Raising Kids

     The thing about buying a house and living on a hill with a semi-stunning view of Los Angeles (the truly majestic views are for the uber wealthy) is that inevitably you are always sliding down the hill. You may not feel it or see it, but nature knows. The trees know, the grass knows (which is a huge waste of money and water), the birds know, every insect and tiny animal knows and so does the MANDATORY retaining wall behind the house. Not only does the retaining wall know, but it also shows signs of stress. These signs of stress are monitored daily by our above neighbor, Pete. Pete, the gay "industry executive" with the most annoying and yappy dogs to have ever lived. I had dreams of shooting those dogs with a bi bi gun (not that I would know where to get one in L.A.) and blaming it on the boys. But, it wasn't just Pete. It was all of the neighbors.
     The retaining wall business is a very lucrative business. First, it is purposefully difficult to tell whose property the retaining wall is on. Every year complaint letters are sent by the surrounding houses to each other about drainage and THE WALL. Every house on a hill has one. Why is it my wall that isn't doing enough retaining? Maybe it's Pete's wall that is putting extra pressure on mine. This results in yearly neighborhood meetings attended mostly by men, except for my next door neighbor Boris. Boris always had more exciting topics of conversation. Luckily, he liked me and was always on my side probably because I never complained about the women, the fighting and the loud sex coming from his house. Stephanie wanted to complain for the sake of the boys, but I never did.