Hiding in La Hole

So where does a family fleeing the insanity of someone else's middle age crisis find sanctuary?

La Jolla, of course.

La Jolla, California. Still offically part of San Diego but they pretend they are their own city. Shhhh...don't tell them.

Some, like the little local paper, call this place "the Jewel", a nickname that makes me want to poke out my eyes. They base this on what they believe the translation of La Jolla means. Happily later research pointed out that the name is actually derived from a native word meaning "the Hole".

Much better.

Some very very rich people live in La Hole. I am not one of them. I am sure they are glad.

The escape plan from PB was that we move ASAP, find a place to rent and ready our little home for sale. We moved so quickly that our cleaning lady came for her regular bi-monthly visit and when she returned we had already cleared out. Fled.

yes, we have a cleaning lady. Happiness.

So we find a lovely rental for the price of one of our children's livers and off we move.

We used a company called "Starving Student Movers" to move us. I personally would never used them again. We moved 1.8 miles. Lets just say it is good that there were other organs to harvest and sell.

PlusI saw those guys moving our stuff. They were neither starving nor students. Instead they were big fat old dudes who broke our crap.

So now we begin our adventure looking for a home.

This is what I think I am searching for;

-A single family home

-a yard

-3 plus bedrooms

-a pool or room for a pool

-in La Jolla, Del Mar, Point Loma, Bay Park or a few sections of Northern Pacific Beach (there is a difference)

We have a real estate agent, stalk open houses and I personally am addicted to zipreality.com

Now the games begin.

I'll let you know what I find.

Introduction

21 months.

We've been looking for a house for 21 month now.

I've looked so long that I'm a bit (make that a lot) OCD about Internet reality searches. I can't wait until one day I go to visit some one and declare "I know this kitchen." I've really seen it all.

Still, there is nothing.

But hey, how about some background?

Once upon a time we, (myself and happy little family as they will be known) were living in a 1600 + change sq single family home in Pacific Beach, a college bar infused beach community in San Diego.

A little 3 bed 2 bath slice to fit your 2.5 kids and dog. The beach was barefoot walking distance away, the neighborhood was one of the last SFR area that close to the water and all was happy. Well, happy but noisy. Drunken college kids wandered our alley at 2 am grunting "Duuuuuuuude" to each other while peeing in our bushes.The homeless mafia that meandered about the area used our trees and flowers bushes as storage areas for their delightful used toothbrushes and handwritten books of death based poetry. Ahhh, the perfect place to raise a family. Although a car parked on the street was guaranteed one less side mirror in the morning thanks to the drunk drivers flowing freely down PB Drive it was still our home. Even after waking up to a car on our lawn (thanks drunken freaks) or arrests outside our door or anything else PB beach living threw at us, I and the happy little family soldiered on in a happy little existence that smelled slightly like stale beer.

One day some untanned, past his prime, overly paunched neanderthal finally crawled out of his mothers basement and bought the house next door to us. Up went some Home Depoted wannabe monster house. On the rooftop glaring down toward our little house and for all to view was the giant hot tub and apparently some form of drunken college girl flypaper . Police helicopters re-routed their travels over our street with bullhorns and lights blaring shutting down his parties.

Unfortunately there was no law against his yappy pair of Jack Russel terriers...

Overnight the neighborhood lost its quaint seediness for some downright home brewed skankiness.

It was time to git while the git-ing was good.