Welcome, Wetta

A "wetta" is a white girl. Specifically, a white girl with pelo rubia. A blondie. Like me.

I met another neighbor this evening, as I was walking the dogs at dusk. Stuart was a little drunk, but very kind. He didn't mind when Rex whizzed on his flowers, and knew that Pip is named after the Dickens character in Great Expectations. (What's wrong with a beer after work, anyhow?) Stuart is old, but not so ancient that he's out of it. He's missing three teeth, and one in the very front of his mouth wriggles while he talks. It's kind of endearing. He also swore that Pip has more brains than Donald Rumsfeld, which made me like Stuart immediately.

Stuart is a neighborhood sage. He's been here for at least thirty years, and has seen enough gun-slinging shake-downs, especially w/ the local cops, to put my experience in Brooklyn to shame. Describing the neighborhood, he said, "The white people don't bother us here. It's nice."

"Stuart," I said. "I AM a white person. I'm a wetta." I held a up a fistful of blonde hair. But I don't like the cops or the government, and I have a big, scary-looking dog. He said I'd be okay.

We bid farewell to Stuart and mosied down the block, where I found two young, liberal-looking white guys in tortoise-shell glasses moving their junk into a run-down adobe, just around the corner from my place. Is it a wetta invasion?

My colleagues think I'm INSANE for living in this neighborhood. They don't understand -- I'd rather live here ANY DAY than in the Northeast Whites, or in one of those god-awful McMansions on the West Side. Blech! I'll take a shit shack with character and potential over a cheaply crafted modular that looks identical to all of the other homes on the block -- any day!

I am a bit overwhelmed, though, by all of the work this place needs. AND, by all of the money it's going to take to get it into shape. I'll definitely rent out a bedroom, but I can't do that until it's well in shape -- and that's going to take A LOT, esp. time, money, and elbow grease. I think I can finish my bedroom this weekend, but I'm taking a break for tonight. I'm EXHAUSTED. Haven't been this tired since I lived in NYC. Went to yoga tonight for the first time in four or five days. It didn't energize me the way it usually does, probably because I'm so physically and mentally wrecked. I need time to recover! Must try to remember that fretting gets me nowhere. I've just got to take it one room at a time. ONE ROOM AT A TIME!