The Only Way I'd Join a Gym

I'm not in agony, but I've been agonizing.

The prospect of entering LA County limits without an apartment is both intimidating and highly probable. I'm hardly dumb enough (wait for it, I'll get there) to think I won't find someplace. Yet there's a distinct anxiety about driving in with a car full of a crap and having nowhere to unload it.

I've got options. There're always options. Limitless options. There are enough open ended scenarios to cripple an agoraphobe. The problem is getting to the best one.

One plan: I secure an apartment with month-to-month lease in advance of my arrival, sight unseen. Move to better location after confirming that the apartment sucks.

Two plan: I overcome my pathological fear of imposing on people, abuse my familial ties with my cousin, and squat as his place until long term accommodations are procured.

Three plan: I secure a week's stay at a low-cost hotel, and begin hurried apartment search in person.

Four: Live in car, put stuff in storage, join gym for shower use.

I already called a few landlords today, checking if it'd be possible to get a studio before I leave. They were all perplexed by the concept of me renting an apartment without seeing the apartment. Clearly, they must have assumed I was organizing some hideaway for a terror cell, or shooting some porn flick about a terror cell. There's probably a pun to be made here about sleeper cells.

In case that wasn't clear, the first option no longer seems viable. And neither does the second, without scoring some second hand Xanax. Option three seems the most legit, but the fourth is definitely the most cost effective.

Living in my car would be great. I could spin it as being "adventurous," "quirky," and "homeless." Well, not homeless. My home would just be smaller and more mobile than most.
And you can't deny-- the commute from work would be amazing.