I have the morning off of work so that I may accompany the inspectors around my prospective new abode. There are two of them: one for pests and one for structure and systems. The pest inspector looks around, points out the wood surrounding the landscaping out front and suggests I get that replaced with brick or stone or pavers or something. Wood, even pressure-treated wood, starts to rot when it's in direct contact with the ground, and then it could become home for termites and other bugs. He also points out the drainpipe and where its dumping-off place is--right against the house. He suggests I get some sort of extension to add to the end of it so that rainwater doesn't compromise the foundation. He checks the inside of the house while I follow in the wake of the other inspector. My real estate agent is behind us both, making notes (as am I, by the way).
The inspector points out the missing doorknob of the storage unit. I'd already made a mental note of this the last time I saw the place. He says to watch the area of the patio around the entrance for the sliding glass door. It's a skim of concrete that looks like it was added after the door was in place -- there to keep the rain from getting in. He said silicone sealer will sort that out. He also shows me how to keep the dryer vent clear of lint (there's a ton of it in there and he removes it. Their dryer is going to work much better this evening than it has for a while. I wonder if they'll notice). Apparently that's a fire hazard. He says his son (a boy scout) uses lint from the dryer to start his campfires. Yikes. Will definitely be on the look-out for that.
On the inside: All clear, pest-wise. One breaker on the electrical panel needs to be replaced. The "test" breaker, the one that's supposed to shut everything off, doesn't work at all. He told me to expect to be replacing the thermostats at some point--the heating system is of indeterminate age and when it has problems it's usually the thermostats that die. He also suggested that I change the smoke detectors. They aren't meant to last forever, and should be replaced more regularly than most people do. As to water, one of the valves on the water heater has a slight leak.
Structurally, things are fine. I ask a few questions about things I'd noticed--mainly cracks in the paint. They're nothing structural, just drywall tape that's pulled away. They can be fixed with some spackle. The attic is dry, ventilated, insulated--all things you want in your attic.
And that's about it. It looks like repairs are going to be under $500, which is the magic number I gave in the contract for what I wouldn't quibble about. It's up to the people giving me the loan whether they want these things fixed before they give me the money or not. I may just have to give them receipts to prove that I had it done within a certain time period of moving in (30-60 days, maybe?).
Now it's time to tell the Invisible Complex Manager that I've bought a house and need to be let out of that addendum I signed last month. I wonder if I'll have to find someone to take over the lease, or if he'll just let me go. I've asked other people who've lived there a while (and some who moved out after buying houses mid-lease), and consensus is that he'll be okay with just letting me go. We'll see. I need to clean a little more before I tell him. I figure once I do tell him there will be people traipsing in and out until it's leased, and I'd feel a little easier in my mind if it's relatively tidy. Though how tidy can you be with a ton of boxes around the place, anyway?
Added later: I forgot the best part! As we're standing outside and he whips out his PDA to start note-taking he says, "Why does this place look familiar?"
He did the inspection on it 3 1/2 years ago when the current owners bought it.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
My own little rollercoaster ride
I have a new fad diet. It's called the "Homebuyer Diet." Your stomach is in knots, so you definitely don't feel hungry. You get all kinds of energy from nerves and worry. I've lost five pounds in less than a week.
I've also been waking up with a jolt at four o'clock every [bleep]ing morning since Friday. Never the same reason but always the same result.
So here's what's been going on, as reconstructed from the emails I've been bombarding my sister and Mom with for days:
Saturday: My realtor tells me she couldn't get hold of the originator at the credit union, and she's not sure whether the townhouse is going to qualify for the FHA program. Something about its being part of an association and also about not knowing the tenant to live-in owner ratio. If it's mostly tenants I think property values go down. Also the FHA wants to make sure I'm buying this to live in, not to rent out. Fair enough. Anything I can sign to avow that's what I'm doing? She doesn't know, that's why we need the lady at the credit union. Apparently she's their FHA expert. We'll talk to her Monday.
Sunday: Fret, worry, try to put it out of my mind, and go shake my fanny at belly dance class. I'm okay until bedtime, when the same thoughts chase each other around and around in my head as the cat purrs on my chest.
Monday: My agent has received the numbers she needed, and they're not very good: 33 units, 19 tenanted, 14 with owner in residence. That's 58% tenant. I look it up online and find that anything over 10% is considered a risk. More bad news: the originator is going to be out of the office all day. No news 'til Tuesday.
Today: Originator is going to be out of the office until Thursday, for crying out loud. My agent calls the other one and says she can't wait until Thursday, could he please learn a bit more about the FHA today? He does, the FHA won't finance this townhouse. Crap. The PHFA will, though (that's Pennsylvania's version of the same program). My credit union doesn't do PHFA loans, though. Double crap. My realtor is on really good terms with someone at another bank, contacts her (after asking me if it was okay. I said, sure, go for it). She works the numbers out and also finds me a funky little loan from my county designed to help out with down payment and closing costs. It's a second mortgage, interest-free, and I don't have to pay it off until I either sell the house or refinance it. She asks for (and receives) a bunch of financial information from me to see if I qualify. I do, just barely.
After that, things start rocketing forward again. At four o'clock precisely (by the Big Ben chimes from the clock on campus) I have a completely executed contract in my hands, and some time during the next fifteen days I need to get the place inspected. I'm meeting with the mortgage originator at the new bank (just up the street from my credit union) on Friday. I am to bring with me a sheaf of papers, financial documents, and various pieces of proof that I do actually exist, live in this county, work, that the numbers I gave her today were accurate, and that I have good credit.
Good lord this has been an education. So far everyone I've dealt with has been eager to help me get me into a place of my own. My real estate agent has been wonderful, and never for a moment did I think she was working for anything other than my best interests. For example: the "dream" townhouse--the one that I knew was out of my league but was still tantalizingly just inside the range I'd been okayed for by the credit union--I'd looked at it wistfully from the driveway as we were pulling away. J. said, pleadingly, "Vee, I don't want you to be house-poor." That stuck with me. That told me more than anything whose side she was on, and that I could trust her. She'd have made a much better commission on that one than she's making on this one, but this one is a better fit for me and that's what is motivating her. I think she's as excited about this as I am.
My sister has said that first-time home buyers are her favorite clients. The excitement is infectious. I believe it.
Looks like another sleepless night, but for a good reason this time. Definitely time to start packing.
I've also been waking up with a jolt at four o'clock every [bleep]ing morning since Friday. Never the same reason but always the same result.
So here's what's been going on, as reconstructed from the emails I've been bombarding my sister and Mom with for days:
Saturday: My realtor tells me she couldn't get hold of the originator at the credit union, and she's not sure whether the townhouse is going to qualify for the FHA program. Something about its being part of an association and also about not knowing the tenant to live-in owner ratio. If it's mostly tenants I think property values go down. Also the FHA wants to make sure I'm buying this to live in, not to rent out. Fair enough. Anything I can sign to avow that's what I'm doing? She doesn't know, that's why we need the lady at the credit union. Apparently she's their FHA expert. We'll talk to her Monday.
Sunday: Fret, worry, try to put it out of my mind, and go shake my fanny at belly dance class. I'm okay until bedtime, when the same thoughts chase each other around and around in my head as the cat purrs on my chest.
Monday: My agent has received the numbers she needed, and they're not very good: 33 units, 19 tenanted, 14 with owner in residence. That's 58% tenant. I look it up online and find that anything over 10% is considered a risk. More bad news: the originator is going to be out of the office all day. No news 'til Tuesday.
Today: Originator is going to be out of the office until Thursday, for crying out loud. My agent calls the other one and says she can't wait until Thursday, could he please learn a bit more about the FHA today? He does, the FHA won't finance this townhouse. Crap. The PHFA will, though (that's Pennsylvania's version of the same program). My credit union doesn't do PHFA loans, though. Double crap. My realtor is on really good terms with someone at another bank, contacts her (after asking me if it was okay. I said, sure, go for it). She works the numbers out and also finds me a funky little loan from my county designed to help out with down payment and closing costs. It's a second mortgage, interest-free, and I don't have to pay it off until I either sell the house or refinance it. She asks for (and receives) a bunch of financial information from me to see if I qualify. I do, just barely.
After that, things start rocketing forward again. At four o'clock precisely (by the Big Ben chimes from the clock on campus) I have a completely executed contract in my hands, and some time during the next fifteen days I need to get the place inspected. I'm meeting with the mortgage originator at the new bank (just up the street from my credit union) on Friday. I am to bring with me a sheaf of papers, financial documents, and various pieces of proof that I do actually exist, live in this county, work, that the numbers I gave her today were accurate, and that I have good credit.
Good lord this has been an education. So far everyone I've dealt with has been eager to help me get me into a place of my own. My real estate agent has been wonderful, and never for a moment did I think she was working for anything other than my best interests. For example: the "dream" townhouse--the one that I knew was out of my league but was still tantalizingly just inside the range I'd been okayed for by the credit union--I'd looked at it wistfully from the driveway as we were pulling away. J. said, pleadingly, "Vee, I don't want you to be house-poor." That stuck with me. That told me more than anything whose side she was on, and that I could trust her. She'd have made a much better commission on that one than she's making on this one, but this one is a better fit for me and that's what is motivating her. I think she's as excited about this as I am.
My sister has said that first-time home buyers are her favorite clients. The excitement is infectious. I believe it.
Looks like another sleepless night, but for a good reason this time. Definitely time to start packing.
Monkeymonkey!
I thought I'd take a break from the whole "Confessions of a First-Time Homebuyer" thang and tell you all a little story I squirreled away in the back of my mind as blog post fodder. It surfaced this morning as I dropped my breakfast toast and it landed on the floor peanut butter side down. As it hit I shouted, "Monkeymonkey!"
Stretch, my sister's husband, grew up in a duplex in Philadelphia. The other half of the duplex was occupied by people who became fast friends with his family, especially Stretch and the neighbor's son. When they eventually got married they were in each other's wedding parties. Ditter and Friend's Missus have become really good friends as well.
One by one, first the Friends, the Friend's parents, and then Ditter and Stretch and Stretch's parents moved into the same development in Lancaster County, Pa. Ditter lives across the street and two doors down from the Friends, and the Friends Sr. live down the street the other way and around a corner. Stretch jokes that they should petition to get the street renamed to the one they all left.
The Friends had a baby two years ago, a sweet, precocious little girl they named Michaela. One of Michaela's favorite activities is riding on the vacuum cleaner. Friend will push it around on the floor while she stands on the front, hanging on to the handle. Here's the thing: these rides never occur while the machine is actually being used to sweep the floor. It has never been running while she was in the room. In her mind this object is nothing but a toy.
So one day, Friend decides he needs to sweep the floor. He drags the vacuum out of the closet, turns around and plugs it in. Michaela sees her hobbyhorse is out and she clambers onto it. Friend turns the machine on. It roars to life, Michaela leaps off of it and runs across the room. Friend turns the vacuum off to see if she's okay.
She is furious, red-faced, her hands balled up into fists.
"Monkeymonkey!" she shouts at Friend.
Proof that even as early as two the impulse to swear is in there somewhere.
Friend's Missus told Ditter that story, and when we visited them last Christmas, Ditter relayed it to us. "Monkeymonkey" has been adopted by us as a substitute swear word.
Stretch, my sister's husband, grew up in a duplex in Philadelphia. The other half of the duplex was occupied by people who became fast friends with his family, especially Stretch and the neighbor's son. When they eventually got married they were in each other's wedding parties. Ditter and Friend's Missus have become really good friends as well.
One by one, first the Friends, the Friend's parents, and then Ditter and Stretch and Stretch's parents moved into the same development in Lancaster County, Pa. Ditter lives across the street and two doors down from the Friends, and the Friends Sr. live down the street the other way and around a corner. Stretch jokes that they should petition to get the street renamed to the one they all left.
The Friends had a baby two years ago, a sweet, precocious little girl they named Michaela. One of Michaela's favorite activities is riding on the vacuum cleaner. Friend will push it around on the floor while she stands on the front, hanging on to the handle. Here's the thing: these rides never occur while the machine is actually being used to sweep the floor. It has never been running while she was in the room. In her mind this object is nothing but a toy.
So one day, Friend decides he needs to sweep the floor. He drags the vacuum out of the closet, turns around and plugs it in. Michaela sees her hobbyhorse is out and she clambers onto it. Friend turns the machine on. It roars to life, Michaela leaps off of it and runs across the room. Friend turns the vacuum off to see if she's okay.
She is furious, red-faced, her hands balled up into fists.
"Monkeymonkey!" she shouts at Friend.
Proof that even as early as two the impulse to swear is in there somewhere.
Friend's Missus told Ditter that story, and when we visited them last Christmas, Ditter relayed it to us. "Monkeymonkey" has been adopted by us as a substitute swear word.
Friday, April 18, 2008
So I made an offer...
...which was definitely more of a shot across the bow than something I expected they'd take. They're meeting with their agent in about 15 minutes, and they'll probably give me a counter offer.
And I'll probably accept it. I was ready to give them the full asking price with no help on closing costs, so anything they offer as an alternative is great. If they say "Nope, what we listed is what we want," I have no problem with that. It's worth it.
I had a brief freak-out going through the covenants for this townhouse after I came across this rule:
"No animals, livestock, fowl or poultry of any kind shall be raised, bred, or kept in any Unit or in the Common Elements unless otherwise provided by Rules and Regulations promulgated by the Executive Board."
That sounded an awful lot like "No Pets" to me. If this place won't let me bring Lolly with me, they can keep it. Also, even if they just allow cats, my sister and her hubby have a yellow lab that they take on trips with them, and my parents have a little German Spitz that my dad loves beyond all reason. They would never go anywhere for any length of time without her. They already tried a dog-sitter and that experiment failed. She bullied the sitter's dog something awful.
I fired off an email to my realtor about that last night. She called me this morning. Apparently this is a standard rule that they use to keep people from becoming chicken farmers or puppy mills in the units. Pets are fine. I sounded a bit uncertain of that, so she found the phone number for the managing company and called them. Pets are not a problem. She made sure about dogs, too. They need to be kept on a leash when they're outside, and cleaned-up after when they relieve themselves, that's all.
I can't wait to see Dad's face the first time he tells me he's going to take Pip for a walk and I hand him a couple of little plastic baggies.
---
Added later:
The offer they countered with was the one my agent and I had decided would be our third offer. I took it. Now she double-checks with my credit union to make sure of my financing. I go in tomorrow sometime to initial the changes made to the contract.
They didn't say anything about wanting more earnest money either.
Holy cow, I think I'm almost a home-owner!
And I'll probably accept it. I was ready to give them the full asking price with no help on closing costs, so anything they offer as an alternative is great. If they say "Nope, what we listed is what we want," I have no problem with that. It's worth it.
I had a brief freak-out going through the covenants for this townhouse after I came across this rule:
"No animals, livestock, fowl or poultry of any kind shall be raised, bred, or kept in any Unit or in the Common Elements unless otherwise provided by Rules and Regulations promulgated by the Executive Board."
That sounded an awful lot like "No Pets" to me. If this place won't let me bring Lolly with me, they can keep it. Also, even if they just allow cats, my sister and her hubby have a yellow lab that they take on trips with them, and my parents have a little German Spitz that my dad loves beyond all reason. They would never go anywhere for any length of time without her. They already tried a dog-sitter and that experiment failed. She bullied the sitter's dog something awful.
I fired off an email to my realtor about that last night. She called me this morning. Apparently this is a standard rule that they use to keep people from becoming chicken farmers or puppy mills in the units. Pets are fine. I sounded a bit uncertain of that, so she found the phone number for the managing company and called them. Pets are not a problem. She made sure about dogs, too. They need to be kept on a leash when they're outside, and cleaned-up after when they relieve themselves, that's all.
I can't wait to see Dad's face the first time he tells me he's going to take Pip for a walk and I hand him a couple of little plastic baggies.
---
Added later:
The offer they countered with was the one my agent and I had decided would be our third offer. I took it. Now she double-checks with my credit union to make sure of my financing. I go in tomorrow sometime to initial the changes made to the contract.
They didn't say anything about wanting more earnest money either.
Holy cow, I think I'm almost a home-owner!
Thursday, April 17, 2008
And again I say, whoosh!
Saw 10 places this morning. Liked 5 of them. One is way out of my league (sigh...), so I didn't even have my agent look for more information on that one. The other four, though, she has done. We're making second visits this afternoon starting at 3:45, and I think by tonight I may have chosen the one I want to try for.
Squeeeeee!
Am I really doing this? [Pinches self] Ow! Nope, not dreaming. I am really doing this.
Squeeeeee!
Am I really doing this? [Pinches self] Ow! Nope, not dreaming. I am really doing this.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Whoosh!
Things are moving very quickly right now.
Tuesday I got a Good Faith Estimate.
Wednesday I bought a pretty little 50¢ notebook from Michael's art supply store, walked up the parking lot to the other branch of my credit union, and met with the mortgage originator. She went through the GFE line by line, stopping while I took copious notes (she gets a lot of that, I'm sure). The number that stunned me so much turned out to be a worst-case scenario sort of estimate (highest taxes, highest insurance, 25 days' worth of interest to pay up front...), and included the down payment in it. That made it much more manageable.
After a few moments' hesitation, I flung myself into the gap and said, "All right, let's see if I can get approved."
I did, for exactly the amount she had projected. It seems like an awful lot of money to me, and I'm amazed that someone is willing to trust me with it. Apparently I have excellent credit. I'd assumed it was pretty good. After I finally paid off my student loans, I noticed a steady increase in the number of "You're Pre-Approved!" credit card applications in my mail.
I told my sister to go ahead and refer a realtor for me. I later found out that this means she'll get a piece of the commission. Might as well keep the money in the family, right?
Thursday I got contacted by J., and I told her what I want: a little townhouse on a bus route.
Friday she sent me 18 listings either on or near a bus route, all in my price range. A couple of 'em are more towards the top end...but there you are.
Saturday I did something totally unrelated with the Chief Loon over in Bellefonte. Research and picture-taking for an event the Loons are putting together for this spring or summer.
I've spent this afternoon using mapquest and the area transit authority's web site to see a) where these houses are; b) what routes are nearby; and c) how nearby is "nearby?"
All right, I admit it. I'm a question mark.
Occasionally I catch myself saying things like, "Oooooh, it has a basement!" I don't need a basement. I've looked around my apartment and I realize that once I get myself into a 2- or possibly 3-bedroom townhouse with all my stuff, I'm going to rattle around the place like a seed in a gourd.
To answer some of the comments to the previous post: G., sorry, but I think I'm going to do exactly what your daughter did. I've been in the area for approximately 20 years. I think it's safe to say I'm staying. If I want to move, I'll sell the house. I know there's a lot of maintenance involved with owning a home (been watching my parents for years), but I think I can handle it. I figured it out yesterday and my conservative estimate is that over the past 15 1/2 years I've spent a little over $75,000 on rent, and I have nothing to show for it but a dingy little apartment and a growing sense of irritation at the way the place is managed. I've hit the point in my life where I want to have something after I've paid for it.
JustMe, Sunny is a blast. It's not her real name (no one mentioned on this blog has their real name used) but it should be. I'm pretty sure that little blue place has been snapped up. It's not in my list from the realtor. There are a bunch of places over on that end of town though, so we could still be doing the YMCA/bingo thing. Most of these places look like I'll still be right smack up against my neighbors, but that doesn't bother me. Hearing people overhead bothers me. Place I'm in now, the floorboards squeak something awful. You can hear every step, all the time. Ugh. I didn't care about that when I moved in. I just wanted somewhere to live.
Hey Ditter! Does the hubby know you just enlisted him as mover/painter? 'Cause I may just take you up on that.
This coming Thursday I have the day off from work. I'm using that time to meet with J., talk about these listings she sent me, and probably go see some of 'em.
I'm beginning to feel like I should start packing...time to hoard boxes from work.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
I've officially stuck a toe into the water
Eeeeee!
I just called my credit union and left a message with one of their mortgage originators (must be her lunch hour) about what I want to do. I left my cubicle's phone number instead of my cell, 'cause reception is bad in here. Well, what do I expect? Middle of the room under four floors' worth of books, do I think I'm gonna be able to call out? The Verizon "can-you-hear-me-now" dude needs to come scout around in here.
Reactions to what I'm trying to do have been mixed: my mother is so excited I can hear her bouncing up and down in her seat right now. I had to let a teensy bit of the air out her balloon by reminding her that sometimes I can be all talk.
"Look how long it took me to learn how to drive," I pointed out, via email.
"Drive?" She wrote back. "When did you learn how to drive? Have you been holding out on me?"
"No, Mom. That was my point."
Bess (at work) thinks it's great. Nothing like owning your own place, she says.
Jane (another friend of mine, making her first appearance in my blog. Under an assumed name, of course) on the other hand was a total wet blanket. Went to dinner with her last week and the very first words out of her mouth when I mentioned my plans were negative. She was all about how expensive housing is around here, and how much money home ownership costs in general. Didn't have one word of encouragement. I had to bite back my initial response (I tend to do that a lot with her. Maybe someday I should just let her have it), which was something along the lines of "You're just jealous because I'm taking steps to change my situation, and you're scared that I might succeed." She seems happiest when someone nearby fails. I don't know why that is. I don't know why I continue to hang out with her, actually.
At the other end of the spectrum, we have Sunny. I bumped into her in the grocery store yesterday evening. We used to work in the same department, but her tolerance for BS is much, much, much lower than mine, so Sunny found work elsewhere years ago. I haven't seen her in ages.
I told her what was up with me lately and she got all excited.
"There is the cutest little townhouse for sale near me. It looks out over a cornfield. It's near a bus route...and the YMCA...you have to see it!"
She started to describe where it was, and then said,
"Are you busy right now? I'll take you over!"
-We interrupt this blog entry for an important (to me) bulletin-
Just heard back from the woman I called. She took some info over the phone (I thought we'd have to meet or something), is going to run some numbers and email me a "good faith" estimate later on today. Oooohhh! My little heart is going pitty-pat.
-We now return you to your regularly scheduled entry-
So we get into Sunny's car, which she's apologizing for and making excuses about:
"It's filthy. I'm sorry." (Looked fine to me) "That mark on the inside of the door is from where my son spilled hot chocolate yesterday." (Hadn't noticed it 'til she pointed it out). "The smell of death in here is from my stinky feet." (Oh, Sunny, honestly. What are you talking about?). All the way over she's telling me about the horrible job she just left, one that made her look back fondly to the one in my old department. Good lord, she must be joking.
"No, seriously, Vee. These women were Evil." Then she goes into detail and by the time she's done, I have to say that I agree with her. Now she's working for another organization that she likes much better, where they actually praise her for doing good work and don't hold past mistakes against her.
Then suddenly we're in her neighborhood. She drives around a bit. I see a lot of townhouses for sale in the area, but none of them are the one she means. Sunny's pointing out all sorts of things to me:
"See, there's a bus stop...okay, it's not right on the route, but it's close. And there's the YMCA, within walking distance...we could go work out together! And down there..." she points. I can't see anything. "...is the Knights of Columbus, where they have bingo every Friday night."
Then we find it. It is cute. Little. Blue. It's on the end of the row, which means there's a really nice window and no neighbors on the left. Perfect little starter home. And yep, there's a corn field across the street. Or at least, there is right now. Give it a few years and some developer will probably turn it into student housing or single-family dwellings packed in so tightly that when the resident of one house sneezes someone from next door will be able to hand in a tissue from the open window without leaving his own living room.
She decides we need to stop and take a look--and confesses (but I knew this) that she's doing a little living vicariously through me, because she doesn't think she'll ever be able to live in anything but a rental. We pull up in the parking lot outside, and she gets out of the car -- I don't 'cause I'm bit more shy. What if the owner's home? What do we say? "Hi, we saw your for sale sign, thought we'd peek through your windows"?
She comes skipping happily back to the car.
"I think I know your neighbors. That is, unless those two pug dogs in the window aren't who I think they are."
"Sunny! Sweetie, you've got me all moved in and I don't even have a mortgage approved yet."
"Ah, psh!" She waves this way. "Details!"
Then she drives me home. On the way I tell her about Jane's discouragement, and she says one word: "Frenemy."
"Pardon?"
"Frenemy. Acts like she's your friend but is really an enemy. All she does is chip away at your joy. Happy when you fail, though she does her best not to show it. Happier still when she can keep you from trying to succeed. Frenemy."
Frenemy.
I have a new word.
--Added later: Got the Good Faith Estimate. Need to talk to the mortgage originator about it, as I have no idea whatsoever what any of it means. Right now it looks like closing costs are twice as much as what I'd need for a down payment. In a fret, I emailed my sister asking her to talk sense to me and bring me in off the ledge. She has done that, but I need to speak to this woman. In the meantime I'm playing around online looking at houses. Can't find a listing for the one I saw yesterday, though I am pretty sure I was on the website of the right agency.
I just called my credit union and left a message with one of their mortgage originators (must be her lunch hour) about what I want to do. I left my cubicle's phone number instead of my cell, 'cause reception is bad in here. Well, what do I expect? Middle of the room under four floors' worth of books, do I think I'm gonna be able to call out? The Verizon "can-you-hear-me-now" dude needs to come scout around in here.
Reactions to what I'm trying to do have been mixed: my mother is so excited I can hear her bouncing up and down in her seat right now. I had to let a teensy bit of the air out her balloon by reminding her that sometimes I can be all talk.
"Look how long it took me to learn how to drive," I pointed out, via email.
"Drive?" She wrote back. "When did you learn how to drive? Have you been holding out on me?"
"No, Mom. That was my point."
Bess (at work) thinks it's great. Nothing like owning your own place, she says.
Jane (another friend of mine, making her first appearance in my blog. Under an assumed name, of course) on the other hand was a total wet blanket. Went to dinner with her last week and the very first words out of her mouth when I mentioned my plans were negative. She was all about how expensive housing is around here, and how much money home ownership costs in general. Didn't have one word of encouragement. I had to bite back my initial response (I tend to do that a lot with her. Maybe someday I should just let her have it), which was something along the lines of "You're just jealous because I'm taking steps to change my situation, and you're scared that I might succeed." She seems happiest when someone nearby fails. I don't know why that is. I don't know why I continue to hang out with her, actually.
At the other end of the spectrum, we have Sunny. I bumped into her in the grocery store yesterday evening. We used to work in the same department, but her tolerance for BS is much, much, much lower than mine, so Sunny found work elsewhere years ago. I haven't seen her in ages.
I told her what was up with me lately and she got all excited.
"There is the cutest little townhouse for sale near me. It looks out over a cornfield. It's near a bus route...and the YMCA...you have to see it!"
She started to describe where it was, and then said,
"Are you busy right now? I'll take you over!"
-We interrupt this blog entry for an important (to me) bulletin-
Just heard back from the woman I called. She took some info over the phone (I thought we'd have to meet or something), is going to run some numbers and email me a "good faith" estimate later on today. Oooohhh! My little heart is going pitty-pat.
-We now return you to your regularly scheduled entry-
So we get into Sunny's car, which she's apologizing for and making excuses about:
"It's filthy. I'm sorry." (Looked fine to me) "That mark on the inside of the door is from where my son spilled hot chocolate yesterday." (Hadn't noticed it 'til she pointed it out). "The smell of death in here is from my stinky feet." (Oh, Sunny, honestly. What are you talking about?). All the way over she's telling me about the horrible job she just left, one that made her look back fondly to the one in my old department. Good lord, she must be joking.
"No, seriously, Vee. These women were Evil." Then she goes into detail and by the time she's done, I have to say that I agree with her. Now she's working for another organization that she likes much better, where they actually praise her for doing good work and don't hold past mistakes against her.
Then suddenly we're in her neighborhood. She drives around a bit. I see a lot of townhouses for sale in the area, but none of them are the one she means. Sunny's pointing out all sorts of things to me:
"See, there's a bus stop...okay, it's not right on the route, but it's close. And there's the YMCA, within walking distance...we could go work out together! And down there..." she points. I can't see anything. "...is the Knights of Columbus, where they have bingo every Friday night."
Then we find it. It is cute. Little. Blue. It's on the end of the row, which means there's a really nice window and no neighbors on the left. Perfect little starter home. And yep, there's a corn field across the street. Or at least, there is right now. Give it a few years and some developer will probably turn it into student housing or single-family dwellings packed in so tightly that when the resident of one house sneezes someone from next door will be able to hand in a tissue from the open window without leaving his own living room.
She decides we need to stop and take a look--and confesses (but I knew this) that she's doing a little living vicariously through me, because she doesn't think she'll ever be able to live in anything but a rental. We pull up in the parking lot outside, and she gets out of the car -- I don't 'cause I'm bit more shy. What if the owner's home? What do we say? "Hi, we saw your for sale sign, thought we'd peek through your windows"?
She comes skipping happily back to the car.
"I think I know your neighbors. That is, unless those two pug dogs in the window aren't who I think they are."
"Sunny! Sweetie, you've got me all moved in and I don't even have a mortgage approved yet."
"Ah, psh!" She waves this way. "Details!"
Then she drives me home. On the way I tell her about Jane's discouragement, and she says one word: "Frenemy."
"Pardon?"
"Frenemy. Acts like she's your friend but is really an enemy. All she does is chip away at your joy. Happy when you fail, though she does her best not to show it. Happier still when she can keep you from trying to succeed. Frenemy."
Frenemy.
I have a new word.
--Added later: Got the Good Faith Estimate. Need to talk to the mortgage originator about it, as I have no idea whatsoever what any of it means. Right now it looks like closing costs are twice as much as what I'd need for a down payment. In a fret, I emailed my sister asking her to talk sense to me and bring me in off the ledge. She has done that, but I need to speak to this woman. In the meantime I'm playing around online looking at houses. Can't find a listing for the one I saw yesterday, though I am pretty sure I was on the website of the right agency.
More on the "Punctuation Mark" assessment test from yesterday
I suppose the quibble I have with the way they described me is that while I do research the heck out of stuff, it isn't usually for myself. If someone else has a question, I go after the answer like a terrier after a rat. But me? I don't have many questions these days.
I love learning but I can't stand School. The thing I disliked most about college was that most of the professors in my major weren't trying to help me find my own way. They were looking for immortality. The way to do this is by creating a bunch of people who think just like you. By my senior year I was so tired of my professors in fiction-writing trying to replace my perspective with theirs that I actually snarled at one man, "If that's the sort of story you want to see, then write your own and leave mine alone!"
He gave me an A. I've often wondered if it was because of that comment or in spite of it.
He did give me an excellent piece of advice once, though he did it by accident. He said that "actors would love to get their teeth into this dialogue, but it just doesn't work for fiction." What he meant was, "Be more descriptive." What I heard was, "Try writing a play." I took playwriting the next semester and had a blast.
I love learning but I can't stand School. The thing I disliked most about college was that most of the professors in my major weren't trying to help me find my own way. They were looking for immortality. The way to do this is by creating a bunch of people who think just like you. By my senior year I was so tired of my professors in fiction-writing trying to replace my perspective with theirs that I actually snarled at one man, "If that's the sort of story you want to see, then write your own and leave mine alone!"
He gave me an A. I've often wondered if it was because of that comment or in spite of it.
He did give me an excellent piece of advice once, though he did it by accident. He said that "actors would love to get their teeth into this dialogue, but it just doesn't work for fiction." What he meant was, "Be more descriptive." What I heard was, "Try writing a play." I took playwriting the next semester and had a blast.
Monday, April 07, 2008
I'm a question mark?
You Are a Question Mark |
 You seek knowledge and insight in every form possible. You love learning. And while you know a lot, you don't act like a know it all. You're open to learning you're wrong. You ask a lot of questions, collect a lot of data, and always dig deep to find out more. You're naturally curious and inquisitive. You jump to ask a question when the opportunity arises. Your friends see you as interesting, insightful, and thought provoking. (But they're not always up for the intense inquisitions that you love!) You excel in: Higher education You get along best with: The Comma |
I don't know that I quite agree with this. I don't know that I give intense inquisitions (Do I? Do I? Huh? Do I?), and if by excelling in higher education they mean formal education they are way, way off. I have a bachelor's degree, and that's all I want.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Bumper stickers, family, and politics
My aunt's a charismatic Christian and a very, very conservative Republican. Lately I've been seeing bumper stickers around that make me think of her, but not 'cause she'd agree with the sentiments. The one that would really make her twitch?
"The Rapture is not an exit strategy!"
I try not to talk politics or religion with her. I don't know whether it occurs to her that I don't agree with her about much because I never argue. I just let her talk and talk, and keep my own counsel. The closest she's ever come to realizing I'm not on her team was a conversation we had almost sixteen years ago, right after Bill Clinton won his first term in office. The Virginia Contingent of the family came up for Thanksgiving vacation that year. We were seated at the supper table, and she was all doom and gloom about how horrible the next four years were going to be. Then she pounced on me with:
"Who did you vote for?"
"Clinton."
"Vee!" Shocked, appalled. My cousin D actually made a move as if to smack me (he was ten, if that's any excuse) but stopped when he saw my "go on, try it" expression.
"And I'm going to do it again. Then I'm voting for Gore. Please pass the turnips."
I refused to be drawn into an argument with her, though she did try. I told her I was not interested in a political debate. My voting choices were none of her business ("secret ballot," and all that), my reasons were my own, and I didn't care whether she agreed with me or not.
Silence. And then my sister changed the subject to something less likely to cause a food fight.
We've never had a political discussion since. She has a son in the Air Force (Cousin D, as a matter of fact) who's about to be deployed to Iraq for the second time, and though she's frightened, worried, and generally upset she still stubbornly backs the Guy in Charge. Shrug. Oh well. I guess someone has to, though I just don't get it.
I don't know why I'm talking politics today. I never do. Maybe it's because Bill Clinton was here last Friday, Obama was here Sunday, Ann Coulter is in town this evening, and the primary elections are a little under three weeks away. I wish Edwards had stayed in the race. That's the one I really wanted to vote for.
"The Rapture is not an exit strategy!"
I try not to talk politics or religion with her. I don't know whether it occurs to her that I don't agree with her about much because I never argue. I just let her talk and talk, and keep my own counsel. The closest she's ever come to realizing I'm not on her team was a conversation we had almost sixteen years ago, right after Bill Clinton won his first term in office. The Virginia Contingent of the family came up for Thanksgiving vacation that year. We were seated at the supper table, and she was all doom and gloom about how horrible the next four years were going to be. Then she pounced on me with:
"Who did you vote for?"
"Clinton."
"Vee!" Shocked, appalled. My cousin D actually made a move as if to smack me (he was ten, if that's any excuse) but stopped when he saw my "go on, try it" expression.
"And I'm going to do it again. Then I'm voting for Gore. Please pass the turnips."
I refused to be drawn into an argument with her, though she did try. I told her I was not interested in a political debate. My voting choices were none of her business ("secret ballot," and all that), my reasons were my own, and I didn't care whether she agreed with me or not.
Silence. And then my sister changed the subject to something less likely to cause a food fight.
We've never had a political discussion since. She has a son in the Air Force (Cousin D, as a matter of fact) who's about to be deployed to Iraq for the second time, and though she's frightened, worried, and generally upset she still stubbornly backs the Guy in Charge. Shrug. Oh well. I guess someone has to, though I just don't get it.
I don't know why I'm talking politics today. I never do. Maybe it's because Bill Clinton was here last Friday, Obama was here Sunday, Ann Coulter is in town this evening, and the primary elections are a little under three weeks away. I wish Edwards had stayed in the race. That's the one I really wanted to vote for.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Icing on the cake
I get paid on the last business day of the month. I give myself a monthly allowance in my checking account, and on payday I log into my account online to move over anything that might be leftover in checking from last month's budget into the savings account. While I'm there, I take a look at whether/when the checks I've written so far have cleared. The one from the Embroiderer's Guild for my yearly dues hasn't cleared yet, but I'm not surprised. The treasurer must only go to the bank once a month or something. But another check cleared awfully late. I am surprised by it and a little bit angry.
My rent check is due to the office by the fifth business day of the month. Normally it clears by the seventh or eighth, right after it gets deposited. Both banks are local, and all this stuff is done by computer now, so it goes much quicker than it did when I was in high school--it's almost instantaneous, particularly if the check was deposited in the morning.
This month my rent check didn't clear until March 28. That's last Friday.
Good grief! Twenty-three days after I gave it to them they finally decide to do something with it? I click on the link from my bank to see a scanned-in PDF file of the check. Date stamp from the landlord's bank was indeed dated 3/28/2008, so it wasn't some computer screw up. Our guy never made it to the bank until the end of the month. Either that, or he misplaced my check for three weeks. He must have listed it in his records as received, because I didn't get any letters about late rent.
I guess this just emphasizes that the current management is slowly slipping downhill, and I really, really need to get out of here.
My rent check is due to the office by the fifth business day of the month. Normally it clears by the seventh or eighth, right after it gets deposited. Both banks are local, and all this stuff is done by computer now, so it goes much quicker than it did when I was in high school--it's almost instantaneous, particularly if the check was deposited in the morning.
This month my rent check didn't clear until March 28. That's last Friday.
Good grief! Twenty-three days after I gave it to them they finally decide to do something with it? I click on the link from my bank to see a scanned-in PDF file of the check. Date stamp from the landlord's bank was indeed dated 3/28/2008, so it wasn't some computer screw up. Our guy never made it to the bank until the end of the month. Either that, or he misplaced my check for three weeks. He must have listed it in his records as received, because I didn't get any letters about late rent.
I guess this just emphasizes that the current management is slowly slipping downhill, and I really, really need to get out of here.
Monday, March 24, 2008
How to lose a long-time tentant
1. Hire an incompetent who, even though he lives in the complex, can't make it to the office by the time it's supposed to open. Make sure he can't keep driveways and sidewalks ice-free, even though that means cars will have to take a headlong run all the way from the bottom of the sloping driveway in order to make it to the top and out onto the street. Stopping for anything (like pedestrians, say, or oncoming traffic) should result in the driver having to slither back to the bottom of the hill and try again.
2. Let said incompetent miss the deadline for writing lease addenda (they're usually on our doors by mid-February. It's now almost April).
3. This manager will then write addenda, back-dating them in such a way as to imply lessees were given a week to decide whether they were renewing or not. The addenda will be distributed the Friday morning of a holiday weekend in March, with a deadline of 12 PM the following Monday (not even two full business days). The manager will not be in the office that day to answer questions or field complaints, of course.
4. Then have the manager write threatening, frightening follow-up letters like this:
I just spoke to my upstairs neighbor. I was right. The [bleep] [bleep] [bleep]ing manager put the addenda, dated 3/17/08, on doors Friday morning (3/21/08). I was already gone for the weekend, and just got back at 9 this evening. My neighbor said she wondered why I'd left the thing on my door all weekend. I've been looking for the blasted thing to show up since the beginning of February, and the one week I go out of town it finally gets here.
I've called the office and left a message, signed and returned the addendum, emailed him (he left an email address on a sign at the office door), and will call again tomorrow morning to make sure he got the stupid thing. And then I am going to be shopping in earnest for an apartment or a little bitty house to rent starting August 2009. I have officially Had It With This Place.
Snarl. Now I'm going to fuss over a cat who's been trying to get my attention since I walked through the front door.
2. Let said incompetent miss the deadline for writing lease addenda (they're usually on our doors by mid-February. It's now almost April).
3. This manager will then write addenda, back-dating them in such a way as to imply lessees were given a week to decide whether they were renewing or not. The addenda will be distributed the Friday morning of a holiday weekend in March, with a deadline of 12 PM the following Monday (not even two full business days). The manager will not be in the office that day to answer questions or field complaints, of course.
4. Then have the manager write threatening, frightening follow-up letters like this:
Dear Resident:
As per your lease renewal, I have not received it as of today 12:00 pm Monday 3/24/08.
If you want to renew but have questions please e-mail or call and leave your name, apt number, and phone number. [No phone number or email address included in the letter]
I will return your call ASAP.
We are receiving 200 to 300 calls and or e-mails a day on people that want an apt at [complex name].
Please contact me no later than 9:00 AM tomorrow 3/25/08.
If I do not hear back from you I will have to assume that you are not renewing and will need to start showing your apt and leasing it for the date your lease ends.
Please note that it could be rented as early as the end of the day tomorrow.
I have closed the office tomorrow at 12:00 noon only waiting in case you for got to turn your renewal in.
I am in the office today and tomorrow but working on preparing to start showing apts. All calls are being screened but if you call or e-mail I will get back to you.
Thank You
[name deleted]
Manager.
I just spoke to my upstairs neighbor. I was right. The [bleep] [bleep] [bleep]ing manager put the addenda, dated 3/17/08, on doors Friday morning (3/21/08). I was already gone for the weekend, and just got back at 9 this evening. My neighbor said she wondered why I'd left the thing on my door all weekend. I've been looking for the blasted thing to show up since the beginning of February, and the one week I go out of town it finally gets here.
I've called the office and left a message, signed and returned the addendum, emailed him (he left an email address on a sign at the office door), and will call again tomorrow morning to make sure he got the stupid thing. And then I am going to be shopping in earnest for an apartment or a little bitty house to rent starting August 2009. I have officially Had It With This Place.
Snarl. Now I'm going to fuss over a cat who's been trying to get my attention since I walked through the front door.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Internal clocks and Easter weekend
I heard on the radio recently that the next time Easter will be this early will be in the year 2285. I wonder if humanity will still be around then.
Going to my parents' place for Easter. Will be returning Monday night. I might try to post while I'm home, I'll have to see. I don't think I'm taking the laptop, but who knows, I might change my mind in the next couple of hours. Depends on how unwieldy my other bag is, I guess.
It's quarter to three, and I'm amazed I'm awake. The time change has been wreaking havoc with my sleep cycle. I've turned off my alarm clock in my sleep at least three times in the past two weeks, and I was really worried I wasn't going to wake up in time for my bus. I think that worry is what got me up so blasted early today. I even did a back-up alarm--the TV has a timer feature, and I set that to turn on about 3:30. Don't need it. Didn't need the alarm, either. I just lay there in the dark waiting for it to go off. I'm gonna be a real live wire come two this afternoon.
Lolly is sitting right next to me with her back to me, tail twitching. She's been shouting at me for fifteen minutes, trying to get me to go back to bed I think. That didn't work, so now she's giving me the Cold Shoulder to show her displeasure. Wait until I start to pack, little girl. Then you'll really get miffed.
Happy Easter/Happy Passover/Have a good weekend.
Going to my parents' place for Easter. Will be returning Monday night. I might try to post while I'm home, I'll have to see. I don't think I'm taking the laptop, but who knows, I might change my mind in the next couple of hours. Depends on how unwieldy my other bag is, I guess.
It's quarter to three, and I'm amazed I'm awake. The time change has been wreaking havoc with my sleep cycle. I've turned off my alarm clock in my sleep at least three times in the past two weeks, and I was really worried I wasn't going to wake up in time for my bus. I think that worry is what got me up so blasted early today. I even did a back-up alarm--the TV has a timer feature, and I set that to turn on about 3:30. Don't need it. Didn't need the alarm, either. I just lay there in the dark waiting for it to go off. I'm gonna be a real live wire come two this afternoon.
Lolly is sitting right next to me with her back to me, tail twitching. She's been shouting at me for fifteen minutes, trying to get me to go back to bed I think. That didn't work, so now she's giving me the Cold Shoulder to show her displeasure. Wait until I start to pack, little girl. Then you'll really get miffed.
Happy Easter/Happy Passover/Have a good weekend.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Baggy britches
How's this for a reason to go clothes-shopping: my too-big-around-the-waist jeans are throwing off the count on my pedometer. I used to be able to hang it on the little coin pocket on the right-hand side of my jeans and get an accurate reading. Then I had to suspend it from the waist band somewhere between my hip and the button on the fly. As the weeks progressed, the counter has gotten closer to the button. Now I can't get an accurate reading anywhere. I take twenty steps, it counts maybe fourteen. It's telling me that today I've only taken 713 steps so far, and I know that's not true. It about 380 from my front door to the bus stop, and another 250 both to and from the place where I bought my lunch. That's 880, and it doesn't even take into account the walking around I've been doing today (from the bus to the coffee place, from the coffee place to my desk, back and forth around the office, to and from a meeting, rummaging around in the stacks the next floor up, etc.). I should be closing in on around 2000 by now.
Grrr.
Grrr.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Miss me?
My friend over at Peanut Butter and Bacon Sandwiches just gave me an e-mail style poke with a stick to see if I was still alive. I am. I haven't had much to write about lately, that's all. Just trudging along, doin' ma thang.
I've lost eleven pounds (broke into double digits. Woo-hoo!), am progressing nicely on the 10,000 steps program--I have to find some way to get in 9,000 steps a day this week. That's a lot easier during the work week than it is on the weekends, especially on the snowy weekends like this one. It usually involves a lot of walking in place in front of the TV. I'm not really one for taking long walks outside in the muck or during snow squalls like we had yesterday. Crossing a parking lot to get to the bus stop with snow blowing directly in my face is not how I like spending my Saturdays. The hood on my coat was no help. I can't figure out those elastic thingies with the metal clips on them. How exactly are they supposed to keep your hood up? What happened to good old-fashioned cord you could tie under your chin?
I've gotten a bit done on my cross-stitch project, but then I got tired of making small X's and went back to knitting for a while. First project I did was using a pattern from knitty.com for a head scarf. It uses entrelac and variegated yarn to make it look like you've knitted all kinds of squares with different yarns. Pretty pleased with the way it turned out. Will post pictures when my camera battery finishes charging.
Now I'm working on a pair of pedicure socks with another knitty.com pattern. I wanted to make a pair for my sister 'cause she gets her nails done year round -- hands and feet -- and I've often wondered about how she gets from the shop to the car in cold weather while keeping her toenails from getting ruined. This is my first attempt at socks of any sort, so I'm making a test pair. I have one done and am in the middle of doing the heel on the other one. First one looks all right and fits my foot. Let's see if I can get the second one to look just like it. I will have to remember when I do the actual socks that Ditter's feet are a little smaller than mine and adjust accordingly.
I had an impromptu private lesson with my bellydance instructor last Sunday. I was the only person to show up to class. That might happen again this week, I think, because it's Spring Break right now. It was a little unnerving to have her full attention, but I liked it. Learned a lot, and increased my confidence a tad.
Speaking of bellydance, I need to go finish sewing the elastic on my zills. I finally got tired of holding them together with safety pins (after almost two years) and sewed the thumb zills on Monday. Got to get the ones done for the middle fingers before class today.
And that's it from over here. How are you?
I've lost eleven pounds (broke into double digits. Woo-hoo!), am progressing nicely on the 10,000 steps program--I have to find some way to get in 9,000 steps a day this week. That's a lot easier during the work week than it is on the weekends, especially on the snowy weekends like this one. It usually involves a lot of walking in place in front of the TV. I'm not really one for taking long walks outside in the muck or during snow squalls like we had yesterday. Crossing a parking lot to get to the bus stop with snow blowing directly in my face is not how I like spending my Saturdays. The hood on my coat was no help. I can't figure out those elastic thingies with the metal clips on them. How exactly are they supposed to keep your hood up? What happened to good old-fashioned cord you could tie under your chin?
I've gotten a bit done on my cross-stitch project, but then I got tired of making small X's and went back to knitting for a while. First project I did was using a pattern from knitty.com for a head scarf. It uses entrelac and variegated yarn to make it look like you've knitted all kinds of squares with different yarns. Pretty pleased with the way it turned out. Will post pictures when my camera battery finishes charging.
Now I'm working on a pair of pedicure socks with another knitty.com pattern. I wanted to make a pair for my sister 'cause she gets her nails done year round -- hands and feet -- and I've often wondered about how she gets from the shop to the car in cold weather while keeping her toenails from getting ruined. This is my first attempt at socks of any sort, so I'm making a test pair. I have one done and am in the middle of doing the heel on the other one. First one looks all right and fits my foot. Let's see if I can get the second one to look just like it. I will have to remember when I do the actual socks that Ditter's feet are a little smaller than mine and adjust accordingly.
I had an impromptu private lesson with my bellydance instructor last Sunday. I was the only person to show up to class. That might happen again this week, I think, because it's Spring Break right now. It was a little unnerving to have her full attention, but I liked it. Learned a lot, and increased my confidence a tad.
Speaking of bellydance, I need to go finish sewing the elastic on my zills. I finally got tired of holding them together with safety pins (after almost two years) and sewed the thumb zills on Monday. Got to get the ones done for the middle fingers before class today.
And that's it from over here. How are you?
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Attack of the killer pastries
It's Mardi Gras. Someone brought in New Orleans style king cakes and scattered them about the room. There's one on the counter top about 6 feet away. It's been calling my name all morning.
Then there was the meeting my department had this morning with the Dean. The head of the department brought pastry and doughnut holes. They joined in with the king cake, making it a chorus.
Dear oh dear. What's a Weight Watcher to do? Drink my water, eat my little 90-calorie-per-packet rice cake treats (which are surprisingly good. Chocolate mint), and pretend I can't hear the Pastry Chorus:
"Vee! Vee? We love you! We miss you! Veeeeeeee?!?"
Gum! A piece of gum will help. I'll chew that, and while that's in my mouth I won't want anything else. I hope.
Added later:
Well, I had a teeny tiny piece of the cake, thinking that it was better to indulge a little then sit here and be resentful all day. It worked -- for a while. Then it started talking to me again.
What worked better was somebody coming by and wrapping the thing in aluminum foil, bless 'em. I'm not gonna break into that, making all kinds of noise.
About half an hour ago, someone spotted the baby in the cake. She pointed it out to me--you could see his feet. I started encouraging to the cake: "Push! Puuuuuush! Almost there. One more big one!" Cracked my co-worker up.
Then there was the meeting my department had this morning with the Dean. The head of the department brought pastry and doughnut holes. They joined in with the king cake, making it a chorus.
Dear oh dear. What's a Weight Watcher to do? Drink my water, eat my little 90-calorie-per-packet rice cake treats (which are surprisingly good. Chocolate mint), and pretend I can't hear the Pastry Chorus:
"Vee! Vee? We love you! We miss you! Veeeeeeee?!?"
Gum! A piece of gum will help. I'll chew that, and while that's in my mouth I won't want anything else. I hope.
Added later:
Well, I had a teeny tiny piece of the cake, thinking that it was better to indulge a little then sit here and be resentful all day. It worked -- for a while. Then it started talking to me again.
What worked better was somebody coming by and wrapping the thing in aluminum foil, bless 'em. I'm not gonna break into that, making all kinds of noise.
About half an hour ago, someone spotted the baby in the cake. She pointed it out to me--you could see his feet. I started encouraging to the cake: "Push! Puuuuuush! Almost there. One more big one!" Cracked my co-worker up.
Friday, February 01, 2008
Today's little snicker
I'm working on reclassifying some of the microfilm from arbitrarily made-up call numbers to Library of Congress call numbers. Apparently when we first started to collect these titles they just numbered them sequentially as they arrived. Microfilm F1, F2, F3, and so on. Nothing is grouped by subject, at least not on purpose. That's why they're getting reclassed.
It makes for some pretty funny shelf-reading. Here's what I ran across today:
Microfilm F1760-F1760b -- National Underwriter (Property and Casualty Insurance Edition), and its two title changes (numbered F1760a and F1760b, so they'd sit together).
Microfilm F1761 -- Skiing.
Teehee.
It makes for some pretty funny shelf-reading. Here's what I ran across today:
Microfilm F1760-F1760b -- National Underwriter (Property and Casualty Insurance Edition), and its two title changes (numbered F1760a and F1760b, so they'd sit together).
Microfilm F1761 -- Skiing.
Teehee.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
So much for "if time permits"
It's been a busy week. Been a busy month, come to think of it. So far this month I have:
1) Gone back on the wagon. I saw a picture taken of myself with baby Austin and I swear, it looked like I was the one who'd just been pregnant. Back to Weight Watchers I go. I'm doing it online this time around, because the leader of the meeting I used to go to stopped leading a while back -- her life got far too difficult, and she decided she needed to step down and pay more attention to her own weight loss issues. I applaud that, it was a lesson in itself: know your limits. I usually recognize mine only when I whiz past them. I didn't really get much out of the meeting after she left, so I started going to the storefront downtown (the sessions I attended were through the university's wellness program). The woman running the only session that fit my schedule was irritatingly perky ("Tee-hee!" Squeak. Hairflip). I'm thinking that wanting to slap her is probably not a good reaction, and will do horrible things to my attitude. So I've decided to join up online. So far I've lost two pounds (only started in earnest about a week and a half ago).
2) Joined another program (again, through the university wellness thingie) called "10,000 Steps." Apparently the average person is supposed to take about 10,000 steps a day. This is a program that challenges you to do that. You get a pedometer, a log book, and directions for their use. You spend three days counting your steps and logging the numbers, then you take the average step count. Using this as a baseline, you go to a chart which tells you how many steps to take each day that week. My number right now is 4500. You aim for slightly higher step counts every week until eventually you wind up at 10,000. I'm doing this partly in conjunction with #1 on my list, and partly for training. Training for what, you ask? See #3.
3) I have decided to be part of the team my sister wants to form for the Breast Cancer Walk next October. 60 miles in three days. This is a nation-wide event,with walks happening in major cities like San Francisco, Boston, Minneapolis/St. Paul...the one we're walking in is the one in Philadelphia. I figure if I start training now, I'll be ready by October. My Ditter has been busy selling houses (yay!) so she hasn't gotten the team registered yet. But I keep prodding her, sure in the knowledge that she'll do it eventually. Either that or she'll bite my head off.
4) I've finished two embroidery projects that I started a very long time ago and felt ambitious enough to start a new one. I had the time to do this because the laptop was at the shop and I found myself with l-o-o-o-o-n-g stretches of time and nothing to do. Hey, what did I do before the laptop? Oh, that's right. I made stuff!
5) And speaking of the laptop, it's home. I'm typing on it right now. The nice man at Firedog managed to make a recovery disc (though from the sound of things, Laptop threw fits before it settled down and did what he wanted), and then he ran some diagnostic tests. Problem was most definitely the hard drive. He called me Sunday afternoon to tell me that, and said that there was one thing he'd like to try before he gave up and ordered me a new hard drive. He wanted to use his shiny new recovery disc to restore the system and see if maybe that fixed the hard drive problem. He said he thought that maybe Windows "was just getting confused about where it had stored things." Kind of like someone who's put his glasses on top of his head and is looking all over his desk for them. I'd love to take credit for that simile but I can't. That's the Chief Loon's. She also called The Walk for the Cure "Save the Tahtahs."
So anyway, I told Firedog Man (hey, why did they name their group of techies after fireplace equipment? I don't get that) to go ahead and try it. He called me an hour later, triumphant. I fetched Laptop home Monday evening after work, and have been trying to get it back to the way I had it before it left. It's been a slow process. It came back to me only knowing my name. Other than that, it was the same laptop I bought two years ago--completely devoid of any personality. I've taken the opportunity to evaluate all the crap--er, um, software I had on it before its little nervous break-down. There are a number of things I'm just not going to reinstall. Mostly games, really. If I want games, I'll go to Pogo.
6) Oh! One more thing. I went back to dance class after about a six month absence. My hip flexors really hated me the following Monday, but I was back to normal by Tuesday. Remembering back to my very first class, my rear end and thigh muscles were killing me for days afterward. I guess I'm not as out of shape as I thought.
1) Gone back on the wagon. I saw a picture taken of myself with baby Austin and I swear, it looked like I was the one who'd just been pregnant. Back to Weight Watchers I go. I'm doing it online this time around, because the leader of the meeting I used to go to stopped leading a while back -- her life got far too difficult, and she decided she needed to step down and pay more attention to her own weight loss issues. I applaud that, it was a lesson in itself: know your limits. I usually recognize mine only when I whiz past them. I didn't really get much out of the meeting after she left, so I started going to the storefront downtown (the sessions I attended were through the university's wellness program). The woman running the only session that fit my schedule was irritatingly perky ("Tee-hee!" Squeak. Hairflip). I'm thinking that wanting to slap her is probably not a good reaction, and will do horrible things to my attitude. So I've decided to join up online. So far I've lost two pounds (only started in earnest about a week and a half ago).
2) Joined another program (again, through the university wellness thingie) called "10,000 Steps." Apparently the average person is supposed to take about 10,000 steps a day. This is a program that challenges you to do that. You get a pedometer, a log book, and directions for their use. You spend three days counting your steps and logging the numbers, then you take the average step count. Using this as a baseline, you go to a chart which tells you how many steps to take each day that week. My number right now is 4500. You aim for slightly higher step counts every week until eventually you wind up at 10,000. I'm doing this partly in conjunction with #1 on my list, and partly for training. Training for what, you ask? See #3.
3) I have decided to be part of the team my sister wants to form for the Breast Cancer Walk next October. 60 miles in three days. This is a nation-wide event,with walks happening in major cities like San Francisco, Boston, Minneapolis/St. Paul...the one we're walking in is the one in Philadelphia. I figure if I start training now, I'll be ready by October. My Ditter has been busy selling houses (yay!) so she hasn't gotten the team registered yet. But I keep prodding her, sure in the knowledge that she'll do it eventually. Either that or she'll bite my head off.
4) I've finished two embroidery projects that I started a very long time ago and felt ambitious enough to start a new one. I had the time to do this because the laptop was at the shop and I found myself with l-o-o-o-o-n-g stretches of time and nothing to do. Hey, what did I do before the laptop? Oh, that's right. I made stuff!
5) And speaking of the laptop, it's home. I'm typing on it right now. The nice man at Firedog managed to make a recovery disc (though from the sound of things, Laptop threw fits before it settled down and did what he wanted), and then he ran some diagnostic tests. Problem was most definitely the hard drive. He called me Sunday afternoon to tell me that, and said that there was one thing he'd like to try before he gave up and ordered me a new hard drive. He wanted to use his shiny new recovery disc to restore the system and see if maybe that fixed the hard drive problem. He said he thought that maybe Windows "was just getting confused about where it had stored things." Kind of like someone who's put his glasses on top of his head and is looking all over his desk for them. I'd love to take credit for that simile but I can't. That's the Chief Loon's. She also called The Walk for the Cure "Save the Tahtahs."
So anyway, I told Firedog Man (hey, why did they name their group of techies after fireplace equipment? I don't get that) to go ahead and try it. He called me an hour later, triumphant. I fetched Laptop home Monday evening after work, and have been trying to get it back to the way I had it before it left. It's been a slow process. It came back to me only knowing my name. Other than that, it was the same laptop I bought two years ago--completely devoid of any personality. I've taken the opportunity to evaluate all the crap--er, um, software I had on it before its little nervous break-down. There are a number of things I'm just not going to reinstall. Mostly games, really. If I want games, I'll go to Pogo.
6) Oh! One more thing. I went back to dance class after about a six month absence. My hip flexors really hated me the following Monday, but I was back to normal by Tuesday. Remembering back to my very first class, my rear end and thigh muscles were killing me for days afterward. I guess I'm not as out of shape as I thought.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Two!
Juggling Scarves is two years old. Does this mean it's going to have temper tantrums and start telling me "no" all the time?
I hope not.
More later, if time permits
Friday, January 18, 2008
Ain't that the truth
I've just spent two and a half hours struggling to find some way to catalog a particularly obscure title from the International Society for Education through Art. I dragged one of my teammates into this mess with me, and when she gave up after about 45 minutes I went to the cataloging librarian. After finally figuring out what to do, he introduced me to Charbonneau's Law of Cataloging: the difficulty of cataloging an item will be inversely proportional to either the size or the intrinsic worth of said item. In other words, it's the unimportant or tiny buggers that give you the most grief.
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