Home Sweet Brothel

I've been in my new home long enough to be aware of some things. This apartment now feels like "the place I live" rather than "a place to crash for awhile". I've settled in, gotten familiar with my surroundings, and the shiny newness has worn off and the grungy reality is shining through. It's true that in some ways, this is the nicest apartment I've ever lived in. It is also true that in some ways, it is the seediest. It's an interesting reality.I live in the Desert Tides Hotel and Condo Complex, which is mostly a hotel, but there are also privately-owned apartments. On the whole, the complex looks very nice--palm and pine trees, shrubbery and lawns, a little "oasis" set-up in front of the office with a pond and small waterfalls. It's pretty, quaint, well maintained. The buildings look nice, no peeling paint or cracked glass. The interiors are tastefully designed (though the pineapple motif is questionable)--heavy, dark wood & bamboo furniture, pale beige walls and tiled floors, marble counter-tops. There's a huge bathtub, which pleases this bubble-bath fanatic endlessly! And the place is stocked with the washer/dryer combo, the dishwasher, the garbage disposal, the central air. None of which I've had in my numerous apartments (not counting our Philly pad, which was just wasted on us), all of which fill me with glee! But now that I've settled in, it has become quite clear: EVERYTHING IS CHEAP! And I'm not talking "What a Deal!" cheap; I'm talking "Quality Shmuality" cheap. I know a thing or two about cheap. I grew up with a "dented can" dad, a man who would return from a trip to the dump with more crap than he threw out. Granted, dad's cheapness was a result of growing up in the Bronx without much money, and there was a whole lot of financial juggling to keep things afloat in my childhood home in Jersey. Kmart fashions, baloney sandwiches, hell, I never even went to Disneyworld! (OH, the horror!) But dad got us through, sent three kids to college, and even has a little comfort in his life these days. Not that it keeps him from shopping at the dump and buying dented cans at the supermarket. Anyway, point is, I know a thing or two about cheap, and I can tell you, The Desert Tides was done on the cheap. I know when the neighbors come home because I can hear everything through the walls. When someone climbs the outside steps, my whole apartment shakes. I've told you about the numerous issues with the air conditioning (which has been blowing cold & strong for over a week now, woo hoo!). We also have a dishwasher which can be heard two floors below us and essentially steams the dishes without cleaning them. Our washing machine cannot handle 2 towels during the spin cycle; it literally throws itself into the wall due to the extreme weight. There's a brand-new water heater which still requires a good 2 minutes of running water before it can provide any heat. Yes, everything was done on the cheap. Which is fine, but it is telling...
Alex and I are renting from an owner, not from the hotel. We had to do the whole credit check thing, lease-signing thing, first-last-security thing, you know, the regular rental process which I've gone through many times before. However, this is not the norm for the people "living" here. Most of the other inhabitants of the Desert Tides are renting from the hotel, on a weekly basis, no credit check, no lease, no long-term plan. And from what I've observed, I don't believe that many of these people could pass a credit check (though, who can nowadays?). I don't know that many of them could come up with a month's rent. The apartment below us is in foreclosure, and the apartment behind us is empty, owned by the same man who owns our unit (he bought 4 of these places as an investment a few years ago; he must be kicking himself now!). But next to us are two units which are part of the hotel, and both of these places were inhabited when we arrived. Next door to us was Jay. Jay told Alex he had come out from Tampa a month earlier, so his "girl could make some money." I'm pretty sure that means his girl is either a stripper or an escort, as those are the Vegas jobs that a girl could come work for a couple of months and make some good money. I never met the girl, though I did get to hear her screaming obscenities at Jay from time to time. And I did see at least 2 kids in there at one point. Mostly, I just saw Jay, standing outside smoking. Behind Jay was Trey. Trey seemed like a nice enough guy. He moved out from Long Beach about the same time as us. We met him on the stairs one day, got to talking, told him we'd see him around. And did we ever! Trey began knocking on our door several times a day, usually to bum a smoke from Alex (back in the days when Alex was a smoker). He told Alex how he felt the hotel was ripping him off, charging him $350 a week, so Alex told him he would talk to our realtor and see if there were any other units available to rent. Which is cool, right? Alex did him a favor. Except that now Trey was knocking on our door multiple times a day, and Alex was never home, just me. It was clear that Trey knew neither of our names, because every time I'd answer the door, he'd look kind of stunned to see me, then he'd say, "He here?" Now, I'm a friendly-enough person, I was polite to him and listened to him repeat his cries against the hotel, I offered my opinions on the situation and assured him multiple times that yes, Alex talked to our realtor, I was standing next to him while he was on the phone with her, I don't know why she hasn't called yet...but really, I had nothing to say to this guy. He was probably about my age, but clearly living a much different life from us. For one thing, there were 4 kids in his one-bedroom apartment. For another thing, he let Alex know that he should give a call if he ever needed weed or "a massage", which leads me to believe that the woman he and the kids were sharing that one-bedroom with was an escort (though I suppose it's possible that Trey was offering to massage Alex himself...but I don't think so). Which is fine, sure, but I didn't really envision any dinner parties in our future. Whatever, I was polite when he came by, I tried not to judge him based on his living situation or his many gangsta tattoos (it is important to note that in all the visits I received from Trey, I never once saw him with a shirt on). However, I really didn't want him knocking on my door all the time! I finally told Alex that the next time he saw him, please tell him to CALL if he needed something. But before Alex had a chance to talk to him, I get a knock on the door. And I'm standing there listening to him bitch about his rent. And I'm trying to be polite. I never asked him into my place, I wasn't THAT polite. But I listened, I responded at the appropriate places, and I did my best to make it clear that Alex was the person he needed to speak to. At one point, he asked my name, which I told him, then I said, slowly, "And his name is Alex" as I was pretty sure he didn't know it. Blah blah, I told him I was gonna get back to what I was doing, and he starts up with the small talk, "How you likin' it out here?" Sigh. Again, I was polite. "Oh, it's fine, I don't really know anyone out here, and there's not much for me to do, since I don't gamble and I don't drink." "You don't drink? In Vegas??" He seemed appalled. "Nope, I don't drink, I don't party, I just hang out with my husband and his friends when they're done at work." I figured that if I was boring enough, he'd stop knocking on the door. Blah blah, he kept on with the small talk, as his kids and his masseuse walked past us, without him even turning to say hello to them (I waved to one of the boys, who had such a sweet bashful smile that I wanted to buy him a puppy and a lollipop). Finally I told him that I had to go, and before I even knew what was happening, he was moving in for the hug, which quickly turned into his hand grabbing my ass while he whispered, "Mmmm, you smell good" into my ear. WHAT?? I was entirely unprepared for this scenario!! But fear not, Mama, I handled it. I handled it well. He was on me for all of a second before I pushed him away, looked directly into his eyes, and said, "No. No way. Not even a little bit." I swear, I don't know how those words formed in my mouth, I felt as though time had stopped and some otherworldly power entered me and gave me the perfect comeback. And it was. Trey smiled and said "Ah-ight" and I slammed the door. And that was the last I saw of Trey. Granted, I did send Alex over there as soon as he got home that night, without telling him what had happened, and had him give Trey the "Call, don't stop by" speech. But I'd say I was crystal clear with the chap, wouldn't you? In any case, I'm sure that it wasn't ME that Trey was interested in, it was simply the fact that there was a female nearby. And since it seems that most of the women living here are strippers or escorts or "give good massage", he probably figured that I was in the profession.
Which is where the seediness comes in to my living situation. Since most of the units here are run as an extended-stay hotel, it is home to those with bad credit and low funds and short-term employment. Basically, the nicest place I've ever lived is where all the poor people live! It's kind of fascinating, really. Here are me and Alex, giggling as we load our dishwasher and flipping through our many cable channels (did I mention the FREE CABLE?? Again, not much cable TV in my adult life), thinking that we struck it rich when we found this place! And all our neighbors are strippers and dealers and baby-daddies. Though we are currently without neighbors. Yes, Jay and his girl and their young'uns headed back to Tampa a couple weeks back, and Trey and his brood left shortly after. I have had peace and quiet in my days, without a single knock on my door. There were lights on next door when we got home last night, but I've yet to see anyone. When I do, I think I'll be a little less polite...