I’ve been profiled!

Day one of looking an apartment in Los Angeles.  Remember when looking for an apartment was fun?

No, you don’t.  Because it never was.  Looking for an apartment blows.

It is tiring.  There is endless running around.  There are hours to be spent discovering how many euphemisms for “tiny and dark” there really are in the English language.

The places can be pretty banal.  There was a whole bunch of boring.

This one was charming but TINY and no parking

This one is a small single.  Once the construction finishes it should be nice.  The woman renting it seems to think I am some kind of long lost sister – she called it “kismet” that I came to see it and seems to think it is destiny that I am to live there.  I am not so sure.

This one, curiously, has captured my interest a bit but it needs some TLC.  I just don’t know if I am the gal to give it.  I am not entirely sure, for instance, what would inspire someone to whitewash over all the interior windows.  I mean I like my privacy and everything but this is a bit much.  The space is cool though & very convenient.  No parking, alas.

That fridge is scary.  My small-but-impressive collection of ex-es with be VERY happy they don’t live near me if I lose my nugget and take this one on.

Nothing really struck me as the place I MUST live until …

I was driving on my way to an appointment when I espied an open house sign on a little courtyard complex.  They are quite common in West Hollywood – a series of little one bedroom or bachelor units strung together along a central path.  They are often Spanish in style and I am utterly charmed by them.  So I pulled over, and walked into the most beautiful little 1 bedroom cottage.  Newly refinished hardwood floors, big sunny kitchen with vintage tile and plenty of cabinets and counters. Lovely tiled bathroom, airy and bright plus a beautiful little patio framed in bamboo reeds.  There was even a single car garage out back.  It was a little too expensive.  I didn’t care.   I was home.  I started chatting to the leasing agent holding the open house.  She asked what I did for a living and I told her proudly I was opening a branch of my Canadian company in the US.  She said “that’ll be a problem”.  I asked why and she informed me that she couldn’t run a credit check on me.  I assured her I could provide her with a Canadian one and that my credit was impeccable. Not good enough.  I told her I would pay her the full year rent up front. Not good enough.  I later thought I could have my friend Anny cosign like I am some crazed college student but A) that’s a tad humiliating and B) it didn’t come to me as I have not had a cosigner since I was about 18.  If then.

Let me just go over a few things.  I am a 44 year old single Canadian female.  I am white (who is kidding who, it matters).  I have been an owner/partner in my own business for 12 years.  I have owned my own home for 9 years.  I have been consistently employed since my late teens.  I have never bounced a cheque.  I have (to date) never killed anyone.  And I can’t rent my dream home because: I. Am. Canadian.

Who knew.

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