Why I moved to Tijuana
People often ask me why I moved to TJ, the following was written about this time last year...
I am living in a 49 square foot “loft” hotel room in the Hillcrest neighborhood of San Diego. I am paying about $240 a week because it is the only flop-house of it’s kind in the area that accepts pets. An unexpected side effect of this tolerant policy is an above average clientele. I love it.
Ok. I don’t love it. But I love San Diego and the rent includes cable plus Home Box Office. My cats love the fact that the “bedroom” consists of a full size foam mattress on a rickety shelf above the bathroom. The seven foot by seven foot pit of a room is bisected by the wooden folding attic staircase that is the only access to the foam mattress. I have rigged a shelf with a piece of particle board I found out back. The shelf sits upon a spider web of mismatched two-by-fours. The base of the attic staircase is suspended from this splintery web by tarnished tin joints, each with yellowed plastic stickers stating “URGENT: Drive nails through bracket holes to secure staircase.” None of the bracket holes have nails driven through them. My poor cats scamper around in the questionable infrastructure of my “loft” with careless abandon. My heart is always in my mouth.
I am not a petite flower. In fact, I have a big fat ass. So I ascend and descend the staircase with the brisk efficiency of all the insecure big girls that have ever lived, prepared for the worst and rarely disappointed. I always manage to collapse into the foam mattress without undo harm to myself or others (well, I may have inflicted some psychological harm unto others along the way . . . c’est la vie), and Bad Cat #2 is still limping.
How did I get here? I think I suffer from a common gay malady. It is a form of financial illiteracy . . . a sort of numerical dyslexia . . . an odd condition that always seems to end with me being broke and with no place to sleep. I’ll call it “Bitch can’t budget” syndrome. Fortunately tonight, I have my rickety loft. Good night, San Diego. Good night, America. July 2nd, 2004.
I am living in a 49 square foot “loft” hotel room in the Hillcrest neighborhood of San Diego. I am paying about $240 a week because it is the only flop-house of it’s kind in the area that accepts pets. An unexpected side effect of this tolerant policy is an above average clientele. I love it.
Ok. I don’t love it. But I love San Diego and the rent includes cable plus Home Box Office. My cats love the fact that the “bedroom” consists of a full size foam mattress on a rickety shelf above the bathroom. The seven foot by seven foot pit of a room is bisected by the wooden folding attic staircase that is the only access to the foam mattress. I have rigged a shelf with a piece of particle board I found out back. The shelf sits upon a spider web of mismatched two-by-fours. The base of the attic staircase is suspended from this splintery web by tarnished tin joints, each with yellowed plastic stickers stating “URGENT: Drive nails through bracket holes to secure staircase.” None of the bracket holes have nails driven through them. My poor cats scamper around in the questionable infrastructure of my “loft” with careless abandon. My heart is always in my mouth.
I am not a petite flower. In fact, I have a big fat ass. So I ascend and descend the staircase with the brisk efficiency of all the insecure big girls that have ever lived, prepared for the worst and rarely disappointed. I always manage to collapse into the foam mattress without undo harm to myself or others (well, I may have inflicted some psychological harm unto others along the way . . . c’est la vie), and Bad Cat #2 is still limping.
How did I get here? I think I suffer from a common gay malady. It is a form of financial illiteracy . . . a sort of numerical dyslexia . . . an odd condition that always seems to end with me being broke and with no place to sleep. I’ll call it “Bitch can’t budget” syndrome. Fortunately tonight, I have my rickety loft. Good night, San Diego. Good night, America. July 2nd, 2004.
posted by marsh at 7:41 PM
1 Comments:
you are such a great writer. "So I ascend and descend the staircase with the brisk efficiency of all the insecure big girls that have ever lived, prepared for the worst and rarely disappointed."
How did you know? ;)
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