Monday, February 4, 2008

Please don't tell the dog...


I crossed the line... there is no turning back. I am one of those weird dog owners. I saw it creeping up on me for a while... with the four photos of the dog posted on my bulletin board at work and the holiday card featuring Ben, Beth and the dog (signing it with a little paw print - because dogs can't spell - even though our dog's name is PJ). I don't want to even start in with the different names we have for his poop (the duece, triple threat, dangler, mud butt - you get the picture). And finally, when that pug screen cleaner clip started circulating, all I could think about was how I could get my dog to do that (plexi glass and peanut butter?) and I kinda felt unfaithful leaving it up on my monitor for any length of time.

The line was officially crossed last Monday when my spin instructor at the local Y asked me how my dog was doing (as we see her frequently in the park). I told her that he was fuzzy (I don't know why I say that - but I do) and then I told her that we were moving to LA. We then went into a rather surface conversation that one would expect when speaking to one's aerobics instructor and when the conversation ended I said, "Please don't tell PJ, we haven't broken it to him yet"... [insert cricket sounds here]... awkward pause... "OK, I won't" after which the instructor gives one of those breathy laughs (not unlike a sigh) and pivots around to abandon the crazy dog lady (me).

Why would I say such a thing: Please don't tell PJ, we haven't broken it to him yet. What devastation did I think this would cause our little dog? Did I think he would rebel and run off with that little mutt that he has been chasing in the park and open up a bed and breakfast in the country? Would he tip off his dog walker and together they would rob us blind and sell our belongings on ebay?

Nope, none of those things... I am just a weird dog person. Thats right - card carrying!

Truth be told, he doesn't care where we live, and ok, let's face it, he has no idea what moving even means. In all honesty, I am not sure PJ understands the significance of most of these new adventures we are embarking (no pun intended) on. I am still convinced that PJ thinks of Ben as "the other dog" and the only real injustice that he faces is that he doesn't understand why Ben can get on the furniture and he can't and why Ben doesn't get reprimanded for humping my leg. But I digress, home is where the milkbones are, and if I remember correctly, I think they sell those in LA.

Friday, February 1, 2008

Ace and Gary

So if I have not told you yet, Ben and I found a place in Los Angeles. We are going where most New Yorkers go to acclimatized to the good cheer and weather of the west... Los Feliz. Truth be told I figured we would end up in or around that neighborhood... I just hope they don't kick us out when they realize how un-hip we are really are. I guess unlike Manhattan, in LA, they can't really kick you off the island (did I mention we currently live in Brooklyn).


We looked at one place in the neighborhood and the realtor gave us dining tips and a copy of the local paper... and then asked us if we would like to have dinner with him and his wife. Ahhh, the swinging LA lifestyle! I didn't know whether to be horrified or flattered... ok, I was a bit horrified as the guy looked liked Gary Busey and the wife looked like that crazy squeaking dolphin lady. But in the end we put our egos aside and declined the offer, as the apartment just wasn't what we were looking for.

We ending up finding our place through two of the nicest realtors that I have ever had the pleasure of dealing with. Ben kept on calling them Ace and Gary and truth be told, they were the less-than-ambiguously gay duo. Having moved 4 times in New York, I was constantly trying to figure out where their fee was hidden and if we were being swindled... but we weren't. They were just genuine people.

I am still in awe of the situation. It was amazing, realtors that wanted to work, on our schedule and in our best interest. Turns out in Los Angeles, the realtors are paid by the landlords! Novel idea, that the landlord pay a competent realtor to find reliable tenants. I don't want to turn this into an east meets west bitch session, but I think we can all agree that in terms of the rental market... LA wins and not just by a couple of points... it's a landslide and in this landslide, New York is so hideously bad they called FEMA to bail everyone out... which may explain why most of the affordable apartments in NYC are no better than trailers, sitting in a swamp... without an ocean view.

I mean, how can NYC compete, when LA has superhero's posing as realtors...