Monday, June 30, 2008
Photos of the new place
Just posted a few photos of the new place onto Flick'r. Most of the rooms still look a bit disordered and I really didn't want to record that so...there are some shots of the cat, of the kitchen, of the exterior and of the plant life in my garden. There's one that I haven't posted yet. It's of the ceiling in the craft room--I wanted to get a day shot and a night shot, but I keep forgetting to go in there after dark. As soon as I remember to do that, I'll post those two pictures.
Friday, June 27, 2008
From under a pile of boxes...
...I send you greetings. Am currently digging out from moving in. Will be back posting when I can find the living room again.
Let me give you the edited highlights, though:
Let me give you the edited highlights, though:
- There was a brief last-minute to-do about the truck we'd rented. My sister was supposed to pick it up at an office near them, but the place had no reservation listed. I had to sort it out long distance over my cell phone, but it turns out whoever I'd talked to on Thursday had reserved the truck for the wrong location. Fifteen minutes later (through the magic of computers), the reservation was in the right place and she could drive away with the truck.
- My family was amazed at the amount of stuff I'd managed to cram into that tiny apartment. At one point Stretch asked me: "Do you have a door into some other apartment that you're taking stuff from?" Come on, gang, I'd been in there a decade and a half, and I have pack rat tendencies. What did you expect? And why did you think I've been packing for two months?
- I need to get the townhouse reinspected now that the work required by the lenders is done. Before I call my realtor and say it's okay to call the inspector, I need to clear a path to the breaker box, which is surrounded by very heavy boxes of books. Guess what I'm doing Saturday?
- The hollyhocks by the front door are starting to bloom. The tall one is hot pink, and the one next to it is a deeper pink, somewhere in the magenta range. Must take a picture and post it.
- My third day in the new place I got my first door-to-door evangelist. Thought he'd be sneaky about his pitch and start by talking about Noah. Noah? Trying to tie in with the Mississippi floods? I didn't wait to find out. I'd answered the door covered in lilac and green splotches and brandishing a paint brush. Told him I was in the middle of something and then politely but firmly refused his offer to come back and talk to me later.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Hey gang, I'm a mortgagor!
This is the first moment I've had where I could fire up the ol' laptop without feeling guilty because I should be doing something else. So here's how it all went down:
Friday: Up at the crack of dawn. Examining, pitching, packing things until about nine, when I figured I should probably get myself ready. J. arrived at ten and took me to my soon-to-be townhouse. She said when she brought the electrician over there Wednesday the sellers still hadn't packed, and Mrs. Seller said she was taking the day off of work the next day to do it. As we pull in, we see a U-Haul parked out front. They're still moving things out and cleaning. Turns out the sellers left the day before, they're returning home to Turkey (I thought so! I'd said as much to J. at one point), and have given/sold the contents of their house to some other Turkish folks still living here. Friends of theirs, I think. We look around, everything is fine. One of the two men clearing out hands me the keys to the front door and to the mailbox. J. drives me off to the bank for settlement.
At settlement is the nice lady from the bank who got me the PHFA and county loans, the realtor for the sellers, a representative from a settlement agency, my realtor, and me (of course). The woman from the bank hands me a sheaf of papers. These are all my copies of the documents I'm about to sign. And away we go. She hands me a paper, explains what it means, I sign it. She takes that one away, hands me another one, explains it, I sign it. And so on until she runs out of papers. Then she switches chairs with the settlement agent and we start again. We go through the statement that says what I owe. I hand over a cashier's check for that. She hands me two checks: one from the county and one from the bank. I endorse them and hand them back to her, stopping to remark that quite a lot of money just passed through my hands. After the last piece of paper is signed and notarized, she folds her hands over the whole sheaf of them, smiles, and says,
"Congratulations, you are now in debt."
"Oh, I've been here before."
"Well, welcome back!"
We all shake hands, and J. drives me off to the Wal-Mart so that I can make copies of the keys. She gives me a hug and a present, a binder with all sorts of tags and labels in it, all set up and ready to be filled-- a sort of home documents organizer.
I call first my Mom and then my sister to let 'em know I'm now a homeowner. After I get keys made, have a celebratory lunch in the Eat 'n' Park, and buy a bottle of sparkling white wine for later on that night (Asti Spumante), I head on back to my apartment for more packing. At about three I call a taxi, and drag myself, a suitcase, a duffel bag, and a canvas shopping bag full of stuff over to my townhouse. From there I do laundry, and while I'm waiting for it to finish I sit on the steps and stare at my living room through the bars of the banister. I did take a few pictures, and just as soon as I figure out what I did with my memory card-to-USB converter, I'll post them to Flick'r. Mom and Dad had said they'd be here by 7, Ditter and Stretch thought they'd be here by 8. At 7, Mom calls to say that they're just leaving now--there was a terrific thunderstorm that they didn't feel comfortable driving in, and it just let up.
When Ditter and Stretch show up, I show them around the place. We take a look at my little front garden patch. There's an almost dead rosebush that she thinks she can show me how to bring back. There's also a huge hollyhock by the front door that Stretch thought was a weed. There's also all sorts of weeds and unidentified vegetation in there, and a small tree in need of pruning. I have no idea how to do that.
Ditter takes me shopping for all sorts of stuff I need and didn't think about--also, we're going to swing by the apartment and pick up the cat. While we're in the store (we were there a very long time. It was 10:30 when we hit the check-out line) Mom calls to say they hit fog so they had to go around "the long way," and they'll be another 45 minutes or so. After picking up the cat (and my sleeping bag, and a couple other things) we head on back to the house to find that my brother-in-law has weeded the patch, fixed a window screen that needed attention, and done a couple more minor fixes. He joked that if I'd already bought the paint, he'd have started one of the rooms already.
I let the cat out of her carrier and watch her slink around the place, investigating everything. She stays close to the wall--it must feel safer that way. We just get dinner started (at 11 at night!) when my parents pull in.
Upon crossing the threshold, Mom and Dad give me a golden dollar coin, two loaves of bread, and bottles of soda--some sort of tradition called a "first-footer," though it's usually a New Year's Day tradition. A dark-haired man is supposed to enter your house and give you money, drink, and bread.
Dinner is ready-made pizza bought in a grocery store and baked in 12 minutes and a glass of Asti Spumante to toast the new house. We finally go to bed around 12:30.
Saturday: I take my painting crew out for breakfast, then we buy paint and all sorts of other stuff: a flashlight, new doorknobs and deadbolts, all kinds of things I can't remember now. The previous evening, Ditter had whipped out a steno pad and a pen and wrote down everything I said in passing that sounded like something I needed. It reminded me of when she got married and I was her maid of honor--I had done something similar. Then we take it all home and paint. And paint, and paint, and paint. Then, just for grins, we paint a little. The tangerine dream master bedroom is hit with a coat of primer, and while that dries we paint the future guest bedroom "Violet Devotion" (lilac). Then some of us paint the master bedroom "Summer Ivy" (medium dark green), while others start to tape the living room. And by the way, it's humid and stinkin' hot, so we're all doing this and dripping with sweat. The new place has no air conditioning. The cat spends most of the day lying in the bathtub. Poor kitty is very hot. Her coat is too heavy for this heat.
Sunday: Ditter has an open house to run back in Lancaster, so she and Stretch leave around 8. Mom, Dad, and I paint the living room "Honey"--it's supposed to be a gold color but is a little more yellow on the wall than it was on the card or on the sample daub the mixer put on the lids when he was done. Maybe it's because it's going on top of a pale mint green, no primer in between. Doesn't really matter. I like this color too. Then we go back upstairs and do touch-ups of the lilac room and the green room. My parents leave around three.
Most of the rest of the week has been spent either clearing out and packing up the old place, waiting for one technician or another at the new place (cable guy yesterday, electrician today), or touching up the paint. I keep finding spots that need more paint. The green room is especially tricky. We were having trouble seeing what we were doing--there was a glare from outside that interfered with how well we could see the walls. I've had to wait until the sun goes down, turn on the overhead light, and dab, dab, dab away at the walls. I was doing that last night until 11. Did something similar today with the lilac room. I dragged a lamp in there 'cause there's a bit that anyone painting would have trouble with--to paint, you have to stand between the wall and the window, effectively obscuring your only source of light. There's no overhead light in there. I should go check it now that it's getting dark out and I'm not getting interference from the sun. Haven't even gotten to the living room yet. Need to do the same paint-at-night routine in there as well.
Couple of little irritants: the guys who bought/were given "everything" were extremely literal. They took every single curtain rod, and I think they took the toilet paper dispenser in the bathroom. Also, I found that I have only one working light bulb in each light fixture. If there are sockets for more than one, they're filled with burnt-out bulbs. Nice, huh? I don't care that much about the bulbs, I'm changing them all over to those fluorescent ones that use less energy. But the curtain rod thing irritates. Those are fixtures, they were supposed to stay. So when I painted my bedroom last night I got to do it in full view of anyone who happened to glance out the window. Everyone knows the master bedroom of #10 is green.
Ah well. Back to work, now that it's dark. Time to show folks what color the living room is.
Friday: Up at the crack of dawn. Examining, pitching, packing things until about nine, when I figured I should probably get myself ready. J. arrived at ten and took me to my soon-to-be townhouse. She said when she brought the electrician over there Wednesday the sellers still hadn't packed, and Mrs. Seller said she was taking the day off of work the next day to do it. As we pull in, we see a U-Haul parked out front. They're still moving things out and cleaning. Turns out the sellers left the day before, they're returning home to Turkey (I thought so! I'd said as much to J. at one point), and have given/sold the contents of their house to some other Turkish folks still living here. Friends of theirs, I think. We look around, everything is fine. One of the two men clearing out hands me the keys to the front door and to the mailbox. J. drives me off to the bank for settlement.
At settlement is the nice lady from the bank who got me the PHFA and county loans, the realtor for the sellers, a representative from a settlement agency, my realtor, and me (of course). The woman from the bank hands me a sheaf of papers. These are all my copies of the documents I'm about to sign. And away we go. She hands me a paper, explains what it means, I sign it. She takes that one away, hands me another one, explains it, I sign it. And so on until she runs out of papers. Then she switches chairs with the settlement agent and we start again. We go through the statement that says what I owe. I hand over a cashier's check for that. She hands me two checks: one from the county and one from the bank. I endorse them and hand them back to her, stopping to remark that quite a lot of money just passed through my hands. After the last piece of paper is signed and notarized, she folds her hands over the whole sheaf of them, smiles, and says,
"Congratulations, you are now in debt."
"Oh, I've been here before."
"Well, welcome back!"
We all shake hands, and J. drives me off to the Wal-Mart so that I can make copies of the keys. She gives me a hug and a present, a binder with all sorts of tags and labels in it, all set up and ready to be filled-- a sort of home documents organizer.
I call first my Mom and then my sister to let 'em know I'm now a homeowner. After I get keys made, have a celebratory lunch in the Eat 'n' Park, and buy a bottle of sparkling white wine for later on that night (Asti Spumante), I head on back to my apartment for more packing. At about three I call a taxi, and drag myself, a suitcase, a duffel bag, and a canvas shopping bag full of stuff over to my townhouse. From there I do laundry, and while I'm waiting for it to finish I sit on the steps and stare at my living room through the bars of the banister. I did take a few pictures, and just as soon as I figure out what I did with my memory card-to-USB converter, I'll post them to Flick'r. Mom and Dad had said they'd be here by 7, Ditter and Stretch thought they'd be here by 8. At 7, Mom calls to say that they're just leaving now--there was a terrific thunderstorm that they didn't feel comfortable driving in, and it just let up.
When Ditter and Stretch show up, I show them around the place. We take a look at my little front garden patch. There's an almost dead rosebush that she thinks she can show me how to bring back. There's also a huge hollyhock by the front door that Stretch thought was a weed. There's also all sorts of weeds and unidentified vegetation in there, and a small tree in need of pruning. I have no idea how to do that.
Ditter takes me shopping for all sorts of stuff I need and didn't think about--also, we're going to swing by the apartment and pick up the cat. While we're in the store (we were there a very long time. It was 10:30 when we hit the check-out line) Mom calls to say they hit fog so they had to go around "the long way," and they'll be another 45 minutes or so. After picking up the cat (and my sleeping bag, and a couple other things) we head on back to the house to find that my brother-in-law has weeded the patch, fixed a window screen that needed attention, and done a couple more minor fixes. He joked that if I'd already bought the paint, he'd have started one of the rooms already.
I let the cat out of her carrier and watch her slink around the place, investigating everything. She stays close to the wall--it must feel safer that way. We just get dinner started (at 11 at night!) when my parents pull in.
Upon crossing the threshold, Mom and Dad give me a golden dollar coin, two loaves of bread, and bottles of soda--some sort of tradition called a "first-footer," though it's usually a New Year's Day tradition. A dark-haired man is supposed to enter your house and give you money, drink, and bread.
Dinner is ready-made pizza bought in a grocery store and baked in 12 minutes and a glass of Asti Spumante to toast the new house. We finally go to bed around 12:30.
Saturday: I take my painting crew out for breakfast, then we buy paint and all sorts of other stuff: a flashlight, new doorknobs and deadbolts, all kinds of things I can't remember now. The previous evening, Ditter had whipped out a steno pad and a pen and wrote down everything I said in passing that sounded like something I needed. It reminded me of when she got married and I was her maid of honor--I had done something similar. Then we take it all home and paint. And paint, and paint, and paint. Then, just for grins, we paint a little. The tangerine dream master bedroom is hit with a coat of primer, and while that dries we paint the future guest bedroom "Violet Devotion" (lilac). Then some of us paint the master bedroom "Summer Ivy" (medium dark green), while others start to tape the living room. And by the way, it's humid and stinkin' hot, so we're all doing this and dripping with sweat. The new place has no air conditioning. The cat spends most of the day lying in the bathtub. Poor kitty is very hot. Her coat is too heavy for this heat.
Sunday: Ditter has an open house to run back in Lancaster, so she and Stretch leave around 8. Mom, Dad, and I paint the living room "Honey"--it's supposed to be a gold color but is a little more yellow on the wall than it was on the card or on the sample daub the mixer put on the lids when he was done. Maybe it's because it's going on top of a pale mint green, no primer in between. Doesn't really matter. I like this color too. Then we go back upstairs and do touch-ups of the lilac room and the green room. My parents leave around three.
Most of the rest of the week has been spent either clearing out and packing up the old place, waiting for one technician or another at the new place (cable guy yesterday, electrician today), or touching up the paint. I keep finding spots that need more paint. The green room is especially tricky. We were having trouble seeing what we were doing--there was a glare from outside that interfered with how well we could see the walls. I've had to wait until the sun goes down, turn on the overhead light, and dab, dab, dab away at the walls. I was doing that last night until 11. Did something similar today with the lilac room. I dragged a lamp in there 'cause there's a bit that anyone painting would have trouble with--to paint, you have to stand between the wall and the window, effectively obscuring your only source of light. There's no overhead light in there. I should go check it now that it's getting dark out and I'm not getting interference from the sun. Haven't even gotten to the living room yet. Need to do the same paint-at-night routine in there as well.
Couple of little irritants: the guys who bought/were given "everything" were extremely literal. They took every single curtain rod, and I think they took the toilet paper dispenser in the bathroom. Also, I found that I have only one working light bulb in each light fixture. If there are sockets for more than one, they're filled with burnt-out bulbs. Nice, huh? I don't care that much about the bulbs, I'm changing them all over to those fluorescent ones that use less energy. But the curtain rod thing irritates. Those are fixtures, they were supposed to stay. So when I painted my bedroom last night I got to do it in full view of anyone who happened to glance out the window. Everyone knows the master bedroom of #10 is green.
Ah well. Back to work, now that it's dark. Time to show folks what color the living room is.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Squeeee
I just went to my bank and got a cashier's check for the amount I need for settlement tomorrow.
My realtor is picking me up at ten for a final walk-through of the property. This is to make sure it looks the way I expect it to--no damage since I last saw it, nothing removed that is supposed to be there, that rickety island in the kitchen gone. We had a brief to-do over the breaker box. The agreed-to repair of the test breaker never got done. Never a dull moment. J. had an electrician look at the box, and he said that the part he'd need is no longer made. The current breaker box is an old technology that still works but is no longer standard. The part would cost about $300, and that's only if someone somewhere had one in stock. Instead, he's putting in the new kind of breakers, and he's also going to change the outlets (boxes?) by the kitchen sink and in the bathrooms. He gave J. an estimate, and the sellers will be putting that estimated price into an escrow account to use for the repairs.
After I look around and agree that yes, this is what I am planning to buy we head off to the bank for settlement, which is set for 11 a.m. I'd say that by noon or 12:30 I will have signed my life away and been given a set of keys. At this point I'm going to want to sprint out of there before someone reconsiders and tries to take 'em back.
Cat will be transplanted by around three-thirty, four o'clock. Family should arrive between 7 and 8:30. I have no idea when I'm going to be online again. Sometime Tuesday the cable guy will be coming to set up my new cable/digital phone/high-speed internet service. Yay! Finally switching from dial-up to broadband! I'm guessing that the next post will be shortly after he leaves.
My realtor is picking me up at ten for a final walk-through of the property. This is to make sure it looks the way I expect it to--no damage since I last saw it, nothing removed that is supposed to be there, that rickety island in the kitchen gone. We had a brief to-do over the breaker box. The agreed-to repair of the test breaker never got done. Never a dull moment. J. had an electrician look at the box, and he said that the part he'd need is no longer made. The current breaker box is an old technology that still works but is no longer standard. The part would cost about $300, and that's only if someone somewhere had one in stock. Instead, he's putting in the new kind of breakers, and he's also going to change the outlets (boxes?) by the kitchen sink and in the bathrooms. He gave J. an estimate, and the sellers will be putting that estimated price into an escrow account to use for the repairs.
After I look around and agree that yes, this is what I am planning to buy we head off to the bank for settlement, which is set for 11 a.m. I'd say that by noon or 12:30 I will have signed my life away and been given a set of keys. At this point I'm going to want to sprint out of there before someone reconsiders and tries to take 'em back.
Cat will be transplanted by around three-thirty, four o'clock. Family should arrive between 7 and 8:30. I have no idea when I'm going to be online again. Sometime Tuesday the cable guy will be coming to set up my new cable/digital phone/high-speed internet service. Yay! Finally switching from dial-up to broadband! I'm guessing that the next post will be shortly after he leaves.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Time out for a post
This whole packing things reminds me a little bit of the frenzy I whipped myself into when my apartment got inspected a couple of years ago. Especially the bit about the socks. Crikey, do I have socks. What do I think I am, a centipede? Who needs that many socks?
I'm finding other people's stuff in here as well. A dinner plate of the Chief Loon's (I think). After one of our game nights, she handed me a whole plate of teeny tiny cupcakes. Looks like I never gave the plate back. I also found some books people loaned me eons ago. One of 'em I thought I'd lost, seriously, irretrievably lost, and bought a replacement copy to give back to the lender. Found the replacement copy, too. Sent the better-looking of the two back to the lender via one of her cousins, with whom I work. Found Christmas presents I thought I mailed. Uh-oh. Found about a dollar and a half in pennies--not all at the same time, mind you. More like, "hey look, another penny!" Found so many knitting needles and crochet hooks of varying sizes that they have their own packing box now. I think I'm going to have to do that with scissors, too. And a small one for pens. If I had the time, I'd check each pen to see if it works first. But I don't have time. I'll do that when I unpack. Sure I will.
And Holy Mani/Pedi, Batman! I have tons of nail polish. Most of it was given to me as gifts--stocking stuffers, Easter basket filler. I think I probably bought the bottle of clear nail polish myself, and that was probably to do with a beading project where I was trying to secure a knot.
Lilah has tired of climbing on all the boxes after I close them up. Good. I was worried she'd knock something over. I've taken down the posters and framed pictures. I'm saving the framed embroidery for last. I am ruthlessly ditching stuff that I haven't used and/or don't really like and/or is getting a bit shabby. There's a sort of unwritten protocol to throwing things out in apartment complexes: anything that is probably still usable (in your opinion) you put next to the dumpster for someone to salvage who thinks he can use it. Yesterday morning I put out a framed picture of a black-and-white print that someone gave me a decade ago when they were clearing out, and when I came out again half an hour later with a bag of true trash, someone had already adopted it, and put a beat-up old computer monitor in its place. Came out half an hour after that, and the monitor was gone, too.
That reminds me of a story an ex-coworker told me about clearing out her apartment when she and her life-partner moved here from Alabama. They had a bunch of bookcases that they didn't want to take with them and that were too good to just throw out. So they put them by the dumpster at their apartment complex. After they put the first one out and walked back, they saw a young couple go over and take it to their place. Same couple took the second. And the third. Dee finally walked over to their apartment and offered to bring the two remaining bookcases right to them saving them both time and energy. They accepted, and came back to Dee's to carry one while she and Em brought the other one. She said the look on the guy's face was priceless when he opened the door to find her standing there. Surprised and guilty, like he thought she was going to yell at him for trash-picking.
Well, that's enough of a break. Time to go put some more of my apartment into small boxes.
I'm finding other people's stuff in here as well. A dinner plate of the Chief Loon's (I think). After one of our game nights, she handed me a whole plate of teeny tiny cupcakes. Looks like I never gave the plate back. I also found some books people loaned me eons ago. One of 'em I thought I'd lost, seriously, irretrievably lost, and bought a replacement copy to give back to the lender. Found the replacement copy, too. Sent the better-looking of the two back to the lender via one of her cousins, with whom I work. Found Christmas presents I thought I mailed. Uh-oh. Found about a dollar and a half in pennies--not all at the same time, mind you. More like, "hey look, another penny!" Found so many knitting needles and crochet hooks of varying sizes that they have their own packing box now. I think I'm going to have to do that with scissors, too. And a small one for pens. If I had the time, I'd check each pen to see if it works first. But I don't have time. I'll do that when I unpack. Sure I will.
And Holy Mani/Pedi, Batman! I have tons of nail polish. Most of it was given to me as gifts--stocking stuffers, Easter basket filler. I think I probably bought the bottle of clear nail polish myself, and that was probably to do with a beading project where I was trying to secure a knot.
Lilah has tired of climbing on all the boxes after I close them up. Good. I was worried she'd knock something over. I've taken down the posters and framed pictures. I'm saving the framed embroidery for last. I am ruthlessly ditching stuff that I haven't used and/or don't really like and/or is getting a bit shabby. There's a sort of unwritten protocol to throwing things out in apartment complexes: anything that is probably still usable (in your opinion) you put next to the dumpster for someone to salvage who thinks he can use it. Yesterday morning I put out a framed picture of a black-and-white print that someone gave me a decade ago when they were clearing out, and when I came out again half an hour later with a bag of true trash, someone had already adopted it, and put a beat-up old computer monitor in its place. Came out half an hour after that, and the monitor was gone, too.
That reminds me of a story an ex-coworker told me about clearing out her apartment when she and her life-partner moved here from Alabama. They had a bunch of bookcases that they didn't want to take with them and that were too good to just throw out. So they put them by the dumpster at their apartment complex. After they put the first one out and walked back, they saw a young couple go over and take it to their place. Same couple took the second. And the third. Dee finally walked over to their apartment and offered to bring the two remaining bookcases right to them saving them both time and energy. They accepted, and came back to Dee's to carry one while she and Em brought the other one. She said the look on the guy's face was priceless when he opened the door to find her standing there. Surprised and guilty, like he thought she was going to yell at him for trash-picking.
Well, that's enough of a break. Time to go put some more of my apartment into small boxes.
Friday, June 06, 2008
T-minus one week and counting...
This time next week I will probably be sitting, shocked and amazed, in the middle of the floor in my new living room.
Either that or I'll be furiously folding laundry, as I just this moment realized I need to buy queen-sized sheets for the air mattress I just bought, and that sounds like as good as anything for an inaugural load in the new-to-me washer and dryer. That I won't need to go on a cross-country trek to use.
I probably need pillows, too. And new towels. Well, I don't need new towels, but I'd like to have at least the first few I put out in the new bathroom match both the room and each other.
Either that or I'll be furiously folding laundry, as I just this moment realized I need to buy queen-sized sheets for the air mattress I just bought, and that sounds like as good as anything for an inaugural load in the new-to-me washer and dryer. That I won't need to go on a cross-country trek to use.
I probably need pillows, too. And new towels. Well, I don't need new towels, but I'd like to have at least the first few I put out in the new bathroom match both the room and each other.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Pondering change
Been saying this phrase a lot lately: I'm not going to miss that.
I've been saying this one, too: I am going to miss that, though.
For example:
At the bus stop: I'm going to miss that youngster I've been watching grow up. He's shy and bookish, and right now he's in that awkward, geeky phase boys go through right before they turn into either Adonis or one of the Goth teens--all piercings, black clothes, and eye makeup. Can't tell which way this one's going to go, and I wonder what he'll look like when (if) I see him again.
I am most decidedly not going to miss the creepy guy I call Twitch (only in my head. I'd never call him that to his face. I try not to address him at all, actually). I don't know whether he's OCD or something more serious. He never stands still at the bus stop, does the same series of moves and gestures over and over. He carries on muttered conversations with himself, and (here's the creepy part) pays way too much attention to me. Looks at me a little too long and hard when I walk up to the bus stop. Listens too closely to conversations I'm having. When I stand there reading a book, I can see him out of the corner of my eye cocking his head sideways to read the spine. The few times I've gotten on the bus ahead of him (instead of staying behind him so I can see him), I have to make sure I sit somewhere there isn't room for him to sit beside me. 'Cause given the opportunity, that's what he does--too close, of course. Bye, Twitch. Won't be seein' ya.
Laundry: I'm not going to miss dragging my dirty clothes across the complex to wash them. But I will miss random conversations had while waiting for a dryer to become available.
Utilities: I will miss having my utilities included in my rent. I won't miss sharing a water heater with three other apartments, however. Nor will I miss substandard electrical wiring. The lights dim for a fraction of a second when I turn on the power strip that I use for my computer equipment.
Neighbors: I have a nice upstairs neighbor. Friendly, polite, considerate, quiet. Gonna miss her. I won't miss hearing her every footstep, though.
Animals: I know more of my neighbors' dogs by name than I do the people who own them. Peanut, the cocker spaniel on the other side of the building. Pebbles, the tiny Yorkie next building over. Tucker, who I first met as an 8-week old puppy, now grey around the muzzle and getting decidedly fat. The beagle next door, however, I will feel no nostalgia for. He bays incessantly when his owner's away too long. (Bowwww! Bowwww! Bowwww! All. Night. Long.) I won't miss that.
The joys of renting: I will not miss this cramped little apartment, with its one window, no airflow, no sunlight (unless it bounces in off the snowy hillside at wintertime), tiny kitchen, and weird electrical set up -- the light switch for the kitchen is in the bedroom. Huh? Nor will I miss the maintenance folks who wander in whenever they feel like it, maybe giving you a day's notice if you're lucky. (Note to self. Stash an extra key in desk at work, to guard against locking self out of nice new home that no one else can get into without permission). One thing I will say for my little mouse-hole: it has a nice built-in bookcase that I'm definitely going to have trouble replacing. Just Cabinets, here I come again!
I've been saying this one, too: I am going to miss that, though.
For example:
At the bus stop: I'm going to miss that youngster I've been watching grow up. He's shy and bookish, and right now he's in that awkward, geeky phase boys go through right before they turn into either Adonis or one of the Goth teens--all piercings, black clothes, and eye makeup. Can't tell which way this one's going to go, and I wonder what he'll look like when (if) I see him again.
I am most decidedly not going to miss the creepy guy I call Twitch (only in my head. I'd never call him that to his face. I try not to address him at all, actually). I don't know whether he's OCD or something more serious. He never stands still at the bus stop, does the same series of moves and gestures over and over. He carries on muttered conversations with himself, and (here's the creepy part) pays way too much attention to me. Looks at me a little too long and hard when I walk up to the bus stop. Listens too closely to conversations I'm having. When I stand there reading a book, I can see him out of the corner of my eye cocking his head sideways to read the spine. The few times I've gotten on the bus ahead of him (instead of staying behind him so I can see him), I have to make sure I sit somewhere there isn't room for him to sit beside me. 'Cause given the opportunity, that's what he does--too close, of course. Bye, Twitch. Won't be seein' ya.
Laundry: I'm not going to miss dragging my dirty clothes across the complex to wash them. But I will miss random conversations had while waiting for a dryer to become available.
Utilities: I will miss having my utilities included in my rent. I won't miss sharing a water heater with three other apartments, however. Nor will I miss substandard electrical wiring. The lights dim for a fraction of a second when I turn on the power strip that I use for my computer equipment.
Neighbors: I have a nice upstairs neighbor. Friendly, polite, considerate, quiet. Gonna miss her. I won't miss hearing her every footstep, though.
Animals: I know more of my neighbors' dogs by name than I do the people who own them. Peanut, the cocker spaniel on the other side of the building. Pebbles, the tiny Yorkie next building over. Tucker, who I first met as an 8-week old puppy, now grey around the muzzle and getting decidedly fat. The beagle next door, however, I will feel no nostalgia for. He bays incessantly when his owner's away too long. (Bowwww! Bowwww! Bowwww! All. Night. Long.) I won't miss that.
The joys of renting: I will not miss this cramped little apartment, with its one window, no airflow, no sunlight (unless it bounces in off the snowy hillside at wintertime), tiny kitchen, and weird electrical set up -- the light switch for the kitchen is in the bedroom. Huh? Nor will I miss the maintenance folks who wander in whenever they feel like it, maybe giving you a day's notice if you're lucky. (Note to self. Stash an extra key in desk at work, to guard against locking self out of nice new home that no one else can get into without permission). One thing I will say for my little mouse-hole: it has a nice built-in bookcase that I'm definitely going to have trouble replacing. Just Cabinets, here I come again!
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Good news and idiot moves
The mortgage originator at the bank I'm using just called to tell me my loan's been approved. Huzzah!
Good thing, too, considering all the packing and planning I'm doing. Not to mention the lease I broke and the insurance I bought. And the table I bought, too. Where the heck would that go otherwise, huh?
I injured myself slightly on Saturday by being stupid. I went to Dick's (a sporting goods chain in the U.S.) to buy an air mattress so my parents have somewhere to sleep when they come help me paint/move in. The box was rather small, and I wasn't expecting it to be quite as heavy as it was. The first attempt at lifting it is what hurt me, though I didn't feel it right away. The next day, my back and my front hurt in about the same place, and anytime I leaned down and to the left my body informed me quite loudly that I should not do that. It still hurts, but not nearly as much. Bending forward is fun, too. 'Cause, well, gravity drags on the ol' shippetaries (as my grandmom used to call her, um, front), and my back shouts, "Hey! What are you doing?"
So basically, if I drop anything right now it has to stay on the floor unless I can pick it up with my toes. Either that or I drop to the ground, crawl over to it, and hold it in my teeth while I climb, crab-like from the right side, back to a standing or sitting position.
The packing routine has altered a little bit because of this. Instead of building the box, packing it, closing it, and stacking it I now build the box, stack it, fill it, and close it. That'll work. Getting things in low places is a bit tricky. I guess they'll have to wait.
Good thing, too, considering all the packing and planning I'm doing. Not to mention the lease I broke and the insurance I bought. And the table I bought, too. Where the heck would that go otherwise, huh?
I injured myself slightly on Saturday by being stupid. I went to Dick's (a sporting goods chain in the U.S.) to buy an air mattress so my parents have somewhere to sleep when they come help me paint/move in. The box was rather small, and I wasn't expecting it to be quite as heavy as it was. The first attempt at lifting it is what hurt me, though I didn't feel it right away. The next day, my back and my front hurt in about the same place, and anytime I leaned down and to the left my body informed me quite loudly that I should not do that. It still hurts, but not nearly as much. Bending forward is fun, too. 'Cause, well, gravity drags on the ol' shippetaries (as my grandmom used to call her, um, front), and my back shouts, "Hey! What are you doing?"
So basically, if I drop anything right now it has to stay on the floor unless I can pick it up with my toes. Either that or I drop to the ground, crawl over to it, and hold it in my teeth while I climb, crab-like from the right side, back to a standing or sitting position.
The packing routine has altered a little bit because of this. Instead of building the box, packing it, closing it, and stacking it I now build the box, stack it, fill it, and close it. That'll work. Getting things in low places is a bit tricky. I guess they'll have to wait.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
All right, it feels real now
Amazing how one action can snap everything into focus.
I went to another furniture store today. This one's called "Just Cabinets," and maybe when they started that's all they had. They've branched out since. They have all sorts of furniture in there. My bus passes by it every morning and evening, and I just today decided to wander in.
Twenty minutes later I bought a table and four chairs. The price I got 'em for is $200 less than the one listed on the website. They're having a "Grand Opening" sale--not for themselves, though. Apparently they throw a party every time a franchise opens up, and one just opened in Maryland somewhere. The set is on clearance (I got the second to last table, and four of the last eight chairs), so that link may eventually stop working. I copied the image to guard against that eventuality.
It wasn't purchasing the table that put things into focus. It was giving the address of where they were to be delivered, and when. That's the first time I've directed anyone or anything to that address. And I'm buying something that I couldn't possibly fit in my existing space, so it must be going in the new one. And since the table is a real object....I must really be buying a house.
Gaaaah! Where's the tape? Where are the markers? What's getting boxed up next?
I went to another furniture store today. This one's called "Just Cabinets," and maybe when they started that's all they had. They've branched out since. They have all sorts of furniture in there. My bus passes by it every morning and evening, and I just today decided to wander in.
Twenty minutes later I bought a table and four chairs. The price I got 'em for is $200 less than the one listed on the website. They're having a "Grand Opening" sale--not for themselves, though. Apparently they throw a party every time a franchise opens up, and one just opened in Maryland somewhere. The set is on clearance (I got the second to last table, and four of the last eight chairs), so that link may eventually stop working. I copied the image to guard against that eventuality.
It wasn't purchasing the table that put things into focus. It was giving the address of where they were to be delivered, and when. That's the first time I've directed anyone or anything to that address. And I'm buying something that I couldn't possibly fit in my existing space, so it must be going in the new one. And since the table is a real object....I must really be buying a house.
Gaaaah! Where's the tape? Where are the markers? What's getting boxed up next?
T minus 27 days and counting...
Not that I'm excited or anything.
No really, I'm not. I'm still having trouble believing this is real. It's all going far too well to be happening to me. I'm half expecting it to fall through.
That's probably the reason why I'm having so much trouble motivating myself to pack. That, and what am I supposed to do with the boxes afterwards? I asked my Mom that and she said, "Put them where the things were that you just packed up." That doesn't quite work when I'm unloading bookcases, though. And another thing: what happens if I pack something now that I need next week?
What I have been doing is wandering around home improvement centers and sections of stores looking at paint chips. I've decided I'm doing the living room in a sandy color called "honey." It's nice and neutral, and I've been finding it as an accent color in all sorts of drapes, upholstery, rugs, etc. One of the smaller bedrooms (which I've designated "the craft room") I'm leaving alone for now. This is the current owners' daughter's room, and it's cute. They painted a bright blue sky on the ceiling with puffy clouds--looks fairly realistic. Then they put little glow-in-the-dark star decals on it, so at night she's looking up at a starry sky. How sweet is that? They did the rest of the room as blue, and I don't see any need to change it.
The other bedroom ("the guest room") I'm painting lilac or lavender. Gonna get all girly in that room--eyelet and violets and what-not. No doilies, though. I draw the line at doilies. I'm going to (eventually) get a cast iron day bed to put in there.
The kitchen's okay too. I have always wanted a strawberry theme to my kitchen, and for years I've been collected and stashing away little strawberry things for my first house. I've been looking for drawer pulls that are strawberries and I found a few. Of course, the ones I really like are $5-$7 a piece. I have 20 handles in the kitchen (I counted them when we went in for the inspection), so it looks like that's going to have to wait for a while.
The room I really, really need to paint is the master bedroom. And of course, that's the room I'm having the most trouble deciding colors for. At present it's somewhere between peach and orange (I've been calling it Tangerine Dream). I own absolutely nothing in that color, and for a very good reason. I don't like orange. At. All. I keep going back and forth about whether it should be a nice restful color like sage green or aqua, or a bright happy color like yellow. Mom suggested when I move in to buy samples of the colors I like and paint a couple of patches on the wall--test 'em out in the various kinds of light I'll have in the room, see which I think I could live with best. I really want to get the painting out of the way before I move in, but I'm thinking I'm going to take her suggestion here.
I've also been prowling around furniture stores looking for the drop-leaf table I have in my head. I'm not finding it. I think I'm going to have to go with my "Plan B" table. I must say, though, that I didn't know we had so many furniture stores in town.
My real estate agent called me last Thursday to let me know she hadn't forgotten about me. I told her the bank I'm getting the mortgage through had (finally) cashed my check for the appraisal. I asked her if that meant they'd started it or that they'd finished it. She said she thought it probably meant they finished it. Usually, she said, you don't hear anything about the appraisal unless they don't think the property is worth what you want them to lend you. She thinks we're in pretty good shape. It's probably worth more than the asking price.
About a week before settlement I have to get the utilities changed over to my name. I need to give my complex manager a gentle nudge about writing up that release. Other than that, there's really nothing left to do on my end. Except pack, of course. Bleah.
No really, I'm not. I'm still having trouble believing this is real. It's all going far too well to be happening to me. I'm half expecting it to fall through.
That's probably the reason why I'm having so much trouble motivating myself to pack. That, and what am I supposed to do with the boxes afterwards? I asked my Mom that and she said, "Put them where the things were that you just packed up." That doesn't quite work when I'm unloading bookcases, though. And another thing: what happens if I pack something now that I need next week?
What I have been doing is wandering around home improvement centers and sections of stores looking at paint chips. I've decided I'm doing the living room in a sandy color called "honey." It's nice and neutral, and I've been finding it as an accent color in all sorts of drapes, upholstery, rugs, etc. One of the smaller bedrooms (which I've designated "the craft room") I'm leaving alone for now. This is the current owners' daughter's room, and it's cute. They painted a bright blue sky on the ceiling with puffy clouds--looks fairly realistic. Then they put little glow-in-the-dark star decals on it, so at night she's looking up at a starry sky. How sweet is that? They did the rest of the room as blue, and I don't see any need to change it.
The other bedroom ("the guest room") I'm painting lilac or lavender. Gonna get all girly in that room--eyelet and violets and what-not. No doilies, though. I draw the line at doilies. I'm going to (eventually) get a cast iron day bed to put in there.
The kitchen's okay too. I have always wanted a strawberry theme to my kitchen, and for years I've been collected and stashing away little strawberry things for my first house. I've been looking for drawer pulls that are strawberries and I found a few. Of course, the ones I really like are $5-$7 a piece. I have 20 handles in the kitchen (I counted them when we went in for the inspection), so it looks like that's going to have to wait for a while.
The room I really, really need to paint is the master bedroom. And of course, that's the room I'm having the most trouble deciding colors for. At present it's somewhere between peach and orange (I've been calling it Tangerine Dream). I own absolutely nothing in that color, and for a very good reason. I don't like orange. At. All. I keep going back and forth about whether it should be a nice restful color like sage green or aqua, or a bright happy color like yellow. Mom suggested when I move in to buy samples of the colors I like and paint a couple of patches on the wall--test 'em out in the various kinds of light I'll have in the room, see which I think I could live with best. I really want to get the painting out of the way before I move in, but I'm thinking I'm going to take her suggestion here.
I've also been prowling around furniture stores looking for the drop-leaf table I have in my head. I'm not finding it. I think I'm going to have to go with my "Plan B" table. I must say, though, that I didn't know we had so many furniture stores in town.
My real estate agent called me last Thursday to let me know she hadn't forgotten about me. I told her the bank I'm getting the mortgage through had (finally) cashed my check for the appraisal. I asked her if that meant they'd started it or that they'd finished it. She said she thought it probably meant they finished it. Usually, she said, you don't hear anything about the appraisal unless they don't think the property is worth what you want them to lend you. She thinks we're in pretty good shape. It's probably worth more than the asking price.
About a week before settlement I have to get the utilities changed over to my name. I need to give my complex manager a gentle nudge about writing up that release. Other than that, there's really nothing left to do on my end. Except pack, of course. Bleah.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
(Ladies, insert your Dad here.)
Overheard in the café attached to the grocery store where I was last evening:
Man on cell phone: "I'm in a grocery store in [location] Pennsylvania. Yep."
[pause]
"Well, I have to go to all sorts of strange places to earn money for your tuition and rent, and to take you and your Mom to fancy-schmancy meals like the one yesterday. What did you think of that place, huh?"
[pause]
"Yeah, me too. You know, the chef doesn't normally come out and talk to diners like that. Only special guests."
[pause]
"Well, anyway, keep up the good work at school. Your mom and I are proud of you."
[pause]
"Okay, love you too. Um. Honey? One more thing. That dress your wore yesterday? Uhm.... I... think you need to wear leggings with it or something. It... well, it looked more like a blouse than a dress. Nearly gave me a heart attack. Okay?"
Funny how the clothes men stare at in appreciation on strangers will make them uncomfortable when worn by their own daughters.
Man on cell phone: "I'm in a grocery store in [location] Pennsylvania. Yep."
[pause]
"Well, I have to go to all sorts of strange places to earn money for your tuition and rent, and to take you and your Mom to fancy-schmancy meals like the one yesterday. What did you think of that place, huh?"
[pause]
"Yeah, me too. You know, the chef doesn't normally come out and talk to diners like that. Only special guests."
[pause]
"Well, anyway, keep up the good work at school. Your mom and I are proud of you."
[pause]
"Okay, love you too. Um. Honey? One more thing. That dress your wore yesterday? Uhm.... I... think you need to wear leggings with it or something. It... well, it looked more like a blouse than a dress. Nearly gave me a heart attack. Okay?"
Funny how the clothes men stare at in appreciation on strangers will make them uncomfortable when worn by their own daughters.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
One weekend wasted
Last Wednesday evening while packing and doing laundry I got all sniffly-sneezy. I assumed I'd got a noseful of dust or something. By Thursday night I had that dry, thirsty feeling I have right before I get a beaut of a sore throat. Friday, sore throat, cough, and congestion. Still thinking it's allergies, I went to work. I mentioned my symptoms to a co-worker who gave me a meaningful look and said,
"That sounds exactly like the creeping crud I had last weekend."
Uh-oh.
I'd already arranged to take Friday afternoon off, ostensibly to chase down the complex manager. By the time Friday rolled around, though, I'd already managed to bump into him, explain my situation, and get let out of my lease.* I was going to use the afternoon to pack instead but by noon I was feeling horrible. Glad I decided to take the afternoon off, because I spent most of it asleep. Was completely useless all Saturday--achy, weak, sleepy, and sweating out a fever. Whatever this is was just about done with me by Sunday. I felt good enough that afternoon to go out to a furniture store to look at dining-room tables (it was mainly just to get out of the apartment). Didn't see anything that wowed me, but there were a couple of nice looking ones.
What I really want is a drop-leaf table like my grandparents had. The thing looked tiny when the leaves were down, but once you folded it out you could fit 12 people around it, at least. If I can't find one of those, there's a "farm table" set at this place that would suit me.
So anyway, I did a little bit of packing Sunday night, a little bit Monday, and a very little last night, but for the most part my apartment still looks like a hurricane hit, followed by an explosion at a box factory. I have a lingering cough, though nothing nearly like what I had. I don't think this is going to turn into a sinus infection and bronchitis (knock wood), 'cause I'm not all wheezy. There's that silver lining.
*Still waiting on the paperwork for that one. Must remind myself to send him a little email if I don't get anything by Friday.
"That sounds exactly like the creeping crud I had last weekend."
Uh-oh.
I'd already arranged to take Friday afternoon off, ostensibly to chase down the complex manager. By the time Friday rolled around, though, I'd already managed to bump into him, explain my situation, and get let out of my lease.* I was going to use the afternoon to pack instead but by noon I was feeling horrible. Glad I decided to take the afternoon off, because I spent most of it asleep. Was completely useless all Saturday--achy, weak, sleepy, and sweating out a fever. Whatever this is was just about done with me by Sunday. I felt good enough that afternoon to go out to a furniture store to look at dining-room tables (it was mainly just to get out of the apartment). Didn't see anything that wowed me, but there were a couple of nice looking ones.
What I really want is a drop-leaf table like my grandparents had. The thing looked tiny when the leaves were down, but once you folded it out you could fit 12 people around it, at least. If I can't find one of those, there's a "farm table" set at this place that would suit me.
So anyway, I did a little bit of packing Sunday night, a little bit Monday, and a very little last night, but for the most part my apartment still looks like a hurricane hit, followed by an explosion at a box factory. I have a lingering cough, though nothing nearly like what I had. I don't think this is going to turn into a sinus infection and bronchitis (knock wood), 'cause I'm not all wheezy. There's that silver lining.
*Still waiting on the paperwork for that one. Must remind myself to send him a little email if I don't get anything by Friday.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Mission: Inspection
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.
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.
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.
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