And This Is How I Accidentally Slept With A Naked Homeless Guy On Drugs
Have you ever had something happen in your life, that is just so far out of the “normal” category, that it doesn’t even seem real?
I’m speechless, and that’s really saying something, if you know me.
“Um, this place looks scary” I hinted.
“I’m sure it’s fine, and it’s cheaper than all the other places” he assured me. And although I didn’t believe him, I was making an effort to remember that I am not always the most fun person to travel with, since my Uptight-Planner-Bossy-Bitchy side comes to the surface when I’m feeling uncomfortable being out of my daily routine.
Not feeling very satisfied with that answer, I turned to the next set of ears that might listen to me. “It looks haunted!” I whined to my husband. “It looks exactly like the set of every scary movie I have ever seen in my life, and I don’t want to go!”
He laughed at me and pulled the laptop over to look for himself. “The Ellison Suites were built in 1913, and later, were renovated into apartments” he read aloud while scrolling through the pictures. “Well, I mean yea they look old, but I’m sure Mr. Attorney Man wouldn’t take you anywhere unsafe,” he assured me.
And a few days later, I was on a plane to LA.
The two of them were in the front seat, Mr. Attorney Man wearing a backwards hat, grinning from ear to ear, listening to his California playlist, and I was in the backseat trying not to be strangled by my own hair and bracing myself for the moment a large rock would fall off one of those scenic mountains and end me.
There were signs, people. Actual signs staked up and down the roads, alerting me to the fact that this might actually happen.
ALL OF THE FEARS.
Arriving at the hotel, and checking into my room, I was greeted by some flowers my husband had sent, congratulating me on making it there alive.
After breaking them out of the packaging with nail clippers, and then putting them in the ice bucket, I found Mr. Attorney Man and His Better Half perched on some cushy chairs at the bar, where I collapsed into one next to them; Just in time to join in on the conversation about how we could smell the California fires burning down everything around us.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she admitted that she hadn’t even looked at it, because Mr. Attorney Man is the trip planner. A trip planner, who then leaned over from his spot at the bar, and admitted that he hadn’t even looked at it, because he’d selected it off the recommendation of a friend. A friend we later found out, had simply chosen it off of it’s location on a map.
And that, is how, after we googled to make sure that it wasn’t really haunted (we didn’t find any reports), we found ourselves standing outside The Ellison Suites, realizing that ghosts were actually the least of our problems.
His Better Half and I shot each other a look, where she sent the message “I have made a terrible, terrible mistake,” with her eyes.
At least I’m pretty sure that’s what it meant.
Anyway, driving up and down the block and not seeing any sign of a place to park — or even the front door of the hotel — we tried to call the front desk, and promptly learned that none of us had cell service.
Eventually we parked in someone’s driveway, and made our way through the front gate to the hotel.
Of course not, because I was now playing the role of the lowly friend, who in every scary movie I have ever seen, walks behind the group of people who are going into some rundown ancient building, and constantly reminds them of why it’s a bad idea to be doing it without a line to the outside world.
The friend who when no one listens, goes into the basement with them anyway.
Hell if I know. Seems fitting.
Looking at the rows of apartments stacked on top of each other, connected by fire escapes that I’m sure have claimed a few lives, clothes and towels drying over the railings, bicycles strewn about, and everything covered in peeling paint and dirt, you could easily envision what it had looked like in the early 1900’s as women in aprons tended to their hungry, depression era families.
I can’t even describe what we saw. It was about 95 degrees, and the windows were propped open by box fans. Not window air conditioner units, but actual fans. The entire place smelled of the 1900’s and weed, and the furniture looked like it had all been purchased from Ikea, and then placed in ways that they hoped would keep us from noticing everything else that was going on. And by that, I mean the pipes that were fitted with pool noodles and signs that said “Hot! Do not touch!” The shattered kitchen tile counter tops, and a TV that hung in a way that made absolutely no sense for viewing it, unless you were standing against the wall.
We laughed, we giggled, and then we opened the bathroom door and shrieked in hysterics. There were stairs leading up to the bathroom, and it was designed that way, because the bed pulled out from underneath the bathtub.
A bathroom trundle bed, or as we began calling it after His Better Half got in it and closed herself up into the floor, a “hide-a-friend” bed.
Then we went to check out their room, which to my amusement, was entirely decorated in Jim Morrison gear.
Laughing once again, I opened a doorway while still looking at His Better Half, and promptly tripped and fell.
Isn’t it amazing, the moment when you suddenly realize how smart, and stupid, you are?
We got some cheap wine, cried our way down the rickety halls, and drank it out of the Jim Morrison cups that were in the room..
She chose the bathtub bed, because it had a real mattress, but once we were laying in our beds and she was left looking at the deep, black hole that her bed had slid out from — a hole that could suck her down to hell at any moment — she climbed into my bed.
Attempting to get comfortable on what felt like a bed made out of patio cushions, we snuggled with pillows that we had chilled in the refrigerator, and took note of every creak, every shadow, and every sound outside. And because we were already on edge, of course there was screaming. A type of screaming where whoever screamed first, would scare the other one into screaming twice as loud. Repeatedly.
This went on — the screaming and snuggling with frozen pillows — until a naked homeless man began climbing in and out of the dumpster next to our window, and we began jumping out of bed every 28 seconds, to make sure that he wasn’t trying to get inside our room.
Realizing that maybe he was making noise on purpose to draw us to the window so that he could more easily kill us, we agreed that we were clearly safer under the sheets, with a box fan between us and the naked, homeless, high guy.
It was just then that a text came in from Mr. Attorney Man saying “we are leaving in the morning,” so I can only assume that he was equally unhappy, passing his time with good old Jim.
At some point close to 2 or 3 am, we fell asleep, and then woke up at 5am when my alarm went off, and we realized that we were both covered in a super attractive rash.
Romantic my ass. Claw foot tubs seem very charming and adorable, until you see what they were actually like in the 1920’s. Not only are they narrow (and sometimes on top of your friend’s bed), but the shower curtain completely surrounds you, giving the impression that you are inside of a large Ziploc. A Ziploc that other strangers have been in before you, and possibly left behind pieces of themselves that might touch you, and I don’t know, kill you. That is, if you aren’t first killed by any number of scenarios that I’ve seen occur in claw foot tubs, in horror movies.
BECA– USE WHY WOULDN’T THAT HAPPEN.
Since I’ve been home, Mr. Attorney Man has sent several text messages, apologizing for the hotel stay, but I’m honestly not mad at him because he’s dead to me he didn’t actually do anything wrong. Things happen, and at the end of it all, at least I was able to leave LA with a few good memories…
…and this blog.
Edited to add:
*This was not a sponsored post, but I wanted to disclose that Hotels.com did eventually make things right with us, so if you do need to book a hotel, I would highly recommend using them. Especially since The Ellison Suites still has our money, and we are now left fighting it out with the credit card company.