LeavingSantaMonica

I LEFT SANTA MONICA FOR FLORIDA

Was it the wrong move?

HEDGED NOVEL, CITYGIRL JULIANA JONES, MEG & I NOVEL

When the calendar turned in 2022 post-Covid, I had had enough. I was living in a tiny studio in Santa Monica at the corner of Montana and Ocean Avenue, and for a long time, it was blissful. It wasn’t without its problems, but during Covid, it got much, much worse.

My top floor unit faced the alley and I was sick of the shenanigans that had gone down in that alley over the years; the homelessness, the people sleeping, sh*tting, urinating beneath my windows, and the garbage bins going up in flames. Luckily I was on the top floor; the “penthouse,” I used to think, but it became an awful way to live and the apartments were so poorly made; you could hear every sound, every sneeze, and the mold and the other crap that lay there before me was simply painted over – over and over again, and over again.

But I was a writer and at times, mostly during the day, it was quiet. I loved it. I published two books during Covid and after years of classes at UCLA and NYU, I had finally written the stories I wanted to tell. They were beautiful and perfect, and I was proud.

Every day, I would jog down that California incline and I was so happy; never taking for granted that beautiful landscape. My life which was a hybrid of fun Executive Assistant office jobs until I made it big with the writing, and I was happy that my lifestyle was affordable due to the rent controlled dump I was living in.

But by mid-2022, every time I went out for something as simple as the groceries, I’d feel the angst. Angst was in the air and I found people rude, rushed, hurried, annoyed. It grated on my nerves. And I didn't feel safe anymore.

At the same time, the love of my life, the man who was the main character in my books, Noel, left Aspen and was living in Tampa, Florida. I couldn’t believe it. In our twenties, we both worked on Wall Street and lived a glorified life. And I had spent the last twenty years of my life, living it out in the books and movies that I wrote about him.

I went to Aspen once to see him. But our lines were crossed and he never answered my calls. “Traveling,” he once said in the few times I spoke to him, but my rare Google search now pointed him in Tampa!

I was ecstatic! I wanted to see him. I wanted him to read my book that other people were reading about this thrill ride on Wall Street, and it was hitting high ranks on Amazon. I did all the writing, editing, marketing, and even designed the book cover myself. And I now was getting paid. Not much, but paid.

It was time for me to bask in my dreams of being a writer, and being with him once and for all!

I planned a trip the following month. I checked the map; I had to be close to a beach so instead of staying in Tampa, I would stay in Clearwater, Florida – a place I had never been before and then I’d call him. Maybe he’d come to see me.

When I arrived at 5am in Tampa from a red eye flight out of LAX, I ordered an Uber and the driver was …. get this… friendly! There was no traffic, but I was too out of it to remember it was still only 5am. The bridges we went over were beautiful and the sky was blue and the water was green.

I stayed at the Marriott hotel on Ocean Boulevard, and my room overlooked the water and the breeze coming in from the open balcony doors felt like heaven. I ordered room service and dove into a thick, juicy grilled chicken sandwich that they made for me since it was only 10am and I was starving. I hadn’t eaten restaurant food at all during Covid, and not being any kind of Chef whatsoever, it was a welcome change. It came with French fries and I hadn’t eaten those in the least two years either. I was in hog heaven. Oh, the simple pleasures!

I would move here, I decided, and two months later, I was gone. Due to the substandard living conditions, I asked my landlord for money to move out and after getting a check for $4,400 from him, I was gone. At the time, I thought it was a lot of money. Funny thing was, he would be the one to have the last laugh after he jacked up the rent so high, he made that money back in about three months.

But before I left, I had searched high and low for apartments online in Florida, and though I was only paying $1500 for my studio in Santa Monica and I lived there for nine glorious years pre-Covid, I was hard pressed to find anything under $2200 for a studio or 1 bedroom even in Florida.

What happened to the days when Florida was cheap, I wondered? Prices were sky high, but I found one 1 bedroom for $1900 and I had all my eggs in this basket. The landlord was holding it for me, but when I arrived and saw it in person, it was a dump. Smelled like asbestos and mold mixed together and it was tiny and overlooked a parking lot, and it was far away from any office buildings where I needed to obtain either an Executive Assistant job or Sales job stat.

Disappointed, I quickly realized I was going to have a hard time making ends meet in Florida. I landed a 1 bedroom apartment in St. Petersburg, Florida, about seven miles from the beach for under two grand, but the air conditioner of the tenant beneath me woke me up out of a sound sleep every time it cranked on and off about 80 times per night. I complained to the landlord. Not good.

But my love Noel and I were almost speaking daily. He had a girlfriend but he bought the book and read it and then he and the girlfriend broke up. He was texting me all the time about the book. He even moved to Clearwater Beach from Tampa! At the same time, my parents barreled in from Connecticut to visit me in Florida and my mother, being a loose canon on the best of days, flew off the handle and caused a huge scene at the hotel because it was not up to her “Martha’s Vineyard standards,” and as I was too busy dealing with that, I took it out on him, and he got upset and ghosted me, never to speak to me again!

I ended up with a Sales job selling Cyber security to hedge funds but when they told me I needed to do sales “videos,” with my face while reading a “script,” that would get sent out in hundreds, if not thousands of potential clients, I said, no, thanks.

“Hire someone to do that, use AI,” I told them, “But you are not using my face.” Yes, I am a pretty girl. But I just came from LA. People got paid big money to act and model. I was not one of those people. I’m a W R I T E R.

So they fired me. And then things got really bad. I blew through the rest of my money since I couldn't get unemployment in Florida. And when I got hired at an Investment Bank six months later, the landlord sent me a three day EVICTION notice for complaining about the AC unit one too many times.

Tried as I might to find new housing, prices were exorbitant. Even with my new $55,000 a year Executive Assistant job, nothing was in my price range. You’re looking at $2500 for dumps. No thanks.

I couldn’t believe it. After having no place to live, I lost the Investment Banking job, and the little money I had in the stock market being short was evaporating before my eyes. Not good times, not at all. I got in my car and drove East to Vero Beach after throwing my belongings into storage but what kind of job could I get there?

By this time, I’m getting too old to work, yet I’m too young to retire. I have no love, no job, and no apartment. And no time to market the books I just wrote.

I liked Vero, but there was nothing for me there, just more expensive rents and no jobs, so I headed north and landed in Isle of Palms, SC where my parents always had real estate on the ocean, but sold prior to Covid.

I rented an overpriced “luxury,” apartment in nearby Mt. Pleasant, SC, which used to be a small, quiet town, but like Florida was now overrun by Northerners. All of its “small town appeal," evaporated like my money in the bank, my hopes and dreams to be with Noel Sheffield, and my plan of making it big enough with my writing to be able to pay my bills.

Nothing was working. To make matters worse, this apartment unit was located right over the main door and when they upgraded the "high tech key fob magnet," two months after I signed the lease, the slamming door woke me every time someone came in and out of the building about a million times a night and sleep was impossible.

My complaints didn’t matter. They’re like: “Move. We will cancel your $13,700 fees in early lease termination fees.” Gone were the days of my legal rights as a renter which I had in glorious Santa Monica, California.

I humbled myself and applied to minimum wage jobs at Home Depot hoping I could water the plants outside. I also applied to Lowe’s, Target – and even Chick Filet, and after hours of “online assessments,” and in person interviews that were demeaning and demoralizing – no one would hire me!

It was maddening! How could I even stand on my feet for eight plus hours a day! I was not a spring chicken anymore! And how could I pay my $1900 rent on that salary?

Office jobs didn’t seem to exist anywhere anymore. And the “remote,” jobs seemed elusive. I never used my “free,” California healthcare because I was in Grade A health, but now, after all my years of writing and office jobs, I was developing arthritis in my fingers! I was going downhill fast! It astounds me how bad life has gotten since leaving Santa Monica! And I didn't think things could get any worse then.

Why didn’t I just stay put in my rent controlled “penthouse?” Why didn’t I just spend time trying to get another office job and use any leftover money to market the books I just wrote?

I missed my friends! I missed jogging along the ocean everyday. I missed that beautiful ride on PCH when driving up to the Palisades to go to Gelsons! I missed that food! That pre-made Wolfgang Puck food I always bought in that deli.

Oh, and let’s not even bring up the weather! It’s now November on the East coast and cold! It gets dark here early and it always seems to be grey and gloomy outside.

It’s been three years since I left sunny LA and I am a worse person for it. My hopes of being closer to my family have been dashed since they are, surprise, surprise, too busy with their own lives.

As I sit here and type this, I have no idea what’s coming next. I just hope that 2024 is better. But it's not. Neither is 2025.

Then, they burned down the Palisades.

Things have gotten worse in Santa Monica. And housing is now even tighter.

I just want to go somewhere where it’s peaceful and warm and I can afford an apartment so I can keep writing, but where?

Is going back to Santa Monica an option? A quick look at rent prices show that the studio I gave up now goes for $2400! There’s nothing even available, and even if there was, would I want to endure all the robberies, the homelessness, the violence, and the constant angst there? And pay that kind of money?

I call some friends there; many want to leave, but they have no place to go. My old Hollywood landlord who I stayed friends with is now 70 years old, and she's living in a homeless shelter down in Long Beach. It’s astounding what this housing crisis has done, and nobody knows how long it will continue to last or how bad it will really get.

Those locked in rent controlled aren’t leaving. They can’t. But how can they stand the mold and the violence?

The the old cliché is true – the grass is not always greener. I thought the East coast would be better, cheaper, safer, but it's not.

I am happy I did this journey now rather than when I’m seventy years old. I'm in Connecticut now. In a small little town by the beach. The place also had mold, but the landlord had it remediated after the health inspector got involved. But it's cold in the winters, hot and humid in the summer and tics galore. But it's safe.

I still have enough energy left in me to move again somewhere warm and sunny, where I can afford a simple lifestyle, and continue to write more books. But does that place even exist? Anywhere?

I can't afford any more mistakes. The next move needs to be the right move. And I don't think I'm returning to Santa Monica any time soon.

So I got a dog.

Yep, a dog.

I rescued a German Shepherd.

And she is the main character of my next book: Meg & I; A Love Story. How Rescuing a German Shepherd Healed My Broken Heart

It's now available for pre-order on Amazon. Book release date: November 1, 2025. Kisses to my fans!

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H E D G E D

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