Valley Girl. Fer sure fer sure.
How did I get here? This is not my beautiful life. I agonized over the name for my new blog because I am not so sure I want to identify myself from the get go as a Valley girl.
I mean how uncool is that? I am such a wannabe hispter and let me tell you if you are unfamiliar with the turf - The valley as in the San Fernando Valley, teenage wasteland suburbia to the City of Angels is *not* hip. I have lived in some hipper than thou places - - Venice Beach, Marin County, Santa Barbara - I know hip even if I am not.
Funny thing is I was born a few miles from where I live now. I pass the hospital of my birth in crappy Van Nuys weekly. So how do I find myself living back in the wide smoggy trough between the Santa Monicas and the Santa Susannas - the region of my birth? Well, there was this guy from the west side that I met up in Santa Barbara . . . yada yada yada . . . I am a single mom with a 2.5 year old son forced out of my cohabitation situation in west Los Angeles.
To further complicate matters, I have this big dog. A really big dog. I am not just saying this to deter stalkers and intruders. The dog figures in to the story. See the dog is young and unruly because I am too lazy to train him to walk on a leash properly. He needs space to run, trained or untrained. A bitchen little condo in the Marina with a 3 foot balcony was not going to cut it. A cute craftsman style backhouse in Silverlake was out of my single parent slacker budget. Where do you go to find little boxes with dog friendly huge backyards for cheap? Look no further than beautiful haven of Encino, CA.
So here I am - living in a box - albeit a box which walls I have painted many lovely and soothing colors and strewn comfortable furniture about so as to make it "homey." The weather is cooling down from the hellish hellish months between April and November. The Santa Anas are blowing hard so it is heartbreakingly clear out. The mountains appear in sharp relief. Planted along the streets of my neighborhood are a rows of Liquid Amber trees turning red. Families are starting to put up Christmas decorations. My dog seems content in his fetch playing paradise. My son seems blissfully unaware that he has lost his chance of becoming the next Tommy Curren or Stacy Peralta. So like, I guess this place is not totally grody to the max or whatever.
