I think looking for a new apartment/flat is as nerve wracking as looking for a job. Doing both is ridiculous.

Today the best place I saw I can't take. It's obvious that part of my rent would be becoming the landlord's best friend. He's one of those people who just talks at you - no response required. He talked at me for a solid 45 minutes, not once discussing the apartment. He was going on and on about Raquel Welch for some reason. I started to interject because I had a mildly interesting Raquel Welch story myself. I never got to tell it. So now YOU, poor soul, have to hear it. It was back in the day when people wanted me. Welch was going to do a stage show and they wanted me. Being the Diva I had to meet Welch for her personal approval. I went to her bungalow on one of the lots. She looked good. She was wearing a hot pink silk robe that she had to know made her look desirable. I figured this was her way of controlling a situation. She went to change and said I should make myself at home and get whatever I wanted to drink from the fridge. So I did. It was one of those enormous side by side things that the studios usually keep fully over stocked. I know more than a few stars who measured their careers by the quality of the deli in their fridge. I was surprised when I opened it and the only thing in there was an open can of Pepsi and a lot of bright clean air. This really confused me. When Welch came back in wearing jeans and a cute silk top I couldn't concentrate on anything she said. I kept thinking about her offering me a half empty can of Pepsi. Was this a show of solidarity? Were we going to hunch down and share it like Indians sharing a pipe? Was I being insulted? The mystery got deeper when she went to the kitchenette and came back drinking that can of Pepsi, this time not offering me any at all. I didn't take the job.

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