Living With a Porn Star….

by christypaul2013

…is not as fun as it sounds.

Ladies and gentlemen, what you are about to read is a story of fear, desperation and what happens when you are too cheap to rent a decent apartment.

For over a year now, I’ve had recurring nightmares about a former roommate killing me in a variety of ways, ranging from wacky to Guillermo Del Toro levels of horror. I don’t mean to belittle anyone’s experiences with PTSD, but I feel like I can relate.

About a year and a half ago, I was searching for a new place to live in Los Angeles. I’m a fairly cheap person and refused to fork out $1000+ on a studio apartment, so I was forced to look into renting a room. So, I did what any idiot with an internet connection does; I went to craigslist in search of shelter. It seemed like the cheapest rooms were being offer for around $600 a month. And these weren’t rooms as much as they were a couches in the middle of cat infested living rooms , in the middle of crack houses, in the middle of infamous gang territory. Oh yeah, I would be living the dream. I met with a few landlords, eager to take my money, and possibly my kidneys. I realized that if I wanted to live cheap, I would not live well.

Eventually I found a charming post, presumably written by a young woman who wanted to sublet her bedroom. She was moving, thanks to her upcoming PhD program, and I’d be splitting the loft apartment with her boyfriend. Her boyfriend who, the ad claimed, was an actor and would be spending most nights at his “place” in Hollywood, while filming. Here’s the kicker, rent would be $550 a month, including utilities! Oh happy day, I was willing to sign on the bottom line before I finished reading the listing. The next day, I met with the girl and her boyfriend, and they seemed like decent, down to Earth people.

Let the record show that I’m an awful judge of character.

It was love at first sight. I loved that I’d have a clean loft, mostly to myself, and they loved that I was willing to pay months in advance. A few weeks later, I moved in, and the honeymoon phase began. Being 24 years into an addiction with all things media, I immediately asked if he’d been in anything I might have seen. That’s when everything went to Hell. He proceeded to show me a few youtube clips. I proceeded to wonder where all of the actors’ clothing had gone. Turns out, my new roommate was a proud member of the adult film industry. I’m a pretty accepting guy, so I took it all in stride and decided there could be a silver lining here. I could see the underbelly of the North Hollywood adult film community. Oh, I saw the underbelly all right, and it was pierced and smelled a lot like Windex.

As the weeks went on, I realized that this working actor didn’t work all that much. Actually, he never worked. Every day I woke up, and there he was, glued to his laptop, watching random British and Australian television series. Because American media was too watered down and didn’t mesh with his delicate porn addled brain, apaprently. However, he did leave, once a week, for about an hour, and quickly returned. This was because his “place in Hollywood”, was a beat down RV he parked on the street. He only left because he had to repark it once a week, due to street cleaning! Looking back, that’s when I should have ran for the hills. 

Here’s where the story gets a little spooky. I work an odd schedule, so I sleep during the day. This was known going into the lease agreement, so I assumed there would be no issue. On more than one occasion, I was woke around 8-9am, which is my 2am, to him banging on my door. He was typically begging for an advance on rent, because his phone/internet/car had been turned off. I quickly learned these monetary issues were never his fault, but due to the world’s agenda against him.

You’d think a guy who got paid to have sex would go through life with a skip in his step and a song in his heart. This guy went through life with a chip on his shoulder and various sleeping aids pumping through his system. I forgot to mention, this man was my height, but walked around at 220lbs of solid muscle. I started sleeping with the lights on and a sewing needle under the pillow. Should I have left at this point, probably, but the rent was sooo cheap. 

Things got a little better when the girlfriend returned for a weekend visit from school. Actually, things got better for about 4 seconds. That weekend was filled with them having screaming matches and begging me to be their respective alibis, if/when the cops showed up. All for the low, low price of $550 a month.

Everything came to a head one night, when the girlfriend called me multiple times, while I was at work. I assumed they were having one of their typical spats, and they expected me to referee the bout. Turns out, they had been arguing, but after he admitted to taking a pill or twelve, he shut his phone off. She was convinced that he had killed himself. And she wanted me to leave work and check! I don’t wish harm on anyone, but I couldn’t help but see the positives here. Without this guy, the world would probably be a better place. Food would taste sweeter, children would dance in the street, and I’d finally get the loft all to myself, as promised. Being the aspiring Scooby-Doo that I am, I eventually drove to the apartment to check on him. Armed with nothing but my trusty keys, I opened the door, half expecting to see this guy splayed about the living-room, like a scene out of Saw. Turns out, the poor guy really did go to sleep. I can’t help but say I was disappointed.

Shortly after, the Sun finally decided to shine on little old me, and I moved out of that freakshow. Yes, the rent may be a little steeper, but it’s worth it to sleep soundly, knowing that the only thing I need to fear in this apartment, is fear itself. Oh, and Chodie Foster, I just don’t trust that cat. However, I still have nightmares about that moose of a man beating my bedroom door down with a rusty bottle of KY jelly and finishing me off. That sounded better in my head.

Please, let this be a cautionary tale. If you decide to move to Los Angeles, always bet on black, and remember that spending a little more on rent could be the difference between life and death. The California sun turns normal people into complete wackos. Just look at what it did to the entire Jackson family! Janet is considered the “sane” one, but she still dated Jermaine Dupri. That was not the action of a sane woman.

One day, I hope that these nightmares will be gone. Then, I can go back to my nightly hiking trips with a circa mid-90’s Liv Tyler. Mmmm, Liv Tyler. Goodnight everybody!

 

Advertisements