I love it, don’t get me wrong. It’s really nice to be able to spread out a bit. I feel a little like I’m back living at my parents house, as there elements similar to my home growing up in the ‘burbs. I keep expecting to come up the stairs and see my stepsisters arguing over who has a cuter Kaboodle or who used the last of the Aussie Sprunch Spray.

The thing is… we don’t have enough stuff to fill this place, which gives it a kind of empty feeling.  It’s also so quiet and dark at night that when Mike is gone at work, I feel super isolated. I flip on every outside light and double lock every door and window. I also am totally unfamiliar with the sounds of this new place… the home and the neighborhood.  I’m sure it will pass.

The “not having enough things” issue gives me anxiety, too. I want this to feel like a home… warm and inviting. And considering I’m here all day long, every day, I need it to feel cozy. That will cost money, of course, but more of a concern to me is having that much stuff. It makes my heart race — it freaks me out. It feels so… adult.  It feels a little stifling and all I can think every time I buy something is “Great, more stuff to pack for the next move.”

I’ve never been a big “saver”.  This has been to my detriment, as I sold and/or gave away a lot of things in my 20′s that I wish desperately I could get back.  But in general, I’m not a big “keeper”. I don’t keep meaningless things for ages and ages.  I don’t think I’m in any danger of being a hoarder. The very thought gives me palpitations. I’m not a neat freak by any means, but I hate too much clutter for too long.  And having moved at least 20 times since I was 17, the concept of acquiring more stuff than I can schlep in my turtle shell makes me sweat a little.

Not that I’m not happy to be here… I am. I like being with Mike and having a chance to see friends who visit Las Vegas — who doesn’t visit Las Vegas? And I love having a nice house for quite a bit less money than my apartment rent in California and the chance to save some money and reduce what minimal debt I have.  These are all good things.

I’m sure once I make some friends and find my locals and get in my own groove here, I won’t have this panicked feeling inside.  Realizing I can’t just “go home” takes a bit of getting used to… and I get a little jealous when I hear of things happening in San Diego without me, but that’s normal, too, I think.

So far, it’s not been bad, just different and a little lonely.  But it’s only been a week.  I just need to give it time.

Daniel and Richard are on the left, you just can't see them.

So, I live in Las Vegas now. Here I am, a dyed-in-the-wool California girl in the desert… if California girls wore wool. I’m sitting on my familiar couch, typing on my familiar laptop, watching my familiar TV in a totally unfamiliar house and a mostly unfamiliar city.  We dropped Daniel and Richard off at the airport a couple hours ago, Mike just left for work and it’s just me n’ the bun, getting to know this place.


Some things I’ve discovered thus far, in a handy unordered list:

• Drink a lot of water because man, it’s dry.
• This is a lot more house than I remembered and  despite my griping about how much stuff I have, it’s not enough to fill two-thirds of this place.
• Lupo by Wolfgang Puck at Mandalay stops serving at 10pm and one of the hostesses is a snatch.
• Liquidity at Luxor makes a really good martini… after you send back the first one and your waitress rolls her eyes at you.
• I can see the snow capped mountains from my office.
• There is a beautiful view of downtown, the Stratosphere and a bit of the Strip from the master bedroom.
• Lulu was calmer during the move than I was.
• If you live in a certain lovely gated community in San Diego, don’t park your UHaul on the street, even with a parking pass.  You’ll get towed and have to pay $228 to get it out all the while freaking out that your stuff has been stolen out of the back. But you can’t park outside the main neighborhood either because that’s  violating some other rule, so I guess they expect you to levitate your truck a mile above the earth until you’re ready to leave. Bollocks and a half.
• No one makes king-size fitted sheets, only Cal-King. I love you, California, you are my home state, but the whole world doesn’t revolve around your bed size.  Let’s pick one, shall we?  Twin. Full. Queen. KING. Just the one. Cripes.
• It takes three men and a handful of martinis to put together a king-size IKEA bedframe.
• My best gays are truly the best, all around. They drove the moving truck, they bought me vodka, they tolerated my crazy and still love me. And they didn’t even mind that I made them use mismatched towels.
• Don’t listen to virtual strangers when they tell you should look out for scorpions because apparently, this is not a problem. I was also told to wear shoes in the house, just in case I stepped on one, which had me in a tizzy and freaking out for Lulu’s safety and our own. Turns out, there are people who have lived here their entire lives and never seen one, let alone in the house. So that guy can suck it and pay for my therapy.
• There are strippers, minus the strip, that dance around in the middle of the casino floor in the Luxor.
• Speaking of strippers, Little Darlings off the 15 has actual footage of their (still clothed) strippers dancing on a massive screen. It’s no wonder there’s traffic congestion.
• Thanks to the Internet, what happens in Vegas doesn’t stay here.  Girl, please. They really need to retire that campaign.

That’s all for now. I have a few photos and when the house is presentable and doesn’t look like the Trash Heap from Fraggle Rock, I’ll post a little tour.  Now I have to go find what box I put the thing in that allows me to do something that is probably in another box that doesn’t contain what I need. In the garage.  Next to an alleged scorpion.

One major opportunity I can’t talk about yet, which is killing a big mouth like me, but I promised and I’m only as good as my word. I also signed legal stuff, so there is that.

Another big thing is… well, I’m moving.  Yes, again. But this time, I”m not just going across town, I’m moving to Las Vegas!

I’ll give you a second to insert any in a series of anticipated and oft-heard protests:

• But San Diego is so beautiful!
• But what about your friends?!
• But Vegas is so… Vegas.
• Once you leave California, it’s really hard to get back.
• It’s so HOT there!
• Are you insane?!

Done?

I know all these things, but for me, it’s important to make decisions that are good for me and for now, this is a smart move that will allow me to take on less work so I can pursue other interests.  Some of you may know that mikey got a job up there recently and moved there in June. I decided to follow when my lease was up, which is at the end of November.  Here’s the part where some might ask “but… why?”  I can’t say there aren’t going to be some adjustments to living in the desert and away from my San Diego life, but here are just some reasons that are both positive in general and good for me, personally.

• I have a great support system there already. mikey, obviously, who I miss when he’s not around. So does Lulu. Also one of my very best friends, Heika (some might remember her as Macgeezel) — she’s from Vegas and her family, whom I am close with, still live there. Unfortunately, she doesn’t, but I may get to see her more often. There are also some of her Vegas friends that I’ve gotten to know over the years and mike’s got some friends there, as well.
• It’s CHEAP, people. I live in a beautiful, gorgeous city. I grew up here, San Diego is my home. But it’s crazy-ass, mind-blowing expensive here. And as a freelancer, that is tough. Vegas, on the other hand, can provide, for about 30% less than my rent currently, a place 3x the size, newer, in a beautiful new area. And actual house, even.
• To that end, a very large apartment or a house allows me to have an actual office, with a door. It allows me to separate work and life a little better.  Plus, paint!
• No state income tax.
• There’s a Kids Expo in Vegas every year, which means I’ll likely be able to talk Kathy into crashing in our guest room.
• There’s always something to do. Any time you want to do it.
• I’m California-adjacent. It’s only a 5 hour drive back to San Diego or an hour flight. I can come back any time I want and considering I won’t have to work as a hard, I’ll actually have time to do that. Plus, despite living in one of the most beautiful cities, I never really see it that much, as I spend most of my time in my apartment. So, this will allow me to actually enjoy San Diego… as a sort of tourist.
• I’ll probably get to see my friends from other cities more often, as just about everyone wants to go to Vegas, right? People go to Vegas, so it’s likely I may see my friends from all over (even those as close as L.A.) more than I do now.

I already went through all the hemming and hawing and “omg, the heat!” and “I’ll miss my gays” and “what the hell am I going to do in the desert?” hand-wringing.  And I will miss my friends here so much it hurts my insides.  Badly. But I have to move past that part (or rather, stuff it down and cover it with Ben and Jerry’s) so I can be excited about this new adventure.  (I’m already trying to convince Daniel and Richard to move there, too.)  I’m only 36 years old, it’s not like I have to live in Vegas forever. And I’ve left California once already… I lived in Texas for over 3 years and came back to San Diego. Nothing is set in stone, but if I ever want to buy a home anywhere, especially if I want to do it in this very expensive city, I need to start making some changes.

I’m starting to get pretty excited about the change — I’ve always been open to change. But, I’m a little overwhelmed right now — so much is going on and it’s coming really fast.  I’m up to my neck in projects, but I have to dash up to Vegas in early October for an overnighter to pick a place to live. Then within 6 weeks or so, I need to pack this entire apartment, and move to a new state… with a bunny. (That should be interesting.) And all the while maintain my workload.  This is where I take a shot of something strong, followed by a pep talk while sticking my head between my knees.

I’m thinking about investing in a camera after we get settled up there. I think a good way to introduce myself to the city is to photograph it.  Plus, I really, really want to see if I can get into The Neon Museum. Given how much I love mid-century Americana and all that swanky stuff, I think Vegas might be a fun place for me to explore with a camera. Hey, maybe I’ll even find a dumpy dive I can sing in!

I only ask that no one tell me anything bad about living in Vegas. I really don’t want to know. I probably know most of them anyway from my many trips there.  But feel free to share good things!  I’m always open for that.

My last place was probably one of the “coolest” placed I’d ever lived, in terms of hipness. For the most part, I’d lived in larger complexes that were fairly organized, well-maintained and suburban (though I did my fair share of couch surfing and car sleeping in my late teens and 20′s).  The last place was an old vintage building that I loved so much and the area was close to downtown and had a beautiful view.  It was a “cool” place to live, in terms of the area of town.

When GFI lived upstairs, it was fun — we had a good time and socialized fairly regularly, though we were always sensitive to the other’s need for space. But when she moved, aside from the view, there was really no reason to stay.  Now that I have Lulu, I needed a bit more space and I started to feel my stuff closing in on me.  Plus, with all the turnover in the building, the other tenants, newer tenants, live a “younger” lifestyle than I do (late nights, lots of noise, unpredictable schedules, Miller Lite for chrissake). Not that I’m old, but I’m certainly not twenty-four anymore and we were all just a little too close for comfort.

I thought moving to this new complex, which is beautiful, but smack dab in the middle of a corporate business park would be stale and boring, but you know? I really like it.  It’s soooooooo quiet and there’s hardly any traffic.  There’s every convenience I could want within a few blocks, I can access about 4-5 different highways/freeways within a couple miles and anywhere I’d want to go is about a 10 minute drive.

The area is really flat with beautifully landscaped streets and lots of palm trees, so walking and exercise is totally doable (and the area is full of people who walk with friends after work and on lunch breaks and lots of dog owners out with their pets after work — there’s even a little dog park!). The complex is big, but not too big and has lots of amenities like a gym, hot tub and a pool, BBQs, cabanas and all that fanciness, which I plan to use, but you know how that goes.  (Though I kind of don’t have a choice — my ass is the size of Brazil these days).

I originally wanted the largest one-bedroom they had with a den, but there was only one available that overlooked a parking lot (and it had old carpet and a vague scent about it) so I passed and took the slightly smaller one with no den and am on a waiting list for the bigger one, but I’ve decided I don’t need it.   This place is plenty big — much more spacious than my old place. Much. And I’d rather save myself $300 a month.

Corner of living room near hallway

I’m still unpacking, but I snapped a few photos with my iPhone. Some of the biggest priorities I had when apartment hunting were addressed by this complex, so I’m pretty happy: it’s on the third floor, it’s a corner unit, the price is right (for San Diego, anyway), there’s a full-size washer/dryer, walk-in closet, a balcony with storage and… the pièce de résistance, a roman soaking bathtub. When I lived in Dallas, my apartment had one and I became hooked. I had no idea how much those bubble baths balanced me and kept me sane.  Oddly enough, this complex is run by the same property management company and had the same builders as my apartment in Dallas, so I already feel very at home here.

I’ll take some better photos once I’ve got it all unpacked and nice-nice.  Right now, I need to go feed Lulu some cilantro before she riots.  Demanding bun!

For those who don’t know, I’m moving out of my apartment in a week and a half.  I am really going to miss Casa Cocktail and all the good things about it, but lately the crap has started to outweigh the good things.  To start, Slick (a.k.a. Guitar Hero) picked up the electric guitar and bass as a hobby, which he played  every day at 4pm for 2-3 hours.  Is it not bad enough that his girlfriend made sex sounds like a caffeinated baboon, he had to fancy himself The Edge at least 5 days a week?  But… a blessing!  He moved out in April and took Ape Escape with him.

But then, GFI moved out.  I don’t know who the hell she thinks she is just moving out and having a life and stuff. I mean, god, lady. Don’t you know everything revolves around my happiness?  Obviously I’m kidding, but I miss her as a neighbor.  She never made a peep, we were BNF: Best Neighbors Forever.  I could text if she needed help when I heard she might’ve dropped something, she could text me to ask if I had margarita mix, we could sit on the patio and gossip about the neighborhood and I never, ever had to hear her pee.

When GFI moved out, we really pushed to get a woman to move in upstairs because we thought it would be better. It’s mostly women on this side of the building and, historically, single professional women tend to be quieter and more considerate than say… a guitar-playing baboon fucker.

And lo, we got a woman — a nurse, no less!  GFI met her and she seemed nice enough.  If only she’d known at the time that this woman — nay, this late-20′s girl — has feet made of cement and a double-wide disposition.  She walks so heavily, I half expect to hear “FEE FI FO FUM!”.

She also vacuums at 10pm or later indiscriminately.   Once at midnight in the bedroom on a weeknight!  She finds it impossible to enter or exit her apartment without sounding like a stampede of yaks and… this is the one that really gets me: she is incapable of going to the loo without stomping over to the bathroom, doing her business, then dropping the lid of the toilet and flushing every. single. time.  Now, this is something most people do, right? You go, you do, you flush, but for some reason, she even flushes loudly.  I never really noticed when GFI flushed, but I can actually hear this girl pee. And then she slams the lid and flushes… even in the middle of the night.

My name for her is Godzilla.  Also sometimes The Beast, Moose and “Oh my god, I hate you so much right now, wtf!”.  I tried to make nice in the beginning. I welcomed her with wine and smiles, both the property manager and I alerted her to the fact that this is a very old, very quiet building of single professionals and sound travels, so things like heavy walking and loud TVs/radios should be kept to a minimum. I also let her know I work at home and I gave her my phone number so she could text me if she needed anything or if I got to loud (and of course, it was just a ruse to get her phone number for the same purpose).

She doesn’t care. She told me we had to “learn to live together”.  I’m not your roommate, woman.  I pay my own rent and never had issues with upstairs noise until you got here. Check yourself.

And she lives a ‘younger’ lifestyle than I do, clearly.  Which is her prerogative, but one day, she turned up her radio SO loud it sounded like Fergie was playing live in my kitchen.  And all her little friends were clomping around on the terrace in their kitten heels, so I popped my head outside and there she was, hanging over the railing with a can of Miller Lite (sorry, I’m a beer snob), knocking some back before she and her friends hit “the club”.  Meanwhile, I was looking forward to a hot bath and the Ghost Whisperer, you know?  Different strokes.  I don’t begrudge her the fun, I just asked if she could turn it down a little because it echoes through the tile in the kitchen.  She turned it off and then sent me angry texts about how she feels like she’s “walking on pins and needles” and “I might as well turn it off — I can’t hear it outside”  Uh, it’s not my problem there’s a freeway, an ocean, some train tracks, a trolley and an airport outside that whisk away the sound.  Get a radio for the terrace, Mensa.

I even bought her a little giftie (of slippers — hint hint!) with a note that said I hoped we didn’t start out on the wrong foot and that she’s truly welcome in the building and I hope she enjoys it here.  If she could just try to walk a little lighter, I said, I would appreciate it.   It worked for like, a week. Now she’s back to Riverdancing around the house.

Bottom line?  She’s just a clod.  No grace.  NONE. I don’t expect her to go to Barbizon, for chrissake, but didn’t anyone teach her how to walk like a lady?  She’s a tall girl, but I’m 5’10 and not exactly the slimmest of slims and I’m capable of walking without shaking the damn tschotschkes, why can’t she?  Put a book on your head!  She came home last night at almost 3am, banging and crashing about, peeing and slamming and flushing and finally, I reached over and banged on the wall.  LOUD. I’m done being nice about it.

I gave my notice to move a couple weeks ago. It makes me sad to give up this beautiful view.  And I really do love this apartment, but it pains me to live here sometimes, too.  It’s a vintage building and the apartments have good energy… or used to.  But the landlord doesn’t care about the building as much as I do and I’m tired of caring about the building more than he does.  In fact, I dream of winning the lottery and restoring the building to it’s original glory, then rennovating it to make it eco-friendly.  But that won’t happen and I’m sick of my sink smelling like rotten eggs and the plumbing backing up. I’m tired of the foundation crumbling and the lack of A/C.   There’s not quite enough space now that I’ve got Lulu and while they are going to do some improvements to the building (all new triple-paned windows and a fresh air circulation system — like central air without the conditioning part), I don’t want to wait around for that.  Besides, since the landlord is such a cheapskate (and he’s not paying for these improvements, the Port of San Diego is), he’ll most likely raise the rent once it’s done.  The view is beautiful, but if I’m going to pay more rent, I want a washer/dryer more.

I decided to move to an area of town that doesn’t have a view, but is centrally located — about 10 minutes from everything.  It’s not the most beautiful area of town ever, but the property itself is like an oasis and it’s a big complex with proper maintenance staff and amenities like a pool, fitness center and the like. I’ve got a washer/dryer in my apartment.  It’s bigger than this place and it’s got a new kitchen and a big soaking tub.  It’s very much like my apartment in Dallas, which was comforting somehow.

Like I said, I will miss this place… quite a bit. It’s been one of my favorite places I’ve ever lived and I have great memories from here. But it’s not the same building it once was… the good juju I felt when I moved in is replaced by cursing and wall-banging and other rude neighbors.

It’s time to move on.