throwing the boards out the window.


damn you, Chuy! underneath the laminate were hardwood floors. hardwood floors!! who the hell covers up perfectly good hardwood flooring with laminate flooring, huh?


nevermind: a consultation with my contractor revealed that the hardwood floors were in pretty bad shape and not worth salvaging. the wood was douglas fir, which is one of the softest wood species around. contractor said he could refinish the floors, but that they would look wrecked again in three months.


still plugging away: Mo spent a few days working on the floors, saving the demo of the medallion until the very end.


ghost of Chuy: the tile was cemented to big sheets of wonderboard, which Mo pulled up after the tile was done. it was actually a little sad to see the medallion go. it served as the target of so much good-natured ridicule that i began to imagine Chuy as a real uncle to me — the type of uncle who would have sold me this old house. i imagined inviting him over for dinner once the house was done and him noticing all of his handiwork destroyed. he would ask me why i found his beloved medallion so offensive and i would look down in embarrassment and not really know what to say. then i would offer him a drink and we’d get drunk together and laugh it off, making jokes about that one time he tried to touch me inappropriately when i was a teenage girl.


heart of Chuy: Mo made sure to pull up the center of the medallion in one solid piece. we didn’t have the heart to throw it out with the rest of the broken tile, so we stored it in the garage for safekeeping, with the promise that we’ll find some way to incorporate it into the house’s ultimate decor.


more hardwood: pulling up the wonderboard revealed red oak floors in the living room, also too busted to restore. when it was done, we noticed that the floors had some soft spots that would give a bit too much when stepped on. there were some lumps and dips, too, with the floor in the hallway noticeably sloped (a sad harbinger of things to come).

at this point, Mo and i stepped away from the house, our muscles sore and faces covered with muck. with the demo done, the time had come to bring in the contractor and his crew, whose work would involve putting down new bamboo flooring, among other things like priming, painting and moving the plumbing in the kitchen around.

sounds simple enough, but there have already been a slew of unexpected delays and surprise expenses, with move-in now pushed back to mid-may instead of may 1. i have noted this as my first lesson in homeownership: it takes twice as long and costs twice as much as they said it would.

Labels: home, home improvement

(cue drumroll)

by popular demand, i present to you the shit-smeared room. apologies for the glare in the first photo. hopefully you can still make out the hideous sponge-painting (or ragging?) approach employed in the coloring of these walls. looks like crusty monkey shit to me.

Labels: home, home improvement

just kidding! all roads lead back to the house. i don’t remember the last time a thought that did not concern the house floated through my head. every time i sit down to engage in a little harmless web surfing, i end up googling things that involve the house. the house! the house! the house!

it’s my new boyfriend. not to be confused with my human boyfriend who is equally obsessed with the house. it’s quite the ménage a trois. if we go out to dinner, we bring his notebook along so we can add to the pages already filled with sketches, layouts and notes. we spend our weekends working on it, breaking our backs, visualizing the outcome.

i have to throw him some love here because he’s been a tremendous help to me in this whole house pursuit. beyond just enduring my months-long bad mood during the house hunt and escrow, he’s a design marvel who dreamt up a kitchen that was far more fantastic than the one i had in mind. handyman Dan is also pretty fantastic as he comes equipped with lots of tools and electrical know-how.

if anything, i’m more the useless helper circling around them all day asking if they need anything — screwdriver, hammer, lemonade? "yeah, bring us a wheelbarrow." i started to chuckle until it sunk in that they were serious. a wheelbarrow? really?

so i drove to the hardware store to get a wheelbarrow, an object i never imagined i would be purchasing for myself. the house has created many of those moments already. thankfully, the store had only one type of wheelbarrow so i didn’t have to choose between several models, because if there’s one thing we’ve already discovered, it’s that i shouldn’t be sent to the hardware store alone to choose anything, especially primer (long story, don’t ask).

the guys were super nice at this hardware store, which i’ve lovingly nicknamed Mickey Mouse Hardware in honor of how shoddy some of the work in my house was done. i imagine the house’s previous owners frequented the same local store to buy the scotch tape they used to hold together the broken mirrors on the closet doors.

i had no luck fitting the wheelbarrow into my car, so the hardware guys disassembled it and even threw in a wrench so i could reassemble it when i got home. they also knocked 10 bucks off the price, which is the discount i’m sure they give all the big-boobied girls who come in. i’ll definitely be taking myself and my boobies in there often in the coming months.

there’s a lot to do, and if there’s one piece of advice i’ve heard countless times already, it’s “don’t try to do too much at once.” my main objective for move-in is taking care of the floors and paint, though this is proving to still be a complicated endeavor as i have to make decisions on colors and baseboards in a jiffy. given that i’m the type of person who spends two months researching a printer before deciding to buy it, i don’t really excel at jiffy decision-making.

luckily, i have a little help from the trusty “design folder” i’ve been maintaining for the past few months. i got the idea from Pardon Our Dust, an LA Times blog on design and remodeling. (i seem to be addicted to these LA Times blogs.) i sent in a question to the editor last August, asking what i should keep in mind, design-wise, as i begin my house hunt. she suggested i subscribe to a few design/home magazines, which i did, and tear images out of the magazines that i find appealing, to be kept in a design folder. (she also suggested i start a separate folder for the things i dislike, but i just kept one folder with the love stuff.)

my folder of love has been growing since August and is now filled with photos of these ultracool things i can never afford. thanks, Dwell magazine! but it has provided me with some guidance. judging from the images i crammed into it, i guess my design aesthetic could be described as… eclectic? yeah, that’s right. eclectic. i’ll take that. don’t box me in, man!

there does seem to be a bit of everything in there. i certainly do like modernism, but not in every corner of the house — more so for the exterior. for kitchens, i like them to be bright and colorful, fun for cooking, so no stainless steel appliances for me. (i’d rather have the Big Chill Fridge, though it’s too pricey.) i seem to also be partial to vintage-type things and find myself leaning toward darker woods over the more honey-colored hues.

my ideal house would be fun, cozy and unique. i’m not exactly sure how to achieve this, but i’ll start by imbuing some whimsy into the scenery. this means filling my home with oddball tchotchkes so it doesn’t look like every item in the house came out of a Crate & Barrel catalog, though there will likely be plenty of items that have, because i do love my C&B. if you recall how i decorated the living room in my apartment last year, it’ll probably be more of the same.

although i didn’t keep a folder of things i dislike, i can already tell you that you’ll never find wrought-iron anything in my house, nor will you find horribly girlie stuff like pillows with hearts or butterflies on them. i also refuse to buy blinds or carpet. so far, i’ve decided on the flooring — and very reluctantly because i only had three weeks to do research for it. next, i need to decide on paint, which must be the hardest decision of any remodel. it’s causing all sorts of anxiety. i simply don’t know, and being constantly told that it will look totally different on the wall than it does on the swatch isn’t helping, people.

Labels: home, home improvement

i have been reading this LA real estate blog published by the LA Times, LA Land, for about a year now. i became a frequent reader when i first began researching real estate prior to my house hunt. the editor of the blog seemed terrific and provided tons of timely and useful stories about the local market, and though the blog’s regular commentators are not nearly as fantastic as the commentators here, they are — how you say? — rather colorful, and staunchly anti-buy.

after closing on my new buy, i wanted to shout from the rooftops, so i sent a pitch to the editor, asking to be a guest blogger and write about my home-buying experience. it would be a contrarian viewpoint to dispute the greek chorus of commentators who constantly piss on the housing market. he has had guest bloggers in the past and agreed to publish my essay, first asking if he could publish a few lines from the email i sent him, with the full essay later. i agreed, thinking nothing of it as it was a short post on recent homebuyers, profiling two others in addition to me.

so he published. and then... well, you can read the comments for yourself. in short, i came under heavy fire for my decision to buy, my ability to afford my house and for things i’ve said on this blog. i had all sorts of insults hurled at me, ranging from the always creative “you’re DUMB!!” to accusations that i was subprime or without steady employment, would be in foreclosure and going to be living in a barrio. and my personal favorite: “Milla will be in a world of hurt - shortly.”

funny that i was taught to say “congratulations” when people tell me they bought a house. not to say there weren’t many kind folks who offered their well wishes for the future, which i appreciated, but sadly the bitter trolls outnumbered them. also interesting were all the angry demands i received to reveal my annual salary and monthly mortgage payments, which must be the tackiest question of all time. people were literally sitting there with calculators and throwing out their expert estimations of my financial situation, complete with “Assume state and federal taxes, SS, medicare, unemployment lop off 30% of Milla’s check...”

all i can say is wow. WOW.

i understand this is the internet, which Mo always reminds me is the bathroom wall. having a blog for the past four years has made me less sensitive to the judgment of others, which i know i invite with each post. it’s the cost of doing business and i accept it without complaint. it’s just shocking to me that there were so many armchair experts on my situation. i can understand someone’s decision not to buy in the current market — prices will likely fall more, loans are hard to come by, LA is a tough market — but i’m disappointed that my decision to buy was not met with the same understanding. and not just lack of understanding, but outright cruelty.

because many of the commentators have revealed themselves to be well-paid people unable to afford a house in LA, i imagine the anger stemmed from the viewpoint of “why do these poor people qualify for breaks that i can’t have? why am i punished for making too much money?” part of me can understand this viewpoint, as i one day hope to be better paid. (and my desire to buy a house is in many ways preparation for that day.) but the bigger part of me, the immigrant part who saw my parents work multiple jobs to afford our little starter home in Van Nuys can understand that sometimes people need a helping hand as they work their way up. because, truly, the reward for having money is having money. and i refuse to believe that those six-figure earners cannot afford a house. they probably can’t afford the house of their dreams — the one they desperately want to impress all their friends and coworkers — but they can afford a condo in a decent area, and to claim otherwise implies that they’re doing a poor job managing their money.

if i can afford, they can afford. i know i went in as a lower-income person, which is comical to me seeing that i’m not exactly a single mother raising three kids on a minimum-wage salary, which is my impression of low income. instead i’m a nice jewish girl from the valley with a master’s degree and a good job in finance. perhaps i’m the new poor: the type of educated, struggling poor one finds in metropolitan cities like LA and NY, where the cost of living is alien when compared to the rest of the country. maybe we’re the suckers who value location over lifestyle (though for me, the two are one in the same). in any case, i consider myself middle class and know i played by the rules — strict ones — when receiving my government assistance.

and personally, i’m happy with my decision to buy. i can honestly say that these haters have not pissed on my parade in the slightest. for me it’s a matter of whose opinion i value. if these people were all friends or regular readers who questioned my judgment, i would perk up and listen. like all humans, i want to win the approval of the people closest to me, who i know have my best interests in mind. but the opinions of strangers, not so much. so i’m able to dismiss the vitriol as standard bathroom splatter motivated by people wanting to justify their own decision not to buy. still, it was a shit storm i did not expect to be caught in the center of, however entertaining.

and it WAS entertaining: “she says she doesn’t make six figures, and has to beg money off her parents, that really is too much money for her to handle” and “You’ll be sending in the keys within 18 months I bet” and “Milla’s story is just another example of creatively stretched financing.”

wow. i will say that my house cost $410K, which is a public fact anyone can easily find on Zillow. it appraised for more than i paid for it, and the comps were excellent. i took advantage of terrific first-time homebuyer programs offered by the city and state, which i will sing the praises of until the end of time. the income limits of those programs are published online, and will reveal that i make — gasp! — under six figures. i understand if you want to delete me from your Blackberry now.

my only goal in all of this was to prove that you don’t have to be rich to afford a house in Los Angeles and that the housing market is more alive than people might imagine. and i’m proud of my house, i’m excited by it and see it as far more than a money-making machine. but these people would not have it. no sir, they knew better. i was a fool who would be in tears, in a world of pain, and shortly. ok, sure.

i must be a masochist, because i still sent in my full essay for publication, knowing full well that i would open myself up to all sorts of criticism. the comments are already quite rich, very good for a laugh. don’t worry about me taking them to heart — i’m still smiling. and i’ll be smiling wider when i’m finally moved into my new house, sitting on my deck with a glass of wine after a long day, appreciating my view.

Labels: home, house hunt

welcome to the new chronicles! now that the house hunt is over, the home improvement begins. i expect this latest series to run for a long while, as countless homeowners have told me that home improvements are never-ending. i don’t intend to document every new nail i hammer into the house, but the big changes will be highlighted. i imagine they will also be plentiful in the coming year, as the house needs TONS of work.

i’m not exaggerating when i say this. trust that i saw plenty of fixers that were in way worse shape than my little castle on the hill. if i wanted, i could move in tomorrow if i didn’t mind the tacky flooring and garish paint, but i do mind them. i mind them very, very much. this means that April will be absolutely insane with fixing the place up for a May move-in. last week, i hired a contractor i like a whole lot after interviewing tons i didn’t like at all. he and his crew will be doing the bulk of the heavy lifting over the next few weeks. but because my budget is laughable, i’ll need to do as much as i can, too, to cut down on expenses.

so far, working on the house has given me tons of gratification. it’s this warm fuzzy feeling of self-satisfaction that i’m sure all DIY homeowners are familiar with. i’m surprised at how much i can actually do — and i’m desperate to keep learning. i’m thankful as hell i proofed that carpentry book a few months ago as a freelance project. i’m also thankful that i have a terrific architect boyfriend helping me do the work and considering things like traffic patterns and natural light in the planning of the remodel.

i’ve gotten a few requests to post interior shots of the house, and i will once i have “after” shots to accompany them. it’s not that the previous owners didn’t maintain the house; they lived in it for 10 years and did plenty of upkeep. it’s just that their upkeep was always cheaply done — usually by the dad, who i’ve heard was a drywall guy, meaning he did most of the work himself with scrap materials gathered from the junkyard. there are plenty of mismatched cupboards and poorly cut countertops to confirm that.

the family’s aesthetic decisions were also rather questionable. there’s tile throughout the living room and laminate flooring of different colors in the bedrooms. the house’s exterior is painted two different shades of barf, i mean, peach. and the interior is painted in the most ridiculous combination of pepto pink, lavender, mossy green and a cartoonish shade of maroon on some of the walls. one of the bedrooms was even painted a poopy brown in that do-it-yourself sponge-painting way they show on the home-remodeling shows. i’ve gotten into the habit of calling it “the shit-smeared room.”

legally the house is listed as a three bedroom, though every inspector who looked at it said that because the third bedroom didn't have a closet, it couldn’t technically be considered a bedroom — it was more of a “study.” the troubling thing about the house’s layout was that the no-closet bedroom was adjacent to one of the house’s regular bedrooms, separated by a wall and joined by a door.

well, no more! the first order of business was taking down that wall to open up those two bedrooms into a larger — yet oddly shaped — master for me and my Mo. it’s oddly shaped because the walls of the bedrooms don’t align perfectly, as the third bedroom is a bit wider than the second. the ceilings are also of different heights. but as i'm not a stickler for geometry, that’s ok by me.


ugh, that paint: also notice the two different colors of laminate flooring laid out in different directions. truly charming. this shows the door joining the two bedrooms.


i will crush you! me in my demolition gear ready to make the first strike.


pow! there goes my investment.


thwack! Mo showing me how it’s really done. apparently i demolish like a girl.


digging in: behold, Mo the demolisher!


two hours later: the great wall of ugly had fallen.


that’s dan: he’s our handyman who brought the sawzall.

when it was finally over, i seriously could not stop smiling. i know that a house with three bedrooms is better than one with two for resale purposes, but i refuse to make decisions based solely on resale. this is my home, first and foremost, and it made much more sense to remove that dumb wall and create one big bedroom. the demo experience wowed me tremendously because a) i've never done it before, so i got to see all the assorted stuffing and things that actually reside in a wall, which was eye-opening, and b) i've never done it before because i never could as a renter, but this wall i could make decisions about because i owned it.

and that felt mighty fine.

Labels: home, home improvement

it happened just like everyone said it would. i walked into a house, the right house, and felt it immediately. it didn’t overwhelm me or make my knees buckle. nor did it strike me in a love-at-first-sight kind of way. it gradually built as i walked through the house, surveying each room carefully and critically, and continued growing long after i left.

i had seen enough dumps by this point to know that this was it. oftentimes, my agent would pull into a driveway of a new house, only to have me take one look at the house’s exterior and utter, “nope, this isn’t it. let’s keep going.” i wouldn’t even get out of the car. and on the occasion that i did get out of car because the house’s exterior didn’t repulse me, i would race through the interior in three minutes, which was enough time to notice the holes in the walls, the tiles missing from the bathroom, the mystery stains on the carpet. there was even one house full of rabbits — loose rabbits that would circle my feet and then go shit in the corner. oh yes, house hunting was an adventure.

but this house was different. this house i wanted to enter and explore. this house impressed me with its layout, location and view. it was perched on a hillside in Highland Park, three bedrooms and one bathroom with a skylight. windows everywhere, the place was filled with light. at the side of the house was a sizable deck with an incredible view into the valley below. there was a two-car detached garage and partially finished basement. the ceilings were sloped and made the house look bigger than its 1,000 square feet.

i liked the house. i liked the house a lot. i liked it so much that i was able to overlook the fact that a subwoofer had been implanted into the living room ceiling (no joke). but the house was out of my budget. still, i thought about it for days after seeing it — dreamt about it even. i called my agent and said we should make an offer. this was january when no one else was making offers, so what would the harm be? the house was a foreclosed property and the bank was probably eager to get it off the books. so we made an offer, a low one, and negotiations began.

rather, the nightmare began. i’m sure this had more to do with the fact that i was dealing with a bank instead of a live human being with a heart and a face and eyes i could look into while sitting across the table and negotiating a deal that would suit us both. with the bank came a game of hardball negotiations and jugular attacks. the first offer i made was met with a weeklong silence when three days is the standard response time. and then came a 5pm fax on a friday listing out a bullshit price with insane terms and a response deadline of sunday afternoon.

at first i got all panicky and confused. i feared i was out of my league and would surely get bulldozed by these fuckers. luckily i had the best conciliary around, also known as my dad, who assured me that this was just a starting bid and the bank’s test of my character. he advised me to play it cool and not respond to the bank’s offer until tuesday. “buyers market,” he reminded me while telling me to quit hyperventilating into the phone. “write them an offer saying you will except all their terms for a price that’s lower than the price you originally offered. accepting their terms will show them that you’re ready to work with them. lowering the price will tell them that they have to work with you.”

i wish i could say this did the trick and we rode happily into the sunset together, but it wasn’t that easy. i countered on tuesday with my dad’s offer and got a response on wednesday with the same crap terms but slightly lower, yet still too high price. negotiations continued — for weeks. at one point they broke off completely and i feared i would lose the house altogether, but dad said not to sweat it so i tried not to sweat.

a week passed and i was sweating buckets. i worried about competing offers coming in and ruining my chances for the house. i called my mortgage broker about increasing my budget, but was told i was stretched too tightly already and couldn’t go a penny over. i waited some more. i chewed my cuticles. finally i had to put my cards down — i came back with my firm and final: my terms, my price, take it or leave it. (but please, please take it!)

they took it. exhale! rejoice and celebrate! the house is in the bag!

yeah, not so fast. inspections came and unearthed a multitude of problems: the electrical was shoddy, termites had eaten the deck, there was mold in the garage. on the bright side, the foundation was solid, the plumbing surprised us all by being copper and the roof was secure. then came the request for repairs paperwork, which was sent to the bank. no response. another week passed. more sweating.

meanwhile, my loans suddenly were in trouble. my mortgage broker began making me nervous by being sloppy with the documents he was sending for my signature. the closing costs estimates seemed to be inching upward with every new version. other documents were also flawed — with my name misspelled, the address of the house wrong and my income miscalculated. finally, i sat down one night with my red pen and highlighter and reviewed everything, marking up all the discrepancies while riddling my hands with paper cuts. then i sat down with the broker and proceeded to question every charge, every discrepancy until i reduced him to a bumbling mess of a man begging for mercy in a pile on the floor, while i pretended that he was the bank. well, not really but i did shave a fair amount of charges from my closing costs.

then came more bad news about my loans. since i was going into this transaction as a low-income, first-time homebuyer, my funding was coming from multiple sources, meaning i had three underwriters all disagreeing on how to calculate my earnings, which consist of an unpredictable blend of my base salary at work, two work bonuses and some freelance. i assured everyone that my base salary was the only one that mattered because that was predictable each month, with the rest being gravy. but because i had to deal with governmental agencies that did not want to provide me with one penny more than they had to, calculations did not go in my favor.

then the bank responded: zero for repairs. ZERO. the bank’s listing agent — a cunt-whore-scumbag-bitch-slut who was still advertising my house on craigslist while we were in escrow — said the bank was thinking of fixing the house themselves and selling it for more money than i was offering and that my inspection reports just told them what they needed to do. “bullshit,” dad said, “they’re in too deep. they just don’t want to give you money for repairs, that’s all.” so fine, i reduced the amount requested substantially and waited. again.

during this latest wait, i took the time to get my loans in order, which looked bleaker by the day. it seemed that every day saw a new fire that needed putting out. i had been getting increasingly pissed at my mortgage broker and his empty reassurances, and still sloppy mistakes on the paperwork. i got into the habit of berating him during our daily chats on the status of things. it got so bad that he voluntarily reduced his commission on the deal.

finally, he came back with a plan that had me paying off my car loan to reduce my monthly debts and increase the amount i could borrow. this killed me as it cut into the remodeling budget substantially. i was steamed: “what am i going to do when i take that subwoofer out of the ceiling, huh? just leave a big hole? i need to pay someone to patch that up, you know.”

there was more than a hole in the ceiling at stake. the house needed some termite spray, new paint, a new deck and an electrician to come find out why the HVAC was tripping the breakers. then the bank called after its weeklong stonewall and said they would put some bucks down for repairs — still way under what was needed, but i wasn’t too proud to beg at that point. i even went begging at the bank of mom and dad, who kindly granted me a small loan for repairs, with a reminder that they are getting ready for retirement, bitch, so you better pay us back in five years.

with the loans in place and inspections and appraisal done, i removed all contingencies and waited for the funding to come through. again, with this being government money, the waiting was long and escrow stretched past 40 days. i kept waiting for that call, the tap on the shoulder that would let me know that the deal had fallen through, because a happy ending to this story did not seem feasible to me.

i waited and acted jumpy all day, especially when my cell phone rang. i couldn’t sleep at night, too busy grinding my teeth and fearing for the worst. waiting and waiting until i finally got the call: funding came through, the sale was recorded, deed was mine, and escrow was closed. i now own a house. holy shit.


my little piece of earth


at least it’s a sony


check out my view, bitches!


hell yeah

Labels: home, house hunt

still working on it...

Labels: home, house hunt, love notes

man, oh manischewitz. this year has started with quite a flurry. i wish i could say i’ve been doing all this cool and amazing shit, like dining with the queen of england, that has prevented me from posting, but truth is i’ve just been working like a jerking.

i must be suicidal or very, very greedy because i cannot seem to say no to a paycheck. january dropped three new freelance projects in my lap and of course i said yes to everything despite their overlapping deadlines. but in the spirit of keeping my eye on the prize, i’ve vowed to work hard and do everything i must to secure my mythical kingdom. (queendom?)

yes, house hunting still. no, no news yet — at least none that my jewish superstitions would allow me to share. there are rumblings here and there, as there have been since the start, but i’m getting better about remaining detached. i’m not falling helplessly in love with houses so much anymore and i’m trying not to allow the process to frustrate me. i’m sure my new attitude has frustrated those around me, however, who’d like me to extrapolate on the “i’ll think about it and let you know” response that i seem to be saying too often nowadays — complete with the too-cool-to-care shoulder shrug.

it’s not that i’m suddenly unconcerned about where i’ll end up living, i’m just trying to replace the stress with faith — faith that i’ll find the right thing, that i’ll know it when i see it, that i won’t need to go and “think” about it too much. it will happen because it has to happen. and if it doesn’t happen, then i will murder my agent, broker and anyone else who’s been working so hard to make money off of me. just kidding! if it doesn’t happen, then it wasn’t meant to happen. i read that in a book somewhere.

what’s nice is that one of my current freelance projects has me proofing a carpentry textbook, which i’m sure i’ve mentioned before. it couldn’t have come at a better time and has provided quite the education on house construction. not that i can get a miter saw and some plywood and construct my dream house suddenly, but at least i now know what a miter saw is. i’ve also learned why sloped roofs are better than flat ones and that carpentry involves a lot of scary geometry.

speaking of scary, my other project has me proofing a scan of a Stephen King novel. the novel is The Mist and it’s scaring the bejezuz out of me and making all the ominous rain clouds currently rolling through Los Angeles look mighty unnerving. in the book, the mist is full of creepy, crawly, flesh-eating insects that can decapitate you with their juices. not fun. now when i kiss the puppies goodnight before bed, i find myself telling them not to pee on the floor and to stay out of the mist.

oh yes, the puppies! yay for them! Pinko has turned super duper in the past few months. she’s far more affectionate and relaxed than she was in the beginning, and she’s even managing to separate herself from Juice’s side for more than two paces at a time, which is a breakthrough. i’ll post some photos for y’all to barf at soon.

Labels: home, work

i’ve been a house-hunting lookie-loo lately, driving around every weekend in search of open houses. i’ve seen tons of places already, most of which i’ve hated. to date, there’s been just one house that gave me that warm feeling of “i can see myself living here!” but i hemmed and hawed like a moron and someone else snatched it. since then, i’ve been praying that it falls out of escrow while rolling my eyes at every new dump i enter.

and yes, they’ve all been dumps. i know i’m supposed to be looking for the worst house on the best block, but when the worst house is 600 square feet of cramped living space, sans yard, on a 1,000-square foot lot — which i found in a great part of Eagle Rock — i can’t do it. i need a place i can live in and maybe add onto in the next few years before trading up.

what’s that you say? i should look into foreclosures? that would be sage advice if i didn’t mind a shitty neighborhood, but since i refuse to move to sacramento, compton or the inland empire, the burgeoning foreclosure market doesn’t do me much good. trust me, the housing market in LA proper is still holding steady and the good parts of town are not overrun by foreclosed properties.

this has been hard. much harder than i thought it would be. not that i thought it would be so damn effortless, but just, i don’t know, maybe more exciting. so far, it’s been a constant hustle and huge epicenter of stress. i’m now on my second mortgage broker and second real estate agent, both of whom i had to scramble to find after realizing that my first choices weren’t working out.

i’m also coming to terms with the unavoidable truth that countless folks have told me already — that my starter home will be far from dreamy. i’ll have to make compromises, reshuffle priorities and throw my lengthy “have to have” list out the window. and i fully intend to, as hard as it will be. i’ll also need to overcome my fear of “the fixer” and learn to be handy around the house.

one good thing is that i’ve gotten better at decoding the cryptic lingo agents and sellers use to describe their properties. example: “cozy” = tiny; “bring your imagination” = dump. in addition, i’ve realized that a pilates studio in a neighborhood means i could never afford to live there. however, if the neighborhood has a “checks cashed” establishment on each corner, i have my pick of the litter.

what’s that you say? i should wait to buy until prices fall more? yeah, i’ve heard that one, too, and i wouldn’t disagree. but certain financial and logistical circumstances are pushing me to buy sooner rather than later (though if i don’t find anything by march, i might just wait another year). plus, every agent, seller and broker i’ve encountered has told me that “it’s a great time to buy!!” and i’m sure they would never lie to me.

Labels: home, house hunt

my mortgage broker forwarded me an email she received from the city a few weeks ago that said the city would have the money i need to fund my home purchase in another two or three months. recall that the very generous and wealthy city of Los Angeles is helping me secure my mortgage through a first-time homeowners fund set aside especially for low-income peeps like myself. mortgage broker also said that she faxed in a reservation for me, which should secure my cut of the pie.

i’ve decided to look upon this unexpected delay as divine intervention from the real estate gods who know that home prices will continue to fall. by how much, who the hell knows? i read estimates each day in the paper that predict anywhere from a 15% to a 60% drop. and honestly, i don’t know whom to believe. i don’t even believe my own estimate of a 30% drop, because i don’t own a crystal ball, and my tarot cards don’t count.

however things go, my goal has never been to flip a house or time the market to my advantage. sure, i don’t want to buy real estate that depreciates, but if it’s a short-term loss that’s eventually regained, i could live with that — and in that. already, as i check the MLS, so many more places have entered the realm of my search criteria, with their headlines of “REDUCED!! REDUCED!!” this is quite awesome, as it’s expanded my concept of what i can afford.

still, i can’t afford much. without getting into the dollars and cents of it, my budget might allow me to buy a nice house in compton, but that would run counter to Dave’s advice of “buy the worst house on the best block.” i’m already priced out of the areas i really want to live in, like Silver Lake, which already had its influx of aging hipsters who were tired of hollywood move in and gentrify. the next wave went farther east, into Eagle Rock, which i’m also priced out of. so hello, Highland Park.

there’s also the downtown area, which i was considering until i attended the grand opening of a popular loft complex in the fashion district. i went with my girl, Dee, who’s also toying with the idea of the big buy, for the promise of a live band, free food and a chance to win an iPhone in a raffle. turns out the band was a DJ, the food was all fried, and neither of us won the iPhone. we probably looked like a pair of picky power dykes as we sauntered from one showcase loft to the next, opening closet doors and asking the ushers stationed around the complex, “um, excuse me, is this laminate cus it sure doesn’t look like real wood?” (it was laminate.)

if location is everything in real estate, these lofts proved it. some of them had the most breathtaking views of the downtown skyline, which i stood and stared at for a long minute. it struck me that these tall buildings, one of which i work in, looked more beautiful than a pack of trees. i began imagining that view at night or during the rain, and how inspiring it could be. it overwhelmed me with love for Los Angeles and got me thinking that i should call the u-haul to schedule the move-in.

then i’d walk into a different loft and find a view of the parking lot behind the complex, which was breathtaking in a different way. though the lot was guarded, i could see the junkies surrounding the perimeter, one of whom accosted me for change when i stepped out of the building, and said with slurred speech and out-stretched hand, “iss not fer drugs.”

that got me thinking i should cancel the u-haul and keep my hands in my pockets. as far as it’s come, downtown LA still has a ways to go. it’s always been a place to avoid at night, good only for warehouse parties where you can drink past 2am and buy drugs. trees are rare, and the ‘bark park’ promised by the complex offered just a patch of astroturf for the residents’ dogs to do their doodies on.

maybe i could have done it ten years ago when i was fearless and dogless, but today, loft living downtown just doesn’t suit me. it’s too urban, remote and uncomfortable. it’s not dog-friendly, and there’s no supermarket nearby. plus, parking is nonexistent, which means none of my friends would visit. i hear enough complaints now, living in West Hollywood, about the ‘parking situation.’ in Los Angeles, there is always a parking situation and in downtown, it’s a catastrophe.

i know downtown has nicer lofts in nicer, safer neighborhoods, but i’m already priced out of those. though if i did have money to burn, i would totally get a loft as a weekend retreat, which i would turn into a studio space where i could write the great american novel while gazing at the skyline.

at night, i’d invite my arty neighbors over to drink red wine and talk about postmodernism. i’d smear brie on my crackers without a care about the calories, because in this fantasy i’m ravishing and effortlessly thin. we’d play LCD Soundsystem records, on vinyl, to drown out the noise of the urban bustle outside and think nothing of the sirens and helicopters that circled around us. we’d be cool like dat and make funny jokes — haha that one about Nietzsche! good one, Pierre!

the next morning, i’d drive back to my real home, which would have a paved driveway not filled with panhandlers. then on weekends, i’d take the jet to my beach house in Maui. better yet, i’d just teleport there because jet fuel is bad for the environment nowadays and i’ve gone green.

but i’ll save all that for another day. today, i’ll focus on finding the worst house on the best block.

Labels: home, house hunt

i’ve spent the past week and a half home from work, recovering from this lovely respiratory infection. the illness itself wouldn’t have taken me so far out of orbit but the antibiotics and other assorted meds i had to ingest for the past ten days leveled me in unanticipated ways. i seriously had so little energy that doing something as simple as laundry felt like a herculean task.

i slept most of the days away, left my house only when necessary and bitched nonstop to anyone who made the mistake of calling me to say hi. i might be a happy drunk, but a sad sick i'm afraid. i hated the forced time off, particularly because i couldn't do a damn thing with it. i laugh when i think of the ambitious list i wrote of all the things i intended to do when i first began my respite. instead, i did the following — and you can too should you ever find yourself in the position of looking for Things to Do While Recovering from Bronchitis:

• promise yourself that you’ll never ever smoke another cigarette for the rest of your life and ask your friends to put out their own cigarettes on your face if you try to bum. decide to buy an air purifier and visit the steam room at the gym more often to help detoxify your lungs.


• bemoan the fact that your medication causes sun sensitivity and that you need to stay indoors and out of the sun’s harmful rays which can now boil you like a lobster. then remember it’s july in los angeles, 90 degrees, and that you hate heat and wouldn’t want to be out there anyway. feel better momentarily.


• enjoy the time with your fantastic dogs who seem happy to have you home so much. apologize to said dogs profusely about being a dead-beat mom all week and promise them numerous trips to the dog park upon your recovery. bond with your new puppy who is finally starting to become affectionate with you. notice that new puppy has a serious gas problem.


• begin work on a freelance project that requires you to proofread an 850-page high school health textbook. find yourself actually learning something. giggle at the chapter on sexual abstinence.


• visit your cutie-patootie Aryan doctor for another checkup where you blather on about your cough. say inappropriate and nonsensical things such as you really like the cough syrup with codeine he prescribed because it gives you “kaleidoscopic” dreams. blush like a school girl when he uses his stethoscope to listen to your lungs, which, by the way, sound clear so no you don’t have pneumonia like you suspect and you didn’t have it last time either, remember? leave quietly and then kick yourself in the head for being an insufferable idiot.


• find one long, dense book to occupy your week. settle on the 625-page autobiography of Katharine Graham. find yourself once again fascinated by the world of journalism. vow to rent “All the President’s Men” as soon as you can.


• become alarmed when your puppy brings in a severed pigeon leg one morning from the yard. carefully dispose of leg and then reluctantly enter your yard to find pigeon feathers scattered throughout, but no carcass. inspect puppy’s mouth, face and body to see if she had an altercation with a pigeon and already ate the evidence. conclude that it was likely a possum who committed the dismemberment the prior night and puppy recovered only sloppy seconds.


• eat like a pig because you’re bored and need comfort. exercise not at all. have your parents come by to drop off food after you complain that your fridge is empty. hear your dad look at you and say, “hmm, i thought being sick would make you drop a few pounds.”


• wish Zsa Zsa Gabor would call you.

nowadays i’m feeling better, though the cough and congestion still linger. but my energy has begun its rebound, and resuming work and rejoining civilization have never sounded better. i’ve spent enough time sitting around cruising myspace and twiddling my medicated thumbs. time to be productive again.

Labels: home, sick

much of my spare time and money the past several months have been poured into beautifying my home. it’s become such a favorite pastime of mine that i don't know how to exist without it. and if my lengthy Upgrade List is any indication, i won’t need to know anytime soon as even perfectly functional housewares – like the Martha Stewart dinnerware set i bought at Kmart years ago – have been deemed in need of replacement.

most recently, my living room underwent a major facelift that saw its walls painted and furniture replaced. we cancers are a domestic ilk who prefer their houses to be homey and i am no exception. my lounge time at home is one of my most cherished activities so i aimed for comfort and color when reimagining my living room.

luckily i had a design guru boyfriend to help me in my decorative pursuits. “you need to get over your color fear,” Mo would say (almost daily), picking out a Cabbage Green swatch at Home Depot. i can’t say we agreed on everything, but i am glad i went with his suggestions as they produced a mighty cozy room. and i’m very thankful that he did the painting and put together most of the furniture as my sorry self can barely use a level correctly. here are the results.


in this corner: we have my lustrous desk/work area where all the sitting on my ass takes place. nothing really changed here. still disorganized as ever.


another corner: i should be lighting those candles more often, but they only ever seem to burn during a party. whoops, just thinking aloud. so yeah, this is another corner of the living room.


the blue dog: Mo didn’t paint this, but it used to hang in his apartment before he moved in with me.


also Mo’s: this is a flattened spray can painted by L.A. street artist Buff Monster, whom Mo recently interviewed for a feature on Archinect.


this one’s mine: anyone who’s eaten at Canter’s on Fairfax has likely passed the Blitzstein Museum of Art. i surely had, and was long desirous of something from his store. i landed on this piece very quickly upon walking in – the lightbulb man painted on natural wood with a hole in his heart. i snatched it on the spot.


Matryoshka: that’s the Russian word for Soviet nesting dolls. i also snatched these up as soon as i saw them, a few years back while on my European adventure. they feature former Soviet leaders, starting with little Lenin in the center, then up to Stalin, Khrushchev, Yeltsin and Gorbie topping them off with painted hickey on his head.


more Soviet: the 1980 Olympiad poster, plus another one of Mo’s Buff Monster cans (he has three total).


the non-blue dog: no living room of mine could ever be complete without the sweet and smiley juice.


always been a stunner: here we see the photogenic wonder wide awake, at left, aged four months; and sound asleep, at right, six weeks old.


her boyfriend and mine: exchange knowing glances while sitting on the couch together, both probably wondering, “what the hell is up with these bitches?” black Max is a neighbor’s dog and frequent houseguest.
(maybe this is my color fear taking over, but i’m worried that those uber-bright throws are a bit much for the already bright room. i’m thinking of replacing them with solid brown throws that match the chocolate-colored futon underneath. yes?)


another bulbous head: Mo says i have a penchant for these in the artwork i select, like this painting i bought several years ago while on a trip to mexico.


another Soviet head: dusty, busted Lenin bust in iron with russian devil figurine nearby.


the wall: wide shot of elements combined.

Labels: home, home improvement