Rants and Raves

My Rant: I have noticed since moving to Encino that sometimes when I tell people where I live they get this kinda impressed look on their face, like “ooohhh FAN cee.” That is probably because there are some really good parts of Encino, just ask Moon Unit and MJ- - they’ll tell ya.

I, however, do not live in one of the really good parts of Encino. In fact I might as well be living in Van Nuys. Apparently in my corner of Encino, it is acceptable to drag race down a quiet suburban street at 3:30 am, just ask my neighbors - - they’ll tell ya.

I have been down for the count with the flu for the past few days. Last night I was finally getting a decent night’s sleep until I heard the sound of a jet engine landing in my front yard. I peaked out the window and saw the newest car in my neighbor’s ever growing collection being parked in front of my house. The parking space was not to neighbor’s liking however, because he found it necessary to circle the block at a rather high rate of speed no less than three more times before finally parking in front of his own house and letting the jet engine idle for another 15 minutes. At this point, I sadly abandoned my hopes of sleep and got up to finish my book.

This morning I took a closer look. I think the transmission is gone but check out those bitchen rims.


My Rave: Although I live decidedly north of the Blvd, I also live very close to one of the largest urban parks in Los Angeles. Tonight was unseasonably warm. After I picked up MyKid, we decided to stop by the lake on the way home from preschool for an hour or so before going home to the grind of dinner, whining, bath, argument, story, tantrum, bed.

It ended up to be one of those really nice low-key special moments. The sunset was beautiful. Lots of people were out and about and in good moods. Other moms smiled at us and we smiled back. It felt a bit like summer in February. And best of all, MyKid went to bed relatively easily tonight. Sigh . . .

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.