Day One: The Backstory

Once upon a time there lived a somewhat fair (but mostly just racked) maiden in the grand village of Los Angeles, CA. She lived an idyllic life. Her apartment, though small, overlooked a park. Palm trees shaded her patio. The two mangy beasts that had adopted her 3 years ago, slept lazily on her white furniture. 50 movie screens, 2 malls, and over 20 restaurants were located within 2 miles of her home. She had just the right amount of socialization, responsibility, and sleep.

Then one day, an evil corporate empire overtook her apartment complex. The dark spell of Rising Rent spread across the village in the form of white envelopes taped to blue doors. When read by the victim, the spell immediately raised rent $150.

The maiden--who had been raised a princess but had given up the life when her Prince Charmings resulted more Sondheim than Disney—fought the evil empire with all her might. She wrote very scathing letters to the manager. Unfortunately, she lost the battle. She and many of her beloved fellow villagers were forced to accept the reign of Evil over their village.

The notice of vacancy contained a very small caveat that the maiden was too distressed to heed. “Beware: If you sign this notice and refuse to pay the increased rent, you will turn into an evil monster devoid of any real feeling.” The beaten maiden signed the form anyway.

Although heartbroken, the maiden found a lovely place in the North Country with a very nice new roommate who seemed to have a lot in common with the maiden. However, as the maiden signed the new lease, she noticed heaviness in her heart and strange green scales on the back of her hand.

Over the next few weeks, the maiden had several unexpected problems with her interpersonal relationships. She even yelled once. With each outburst, a new patch of green scales appeared. On the day that she hiccoughed smoke, she decided to consult her friend, the Enchanted Mirror.

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” The maiden requested.

“Catherine Zeta-Jones,” the mirror intoned.

“Bitch,” stated the maiden. That question never turned out very well for her.

“Mirror, I seem to be turning into a dragon.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” The Mirror maintained a lot of anger over the removal from the Saint Anthony Castle where it had been so happy.

“Yes, really. I don’t know why I’m so mean and grumpy lately.”

“I’m going to say – you’re turning into a dragon.”

The maiden harrumphed in frustration. “You aren’t very helpful.”

“Well,” replied the bitter mirror. “You’re no Snow White and you make a pittance so we live in a dump instead of a castle.”

The maiden sighed. She didn’t know why she ever went to the mirror for help.

She lumbered out the door. It was getting more difficult to move now that she was 100 feet long, no longer bipedal, and breathed pillars of smoke.

On the freeway, she grouched at the passing cars. “Learn to signal! My hell! Did they even have roads where you grew up?! What’s wrong with you all?!”

She felt very guilty, but since long lines of fire accompanied every epithet, not many people stayed around for the apology. She arrived at Union Station for a chat with her new best friend, Union Bagel Guy.

“Hey! I guess now that you’re a dragon, you don’t want the usual.” He said with a fire extinguisher in hand as she approached.

“Do you have any live goats?”

“I don’t carry them. Not much demand, really, unless I get a dragon, but that’s only happened this once.”

“I’ll take a newt bagel with salamander cream cheese, then…Union Bagel Guy, do you know why I’m so mean lately?” The maiden hoped for some insight with her tasty, wiggly snack.

“Nope. I kinda lost interest in you when the rack went scaly.”

The maiden flew herself to work. The wings were quite handy, really. She rather hoped she could keep them once she found the counter-curse.

At work, she complained loudly about her workload. Her coworkers looked confused. When she had been human, she was annoyingly cheerful and made up little songs about her dream job at Children’s Hospital. When the Dragon Maiden’s beeper sounded, the coworkers dived towards the fire exit.

After the hospital had been evacuated by the fire marshall, the Dragon’s boss suggested that maybe the ex-maiden should consider some vacation time. The dragon cried tears of acid that ate through the parking structure. That was really embarrassing.

The dragon flew home. On her way, she called her mom. A passing motorist made an obscene gesture. She taught him some manners by incinerating his car. She was starting to see some perks in the dragon thing, but was also starting to feel a little lonely. Many people are quite bigoted about foul-tempered creatures that blow up their cars and houses.

“Mommy! I have turned into a fire breathing dragon and scared away all my friends.”

“Nonsense,” the Queen stated. “You are my adorable little girl. No one could help but love you.”

That’s what makes mommies so fabulous, the dragon thought. She then told her mom all about her frustrations. Her mommy said, “My, what frustrating few days! I bet you feel really sad.”

Mommy parroting is always comforting, even if it is the same phrase for 30 years. “I do. I feel really unhappy. What is the cure for dragon-ness?”

The King said, in the background, “Like your mother knows…”

The Queen roasted him with her Look of Death before returning to her daughter’s worries. “My dear, the only known cure involves the secret society of the Elder’s Quorum, a magical token called the U-Haul Truck, and a few nights good sleep. It is a dangerous, unpredictable journey that you probably should take alone -- and medicated, if possible.”

“Grrr. Rrrr-aaa-rrrh. Sizzzzzzle.”

“Call when you get there, so I don’t worry,” her mommy said.

With that, the dragon hung up her cell phone and embarked on the horrible adventure called Mo-Ving. As she had lost her opposable thumbs, reasoning ability, and sense of humor she decided that blogging her journey would not be possible. I, the faithful squire, will attempt to write some of our experiences so that future sufferers of the Rising Rent will know how to avoid the awful fate of my mistress.

Countdown to Humanity: 10 Days