Citburban

I grew up on the East Coast. I am used to traffic, and I have parallel parked a Crown Victoria in downtown Boston. But I am also used to real city, the kind that has subways and metros and allows you to live car free, if you so desire. LA is not that city. In fact, I am even wondering if LA is a city at all. These days, it seems to me to be more like a whole herd of little citylettes all shoved together in the same suburban area. But even more shocking than the lack of city-like amenities in this city is the complete lack of suburban-like amenities. The really baffling thing is laundry detergent. Where in a non-city, non-suburban world does one buy laundry detergent if they do not want to pay grocery store prices?

I know many of you out there are thinking, “duh Walmart,” but that in and of itself is an interesting situation. For some reason in this craziness of life that I like to call citburban, there is apparently one Walmart for every 2 million people. Kind of makes you think of Jan and Dean. At least their girl to boy ratio was a little more favorable.
From where I am living in Burbank, the closest Walmart is 10.6 miles away (a distance that google estimates to be up to 25 minutes away in traffic), and the shopping experience promises to be delightful with reviews like “i live here in panorama dis place is ghetto the way i grew up” and “It is located in Panorama City which is not the safest location at the corner of Roscoe and Van Nuys Blvd (gangs).”

So enter the in-mall Target. In downtown Glendale, in the Glendale Galleria is a three-story target with all the laundry detergent that your heart could desire. With the nifty little cart escalators (escalators made just for your cart), the shopping experience is great. And the funny part is, that to get back to your free mall parking in the four-story parking deck, you tote your Target bags, the pack of paper towels and the ironing board you just purchased back through the mall past Forever 21 and the Apple Store. Citburban indeed, but a girl’s gotta look good in all this traffic.

Freeway Flyin'

There is something they don’t tell you about LA.  Sure there is a lot of talk about traffic.  Terms like commute and reverse commute, the 210, the 405, metered merges, and the like are on the tips of everyone’s tongues.  But what they don’t tell you is that here in LA, you get to drive really fast—almost all the time.  Because there is freeway access everywhere and these are the main ways of getting around town, if there is no traffic, you are going 70 miles an hour for most of your driving.  Sure, there’s a lot of traffic, but there is quite a bit of speed too.  I like it. 

Browsing vs. Buying

I never really thought much about homeownership. I’m the kind of girl that buys old cars that are odd colors just so I do not have to have a car payment. I do not like to be tied down. But now that I’m married and we have spent the last year gallivanting around the country, there seems to be a certain charm to the idea of settling down. The interesting thing though is that when you decide to start settling down, if you have never really thought about it before, you don’t really have a good idea about how to go about becoming a settled person. Don’t get me wrong…I love cute little houses and darling little yards, and even though I regularly point them out while we’re driving around, as far as my personal life is concerned, I had mentally gotten about this far—buy a house.

I am learning that it gets decidedly more complicated when you actually try to go buy one. First of all, there is the little matter of what to do first. Some people recommend that you get pre-approved for your loan. How you do this, however, is quite another matter. My favorite conversation about this topic was with my father. When I asked him about getting pre-approved and shopping for interest rates, he said something about how the newspaper used to print current interest rates and I could check there. Yeah…I’m thinking that my blackberry-toting father probably hasn’t done this in a while. Others recommend that you find an agent. Still others suggest that you take time and really scope out the areas. Some even suggest you live somewhere for a year first.

Then there are the more quality of life things like the type of house including layout, color, lot size, etc. And then there is the issue of where in this vast world that is the greater Los Angeles area would I want to live. Which highway views do I prefer to see while I’m stuck in traffic during my commute?
And in the midst of all of this there is the ever-clearer-growing distinction between talking about buying a house and actually buying a house. I drove past a house the other day that heretofore would have garnered an “oh, that is so cute…I would love to have a house like that “ from me. But this time I actually looked it. That tiny house…right, like anyone but Ken and Barbie could comfortably fit in there. Buying versus browsing…ah the differences.

You also see neighborhoods in a whole new light when you are thinking about actually plunking down your own hard-earned cash for a domicile. What before may have been like a “Hmmm…well the yards could use some improvement and it would be nice if more people kept up their paint, but it is a fixer-upper” conversation quickly turns into, “Did you see all those bars on the windows last time we drove through here? Lock the doors.”

When I moved to LA, I thought I would be choosing a house. You know…selecting. Like when you read a real estate ad in Atlanta or small-town Iowa about amenities such as granite countertops, two-car garages, an alarm system, and a yard, you think, “Great, I’ll have to check it out and see if it is the color granite I like or if the two-car garage is large enough for my two SUVs.
Here…they do not list amenities like that in our price-range. Here the scenario is more like. There is a structure in our price range. Let’s go see it. If it doesn’t look like it is right in the center of gang territory or it doesn’t need to be razed, let’s call someone to look at it. It doesn’t have countertops? That’s ok. I hear they are overrated anyway.
 We joked the other day that we just wanted to find a house that we could have our parents come to, rather than having to meet them at a hotel. Even a girl who never wanted to settle down has to have standards.

Surf's Up

Having just moved to LA less than 10 days ago, we have decided to hunt for a house.   In this economic downturn, we are figuring that it is a good time for us to dive on into the market and invest in a home of our very own.  Besides, I would really love to have a garage to store our amazing amount of gear in.  I would also like a yard.  I saw some urban gardening show years ago about a family in Pasadena who grew like 40,000 pounds of produce per season in their little urban garden, and ever since then some feat that approximates this wonderfulness has been my dream. 

So there you have our house requirements.  A garage, some grass, oh and a bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen.  Pretty basic. 

Yeah…this is LA.  Enter the scene where your house dreams are a sweet little sailboat floating on a calm little sea flying a charming little blue and white flag of hope.  Suddenly the wind kicks up, the realtor you contacted replies to your sweet little email, and with one ugly, frothy wave, your dear little vessel is splintered into a thousand sharp pieces of wood on the cavernous rocks that are this downturned market.  And as your now seemingly tiny blue and dirty-white flag is snagged on the black volcanic backdrop, you realize that only a downdive of epic proportions such as people fleeing the state for fear of their lives would have made it easy for you to take a nice little dip into the homeowner’s world of LA. 

But we are not deterred.  Oh no.  Sure, this adventure may be a little more complicated than we first imagined, but hey…what would the experience be without a getting a little wet?  Maybe we need a surfboard instead.  So bring on your best wave real estate lady.  Or maybe I just need a new agent.  One that wants to ride the waves, because I have a board and a wet suit, and I’m ready.