Only in LA

Last week I saw what I can afford in a really nice neighborhood, on a tiny historical street in a groovy part of Long Beach.

For $399,000 the house was only 540 square feet. That’s it. The bedroom was even smaller than in my apartment now, a bed and a dresser would be a tight squeeze. The place was kinda cute and in ok condition. But nothing had been updated. Ugg. An old tile kitchen with no personality and a tiny crappy bathroom. But the neighbors were outside so I met them and loved them. With such small yards, you really would get to know each other.

And the whole lot was less than 3,000 square feet, which might be ok but there was a cement slab in back instead of grass.

And the roof needed to be re-done.

And the wood under the new paint job was a mess.

And since it’s historical, you can’t make changes without getting approved first. A “certificate of appropriateness” it’s called.

And I actually considered it for about an hour. My second realtor was really wanting me to say Yes, and I think he broke up with me after only a month because I didn’t buy it. Crazy huh.

I’m open to a one bedroom house if it gets me in a swell area…but there’s gotta be room for me and a bigger than purse-sized dog.

14 years ago I was new to LA and didn’t know anyone or know any better.

My dad had a business acquaintance with a daughter here. It was someone, and I had to start somewhere. She was friendly on the phone and invited me to meet her at a friends house and then go to dinner.

I wasn’t a complete country bumpkin, but I was wearing Doc Martens with a dress. They were older and sophisticated, both married and working with real careers. My real career as an account coordinator at my first agency paid 20K. It was pitiful so I had a second job, nights and weekends at a stationary shop for extra cash. Let’s assume it was my suave demeanor that had them thinking I was a high roller. But the 40$ cash that I brought and hoped to not use up, was the reality.

Maybe I should have asked more questions. But shit, I was intimidated and just happy they invited me. So when we arrive at the trendy steak house I still figure I can order a salad. And one glass of wine. And not even spend the whole 40 bucks. By now you can guess the rest. Oh yeah, they both ate steaks and appetizers with lots of wine, throwing caution to the wind. While bragging about their sexual exploits before and after marriage, like a couple of players. So I sat there nauseous from them and too much thousand island, feeling like a total loser and cursing my sad little salary. The check comes and they seriously go to split it 3 ways. I’d never been in that situation and didn’t know what to do or say. So I shut up and put 85$ on my credit card.

These days speaking up is my favorite thing. No way would I let hungry bitches treat me badly. Wait, I wouldn’t be eating with bitches anyway.

And I know women are infamous for splitting bills down to the penny. So I’m not suggesting that. But…more awareness at group dinners, splitting the fancy food bill is usually not fair to someone.

Funny, the lessons you learn living on 20K a year.

Awful…but living here, we just get used to the fires and weather warnings like this:

Dear Los Angeles,

It’s come to my attention that you’re full of freaks and weirdos. While good for the entertainment business and tourism, it’s kinda crappy for my love life. I’m just trying to meet a guy that’s smart, funny and cute. With a job, but without a wife. And no history of mental illness.

I know you’re a big city with lots of other shit to take care of, but you’ve gotta have just one great guy for me.

Here are some of the craziest things I’ve heard on first dates:

• My divorce isn’t final, but it’s ok I’ve been dating for years.

• Ever heard of Borderline Personality Disorder?

• I’ve had 100 dates, two women a week, for the last year.

• I bet you look great in only panties and an apron.

• My last relationship was 4 weeks long.

• No one ever wants a second date with me.

• My daughter’s hoping I’ll get back together with my second wife.

• I was married for 20 years, but the last 10 were miserable.

• My ex-wife lives downstairs.

Hilarious yes, but I’m just not licensed for this kind of thing. And you’re LA, there’s got to be something you can do.

I’d really appreciate your attention to this matter. Thank you in advance.

Sincerely, What did I ever do to you?

Was on a garden tour yesterday with friends and saw an open house that was, well, open. Cute from the outside, we peeked in. Had no idea how amazing it really was until we stepped inside the 7,300 square feet of dream house.

Right off of Sunset in the Palisades, and totally brand new which is unusual in this city. So you get that new paint smell, and realize every surface is high end, shiny and perfect. Windows all over, looking out back to a massive yard with a big pool. Staged a bit over the top, ok maybe it was too fabulous, lots of creams and white with big sexy art. But really, every room just got better and better.

5 bedrooms/6 baths/gourmet kitchen/2 stories/pool and spa/wine room/4 fireplaces

I’ve only seen houses like this in magazines. The gorgeousness is hard to explain. The monthly payment, hard to imagine, around $30,000.

Check out more photos if you wanna really get sick.

http://lalife.com/address/826_Greentree_Rd_Los_Angeles_CA_90272

From the backyard of what six million dollars can get you:

Seems money can solve one of a girls problems.

A few weeks ago there was an email sent out to a large group of women I socialize with. Written by one of the women new to the group, she had a dilemma. She needed a date for an important work event and didn’t know even one man she could ask to be a well behaved and charming pal for an evening. Either she’s 97 and hideous or so hot, guys can’t keep their hands off her, right?

Then yesterday, she happily writes, again to the whole group as if we care, thanks for all the suggestions, she’s found her man. A real male escort. That’s right girls, if you can’t rustle up even one male friend or husband of a girlfriend to borrow, just get your wallet out and pay this guy. For $100 an hour he will be your man whore for the night. He’s kinda cute, but come on.

http://www.meetalfie.com/

Two weeks ago I had to break into my own home. The plumber had come during the day and accidentally locked me out. It was 9pm on a friday night and I really didn’t want to spend the weekend on my porch. Lucky for me, the nice older couple next door was home and I guess I could have moved in with them. But instead, my handy neighbor grabbed his tools and came over to help.

It took about 30 minutes of really loud banging to bust off the rusty old lock and open the door. I mean super-loud-what-the-hell-are-you-doing banging. He first tried just kicking the door in but that only works on TV. Then he used a sledghammer and on to a crowbar. I think he was having a little too much fun as he tore the lock off. Cause hey, how often do you get to destroy stuff and help someone at the same time?

During the whole noisy thing not a single person came over or even called the cops. I was sorta expecting to have to explain what we were doing to someone, anyone.

The crappy old door was a lot tougher to break open than we expected. And that made me feel good. The fact that no one even noticed all the noise on a quiet street in Santa Monica, not so good.

Last night was drinks with a group of girls and I chatted with one, brand new to the city. We couldn’t help but compare the people in LA to other places. I remembered how it felt to be new here and wanted to give her some LA secrets to live by.

But instead I found myself warning her of the hazards of flaky. Mixed in with the “oh we are so damn lucky to live here” and “santa monica is the greatest” was my jaded “don’t take it personal, some people here just can’t be relied on.”

Is it just LA I wondered. Or maybe the people in all big cities are wishy-washy? They get busy and overextend themselves, saying YES to every invite that comes their way. Then make it to some and no-show the others. But guess what, we’re all busy, so get yourself another excuse.

Once I commit to drinks, dinner or whatever, I’m in. Not so for the rest of the city I sorta love. The flakiness makes it hard to strike up friendships and really connect with anyone. I’m lucky to have a few amazing close friends, that feel the same way about keeping our word. And the rest of the city but can just F off!

I’m not really an addict. And I’m no celebrity. But can I PLEASE please be on Celebrity Rehab with Dr Drew? I can make up something. I do eat too many sweets, lately its twizzlers and graham crackers. Oh and I watch too much tv. And my parents got a divorce when I was 7. Surely that’s enough.

He’s a dreamy silver-haired superfox.

That’s right. I just voted two streets up, in my neighbors garage. Last time I voted in the furniture store down the block, and before that in a 6$ per head hair salon. It feels sorta backwards for a big city like LA.

As a kid in Texas I remember my parents voting at a school. I tagged along and felt pretty cool. There were lots of people, signs and all kinds of activity, it was the happenin place. This morning, not so much. 

Waiting on their sidewalk in line felt like I was in a small town, with a very hip community. Who lived inside and where were the refreshments I wondered. And I’m sure it was all on the up and up. Cause after voting, the pretty little ballots were all shoved into a giant tupperware bowl thing.

What happens next, only Oprah knows.