Sam Woodfin's Micro

Settling In (It's Not What You Think)

Being poor is worse than being homeless. That may be the biggest lesson I've learned in the journey I started last November. I used to sit at home, flat busted, wondering how I was going to feed my mom, my dog, and myself, and I'd comfort myself with the thought that at least we weren't homeless. Gods, I was dumb.

Actually being homeless, but having enough money to rent a room at a cheap hotel or motel, to put gas in the car, and to get food and other necessities? Well, that changes everything, bucko! And don't let anyone convince you otherwise: It's not homelessness that creates problems; it's economic disparity.

The broader implications of that concept aside, it's time to put the personal implications to use. It's time to stop worrying about being technically homeless (a problem which can only be solved with the cooperation of other people), and start worrying about financial sustainability (a problem which grants me a much larger degree of control). I've become quite fond of hotel life, especially since I became responsible for choosing, and paying for, where we stay. There are certain things you don't have to worry about, living this way; like long-term leases, asshole roommates, repair bills, and people refusing to rent to old ladies with dementia. It's a good life, if you can get it!

I can't afford the place where we are, now. Not long-term, anyway. And that's a bit disheartening, because we love this place! But tomorrow we'll be checking out another motel in Anaheim, with rooms available from $210 to $250 per week. That's cheaper than most apartment rentals in this area, and from what I've seen, the place appears to be well-kept.

Meanwhile, I've started Turking for a living, with hopes of having my PC set up, soon, so I can get back to doing what I do.

And the moral of this blog post? Challenge accepted perceptions. Just because conventional wisdom touts something as the worst thing ever doesn't mean it's actually so.

Also: Fuck off, Craigslist!

Written, painfully so, on my fiery Kindle.

Testing TypePad with Dolphin on Kindle Fire

Still no rich text editor, but it's very, very different from using TypePad via Silk.

Sorry for the unwieldy title and lack of screenshots. Bigger fish, y'all!

Test posts. They happen, sometimes.

Like right now. I'm writing this post from the Amazon Kindle Fire I picked up at Walmart, today (complete with a $50 Walmart card included in the standard Kindle Fire price). So far, it isn't going smoothly. I'm writing in raw HTML mode because Typepad's rich text editor won't let me type anything, at all. I love TypePad, but one thing I've learned from this trip is that it's a mobile world. Technology that expects to sustain must be able to move with us. I'll be testing the Kindle Fire WordPress app in the morning.

How Do I Spell Relief? R-O-D-E-W-A-Y

 

We've stayed at several hotels and motels since coming to Orange County last November. We stayed at a Super 8 in Tucson (where we were allowed to keep Jerry, even though it was a pet-free motel). We stayed at the Red Roof Inn in Santa Ana (where the local wildlife included a wounded cat and at least one cockroach). We spent a couple of nights at the Castaway Motel in Orange (where the staff is friendly, but Internet access is nil). 

Due to the generosity of others, we spent several weeks at The Sheraton in Garden Grove, and a couple more weeks at the Residence Inn in Fountain Valley. The Sheraton is the place to stay if you want to be spoiled by the people who work there. No doubt about that. And the Residence Inn is the place for being well-fed while staying in what feels like a seriously freaking nice studio apartment. Maybe staying at these two places is what spoiled me for what used to be my favorite cheap accommodations: Motel 6.

Or maybe it's because that's where we were staying the night Jerry died. Or maybe it was watching the police take another guest away in handcuffs. Maybe it's because the rooms are small. Or because there's no way to cook in them, and no way to keep food cold, and the WiFi sucks. Whatever the reason, the only thing keeping me at Motel 6 after Jerry passed on was the price.

 

Enter Rodeway Inn & Suites. Not the Rodeway Maingate. I don't know jack about that one. But the Rodeway Inn & Suites Near Convention Center at 2145 S. Harbor in Anaheim. For a little less (yes, less; roughly $51/night, including tax and Mom's senior discount) than I was paying at Motel 6, we have a spacious room, the best cable we've had at any hotel/motel in California, good Internet access, parking by our room door, an actual desk, a (very small) laundry room, a heated swimming pool, free carby breakfast, free coffee all day long, awesome staff and cheery decor, in an area that the police don't feel inclined to utilize as warrant-hunting grounds.

I won't recommend Rodeway Inn over The Sheraton, if you have the means and want the luxury. I won't recommend it over Residence Inn, if you have the means and want to feel like king of your own damned castle. But if you're on a budget, and looking for accomodations that will break neither your bank nor your spirit, I can't recommend Rodeway Inn highly enough!

Rest in Peace, Baby Boy

I haven't wanted to write this post. All of my friends on Facebook and Twitter (essentially everyone who ever glances at this blog) already know, and I've told pretty much everyone that I encounter face-to-face or on the phone. So, really, there's no one left for me to tell. And there's some good in that, since telling leads to crying, and I need to keep myself together and get things done.

But until I make this post, I don't think I'll be able to move forward. So I'm telling you what you already know: Jerry passed away on the night of January 24th. It was completely unexpected. He was fine, and then he wasn't, and within 20 minutes of that change, he was gone. He died in my arms as OrangeCounty Gal drove us to the emergency vet, with Mom in the back seat wondering what was going on, and Linda from the Animal Assistance League on the phone, giving us directions. A postmortem ultrasound showed a large mass in his bladder and free fluid in his abdomen.

And, now, I'm crying, again, after a few days of being dry-eyed.

A few people have (kindly, I might add) pointed out to me that it should be easier for Mom and I to find housing, now, since a lot of places don't allow pets. And that's true. But given a choice between living in my car with Jerry, and living in a house without him? I'd choose the crowded home on wheels. 

He was my friend, my best bud, or to steal a phrase from Colleen at Animal Assistance, my "canine soulmate". I'm hesitant to call him a "good dog", because honestly, he was a better person than some of the people I know. He was kind, generous, loving, enthusiastic, smart, intuitive, attentive, mostly-reasonable, and sometimes, just a little bit insane.

I still expect to hear him barking his head off every time I park the car.

I have his ashes in an urn on my desk, about a foot and a half from the laptop I'm using to write this post. And maybe having him here, even in that form, has stretched out what would've been a quicker, more final trauma had we buried him. 

But I need to get back to work. So I'm saying now what I should've said days ago.

Good night, baby boy. I love you. See you later.

Do What You Can't Do

That's the lesson for today. Nevermind that Mars is hurtling backward through the sky (not really, folks; it's a trick of the eye); mine is always moving backwards, or sideways, at best. And I'm used to doing what I theoretically can't; but that's on a physical level, or on a medical level, and psycho-social cants are harder.*

I can't talk people into renting to me, if they don't want to. I can't afford to spend a month at Motel 6. I can't navigate frigging Santa Ana. I can't locate what doesn't exist. I can't convince Mom and Jerry to do what I want them to.

I can't change my brain chemistry without medication, and I can't function on SSRIs.

'Cept maybe I can change part of that.

I won't be raiding Mom's 'script anytime soon. But if thoughts really do shape reality (at least from the inside out), then for today and tomorrow, my Mars is hurtling gaily forward. The money will take care of itself. (What the Hell? It's not mine, anyway.**) I can talk people into all sorts of things. (With or without the aid of my bokken.)  I can create what doesn't exist.

And y'all are getting the hell out of my way when I'm driving!

*It ain't a typo, pedant!

**It's not even real!

Rainy Southern California

 

That's the Residence Inn in Fountain Valley -- and what counts for quite a bit of rain, out here -- through my car windshield. We're here until tomorrow morning, then heading back to Orange!

The Residence Inn is awesome, but I really miss Old Towne, and can't wait to get back there!

Think California and Missouri Aren't Different?

 

 

This part of a mural painted on the Walmart -- yes, Walmart! -- building in Huntington Beach. It's also the first time I've ever felt inclined to snap photos of Walmart!

And maybe positing this as a difference between Missouri and California is stretching it too far. But it's certainly a big difference between Cape Girardeau and Huntington Beach!

My First Paid Bit of Blogging!

And I don't mean "paid" as in "review a bunch of products for our advertisers, and we'll eventually give you a buck or two".

Yesterday marked the publication of my first post at Lisa Scarsi Photography. If you think you've heard that name before, and you're a regular reader of this blog, you're thinking right! Lisa is the photographer who donated her time and expertise to take these pics of Jerry at Hart Park in Orange.

One of the reasons I wanted to leave Advance was to find opportunities for paid work that 1. I could do, and 2. I could do without leaving Mom and Jerry. And this gig, even if it is part-time, is a big step in that direction. I'm ridiculously grateful to Lisa for the chance to make a little money writing, but also for the opportunity to write for someone who loves animals, who gets the artistic process, and who follows her conscience!

You can find the post here, if you want to see what sort of writing I'm doing for Lisa. As a bonus, if you're in the Orange County area, clicking that link will also give you an opportunity to get some great photos from an awesome photographer while helping another (not Jerry!) dog in need!

Approaching the Day with Dread

Even after driving all the way from Missouri to California, after the surprise (!) trip through downtown Oklahoma City, after the insanity that is California freeway traffic, I'm a nervous wreck about driving from the Residence Inn in Fountain Valley to view a duplex in Santa Ana and look at mobile homes in Orange. Some things don't change, I suppose.

But, truthfully, I've been doing fairly well with driving out here, given that I'm not an especially competent driver. I can find my way around Orange, easily. Parts of Garden Grove are comfortable for me, too. I can manage Main in Santa Ana, wheel my way down into the Costa Mesa/Huntington Beach border area, and I'm good with Edinger between Main and Beach Boulevard.

But from where I am?

I know how to get to Petsmart. I know that if I drive north, I'll eventually hit Edinger.

I do not know how to get where I'm going.

I know that, if I get on the right road, going the right direction, I'll accidentally pass my stop at least once, then have to make a block to go back. 

I do not know which streets are better for making that block. 

My plan, unlike my politics, is to turn right, regardless.

Here's hoping that the places I'm going to see today are worth the time, gas, money, and emotional energy that will be spent on going to view them!

I just keep reminding myself that, providing that I don't end up completely lost or accidentally enter a freeway, Orange is always worth the effort!