10 Rules of House (When You Ain't Got One)When I first moved to Los Angeles, I spent about four months couch surfing--give or take a month or two--before settling into a place of my own. (It should be noted here that by "a place of my own" I mean to say my boyfriend's apartment, which is technically "ours"--sorry,
was ours, but now I'm getting ahead of you.) In fact most Angelenos have spent their first formative months curled in fetal position on a bestie's Crate and Barrel second-hand-me-down. I've bartered for room and board by dog-sitting, cat-sitting, cleaning house, cooking--you name it, I've done it. Actually that's only mostly true. I haven't done everything. I would never do yard work, for example, nor would I exchange sexual favors for a place to sleep--that's a freebie.
If the Goddess of Good Etiquette, Miss Manners herself, were still alive she'd tell you: The art of crashing pad is never overstaying one's welcome. There's a fine line between free-spirit and freeloader. But what if you are forced into homelessness by, say, a fire? Three weeks ago, my apartment building went up in flames. One-hundred and fifty two of LA County Fire Department's finest extinguished the blaze within hours. They also declared the building "uninhabitable" and, consequently, our leases were terminated by the landlord. (Don't even get me started on the landlord.) As of this post, my boyfriend Wil, my dog and I are living in our third loaner in three weeks, gypsies squatting in friends' homes while they are on vacation or away on business.
It's weird living in a house or an apartment that doesn't belong to you. You try your best to carry on as normal: You shower every morning. You cook dinner. You might even do a load or two of laundry. Life must continue, you reason, it's survival. But the whole time you're playing house, you're surrounded by other people's stuff. Their furniture. Their food. Their
booze. This brings me to the first and most important tenet of guest etiquette:
1. Behave as if the people whose house you are staying in were home with you. Seems obvious enough but it's incredibly hard to keep up appearances, particularly when you've grown accustomed to certain modes of behavior (e.g., writing in your underwear, letting it rip, going "Number Two" with the bathroom door open, etc.).
2. Keep running lists--of food, of damages (it's best to be upfront about these things), of decors "suggestions." Replace food you've eaten with the exact brand. Value brands are not substitutes for name or premium brands. "Natural" is not the same as organic. If you're lucky, your friends shop at Trader Joe's.
3. Liquor etiquette. This is probably the second most important rule but I've placed it at three because, frankly, I don't want to read like a lush. In light of our circumstances, Wil and I absolutely required alcohol every single night to keep from plummeting into a vortex of self-pity and inertia. If your gracious hosts happen to have a bottle of Goose stashed in the freezer or even -gasp!- a full bar, never ever ever, under any circumstance, dire or not, should you finish the bottle unless you are willing to replace it. The Golden Rule of Sip: a little here, a little there. Measure it out. Keep count. See Rule 2. Using water to refill bottles might have worked on your parents but it will not work on your friends. On the flip side, for people who are going to be loaning their homes to friends-in-need, I urge you: Hide the expensive shit. It will be tapped. Deep down,
you know this.
4. Mind your children, especially if said "children" run around on four legs, poop outside and shed fur like a motherfucker. When the alarm sounded the morning of the fire, the first thing I thought to grab was my dog. This is promising as it means that if I'd had an actual flesh and blood child, I would have grabbed him/her instead of my MacBook. It's easy to be homeless and single. Add a boyfriend and a dog and things get a little more complicated. If you have a pet you've most likely become accustomed to a certain amount of animal hair. Your friends, however, have not. Sweep, Swiffer, lint roll, whatever it takes, to remove your pet's hair from sofas, cushions, bedding, etc. If your kid's prone to misbehaving--and be honest here--keep them confined to certain areas where you can do the most damage control.
5. Don't mess with Direct TV. While you're in the interim you might miss a few episodes of Real Housewives or the Rachel Zoe Project. If you're lucky--and your friends aren't monks--they have cable. Do not change series settings or delete any shows that are being recorded. OK, so your host queues episodes of Glenn Beck and the O'Reilly Factor. You may be tempted to sabotage this disgusting backflow of misinformation. Don't. Save it for the next dinner party then
out their asses.
6. Clean the toilet. Everybody poos. If you're like me, you absolutely cringe at the thought of dropping an S-bomb in somebody else's crapper. Eventually you're going to have to get over this (or hold it for however many days, weeks, months). Chances are--you're gonna go. If you observe this little golden nugget they'll never know what you did there.
7. Do the dishes even if they're not yours. Most people leave a few Kashi-crusted bowls when they quit town. You'll be tempted to leave them, too, especially if they've filmed over with a funky slime-mold. Just do 'em.
8. No sex. Your host has graciously fitted their bed with a set of comfy clean sheets and invited you to rest your weary bones. It is absolutely bad form to have sex in somebody else's bed. Period. (To note "sex" is defined as any act that includes ejaculating into or outside of an orifice.) But what if you and your LTR have been without it for over a month? Libidos climb in times of crisis. What about the shower? The yard? Make like monks and fuggetabotit. (Or just cross your fingers and hope it all comes out in the wash.)
9. Leave everything the way you found it only cleaner. This is something you probably learned from your parents (or from that book
Everything I Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten). Ask yourself: Would this pass my mother's inspection? If so, nice work! Otherwise, get back to scrubbin'.
10. Say "Thank you." You'd be surprised how often this fundamental act of civility is overlooked. Leave a gift and a card. The gift doesn't have to be out of your price range. For example, a good bottle of ten to fifteen dollar wine is fine. But absolutely--let me emphasize this again--absolutely NO Barefoot or Yellow Tail. Seriously. Would you drink that shit?
(Article coming soon!)
