I moved to Marin in August after an eighteen month, much maligned experience with four strangers as roommates in the Presidio. One of them was a budding Neo-Nazi from old Hamptons money whose parents mailed him thousands of dollars a month to, I suspect, keep him and his horrific manners at bay and 3,000 miles distant.
Needless to say, I was particularly keen to Get Out of Dodge as soon as my no-way-out-early lease with the federal government ended. I started trolling C-list for places in the Richmond/Sunset. I was being a bit of a prince; I refused to live in an apt. without a parking space included in the rent. I had gone years without a parking ticket and wanted to keep my rather meritorious record (ask any SF resident or DPT employee--I'm apparently a local legend) squeaky-clean.
The cost of living around here is so Draconian, particularly in my chosen profession, that me and my multiple diplomas had been consigned to living in an unfinished basement with two water heaters and a furnace, which I named Romulus, Remus, and Ursula respectively. Needless to say I had no idea what possessed me. I do know what I wasn't possessed of, which was A Lot of Money.
Thus, I never thought I'd live in Marin. This lovely redwood-studded place was Out Of My League, save for weekends on Mt. Tam and occasional trips out to the Novato Costco for tires.
When I found the tiny, lovely little place with the view of the houseboats, I jumped on it immediately. Not literally, as the building manager is the next-door-neighbor. Now I can go hiking any time I want, and have just stopped looking at the bridge toll statements.
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