For the last 3 weeks we have been living the life of a Venice Beach resident and let me tell you, these people are living the good life.  This is how we get down, beachside:

First we rented bikes for the day at Venice Bike and Skate on Washington.  The staff there are really nice and the rentals are cheaper than on the pier or boardwalk.   With a bike lock and a basket, we were equipped to stay out all day. Then we biked to the Santa Monica Farmers Market on Main Street.  Gourmet food, a live band, pony rides and local farmers make this market a Sunday must-do with Venice and Santa Monica residents.  We parked our bikes at the bike valet and spread a blanket on the grass to listen to the music while we ate crepes, pancakes, gourmet chicken sausage, bagels and organic strawberries from Oxnard.  And because it’s California and not Georgia, there were compost and recycling bins everywhere.

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© 2010 – 2011, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

My family and I love to eat.  In the spirit of the Food Network show by the same name, we’re going to share the best thing we ever ate and hope that you will tell us your favorites too.

As far as frozen treats go, I am not a fan of sorbet; I prefer ice cream, gelato or frozen yogurt.  I like creamy rather than icy.

But a few years ago I had a scoop of Cabernet Sauvignon sorbet at Bennett’s Ice Cream, a family run business that’s been at the LA Farmer’s Market since forever, that made me change my mind about sorbet. It was refreshing, it was light and it taste just like wine.  Hello!

It was the best sorbet I ever ate.

Bennett’s Ice Cream at LA’s Farmer’s Market: old school for real.

The ice cream is made right there on the premises and it’s expensive–almost $4 for a tiny scoop.  But oh so worth it.   Now whenever I come to LA I make sure to go to the Farmer’s Market for my scoop o’ wine. And just like a good glass of wine, I “sip” it slowly…savoring every. Last. Drop.

Or down it quickly and ask for another.  And why not?  Normally I can only drink one glass of wine, but the sorbet has all the goodness without the ill effects.  Too much Cabernet sorbet?–No problem!  The scale may be a bit heavier, but at least I can still drive home.

© 2010, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

First I noticed the dogs.  They are everywhere we go: the beach, the mall, the Apple store.  Everyone in LA has a dog and take it everywhere.  We have a dog, and if he was here with us now, we would take him everywhere too.  He even has a Lakers bandana.

Then I noticed the Shorty Mack hats (so named in our family because that’s what my daughter looks like in hers, a Shorty Mack).  I have one of those.  It took me forever to find one in Atlanta that I like, but here in LA they are in every store and on every head.

And finally the TOMS shoes.  Everyone in our beach neighborhood wears TOMS.  At first I couldn’t decide if I liked them…they looked sort of Ked-ish and Keds are not my stylo.  But then I saw these at Fred Segal and fell in love.  It’s the bling, of course.

Alas, Fred Segal didn’t have my size.  Turns out that those are the hottest TOMS around and impossibly hard to find.  But now I was on a mission; I went online and wrote down every store in LA that carried TOMS.   I scoured the boutiques on Main Street, Abbot Kinney and Montana Ave–nothing.  Finally a kind shopkeeper pointed me to Lorin on 3rd Street Promenade:  ”If anyone has those TOMS, Lorin does.”

They did and in my size too.  Not only are TOMS cute, comfortable and affordable, they are also philanthropic.  For every pair of shoes purchased, TOMS gives a pair to a child in need.  I am a convert and a fan.

My LA look is complete.  When are we moving?

© 2010 – 2011, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

*Today I am participating in Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop by answering the prompt: 5.) Earthquake! Where were you when it happened?

Our first week back in Los Angeles and it was cold.  There was no sun shining on our beachside rental. No dips in the the nearby ocean.  But there was an earthquake.

Welcome to LA, children.

Earthquakes are a way of life in California.  Not that they aren’t something to be concerned about, but most Angelenos don’t bug out over every single tremor.  Most of the time you would be hard-pressed to tell the difference between a few shakes and a truck rumbling by.

Unless, of course, it’s one of THE BIG ONES.

Like the Northridge Earthquake on January 17, 1994.  It happened at 4:31 a.m. and I remember every detail: the shaking bed, the falling dishes.  There’s our bedroom window on right.

Jumping out of bed, my husband and I stood in the doorway until the initial shaking was over.   But the aftershocks were almost as bad as initial quake.

The Northridge earthquake occurred on January 17, 1994 at 4:31 AM Pacific Standard Time in Northridge, a neighborhood in the city of Los Angeles, California, lasting for about 45 seconds.^[1] This was a holiday Monday – Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. The earthquake had a “strong” moment magnitude of 6.7, but the ground acceleration was one of the highest ever instrumentally recorded in an urban area in North America.^[2] Seventy-two deaths were attributed to the earthquake, with over 9,000 injured. In addition, the earthquake caused an estimated $20 billion in damage, making it one of the costliest natural disasters in U.S. history.  -Wikipedia

We ran outside and down the stairs until all shaking had stopped.  It was quite awhile, but even longer for me; I didn’t stop shaking for months afterward.  I definitely suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder.

And that was my recollection of the Northridge Earthquake.  Nothing funny about that at all.

Until an old friend and neighbor recently jogged my memory about our neighbor running outside naked. Except for a tee shirt…he was only naked from the waist down.  Okay, it was 4:30 in the morning and maybe he sleeps naked, but still, isn’t that odd?

Well, it sure is funny!  And it makes my earthquake memory less traumatic.  Of course now I have another memory that needs to be forgotten….

Visit Mama Kat’s Losin It to write a prompt of your own.

© 2010, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.

*Today I am participating in Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop by answering the prompt: 4.) Write a funny story involving socks.

My husband has a thing for socks.  Really.  He buys them in bulk and often.  I don’t know what he does with all these socks, but I’ve given up trying to understand.  When we go to Target and he throws yet another bag of socks in the cart, I say nothing.  If I’ve learned anything in almost 17 years of marriage, I’ve learned to pick my battles.  And socks aren’t worth arguing about.

Except if they are holey–according to my husband, that is something to argue about.

Holey socks are the bane of his existence.  Normally oblivious to domestic affairs, the man goes ballistic if anyone in our house wears holey socks.  At first I thought that he was kidding, but he is not.  Not at all.  Unfortunately my son does not share his father’s disdain for holey socks, so you can imagine the arguments that happen in our house.  Or maybe you can’t, but let me tell you, it’s serious.   My husband will rant about how no child of his is going to wear holey socks when he works hard for this family to provide shelter, food, a private school education–and blemish-free socks.

I try to maintain a peaceful household by keeping my son in new socks, but he does his own laundry and I don’t always see when the socks are wearing thin.   And honestly my son just doesn’t care; he will just as soon wear holey socks as in-tact ones.

As I was packing for our trip to LA, I made sure all the socks were worthy.  It was the least that I could do for the man who was going to be working so hard in LA.

But I didn’t check the traveling socks.

As we removed our shoes at airport security, and my son walked through the metal detector, I saw that he had on the holiest socks ever.  With big gaping holes.   So big that there was actually more naked foot visible than sock.  My husband saw it too and his face said what he couldn’t in the presence of security guards: surprise, horror, disgust.   His worst fear about holey socks had been realized–they were seen in public.  His kid was wearing holey socks for the whole world to see!

“What?” asked my son, with a characteristic teenage shrug.

He followed his father’s glare down to his feet.

“Oops, my bad.”

Visit Mama Kat’s Losin It to write a prompt of your own.

Other posts that you may like about my funny family:

The Most Disgusting Thing I’ve Ever Done

Kickin’ It Old School: Yo Momma

© 2010, Funkidivagirl.com. All rights reserved. Republished only with permission.