Posts Tagged ‘near-room’

Work, work, work… with Rita Andreeva

September 11, 2011

Police are Called!

furthest adventure in the Near-Room

Photo Taken Out of Context / Professional Actor

“The night before last J.B. called 911 at about 3:30 – 4 in the morning, he took his laptop and headed to the bathroom to take a shower. I was woken up by loud talking and the light from the bathroom. (Just to remind you – I live in the near-room now and rent the real room.) So I poked my head from behind the curtain to see what all the commotion was about and saw J.B. standing in the bathroom with the door wide open talking shit about me on the phone to someone. I yelled at him, “What do you think you’re doing! Cut the crap!” He looked at me with hatred and continued into the phone, “…Of course, she’ll deny all of this, she is a very good actress…” I realized that I couldn’t do a damn thing about him, he was just going to have to rant it out, whatever it was. I went back to bed, put on my earphones and the cloth across my eyes and tried to ignore J.B. A few minutes there was a loud knocking on the door. J.B. opened the door and let in 2 policemen and one policewoman in. I came out of the near-room in my skimpy pajamas. The policewoman took me out in the hallway in my skimpy pajamas (tiny pink shorts and a tank top, no bra) and started explaining that J.R. called 911 because there was blood in the bathtub. I stared at her in disbelief, “And you came out because of that! Gees! I have a period, so there might have been a drop of blood in the bathtub I missed.” She nodded, “Yes, I understand, but he was saying you were threatening him…” I listened to J.R. raising his voice inside the apartment, “You should arrest her! She is evil! She left the blood there on purpose!” I giggled. The policeman came out, “This isn’t funny!” Two black elderly people wobbled across the hallway to their apartment, looking at us over the shoulder. I waved to them and smiled. The policewoman with bushy black mustache went inside the apartment and exclaimed, “Wow! Look at what’s in the chair!” Everyone turned to her. “What is it now?” I asked wearily. “It’s a huge cat! Just look at that huge cat!” I sighed in relief, “Yeah, that’s my kitty.” One of the policemen went to look and said, “That’s the biggest cat I’ve ever seen!” The other policeman, the one who didn’t think I should have giggled, with a shaved head and a neck and a mean look in his eyes, never bothered to look at the huge cat. He had no time for that – all business and no play. He proceeded to tell me, “Your roommate maybe crazy, but he has rights. You should clean up after yourself and not make him upset, because the next time we come out, one of you is going to jail…” I looked at him defiantly, “Are you threatening me! You have no right, I didn’t do anything, you got me out of bed in the middle of the night!” He softened his manner slightly, “I did tell him that he should find another place to live, but he doesn’t legally have to, so I’m only saying, be careful with him, don’t say anything that could be threatening…”
After the police left I was furious, so I immediately went to my computer and disconnected the wireless router and locked it in a safe. If that jerk is going to call 911 because of a dirty bathroom drain in the middle of the night every night, I’d be damned if he is using my internet anymore.
That must have done it, because he gathered his stuff and left after he woke up sometimes in late afternoon. I was out, I went for a long walk, so I was deliriously happy to come home and to find the big bedroom empty and the keys on the table. Yahoo! Freedom, probably short-lived, but sweet!
Sorry, Jewish people, you missed your chance to pay me to spy on J.B.”  – Rita

Photo by Carl Nelson

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Work, work, work… with Rita Andreeva

March 23, 2011

Editor’s Note:  More background and foreground sketched in – in this latest episode of the ‘Near-room’.

Egg Situation Escalates!

Contested Food Supplies

The egg situation is escalating. When I came home this afternoon and opened the fridge I saw two jumbo brown eggs missing. When I chanced to glance in the trash I saw a white eggshell there as well, I went back to the fridge and pulled out the white egg tray – one egg was taken from the back. Again, he only put one tick mark on the food spreadsheet. I added the two appropriate ticks and wrote down below: 1 egg = .50 cents
Why are people so petty is what I’d like to know? It’s not just the money, but the fact that going shopping for me without a car and lugging heavy bags is a big pain in the ass. I hinted to him once that if he’d like to go shopping with me once, or just get his own food, that would be nice, because he has a car. But he is such a lazy ass – he never feels like it. When he isn’t working all he does is lie around. Still a huge improvement from the previous near-room-mate: that one didn’t have a job and all he did was lay around.

Getting a reasonable roommate is a very complicated affair. Most normal people (by normal I mean people without significant baggage) don’t rent rooms, because they’re able to plan ahead and take care of their stuff. There’s always something wrong with people who rent rooms. I interviewed 3 people this time before choosing D. The first one needed a room because he was fresh out of prison and was living in a half-way house. He also was under an opinion the room came with a free booty call. He couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t be thrilled.
The second one was a woman. I never actually met her face to face, because she had an enormous knack of complicating simplest things, so they never got done. Frankly, I was suspicious from the beginning, because she wrote an extremely long introduction letter, explaining how hateful her best friend turned out, now that she’d been staying at her place, because she wouldn’t give her a key. I thought, well, well, if her best friend thinks she can’t be trusted with a key, I should probably pass. So I didn’t respond to her email. But she wrote again, saying,  “I really need a room, I’d hardly be there, since I’m very busy, and I had a criminal background check done which you can see.” So I emailed her back saying to stop by. On the appointed hour she called me and said she was lost. She was somewhere by Yesler and 17th, so I said, just go North from there. About 20 min later she calls again, telling me, she is still lost. I asked her where she was, and she said, over on Capitol Hill, somewhere. I told her she was too far North and needed to come South. She calls back in another half-an-hour.
“Where are you?” I asked, quite annoyed with her by now.
“Broadway and Boren.”
“Go East up to 17th Ave.”
“But that’s almost 10 blocks! I was up there before!”
“Sorry.”
“You didn’t tell me right! I was there before.”
“Sorry.”
“I am beat for today, can we make it another time?”
I nearly screamed from joy, “Yes! Please! Let’s!” and quickly hung up before she changed her mind.
A third potential roommate sounded very nice. He said he just got a new job in Seattle and needed a room, and that he had a very sweet, well behaved, small-ish dog. Okay, I made an appointment for him to stop by.
His dog was like a lab-rottweiler mix, about the size of a calf.
As the man came in and looked at the room he said, “I’m actually thinking of moving here…” I was already thinking then, “No fucking way!” But out of politeness I offered him to sit down and chat a bit, so I could turn him down nicely. I didn’t have time to think of a way. That mutt of his proceeded to chase my cat Iris all around the living room, the chairs and hair were flying, growling and hissing filled the air. Iris leaped over the desk and unto the windowsill, from where she stared back terrified and insulted. The dog kept growling at her.  I got up, shaking from anger, shoved the dog away from the desk and yelled at the man, “Out! Right now!” He left mumbling, “Sorry,” in a voice completely devoid of remorse. I fucking told him I had a cat! I said to the man’s back, “You really should be more forthcoming with the information upfront…”
So when D. the current near-roommate came by, I couldn’t find any reasons not to rent to him. He showed me his drivers license, he had a full-time job, and he needed a room so he didn’t have to fight traffic coming from Tacoma waterfront where he lived on his boat. And he is clean, quiet and considerate. So aside from stealing eggs he is fine. Hopefully he won’t feel insulted by my insistence that he pays a fair price for the eggs or quit his job and sail to Mexico (which, by the way, I would have done a long time ago, if I had a boat).”  – Rita

Photo by Carl Nelson

Work, work, work… with Rita Andreeva

March 22, 2011

The Eternal Battle

They All Look Good at the Beginning

 

“My nearroom-mate is beginning to worry me: he whined about getting burnt-out at his job, I think he’s also beginning to hate me.
Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’m paranoid… but…
He also ate 3 jumbo size brown eggs and only put one line in the food-tracking spreadsheet. That’s just wrong!”  – Rita

Photo (taken wildly out of context again) by Carl Nelson

Work, work, work… with Rita Andreeva

March 22, 2011

Spring Special!

Lucy the Cat

“Spring special: a portrait of your pet – only $25 you provide canvas or whatever you want me to paint on, $35 if I provide canvas. Now, mind you, I’m talking about reasonable size here, if you want an epic mural 8′ across I’d have to charge you $20 per foot”  – Rita

Painting by Rita!

Work, work, work… with Rita Andreeva

February 19, 2011

Editor’s Note:  For those of you who haven’t been following Rita’s posts religiously – a Near-Room is a word for a sublet Rita has created by curtaining off a portion of her modest apartment’s living area.

The Near-Room / $300 a month

Continuous adventures with the nearroom…

“The latest tenant was a boy called Adam. He came to see the place with his father and they acted very respectable. According to them, Adam was 18 and needed a room to go to Seattle Central and look for a job, and his dad was on his way to North Carolina, leaving right away. His dad gave me $300, saying he’d mail the rent for the next month. He also said he gave Adam money for food and left, leaving Adam here with his backpack.
Adam didn’t seem too interested in school or looking for work. He spent whatever money his father gave him on going out and partying. In a few days all that money was gone. Then Adam started eating my food rather casually. I told him, “You can’t eat my food.” He said, “I have no more money and my dad won’t give me any.” I said, “Go to a food-bank then,” and gave him a list with days and addresses of all the nearby food-banks.  But his highness didn’t feel like going to a food-bank, he continued laying around sleeping or playing video games all day, whenever he wasn’t hanging out with his friends. And he continued eating my food. I told him again, “You can NOT eat my food. Not a crumb, not a drop! Go to a food bank.”
One evening as I was working on my computer, drinking tea and eating cookies, he approached me, “Can I have a cookie?” he asked. I replied, “Absolutely not.” It did ruin my fun, however, and I became very annoyed. He wouldn’t give up, “Why not?”
“Because I told you a thousand times to go to food-bank and you never did. You have to make at least some effort, you can’t expect things just given to you!”
He made sorrowful puppy-eyed face and sat on the couch and commenced staring at me. I finally blew up:
“What are you doing? I’m not giving you any cookies! It’s almost midnight! Leave me alone and go to sleep.”
“I can’s sleep; I slept all day.”
“Not my problem.”
“Why do you hate me?”
“It’s midnight; I’m tired, I’m busy! Get out of my face, leave me alone!”
He went to his nearroom and I turned off the computer, grabbed a book and went to bed – he totally ruined my enjoyment of tea, cookies and HTML.
A couple of days later he disappeared. I was very happy about that. But then my daughter Eva came over and asked, “Where is your roommate?”
“I don’t know.”
We went into the nearroom and exclaimed, “His cell phone is here and his wallet too!”
She picked up his wallet and pulled out his ID, “He’s not 18. He’s going to be in March…”
“Crap! Those assholes lied to me!” I exclaimed.
“How long was he gone?”
“Four days, I guess.”
I realized I was supposed to act responsible, so I called Adam’s dad. I told him Adam was missing, and his wallet and phone were here. His dad said, “I’m sure he’ll be fine, don’t worry about him.” That was that.
Adam did show up in a couple of days, looking dazed. He said he’d been at a rave, and that’s why he left his wallet and cell-phone at home, so they don’t get stolen.
He was clearly hungry and high and had a very bad cough. I let him eat some spaghetti with me since I didn’t want him to drop dead, but told him to get his shit together, stop partying, start going to classes and to food banks. He said okay.
Next morning when I got up and went to the bathroom it stunk of weed.
I stormed into the nearroom. It was time for him to get up and go to school anyway. I yelled, “Adam, get up!” and louder, “Get up!” and yet louder, “Get the fuck up!” He didn’t stir. I had to leave to go to an appointment.
He did wake up in the afternoon. I immediately started yelling at him:
“You can’t smoke pot around here! You’re not even 18! You’re illegal! And you must get up to go to school! This is an ultimatum!”
He said, “Okay.”
Needless to say, this situation continued until his rent was up, which was yesterday. He was hanging out with his friends, stoned as usual, and wouldn’t respond to my calls and texts demanding that he gives the keys back. So I went on Facebook and sent emails to all his father’s contacts with same last name asking for help. Luckily Eva and her friend stopped by, so Eva’s friend called Adam from his cell phone and caught him by surprise and asked him where he was, he said at McDonalds at Westlake. So we drove there and got the keys from him.”  – Rita

Photo by Rita Andreeva

Work, work, work… with Rita Andreeva

December 5, 2010
Editor’s Note:  Our Artist Hero stuggles to pay the bills.

Room Entry

Latest Adventure

“I put an ad on Craigslist advertising my ‘near-room’ for rent. Near-room is called that, because it’s not a real room, but a section of my living room I separated by bookshelves and hung a curtain for the entrance. The bookshelves don’t go all the way to the ceiling, leaving about a foot. (Photo attached)
A guy from NY replied. He turned out to be a right hand to the producer of the Christmas Story that’s being put up at 5th Avenue Theater. (When they say ‘right hand’ I imagine it covers everything, I mean EVERYTHING one does with one’s hand, right?)
We talked on the phone, the NY producer sent me a good company check, right on.
Then the day comes of the tenant’s arrival.
W. doesn’t call me from the airport like we agreed and finally calls me from downtown, completely and utterly drunk. I had to repeat like ten times how to find 3rd Ave. from 3rd Avenue. Finally he did and got on the bus. A bus driver called me a bit later asking where the hell to dump that drunk. I figured I might as well walk over to the bus stop and meet him. He was standing there, swaying from side to side, calling me on the cell phone. I told him to turn around, which he finally did and announced right away, “I am real. And I love you. Where is the party?” I ended up taking him to this gangster rap club down the street – that’s all that was open in the CD after midnight. He proceeded to make friends with very shady black dudes, who kept hitting on him for drinks and trying to sell him drugs and women. They tried hitting on me, but I told them to buzz off. I was bored and worried. Finally I announced to W. that we are leaving. He stumbled out and followed me to the gas station where we bought more beer, cigarettes and wine.
W. appears to be very dedicated: he leaves here around 9am and doesn’t get back until like midnight. He talks of how much work it is to do inventory of merchandise and to enter the credit card slips. I can’t possibly believe that it could take 4 hours before each show, and with a staff member assigned to help him. Yet whenever I ask if there is any part-time temp work for me, he gives me this excuse that the 5th Ave Theater expects him to hire their people only.
They had a run-through and a dress rehearsal last week, I asked to be able to come to either, but he skirted the issue like a slimy eel, just out of the dead horse’s mouth. Obviously, if I were a hot 20-y.o. he’d have gotten me in no problem, but a frumpy overweight middle aged woman isn’t someone you want talking to you in public. Oh well, screw it, I probably wouldn’t like the show anyway – it’s just a copy of that old movie, which is rather pathetic, but then general public is pathetic…”  – Rita

Photo by Rita Andreeva


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