Our search continues for a new place to live. Our current place has been ruthlessly raising the rent year over year eliminating even the most generous of pay raises if they were to come. Once we do move I’m going to write up about it in more detail because I don’t really think they should get to walk away from the situation free of grumpy finger pointing.
One of the places we had as a backup as we look into our dream location has dried up kinda. The people renting it pushed out their stay another month. This is incredibly unfortunate for us as it means that we no longer have an opening in case things go south. I’m fairly certain we can just extend our own place by a month if we really can’t find anywhere, or at least I hope so.
LA is a weird place. As I’ve mentioned before it is basically a giant pile of poo that has very few redeeming qualities for an introvert from the Pacific Northwest. It is hot and dusty, the population density means that terrible motorists are unavoidable, and the cost of living is obscene.
I don’t get why either. You can’t have pets in most of the places we’ve checked. This includes cats. Really? Cats? You can have children in an apartment but not cats? Are renters concerned that the cats might sleep a little too enthusiastically? They might occasionally throw up but that’s no worse than a drink spill. And even then, so do children.
It’s beyond me. I can’t imagine living in somewhere as awful as LA without a pet. Well, I mean I could, but not without our pets. Unfortunately, the moment I met Venus and Artemis it was pretty much set in stone that they are mandatory. In many ways they are therapy pets for me. I’ve been sorely tempted to get them registered as such. They help take the edge off in ways that medication hasn’t quite mustered yet.
But for now, everything is up in the air. Certainty remains a far off thing.