In most places I've lived, spring is a time of rebirth, awakening, regeneration. Not so much in LA. Now, I'm not complaining (much) because really, our winter is more like most people's spring. And our summer generally lasts until November. But as the rest of the world starts wakening and blooming, getting coated with a dewy rain, warming to the slow burn of summer, LA actually chills. And the rain we get, because yes, it does rain here, is not the dewy, rejuvenating kind, but more of the hearty, dusty, polluted sort. In fact, LA is the only place I've lived where my car is dirtier after it rains.
But regardless of the weather outside, growing up mostly on the east coast has instilled in me the need, come April, for a good, spring cleaning. And growing up on Felicity taught me about the need to chop off all your hair after a break up. Having done just that in my early 20s and having subsequently spent nearly the rest of the decade growing it back, I thought I would just stick to a good scrub down. Plus, I couldn't find anyone in my life to give me "permission" to go to the hairdresser and the one thing I learned from the last Sinead-moment was that you might want to run it by someone first. Because you might wake up the next morning in a panic thinking, now I'll never meet someone because on first glance I look like a lesbian. (No offense to lesbians.)
So, I took a Friday off of work, got out the garbage bags and pumped myself up by putting the "Angry Girl" playlist on my i-pod. Loud.
I started in the bedroom - under the bed. Alanis serenaded me as I switched out all my winter and summer clothes. I said a temporary goodbye to the wool pants and sweaters that I only keep in case I move back to the east coast and experience a real winter again as they disappeared into the rubbermaid containers under my bed. And while I told myself I would donate anything to Goodwill that I didn't wear in the last two seasons, I still couldn't part with the leather pants. Maybe it was the late 90s hiphop that had accidentally made it on the playlist, but I convinced myself I might need leather pants one day for a Halloween costume. And what's one extra hanger in my closet if it means I can be flooded with memories of cheap tequila shots washed down by Natty Light at a frat house? (Sorry, Mom.)
The bathroom and then the kitchen followed, as did sneezing from all the dust and cat hair that was unearthed in my frenzy, but at the end of the day I felt a lot lighter, closer to Buddha, and still looked like I was interested in going on dates with men. Having four garbage bags fewer possessions and all your hair in tact will do that to you.
I treated myself by perusing Pier One for something to "brighten up" my shiny, almost-new 1-bedroom apartment. In 15 minutes I had convinced myself, and the salesman, that I could fit a queen-sized headboard into my 2-door Volkswagen Rabbit. "But it's a hatchback," I told him. He raised his eyebrows and looked at me in what I interpreted as agreement. He conveniently disappeared after dragging it to the cash register, but no worries, I thought. I have a hatchback.
For the record, it was never going to happen. But thankfully Pier One has a the-salesman-can't-help-you-but-will-be-glad-to-bring-you-twine-and-stand-and-watch-smirking-and-offering-useless-advice policy. 30 minutes later, I had the headboard tied by one point on each side to the top of my car. I'm only going a few miles, I thought, and this will really brighten up the place. Plus, it can't be illegal or dangerous to haul a wrought iron piece of furniture on top of your car tied firmly in two whole places. Thankfully, I did make it home. In retrospect, I must have had a guardian angel looking out for me because it came off my roof way too easily. But my luck quickly ran out when I opened the instructions and saw in all caps: TWO PEOPLE required for assembly.
Now, I have friends. I have friends who are smart and good at putting together furniture. (Some day I will blog about the time I moved into a new apartment and bought all new furniture. From Ikea. I have very good friends.) But this was a proverbial salt in the wound moment. I mean, Alanis and I just spent a nice day cleansing ourselves from unnecessary possessions, thoughts, and recently, men. And now all caps? TWO PEOPLE?
Fast forward a half an hour and a wrench later, I was admiring the look of my new headboard. And yes, it was attached to my bed. Sure, I had to remove both mattresses, turn the bed frame around, replace the dust ruffle, all while trying not to smash my cat who was dangerously intrigued by the whole ordeal, but my bed is now something I am very proud of. There may have been bruises, a few curses, and a scuff mark or two on my wall at the end of the day, but at least the headboard covers them and the angry girl playlist drowned out my swearing. Thankfully, spring only comes once a year.
