Stuck in stucco should be SoCal’s resident theme song as we (as in “I”) yearn for the day when one can one day, call a Brick House (or Brownstone, I’m not picky) our own.

No one tells you this, but where the East Coast builds homes clad in bricks and the Colonial States in sticks and stones, Orange County is home to the suburban stucco capital of the world! (Ok, more likely just of the U.S., but that’s still pretty compelling evidence in my eyes).

It must be my omnipresent need for the city-girl lifestyle but whenever I come across brick cladding, a brick basement, a brick wall, hell, even a block of brick,

I immediately begin to imagine a bangin’ house party filled with 50 of my closest friends. We’re simmering in sangria, our faces awash in a blush toned glow by the sea of candlelight bouncing off the reddish-brown walls.

House music vibrates as the night gets darker and the music gets deeper. Everyone’s dancing. Everyone’s happy. Everyone’s getting drunker by the minute. Everyone looks better by the brick, dude…ahhhh, one day.



  1. Dood, Can ya break me off a piece of that heavenly brick!?!? House music all night long… I'm all the sudden in the mood for cocktails, trendy lounge w/ small dance floor, and dancing w/ my numero uno house buddy…kekeke we are the only 2 house kids in the group:P

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