Apartment Life: Have A Seat

Yes, that's a chair sitting a top the trash heap behind our complex.

It makes sense that sharing an apartment building with a hundred other people would lead to something like this, but you never get used to it. Every week the garbage piles high above the dumpster brim as a lovely inviting odor floats around the parking structure.

I can't wait to see what's on top next week.

Apartment Life: Jeri Wilburn Don't Live Here No More

It feels good to live on your own. This July marks our one year anniversary of living Han Solo and the thing I'm most proud of is that we landed the place without needing the help of a friend or family member. We scoured newspapers, checked online, and asked around vaguely until the PennySaver led us to our utopia. We put in work, checked out a bunch of dumps, drove through a few cities, and after about a two month process it all paid off.

There's a whole lot of advantages to living here. We both work within five miles of where we live so for an entire year we've saved loads of money on gas. A lot of favorite restaurants are closer and we get our own parking spaces that are safely locked up in the back. There's a pool here that we never use and a post office, grocery store, community college, and freeway entrance all within a few blocks.

But what kind of American would I be if I didn't use this blog to complain about all of the little things that continue to upset, confuse, and frustrate us on a daily basis? In this "Apartment Life" series, I'll shed light on what you should expect to annoy you when leaving the nest. This week our topic is mail.

Mail. Expect to receive someone else's mail from the day you move in until the day you move out. The first week we got here I went to the post office to try and prevent getting mail addressed to the Wilburn family. Filled out the right forms and asked all the right questions to make sure I don't get invitations to the next African-American AARP meeting in Long Beach. But here we are, a year later, and I got my second subscription notice for Essence magazine. I appreciate the fact that they're trying to save me $53.82 but enough is enough.

The simple act of taking mail that's not yours and throwing it away becomes tedious in no time. Most, if not all of my mail is sent to my new address because I did the right thing and changed it the official way. The process is painless. I'm sending this request out ATTN to Jeri Wilburn and the Wilburn family: change your address and save the rain forest.

Jingle Jingle Jingle

With just two hours until most of Los Angeles visits a Catholic church for midnight mass I think now is the time to finally step away from getting pwned in Call of Duty to spruce up the joint.

*spruce spruce*

The year shaped up nicely. The Dodgers will be McCourt-less in 2012, I survived another year of retail turmoil, and my girlfriend (now fiancee) of two years said she's up to the challenge of dealing with my forgetful squirrel-like attention span and deplorable kitchen sink sponge habits for an eternity (awww.)

Man. I love this part of It's A Wonderful Life. George Bailey goes nuts on Uncle Billy and pulls him up by his jacket collar to yell at him, then he just flipped out on his kids, threw a bunch of stuff around in their living room and the youngest one is crying at the piano. I have closed captioning on which made it even better:

Oh daddy. ... [sobbing]

Sorry about that. Anyways, as I was saying, 2011 was a lot of fun. I didn't have to get any more gallbladders taken out, there were no major car accidents, we moved into a new place, lost some weight, gained a little back over these past two weeks, got some really cool Christmas presents, spent some quality time with old friends when I could, found an ice cream fudge bar that I like, sold a ton of stuff on eBay for decent money, destroyed friends and family on WordsWithFriends, ate some zucchini, flew to Albuquerque, renewed my license, broke away from Facebook, and last month I finally completed Fallout: New Vegas.

Here's to a all of you having a great holiday. 'Til next time.

Apartment Life: The H.Y.D.T. Update

If anyone wants a free shirt there's a child's size medium that has been laying in motor oil for a few weeks now and can be yours if you act now. For anyone not interested in this limited time offer please continue reading.

We're going on five months here at the new apartment and there's been loads of new discoveries. For example, it has never been more apparent to us that children act the way that they do because their dumb shit parents allow it. Bang on the walls? Sure. Bang on the front screen? Yep. Bang on the couch and slam the closet doors at random hours? Oh hell yeah. I, like most of you, fight the urge to be that guy. You know, the guy that tells other parents to keep their kids quiet in a movie theater or the one who asks someone else's infant to stop making a mess of the pillow pets at the store. Any of that can open up the flood gates to phrases like "Don't tell me how to raise my kids" and creates confrontation that isn't worth the trouble. In the end, you just have to ignore it the best you can and accept that most young parents are a bunch of lazy inconsiderate assholes.

Another fun surprise has been the cast of characters we didn't expect to meet from living in close quarters. There's the old dude that sometimes shaves outside with a broken mirror and a straight razor that always asks "How Y'all Doin' Today?" even if you're walking alone. "How Y'all Doin' Today?" (or H.Y.D.T. as I like to call it) was asked of me at least three times yesterday, a new record. Carrying laundry to your car? How Y'all Doin' Today. Running late for work? How Y'all Doin' Today. It's H.Y.D.T. 24/7, 365. My favorite moment occurred just recently when the H.Y.D.T. man asked if my employer was hiring for the season. That conversation went about as awkward as you'd think. Some other characters include the asshole who drives the Honda and thinks the parking garage is a NASCAR track, the middle aged lesbian who thinks the doorway to the apartment is the set of LifeChangers with Dr. Drew, and the idiot female driver who can never, ever seem to park between the lines of her parking space.

That's all for now. Stay tuned for the next apartment life update. Until then, ask yourself: How Y'all Doin' Today?

APT FOR RENT

OUTDOOR APT FOR RENT (SPACIOUS) - One bed, slightly used, plenty of room. Patron must enjoy being in public eye. Restroom/shower not provided, must improvise. All pets, bugs, living creatures accepted. NOTE: No enclosed walls. $500 Deposit required.

That's the second mattress to block the drive way to our complex since we got settled in July. I saw it there earlier in the day, ran some errands, and when I came back it was still lying there. As with the first mattress I took it upon myself (ew, I touched it) to move it off to the side so it wouldn't ruin anyone's dubs.

What allows a person to think that leaving a used mattress curbside for an entire day is acceptable? Most garbage trucks will ignore it and there's nobody I can think of that has bragged about scoring a used mattress for nada. Why not donate it, recycle it, or use your Boost Mobile minutes and call the city removal to come pick it up. I'll give you a pass if you live in a residential area and have your own front lawn. You obviously have the space and aren't intruding on anyone else. But on a street filled with apartment complexes you've got to know better.

Always Reading LA Weekly

Ten years ago I took the back page of a 2001 LA Weekly and taped it to the wall in my bedroom. It sat on my wall for a good number of years, next to all the other artist and musician posters I'd collected over a year or two. The entire page was dedicated to promoting the soon-to-be open Amoeba Music in Hollywood. There were countless articles written prior to their opening that made me so excited to be a part of something so big. I was living in a city that would have one of the biggest record stores in the U.S.

From sixteen and on I used the LA Weekly as a guide to all things music related. It was how I found out about upcoming gigs, rising artists, album reviews, interviews, and all the different venues surrounding Los Angeles. I visited the Knitting Factory, House of Blues, Glass House, you name it- all thanks to the Weekly.

My mom turns sixty this year. For as long as I can remember, she would bring me home copies of the LA Weekly every week and give me insight on some of the articles she had already finished reading while waiting for the bus in Downtown L.A.. I was always surprised she was reading that kind of newspaper. I know the Weekly can sometimes skew to the left politically and that they write about provocative topics you'd never read in the L.A. Times, but I was mostly caught off guard because I always wondered if she knew about the sleazy porn ads in the back. I guess it's safe to assume she knew and even funnier to consider that those ads never bothered her. Still though, they were and still are really sleazy.

We had a family dinner three nights ago. The guest list included myself, my better half, my mom, and my sister. The bride-to-be was in the kitchen putting together two freshly made pizzas with pineapple, ham, and peperoncini slices while I threw my shoes on to switch cars in front so they'd have a place to park. We get back to our apartment and my mom is loaded with two bags filled with all the food we've tried to stop eating (Candy!!) and before they settle in or get to work on the salads I noticed that my mom, just like all the years before, made sure to snag an LA Weekly from her office for me to read.

Listed below are a few articles I stumbled upon from this week's update. Read on:

• Frivolous Lawsuit: Some idiot is suing the guys behind The Hangover II claiming the events happened to him in real life and that they stole his story.
• Uhhhh: A cop tweeted a picture of a dead body in Watts and it's getting a lot of attention.
• Blue It Up: More details on the McCourt/Dodgers saga.
• That's Your Opinion: They've been counting down the top LA rap albums of all time. See how many you have in your collection.
• Nintendo: There's a cutting board that looks like a NES controller. *Want*

It's 3:09am so I'm calling it quits until tomorrow. Buenas noches.

The Top 7 Things I've Learned About Apartment Life

We're back. Sort of. Maybe.

Look, we all know how this works. Going on extended hiatus is a tradition here at Infinite Et Cetera and it's one that we intend to continue throughout the years. Loyal IEC observer Mario inspired (threatened) me to update this place with some new content so for the next 500 words I'll offer the top 5 things I've learned about apartment life over the past two months.

1. People are Loud & Obnoxious: Open your windows and doors to let that summer breeze in and be treated to the sounds of a mother yelling at her children because she doesn't have the corn dogs they've been begging for. They eventually decided on pizza, but the worse part about living in an apartment complex is being so closely packed in with people who can't speak at a normal decibel level. Every cell phone conversation is held just outside of each tenant's door for that extra signal bar. God help you if there's a pool on the premises when school's not in session.
2. Avoiding Small Talk Is A Challenge: Coming face to face with the people mentioned above can be a tricky thing. You don't want to be a dick but most of these people use the complex as a public forum for their private life and frankly you've heard enough. In short: you need to keep your cell phone handy and hope you got mail. Nothing beats a fake cell phone conversation about a car repair or surprise BBQ for your cousin. Be careful though because you'll need to switch it up if people get wise to you. I've found that shuffling through the PennySaver as you walk towards your apartment gives the impression that you're occupied and can get by with a simple "Hey" or "How are you".
3. Everyone Has A Learner's Permit: There are two white lines that help guide you into each parking space. These lines do not represent a suggestion. They are painted evenly for each car and each car is meant to fit within each set of lines. When you sign the renter's agreement you are signing for parking space number 1, not number 1 and a half. Get your shit together.
4. Poorly Installed Car Alarms Are The Devil: If you drive down our street and go above 30mph, you will set off car alarms. If you sneeze without warning or drop a fork on the floor, you will set off car alarms. If a bird chirps, you inhale, or a strand of grass sprouts from the ground, you will set off car alarms on our block.
5. Carrying Groceries Up A Flight Of Stairs Hurts My Back: It really does.
6. Hazard Light Abuse: When we were moving in we tried our best to do it discreetly. At non-peek hours of a weekday we brought in a couch, bed, table, and some cabinets. Little by little, box by box, we brought in all our stuff without trying to inconvenience anyone for too long. Sure, we parked in front of the complex with our hazards on for up to maybe 10 or 15 minutes. But we were moving in. I understand that when you live on a street with multiple complexes that this may occur more often than usual but we need to draw the line some place. People moving in, you are allowed to hazard it up for a reasonable amount of time. People picking up your kids, bringing in groceries, chatting it up with your drug dealer, or waiting for a friend do not have my blessing.
7. Beware of Landlords: In our search for shelter we met some great characters along the way but none ended up being as scatterbrained as our current landlady, Sandra. Sandra seemed overly nice at first, comforting us with her promises of no bugs and not allowing loitering on the front lawn. While she means well most of the time she is incredibly inconsistent and forgetful. Someone spray painted the front of the complex and she removed it within hours, but when I reminded her that our sink was leaking and made an appointment for the repairmen to come over she spaced out and lied about not having her phone to receive my inquiries. She can be the cheerful grandmother or the meth addict waiting for her next fix, it really is a toss up.