Listen To Your Valley Girl, M'kay?

This is going to be a weird post.  On the one hand, I’m going to tell you to be cautious, and on the other hand, I’m going to tell you not to give in to the fear.

Some of you longtime Valley Girl readers might remember the vicious, nasty, cuss-laden post I wrote to the person who burglarized our house nearly two years ago while Derek and I were at work.  Unless you’ve gone through a similar experience yourself, nobody can adequately convey the feeling of violation and rage that accompanies such an event.  It is nothing short of devastating. 

Though we have since gotten an activated alarm system and a doggie door so Big Brown Dog can satisfactorily patrol the entire premises, and though the police who investigated the crime assured us that “these people” who do these sorts of things almost never return to the scene of the crime for a repeat offense, the feeling of being unsafe never really goes away.  Most people end up selling the house and moving after being robbed for that very reason, but for others, that’s not really an option. 

One of my dearest friends of all time had such an experience last night, I’m sad to report.  Everyone was home and asleep and oblivious to what was happening in their home – even their mean, protective pit bull who would scare the bejebus out of anyone.  Some asshole got in, rifled through their most personal and expensive objects, picking and choosing what to take, and slipped out without being noticed.  All while their two kids slept in the next room. 

People, going through it myself was bad enough, but knowing someone you love is now going through these feelings is awful, and since you are likely someone I love if you are reading this, or even if I have never even met you, you are someone I care about, and I am begging you, BEGGING YOU—

Step up the home security right now.  Today.  I don’t care if your dog is Cujo and you sleep beside an insomniac Special Forces mercenary with Bionic hearing and a bad attitude.  KEEP YOUR DOORS AND WINDOWS LOCKED UP.  Put motion detector lights on your roof or by the front door.  Don’t leave out valuable stuff that can be seen from the street.  If you are home and someone comes to your door selling shit, let them know you are home, but don’t open the door.  Tell them (as I do) that you have a really mean dog that will bite them on the balls.  And as the cops who took our burglary report told us to do, put wooden dowels in your windows like this…

… so that windows cannot be forced open.  Every single window, even ones you think nobody would ever know about.  You can get these at any hardware store for cheap and cut them down to size to fit your windows, or have the dudes in the store do it for you.  And you know those plastic thingies that lock onto the window sash?  Do you have those?  Forget them – they don’t work and can easily be forced off.  That’s how Assholio got into our house.  Basically do everything to make your beloved pad say “Move along, Mother-Effer.”  These are hard times economically, and people will get more brazen about trying to steal your shit.  And while I sympathize with anyone having money probs, stealing what belongs to another and violating their sacred space is never the answer.

Which brings me to my next point I really want to make.  Don’t give in to the fear.  There is a lot of panic and paranoia in the air right now that only gets worse when people start feeling threatened.  They perpetuate a vibe of hostility.  I’m guilty of this – after our house was hit, a neighbor of mine cast suspicion on a guy down the street since he is kinda street-looking and drives a douchey car.  Other than being annoyed with his noisy douchey car, I never thought twice about the guy, but now I was looking at him with suspicion and hostility as well.  This is not good.  In times like these, we need to be reaching out to our neighbors with love and a helping hand more than ever, and thinking of ways we can help one another.  Being afraid of our current circumstances doesn’t help anything.  Our beautiful country has been through way worse and it will get through this.

But in the meantime, there’s nothing wrong with being a little extra cautious.  I’m just sayin’….

Be safe.

Love,

Jennie

 

 

Friend Quotes

Similar to Man Quotes, this feature will be funny shit that my friends say that I have to broadcast to the world:

"Well you're busy building a whole human being.  I'm just trying to make a lizard talk."

-- My friend Shannon, Visual Effects Editor, who works 80-hour weeks, while discussing why we are both so tired.

The Nursery -- Work In Progress

Amidst the hell that is reviewing and shopping for baby stuff, what is safe, what is not, what causes SIDS, what is not going to be toxic for the baby to inhale, etc., etc., ad nauseum, there has been a break to do something fun -- turn what used to be the guest room into a cute, happy, McLean-worthy nursery.

As I have stated before many times, I have the most awesome girlfriends in the world, and they also have the most awesome girlfriends in the world, and two of these beautiful and generous creatures volunteered to spend their precious Saturday helping me with the transformation.

Since it took us the first few hours simply to determine furniture arrangement, account for an absentee crib placement, and devise a paint scheme, the following pictures only represent the partially-completed project, but you will get the idea.  

Here are the before's that I took before my Angels of Decorating came over:

Here is the mural that will be hanging on one wall and represents the theme on which what the rest of the decor is loosely based:

After some toiling with stencils and paint and catching up on the latest celebrity gossip, here is what we came up with:

Bunnie and Erin, you guys so totally rule.  Thank you so much.  I love peeking my head into this room and just looking at it.  It will always remind me of both of you.

I Am My Own Worst Nightmare

Don’t get me wrong: I have the ultimate respect for homemakers everywhere. There is no more noble or thankless profession. I just never thought it would be me.

As long as I can remember, it has been my worst nightmare: the image of the woman, in the house, in the house dress, barefoot, pregnant, cleaning, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, cleaning, writing thank you notes, running boring-ass errands like getting water from the water store. Heyall naw, give me human interaction, give me Happy Hours, give me intellectual stimulation, give me LIFE. As long as I can remember, this has been my mantra.

But since the “career change” that is no longer the case. The “career change” has given me ample time to embrace my inner Martha since my massage appointments are sporadic and on some days, non-existent. The house maven duties naturally fall on me. And guess what? It’s not so bad. Turns out I am a pretty good and creative cook, and can organize a household and tend to furry children quite well and with enthusiasm.

I have to admit though, it gave me total glee to go out last night. The walls of the house were starting to close in on me and I needed to get the hell outta Dodge and put my hands on the steering wheel rather than on a person’s back. I put on some make-up and a cute outfit, shit, I even blow-dried my hair, people! I met up with Trish and Shannon for a screening in the Hollywood Cemetery of a new upcoming show called “Pushing Daisies”. Shannon’s friend is the creator of the show. People, O. M. G. It was so good. I can’t wait to see more episodes. It will be airing on ABC soon, so watch for it. I am not a TV show person, but I will make time for this one, it’s that unique and delicious.

Just like my casserole.

Foo Fighters Acoustic Show, Pantages Theater

Words to describe last night’s Foo Fighters acoustic show at the Pantages Theater:

magical
intimate
moving
hilarious
quiet
head-banging
inspiring
enlightening
personal
uproarious
decadent
romantic
spine-tingling

Where do I even begin? I’ve seen the Foos twice already, once in a large venue, once in a smaller one, but this was so up close and personal, it was like having Dave Grohl and his buds come over to your house and jam at your dinner party or something. As this article from the VH1 website so aptly put it, “For the first time, Grohl's surprisingly tender voice and intrepid lyrics are front and center for an entire two hours. Or, as he put it, ‘I'm not just screaming my balls off.’” That pretty much sums up what was so great about the show. Don’t get me wrong -- I love me some screaming Dave. But his talented songwriting and distinctive voice totally stole the show, and it was a beautiful thing.

Rhonda hooked a cracka UP and our seats were in the second row, to the right of the stage. I could practically count Dave’s nostril hairs, we were so close. The show started refreshingly on time with one of their new songs that began with just Dave playing guitar in his chair, and reached a feverish crescendo as the rest of his band came out, along with a keyboardist, a violinist, and an extra guitarist. Taylor’s drum bass was so intense, I could feel it pounding in my throat as Dave banged his head, a look of pure ecstasy on his face. I got the chills and knew this was going to be a kick-ass show. Acoustic or no, they just rock.

Some of the songs had accordion mixed in, one had a dude (I think it was one of their roadies) playing harmonica. Dave told stories between songs and just generally interacted with the very appreciative audience a lot. And guess what, valley peeps? He talked about the valley a BUNCH. He lives in Encino (tra la la!) and loves it. I knew this already from one of their performances last year on one of the MTV award shows where a camera followed Dave backstage, and he pointed at his shirt that he was wearing:

with the word “Encino” in block letters on the front and declared “That’s right, because I’m strictly valley, motherf***ers!” as he flashed the double-bird at the camera. I thought that was hilarious and I turned to Derek and said “I need me one of those shirts.” It took some searching around, and I wasn’t able to find one as cool as his, but one day on a trip to Rite-Aid of all places, to my surprise, there were Encino t-shirts being sold that had very similar lettering, so I snatched that puppy up! It’s frog green, but what are you gonna do?

But I digress. So he was telling the crowd how much he loves the valley, that his house is "huge and cheap" and proclaimed Silverlake as “total bullshit, dude.” It was hilarious. I felt more bonded with him than ever.

The show ended with two encores and more stories about his younger days with Nirvana, and much to my amazement and delight, the very last song was my favorite Foo Fighters song: Everlong. I did what I always do when I hear that song: I cried. And as he sang the last notes of the chorus, I swear he was looking right into my eyes. It was possibly the most emotionally satisfying concert I have ever seen.

After the show, since we were VIPs and all, we got to stay for the after-show soiree, which featured huge buffets of food, open bar, and burlesque dancers. We went ahead and partook in a bit of the bubbly, but had to call it a night after that -- we were both just wiped. I got home and did the super-fast-makeup-swipe-off-clothes-shedding-fall-into-bed dance and drifted off to sleep with a huge smile on my face.

Rhonda, I love you, girl. What an awesome birthday present.

Berfday and Godbaby Extravaganza

Oh man, I love me some godbaby. She is just flat-out and hands-down the most adorable, happy, smiley, radiant little creature on the planet. But I'm not biased.

I held her, I played with her, I read to her, I listened to her views on Little Brown Nut Hare vs. Little Rabbit. I was hoping to read her the all-time children's classic Everybody Poops, but alas, it was not amongst her extensive collection. [Note to Godbaby-Mama: This is a must-read. So is Captain Underpants And The Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants.]

I watched in awe as she sat on the floor and giggled in response to The Big Brown Dog constantly sniffing her, licking her head, nibbling at her diaper. She just simply was not fazed by him one bit, but he was sure fazed by her. I've never seen him so nervous before, and I realized he hadn't yet really been around someone that young, and a 9-month-old baby is quite akin to a very drunk person: they wobble, they teeter, they fall unexpectedly, they make strange noises. I think he was afraid her little drunk ass was going to fall over all the time, not to mention all the great smells coming out of her diaper. Forget butts -- diaper smell is THE SHIT, people!

Here he is, all like "Awwwwwwyeah, diaper booty gettin' in mah bed!":

The below photo is mildly deceiving since Babe also took quite a shine to the Young Juliette. She doesn't ordinarily display a particular fondness for persons under the age of 21 now that she is older and just can't be bothered. But she wanted to sit next to Juliette at all times. Not lick her, not sniff her, just sit beside her and look proud. It was so cute.

But in this photo, she seems to be saying "Oh heyall naw bitch, you ain't getting in this bed! You're cutting into naptime, punk!" And it's not even her bed -- it's actually Rufus' bed that he graciously shares with her when her own bed is just not deemed as being sufficient for Her Royal Pugness:


And here she is again, giving you the ol' stinkeye:

So I got sick the day before my berfday (WTF???) which really blew, but I still managed to have a great one anyway. Several adoring fans came over to oooh and aahhh the Darling Godbaby, but here are a couple of preliminary photos from Jillie until I get mine out of jail in the camera:

Here's me and MY FIANCÉ (squeeeeeeee! love saying that!) -- pigging out for a little pre-berfday celebration at Buca di Beppo in Encino. Man, I love that place. You walk in hungry, and you leave full for a week. And Bonus: it's within stumbling distance of our house.
But the real treat was having my precious friend in the house for four days, and remembering all over again how great she is, and how God was smiling on me the day I was placed next to her at that shark tank-- I mean law firm-- all those years ago. I love you, Jillie-pew:

The Waiting Is The Hardest Part

Only five more days until I get to see Jillie-pew and my Godbaby.

Cripes, could they BE any more freaking adorable???

Babe's First Slumber Party

Now most of you who know Babe know that she is the friendly, outgoing, attention-whore sort. But the arrival of the Big Brown Dog nearly three years ago forever changed the level of attention she gets because A) Rufus is an even BIGGER attention whore; B) Rufus is just plain bigger and will thwart her attempts at getting lovies every chance he gets; and C) Rufus is so damn freaking cute (still looks like a puppy, even though he is huge and beefy) and funny (still entertains us daily with the strategically-timed recital of the Super Happy Butt Wriggle Can You Feel My Jungle Heat? Dance, and smart (is currently completing his thesis on Deconstruction of the Suburban Compost Pile).

But let’s be clear: Babe is no freaking slouch either. Pugs were bred hundreds of years ago for the express purpose of being companions to Chinese royalty. When it comes to breeding, she is built for one thing only: to be as adorable and cuddly and charming as caninely possible. But at some point a year or so ago -- could be her older age, or just no longer giving a crap -- she just sort of threw in the towel and let the big guy get the lion’s share of attention and petting and squealing and cooing while she just loped off to her bed for another nap.

So I recently received an invitation to attend an intimate slumber party at my dear friend Milli’s house to check out her pad and sleep out in her little Shangri-La backyard, and that dogs would be welcome. So I packed up my blanket and pillow and Babe’s little leopard print faux fur bed (no, she’s not spoiled) and schlepped over to Milli’s house. Little did I know, I was about to make Babe’s millenium.

First of all, there was only one other dog there to compete with, Milli’s chihuahua mix Chela (aka “Scoops”). And she is WAY smaller than Babe. If Babe were so inclined, she could totally trounce Scoops. But Babe is about the love, so that wasn’t an option. Then, there was this yard full of all sorts of interesting plants and waterfalls and smaller-dog-butt to sniff. That alone is like Disneyland for Babe. She got to poop on a strange lawn -- always a treat. Then there were chicks, a bunch of them, passing out lovies for FREE and lavishing unrestricted praise upon Babealicious like it was freaking Christmas. Then she was given handouts of cauliflower, a new and exotic treat the likes of which had never before been savored! It was a magical evening for a neglected pug.

But the best part came early, very early the next morning whilst we slumbered in the tent, sleeping off the mojitos. Babe was in her bed at my feet (placed as far from earshot as possible to reduce at least some of the decibels from her deafening snoring).

It should be noted here that my dogs have always had their own beds since I don’t believe in having dogs in bed with you. It’s not only confusing for the dog, thinking they are on the same level with you and thus, not buying it when you try to train them, but also rather unsavory when you think of all the dog poo that gets mashed between a dog’s toes when he performs the post-poop hind leg scooting ritual. Yeeaaaah, not for me. I like my bed pristine and dog poop and dog hair-free, thanks. I give them plenty of cuddles and snuggles throughout the day -- they can live without being next to me for eight hours every night.

So there we were in the tent, and as the morning light began to permeate the tent, Babe awoke and realized, holy shit! -- she was in bed with three chicks! Dear lord, what have I done to deserve such unadulterated bliss?!!! This sort of thing only happens in a pug’s wildest dreams!!! She went from one warm snuggly body to the next and was cuddled and pet and cuddled some more, and she squealed and looked around at the scene before her and I swear, the look on her face was something I have never seen before. It was like when a Buddhist master reaches the highest level of enlightenment: This was the Holy Grail of Pug Existence. Where could she possibly go from here? What on earth could ever top this? Then the tent was unzipped and wheeeeee! -- more smelling to be had out in the beautiful yard!

Later that morning as I arrived home, I noticed what a pig sty my own house had become. After being gone for five days last week, then starting back to massage school, I haven’t been home much to clean or pay attention, but the squalor was becoming more unavoidable, and it stood out in sharp contrast after being in Milli’s beautiful, clean zen-like pad overnight. So I did what any girl would do. I put on the soundtrack to Flashdance (amidst Derek’s “Oh Dear Lord” looks) and started to clean my ass off, while Babe, my little party girl, slumbered happily back home in her little bed, having had the time of her portly little life.

Horton Hatches A Psycho

What is it with me and the psychos? Do I have a secret Psycho Attracting Device lodged somewhere in my person that the aliens have implanted in me? Don’t you ever wake up in the morning sometimes with a strange mark on your body and realize they have kidnapped you again, and wonder what the hell they implanted in your person while you were under their alien hypnosis thingy during the night? Well guess what? They implanted the Psycho Attractor 3000XGL with turbo boost into my person at some point a few years back.

We go out with Deb and Darren Saturday night. We have a lovely dinner at Primitivo on Abbot Kinney. Love the crap out of that place, man. Some tapas, some wine, some nice conversation. And we were only with, like, the greatest neighbors ever in the history of neighborhood. We head over to the Buffalo Club to meet up with Bethy and her peeps. Deb and I sit at the bar, and immediately, my Psycho Radar starts beeping. Bip bip bip bip bip bip bip beeeeeeeeap! In the words of the Great Eddie Murphy in Beverly Hills Cop when he sees the angry-looking dude walk into the strip club with the leather trench coat on (in June), “Something’s getting ready to go down.”

WHAM!!! A Body slams to the ground at our feet (I had on my super cute white Bebe pumps, always a great prop for a psycho drama) -- there was much yelling and general spazzing out of people around and atop the Body. The Body screamed and squirmed like a stuck pig, and the security dude sitting atop the Body yelled at what I presumed were the Psycho Body’s drunk friends, who were trying in vain to calm the Psycho Body down. Security Dude remained perched on top of the Psycho Body and everything quieted down within a few moments, even the Psycho Body. The cops were en route. So Security Dude had to remain perched atop Psycho Body, lest the Psycho Body squirm and flail and spin like a combination whirling dervish/tanked tasmanian devil and destroy everything in its path. An eerie calm settled over the place as Security Dude sat calmly atop the Psycho Body, awaiting handing him over to the arriving Po-Po.

I turned to Deb and remarked, “Remember that book, Horton Hatches The Egg?”

I didn’t tell her that I have the Psycho Attractor 3000XGL with turbo boost embedded in my person since I am afraid she wouldn’t want to go out with me anymore.

Girl.... You'll Be A Woman Soon

I love a girly-girl party. I love seeing girlfriends and spending time with them and getting caught up with them when it's so hard for a bunch of busy chicks to congregate at the same place at the same time. This is at Karin's place, and crapola, there is no photo of us. But this is Shannon, my At-Work Mom's daughter. People have asked us before if we're sisters, which is kind of ironic, I suppose. But mainly I just take it as a huge compliment since hi, Shannon is totally foxy. M'kay?

I love a girly-girl party. Because it affords me the opportunity to show off my cute shoes to the delighted squeals of friends. And that gives me joy. I know -- shallow much? At least I'm honest.

Zest

That would be my word for the day. I was told last night by a good friend that I have it. Probably sometime after I got off the stage dancing with the band that was playing. And I take it as a very serious compliment. Zest. Mainly because it has been on my mind a lot lately. A sense of adventure. Lust for life. Don’t you just want to scream and bounce up and down whenever that Iggy Pop song comes on? That crazy drumbeat intro? It reminds me that we are never fully in control. When you leave yourself open to wherever the day takes you, it will take you to some very interesting places, and mostly to some very interesting people. And that is such a good thing in getting the most out of life. I love my zest. Zest is where it’s at.

By the way, The Port in Studio City is a very fun and groovy place. Our bartendress had a heavy hand and a very sweet and attentive way about her, and the bouncer, this huge Native American dude named Black Bear, had the coolest tattoos all over his head. And the band, Dirty Pictures -- awesome. You can’t help but get up and shake your ass.

The Port
12430 Riverside Drive (at Whitsett)
Studio City, CA 91607