Home Implosion, Part Infinity, Plus One
June 28, 2007
Hey! Remember when we moved? That sucked. Fuck that.
But we did it. We sold our little condo in DC -- a condo we loved so very much, particularly and especially once we put it on the market. We're ridiculous like that. "Hey! All we really needed to do was move half of our crap into storage, maybe clean it occasionally and get that vile hussy of a toaster off the countertop! Let's call the whole thing off!"
We almost did, actually. We told our agents that we didn't want to be listed over the holidays, so if we didn't get an offer by Thanksgiving we'd go off the market and try again in a few months. The DC market was terrrrrrible at the time, and while we were itching to snap up one of the many bargain-priced places out in the 'burbs where the market was even worse, there was no way -- NO WAY IN HELL -- we were going to buy something before our place sold.
(Ironically, the only reason we could afford our new house was because the owners had already bought their new house and were so financially strapped that they slashed the price by $50,000, and then STILL let us lowball them.)
(God, now I remember why I never wrote about all this. BECAUSE IT IS CRAZY BORING. REAL ESTATE TALK! LET ME ENUMERATE THE MANY DISADVANTAGES OF ADJUSTABLE-RATE MORTGAGES WHILE I AM AT IT.)
Anywaaaaay...we were actually counting on taking the condo off the market and secretly plotting to "lose" our agents' phone numbers in all the "hustle and bustle of Christmas" and just maybe stay put after all. Then we got an offer just three goddamn days before Thanksgiving. Well. FINE.
We had to be out by Christmas. We didn't have a new house. We hadn't decided on a neighborhood. We hadn't even picked a STATE.
(Why? Why am I going into all this detail? I sat down to frame a little story about something else entirely and now I am writing paragraph after paragraph about things that have already happened and I cannot stop. HALP.)
Anywaaaaaaaaay...we found our house and bought it and everything was lovely.
Except for the carpet. I hated the carpet. But we agreed to live with it for awhile.
Then summer hit. And the humidity did...something...to the carpet. Something...smelly. Smelly like...pee. Old, old pee.
So you know what we did? You know what I recommend you do NOT do, unless you are really and truly ready to live with the consequences?
We bought a blacklight. The same kind you can use to squick yourself out in hotel rooms. We turned off the lights and looked at the carpet.
We submitted paperwork for a home equity loan THE NEXT DAY.
(Oh my God. OH MY GOD. When I just THINK about what that light showed us. When I just THINK about it.)
(pulls knees to chest, rhythmically rocks back and forth, weeps.)
It all starts tomorrow. No more carpet. No more Pergo. Just me, some hardwoods and the millions of dustbunnies. Invest in Swiffer stock today!
WILL NOT MISS.
WILL NOT MISS.
WILL NOT MISS.
Other projects on the nearish horizon include new windows, since I don't think windows should require PACKING TAPE in order to stay closed.
Verrrrry sneaky, previous owners. Now you know why I kept all your issues of People.
And then there's Noah's room. His old room was the hardest thing to leave behind. I cried. My mother-in-law hugged me and told me she could paint it all over again at our new place, that his new room would be even better, that it was totally okay that we were leaving behind the very paint that I painted, myself, with my own pregnant hands.
(Longtime readers may remember that I painted exactly three goddamn leaves in the whole room. But they were MY LEAVES. PAINTED WITH LOVE. AND A STENCIL.)
After a few months of insisting that I wanted the exact same room all over again...with the tree and the leaves and the butterflies and sweet fuzzy animals...I finally admitted that it was probably better to paint something a little less babyish. I hung all of Noah's old animals in the downstairs bathroom and asked my mother-in-law if she knew how to paint planes.
She's only done one so far, but yeah. I think she knows how to paint planes.
My lone contribution: Noah's name. Stuck to the closet doors.
With packing tape.