I lived in a celebrity's old party house and was afraid to leave my bedroom

The first place I ever lived in L.A., a giant complex in Downtown, gets memed constantly (still to this day). “Scammer apartments” one meme claimed. I can attest.

Once I was getting dropped off by an uber, a young actually nice guy who could walk the fine line of proper small talk, he couldn’t believe I lived there. He said he had dropped off so many Soundcloud rappers and celebrity chefs here.

When I moved in there was some sort of melted mass by the elevator that looked like cheddar cheese. It ruined Goldfish for me.

When I had the opportunity to move into a six bedroom house in Brentwood with two people I barely knew, who was I to deny fate.

I was going to FIDM at the time, long before ASU bought it, and would hit the free zone at the library like my life depended on it. There would be stacks of old magazines, fashion books, fabric, junk you could grab with ease. I was on it with the magazines. For some reason, may it be God or whomever, there were constantly old skate mags and a ton of ancient GQs. Made for me.

One of the GQs I shoved into my bag happened to be January 1984, with Donald Sutherland on the cover. The Beach Day Ken Doll of a landlord, who was also a former actor/nepo baby grown man/realtor obviously/uhhh entrepreneur etc, mentioned in passing that this house happened to be Donald Sutherland’s former “bachelor pad” from the 70s/80s.

I whipped that GQ out of my busted tote, and showed him how crazy it was that I had just picked it up. No one on the west coast cares about coincidences. Or maybe it’s just middle aged men I can’t be sure.

This was the moment I started living like the guy from M*A*S*H. Sorta. The house was so big I was scared to leave my room. It had an indoor hot tub that I didn’t know how to turn on for a while. So I sat in it cold.

A quick Google revealed that Donald Sutherland lived here around the same time he was dating Jane Fonda. I found a Toronto Sun article that says this….

“In an interview with the BBC, Sutherland recalled his ramped-up sexual chemistry with Fonda. ‘We had a wonderful, wonderful year and a half. She was terrific.’”

I lived in their sex den? Something for me to save for one of those two truths and a lie you play at corporate jobs.

The landlord/generational wealther/probably commercial actor had added a third floor to the house. What was once a beautifully compelling, Mediterranean style home, was Frankensteined with an oval office looking primary bedroom. Oh and (not on the third floor but still) an ultra modern, chef’s grade kitchen. Perfect for ordering Pink Drinks off Postmates and letting them melt in the oversized fridge.

This house had a gravitational pull for weirdos and freaks. I had semi-friends come over to see my new kitten (Little Dot), which somehow turned into a Fashion Nova photoshoot in my bedroom. 😕

One room served as a designated office, with a few stacks of papers just in case. A write-off or whatever.

The ants came marching 10x10 when they figured out I kept the cat food in my closet. A ribbon of disgusting fucking insects cascaded around my Diors bags to the dry food. We led them outside with a trail of that cat food, outsmarting those idiots while still respecting them as living beings.

A formal dining room that was sealed off from light, was where I plotted my first trip to the promised land that is Sturgis, South Dakota. One of my favorite places on Earth, I would move there if only I could put up with the locals. I sat there, seriously guided by my phone flashlight, researching 80 year old Harley drag racers and which bars had topless fire breathers.

The sitting room of this house is what stays with me. It was untouched by men who think they know everything. There was a close call when my friend wanted to put a FLAT SCREEN TV in there. It was just how the light streamed in. It was serenity. I won my first Chanel bag off an eBay bid in that room. I don’t know…I believe in energy. I’m talking the old fashioned way too, before bots.

While on vacation, the ac broke and water poured down the stairs. My first quintessential L.A. water damage experience. Weird tarps were put up, dudes with masks came in, we were supposed to be living on the bottom floor of the house only. Turns out the place was full of black mold. We sued the landlord and got our money back, girl.

When life was at its beginning of being fucked, in 2020, I saw a TikTok of tween influencers hanging by the pool at that house. I wondered if they thought the neighbor was Britney Spears too. I think the place made its rounds on Airbnb, for something like $6,000 a night.

You never know when your next water damage experience will be. Its a reminder to live in the present. Life is short. The estate sales are endless.

I did my digging and found some surprisingly packed sales. A few time capsule homes so you can really immerse yourself. A lot of jewelry this week. Insane designer chairs that are going for $60. Old Hollywood posters and magazines (lots of magazines), ancient Gucci tags. Ceramic cups with feet…you just have to see them for yourself.