Flipping Coins. And Nuts.
November 21, 2006
So. We hand over the keys to the new owners in
27 days. They are newlyweds and apparently we've "made their dreams come true." They are also going to "paint over everything, including the leaves I painted with my OWN HANDS in my son's nursery, letsnotthinktoohardaboutthatokaythanksbye."
I've been saying "30 days" since Saturday, and yet it turns out that time is not a static concept but rather keeps on slipping (slipping!) into the future. Like dust in the wind, like sands through the hourglass, time marches on. I know! I am shocked, and frankly, I blame popular culture for not reinforcing this idea in a way I could easily understand.
As it stands now, we are going to be homeless in 27 days, because we are so. flipping. nuts.
When we first started this whole moving nonsense, we drove through a charming little suburban neighborhood with our realtor and I pointed at a charming little brick house and said I wanted a house just like that. And our realtor said awesome, because there are no less than 40 bazillion houses just like that around here. And I said awesome, and Jason said awesome and it was like, totally going to be awesome.
REAL ESTATE RULE NUMBER ONE: You should probably go inside the house you are thinking of buying.
After touring about 39 bazillion of these charming little brick houses, it finally occurred to me that I actually don't like them much after all. They are very small and kind of musty. And have very inconvenient toilets, and after living with one toilet, and one that's on a different floor than my bedroom, I am pretty much insistent that our next house have a toilet on every level. In fact, if I have to pee, I'd like to walk no more than 10 feet before hitting the nearest toilet.
I think I might be more of a...townhouse person? Or maybe a mansion person? I do like mansions.
Then Jason test-drove his commute from the charming little suburban neighborhood and came home with an eyelid twitch and an overwhelming sense of homicidal rage.
REAL ESTATE RULE NUMBER TWO: Choosing a neighborhood you sort-of drove through once -- you know, we were on our way to IKEA? and we stopped at that bakery where I got that scone? that was a fucking delicious scone -- is probably not very smart.
And of course, there's the issue of the C-H-I-L-D and the S-C-H-O-O-L-S and those shifty-looking, no-good-punk T-E-E-N-A-G-E-R-S hanging around the playground, just waiting to sell my precious son drugs and get him hooked on meth and completely ruin his chances of getting into a good preschool.
Thankfully, our realtors (we have two, actually, who work as a team so there's pretty much ALWAYS someone available to listen to my latest crazy wishlist of home features) ("Toilets no more than 10 feet away at all times! And I also want a little monkey in a hat who dances for nickels!") have been super great about hauling us all over creation to look at houses, pretty much non-stop the past couple days.
Which is why I have to wrap this entry up now, without any kind of conclusion or point, because we have to go look at some more houses that we will probably hate.
REAL ESTATE RULE NUMBER THREE: Just flip a damn coin already. If your kid gets hooked on drugs it will most certainly be your fault, but Jesus Christ, it won't have anything to do with the neighborhood, but rather because you made him spend the majority of his formative years at an extended-stay hotel while you complained about countertops and phantom cat odors, because you are so. flipping. nuts.
Photo repeated for emphasis.