Real Estate Euphemisms Finally Decoded

The real estate business has its own language. I was not aware of this when Jeff and I set out on our quest to find the perfect home. In an attempt to spare my readers (all 7 of them) some grief and confusion should they decide to buy a house, here are a few of the real estate euphemisms I have decoded thus far:

1. sparkling pool = nasty green hole in the ground
2. cute/quaint/cozy = hobbit sized
3. has tons of potential = needs everything replaced but the foundation
4. short sale = long drawn out process
5. foreclosure = smells like death
6. mature landscaping = bring along your industrial weed whacker
7. recently remodeled = someone has fixed something since 1985
8. full of character = green linoleum, shag carpet and 1970s paisley wallpaper
9. up and coming neighborhood = ghetto
10. bank owned = dead landscaping, broken windows
11. new paint and carpet = previously occupied by a smoker with fifteen cats
12. custom/unique = bizarre (ie: a toilet in the kitchen or floor plan designed by Dr. Seuss)
13. 1/2 bath = a closet with a toilet in it
14. easy access = backs up to a freeway
15. galley kitchen = a hallway lined in cabinets
16. single owner home = grandma died here
17. low maintenance landscaping = concrete
18. close to = you can see it from your bedroom window
19. charming = so adorable, you wont even notice the crack in the foundation
20. well maintained = nothing has been updated

I'm sure there are more that I have yet to learn. Feel free to add to my list!

Jeff and Becky, the Early Years

At the request of a some friends and family, here are few entertaining stories from the earlier years of our marriage.

1. Not Your Mama's Pancakes

We had just returned form our honeymoon. Jeff was trying to adjust to living in a new apartment far away from the familiarity and comfort of his childhood home in Shafter. In an effort to be "a good wife", I decided to make my new husband pancakes in the morning before he left for work. Jeff had always bragged about his mom's cooking, so I called her and got her recipe for pancakes. They would be perfect, just like mom's!

After waking up super early and following Martha's pancake recipe to the T, I announced to Jeff that his pancakes were ready. I sat in anticipation as he took the first bite, awaiting the praise and validation I so desperately needed as a new and inexperienced wife. But instead of making yummy noises, Jeff was reaching for his napkin and spitting out his food.

"Something is very wrong with these!"

I was hurt and indignant.

"That's impossible. Just because they don't taste EXACTLY like your mother's pancakes, you wont eat them? Why don't you just go back home to you mommy then!"

Jeff was mortified. He hadn't anticipated that I would be so insecure about my cooking. I couldn't help it. His mother was practically Betty Crocker. How could I compete with that? I sat there and made him eat every bite of those pancakes. He was going to learn to like my cooking!

It wasn't until much later that I noticed the label on the PAM cooking spray I had used to make breakfast.

2. Jeff's Spanish Name

As you probably know, many names are spelled and pronounced differently in Spanish than they are in English. Matthew is "Mateo" in Spanish. George is "Jorge" (Horhay). When I asked Jeff if his name had a different pronunciation in Spanish, he replied without hesitation "Jefe" (Heffay). For months after that, I thought it was cute to call Jeff by his "Spanish name", and he seemed to love it. He would even insist on it sometimes.

Me: "Jeff, will you take out the trash?"

Jeff: "Only if you call me by my Spanish name"

Me: "Jefe, please empty the trash."

One day I found out what Jefe REALLY meant. I made Jeff eat more garlic pancakes as punishment.

Jefe: chief; boss

TBN "Truely Bizarre Network"

Back to blogging after a brief hiatus. Not long ago, Jeff and I randomly paid a visit to the TBN (Trinity Broadcasting Network) Studios in Costa Mesa, CA. At first we just drove by and couldn't help but notice the elaborate, stately building nestled between the South Coast Plaza and the 405 freeway. "Hey, its open to the public, babe. Let's go!" insisted my incredibly hot husband. Who could say no to such a beautiful man? And besides, I was a little curious myself. What kind of things did they sell in the "Gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh Gift Shop"? We had to find out.




We were greeted just inside the gate by Jesus, who also starred as King Lionidas in the movie "300".



"Tonight! We dine in Hell!"



We walked around the gardens.





Anyone else feel like all the nativity characters should be holding wads of cash and winking?



Then we went into the building, which put the white marble columns and sparkling fountains in the garden to shame.


Please note Willy Wonka's great glass elevator

Apparently if you make it past Warrior Jesus at the gate, you then have to face the giant marble angel assassin in the foyer. Yikes! How many orphans had to starve so they could install that little beauty? Honestly, I don't know if I was more frightened by the menacing statues or the Sandi Patty album they were playing when we walked in.




Jesus' living room?






Jesus' gold plated piano?





Finally, a Jesus who doesn't want to kill me!




Unfortunately, Paul and Jan Crouch were nowhere to be seen. We were genuinely dissappointed. I was hoping for some fashion/makeup advice.

Jim Henson's inspiration for Miss Piggy?

Oh well. Maybe next time.

Poor Jesus. I'm pretty sure this wasn't what he had in mind when he came to Earth and died. It was highly entertaining though. If you're ever in Orange County, you should stop and check it out. I leave you now with one of my favorite youtube parodies. Enjoy!

Summer Update

Summer is leering. I'm well into my capris and tees and can't shake the looming inevitability of shorts/swim suit season. Jeff lives for pool parties and fun in the sun, and why shouldn't he? He's six feet, two inches of lean, sun-tannable man candy. I, however, long for a chilly winter night, my frighteningly pale love handles concealed comfortably beneath the thick elastic waist band of my favorite green sweatpants. Summer isn't all bad I suppose. I do look forward to long days, BBQs, and vacations. We have quite a bit planned for the next couple months. This is (dun dun dun) The Summer Update!

I was fortunate enough to score a summer position with the high school district. Jeff, however, was not, so he is spending his days cleaning and doing laundry while I go off to work. I'm still at Ridgeview in the special ed department. For the next five weeks, I'm working with a blind student in his algebra 1 class. It's challenging, but I couldn't have asked for a better kid to work with.

Next weekend, we're headed up north to Santa Clara for our niece, Josie's, 7th birthday party.

Its a princess party (isn't she an angel?), and my mother-in-law just put the finishing touches on my super-awesome custom-made fairy costume. Pictures soon to follow.

In early July, our nephew, Jason, will be visiting which means we'll be spending lots of extra time at the river with Lucy (our black lab).

Towards end of July, we're taking off for a week to Atlanta, Georgia for DCI (Drum Corp International) regionals (+500 nerd points). We'll also be visiting some of Jeff's southern family members. This is my first trip ever to the south. I'm super excited, and seriously hoping the humidity is not as bad as everyone says it is.

You have now been officially updated. Have a great summer, don't forget to use sunscreen, and ladies, if you see my gorgeous husband lounging shirtless by the pool sipping a Mountain Dew, avert your eyes. That sexy beast is MINE!

Mourning Cloak Ranch: A Phlog

My mom and I decided to visit Mourning Cloak Ranch in Tehachapi. Once a meticulously maintained botanical paradise, it has since changed hands multiple times, and with the decline of the economy, fallen into disrepair. Still, the evidence of the garden's former glory is still there, albeit somewhat hidden, in the overgrown walking paths beneath the towering oak trees.

I was horribly allergic to everything there, including our magnificent tour guide, Max, the Great Pyrenees. He seemed like more if a lion than a dog.

Here are the pictures from our trip. Enjoy!

Strawberry Blonde + Strawberry Festival = LOVE

Jeff and I took a trip last weekend to celebrate our anniversary. We arrived in Agoura Hills Friday night around nine. The hotel was warn and welcoming, once we got past the gatekeepers.

Not so scary during the day, but decently foreboding at night. "Nevermore!"

We slept in 'til noon Saturday and spent the rest of the day drinking ridiculously over garnished cocktails on the beach in Malibu.

I was really looking forward to Sunday because we were planning to go to the Strawberry Festival in Oxnard. I hadn't been since I was eight, and the only memory I had of it was getting to build my own strawberry shortcake. Picture a bowl full of strawberries and cake topped off with 3-4 inches of whipped cream. This is my version of Heaven.

Jeff was a little skeptical about the festival. I think he only agreed to go because I got so excited at the prospect, and he couldn't bear to disappoint me. We decided to get there early and beat the crowds. As we were pulling into the parking lot, Jeff's ears perked up.

"Babe, I hear a marching band. Their drum line sounds pretty good."

As we walked through the gate, Jeff's eyes got huge. There in front of us was the marching band, and surrounding it on all sides were booths selling every kind of food imaginable. This was Jeff's version of Heaven.
We listened to Oxnard High School's band perform while munching on strawberry popcorn. Then we headed for the vendor booths. The vendor area consisted of rows and rows of tents full of homemade wind chimes, tie-dye clothing, amateur art, chainsaw sculptures, and handmade specialty soaps. I bought a delightfully strange print from a Haitian "Modernistic Artist/ Chef Creole/ Vocalist/ Percussionist Extraordinaire" named Willie Louie Jean Paul. I'm NOT making this up. I don't even like Chihuahuas. I just thought this was awesome!

Jeff thinks I'm insane.

Next we decided to grab lunch. Jeff had a boring old tri-tip sandwich. I opted for a strawberry glazed chicken skewer. MMMMMMM. Lunch in hand, we made our way to the main stage to see who was playing.

The band was called "Mini Driver"(like the actress only smaller?). It consisted of four grown men in rock star costumes singing and playing to Black Eyed Peas and Lady Gaga tracks. Once again, NOT KIDDING. In the presence of such absurdity, there was only one thing I could do... dance...with this guy:

After my dance floor workout, I decided it was time for round three of festival food. Roasted corn on the cob and strawberry wine for me. Curly fries and strawberry beer for Jeff. Yum!

By this time, the crowd was getting thicker, the sun was getting hotter, and the BBQ smoke was stinging my eyes. We both were ready to go, so we bought two flats of the world's greatest strawberries, and I got in line to make myself a bowl of strawberry shortcake that would put my childhood memories to shame.

"So, how did you like the Strawberry festival, Babe?" I asked Jeff as we searched the crowded parking lot for our car.

"Oh my gosh! The food! The crazy people! The amazing strawberries!"

We set one of the baskets of berries between us in the car and munched on them the whole way back to Bakersfield, the perfect ending to a perfect weekend.

Ode to Mom - Better Late Than Never

Meant to post this on Mother's day, but things sort of got away from me.

Ways my mother tortured me as a kid, and the reasons I'm so thankful:

1. She insisted on correcting my grammar.

Me: Mom, can I have some ice cream?

Mom: I don't know, can you?

Me: Where's the ice cream at?

Mom: Rebekah, don't end your sentence with a preposition. It's unbecoming. Now, what did you need?

Me: I've forgot.

She also insisted on using vocabulary generally reserved for for SAT testing in everyday life. My sister and I were never "grounded", we were put on "restriction" or"temporary privilege suspension". Nothing was ever "pretty" or "good". Things were always "resplendent", "exceptional", or "prepossessing".

In my cretinous state of adolescence, I tended to take umbrage at my mother's attempts to instill in me a firm grasp of the English language. I found her magniloquence pretentious.(Thank you Thesaurus.com) I did not understand at that time that she was doing in my daily home life what most schools in this state fail to do in 12 years: instilling in me the ability to communicate with anyone on any level.

As the great Ludwig Wittgenstien said (according to Google), "The limits of my language are the limits of my mind. All I know is what I can communicate and comprehend."

2. My mother made me clean, cook, sew, and garden.

I resented and resisted it for the most part. The cooking and gardening I didn't mind so much, but I couldn't help feeling that I was being groomed to become the perfect 1950s housewife.

At age 17, the day of reckoning came. I moved out of the house and into my first college dorm. My freshman year at college I was surrounded by girls who had never lifted a finger in their lives, so I took advantage of them. I cleaned their rooms, and did their laundry for cash. Thanks, Mom!

3. She didn't let me have a boyfriend until I was 16.

She should have made me wait til I was 20.

4. She never spoiled me with the latest trends.

I can remember wanting the name brand clothes as a kid (BUM Equipment, Stussy, L.E.I.). That stuff was pretty expensive and my mom didn't believe in wasting money for the sake of my vanity. I also really wanted Nintendo and cable TV. Everyone else had that stuff! I felt so deprived. Mom always encouraged me to look inward to find my self-worth.

"Why would you want to waste your mind on video games or television?, she would ask. "Do you want to go to the library?"

I learned pretty quickly that if I wasn't ever going to have the things I needed to be truly "Cool", I would have to establish myself in other ways.

Please note the extremely uncool flowered turtleneck.

In 5th grade I decided to learn to play the tuba. I wrote poetry. I painted. I read. I embraced my general lack of coolness. Jeff is the same way, and I think that's one of the things I love most about him. He has never been concerned about having the latest and the greatest things. He needs very little to be happy. Even as adults, we take pride in our ability to revel in lameness. We don't have IPods, Wiis, new furniture, or cool cars, but we have a ton of fun together. I wouldn't have it any other way.

I can honestly say that in retrospect, I consider it a blessing to have been raised counterculturally, and I certainly feel better off for it. Mom, you did a great job! I hope that one day I can be half the mother you have been. Happy Mother's Day!

Is Your Fridge Running?

Another excellent video by my teenage cousin, Micah. Guns, cars, and action. What more could you ask for in this classic tale of a fridge gone bad?

A Little Retro Fun

One of my greatest memories is the time I spent at the rollerskating rink as a child. My uncle owned a limousine service, so he would often ferry my cousins, my sister and me to Skating Plus in style. We felt like celebrities. I spent hours skating around in circles under the glistening disco ball, the pink wheels of my barbie skates squealing in time to the latest hits by TLC, The Real McCoy and Michael Jackson.
The hours passed like minutes, and before long, a familiar announcement came over the loudspeaker.

"Ladies, your limousine has arrived. Please make your way to the exit."

All through my childhood, the rollerskating rink always made for a perfect Sunday afternoon.


These days, my idea of a perfect Sunday afternoon is a little different. Usually it involves at least two hours passed out on the couch with the television on. Last weekend, however, in a moment of nostalgia-inspired spontaneity, I announced to my husband that I was craving a little time on the rink.

"Sure, Babe!", he replied enthusiastically. "Oh, and by the way, I'm awesome at skating!"

He wasn't kidding. Time had not had the same cruel effects on his skating ability that it had had on mine. I attribute this to the fact that Jeff has always been tall and thin, whereas my proportions have changed significantly since age ten. Jeff could hardly suppress his amusement as I wobbled, teetered, and fumbled awkwardly though the obstacle course of six-year-olds. I used to be so good at this! My husband immensely enjoys any activity that allows him the opportunity to show me up. He whizzed gracefully past me, the picture of perfect coordination.

Soon after our arrival, a delightfully effeminate young gentleman announced that it was "like totally time to, like, move to the thenter of the rink and, like, form a thircle!"

"Finally, " I thought, "a chance to get a Diet Coke and sit down!"

But Jeff had other plans. He grabbed me by the hand and drug me into the circle with all the little kids.

"Come on, Babe! Who doesn't love the Hokey Pokey?," he teased.

"ME!"

The music began and with extreme reluctance, I did my best to "shake it all about". Now I know why Jeff loves the Hokey Pokey so much. To him, watching me try to dance in skates is definitely "What its all about".

All in all, our afternoon of retro fun hit the spot.

In summation:

Pairs of brightly colored rental skates: 2
Six-year-olds nearly killed: 4
Times I fell on my butt: 2
Blisters: 0
Licorice Ropes consumed: 1
Excellent Sunday afternoons: 1