Success!

In the interest of not appealing to the LCD, (which, in our societies defense, we were constantly implored to do just such a thing when reducing fractions) I've decided to entitle this blog a glass half full success rather than poopsville. S and I looked at houses again today, myself fresh from a solid four and a half hours of sleep following a night of productive writing. Nothing says houses like an upset stomach, and the uncertain feeling that your mind has when it gets under five hours of sleep. So you're wandering around in this dream state, and suddenly you're wondering, "Wait, am I crazy, or am I a f-ing zombie right now?" And you're feeling all sorts of attendant zombie guilt over having to ear your spouses brain for a portion of your breakfast. And so on...
House 1
The first house had dual kitchens, and I'm not exactly how that plays into the total cabinet count that S still engages in. As I've become an all-star chef, buying S shirts that say things like, "I'm sleeping with the cook and he's pretty good...at cooking" (the writing is small) I'm pretty excited about having dual kitchens. We could invite friends over and have them taste our two divergent desserts and meals, pairing them with wines and generally just making people uncomfortable by making them choose the better cook. In all humility, it's clearly me. S stumbled on an article the other day extolling the virtue of the cooked cucumber. I invented that one.
The house needed a little bit of TLC and as S can tell you, I'm not really into that.

House 2
The second house was a very nice remodeled home. Except for the top floor, which had a humidity bordering on Amazon rain forest in the summer Note: seasonal changes do not matter in equatorial regions, it's merely exaggeration for effect. The ceiling also sloped down just enough to cause me to lean down. Oh, and also, some lady had to be woken up, despite the fact that it was about one o'clock, and she sat on the couch with a pillow over her face in the posture of someone who is suffering from a very bag hang over. Sorry lady, nice stainless steel appliances though. The fully finished basement w/ kitchen and tub was nice except that the kitchen was slightly raised up, and the roof lowered, such that the second kitchen and bottom floor could only be rented out to someone under 5 foot four. Which is discrimination.

House 3
For probably the fifth time in our housing search, we were unable to get into a house with our real estate agent. I actually highly recommend the peering in random windows/sneaking behind someone else's property tour of a home. Nothing gives you a better sense of the home and its security systems than by trying to break in and see whether the cabinets are maple or not. Nothing says I want this house like trying to jimmy a lock to get a better look at someone's water heater. Plus, if the neighbors call the cops at least you know they care. Note: The cops have never been called. If you ever decide to take up burglary I'd suggest the house viewing method.
"What, no, these aren't mine, but my wife and I just wanted to see what their jewels/stereo equipment felt like before we bought the house."

House #4
We'd heard for months that NE DC was a horrendous place to live, and that everyone who drove through the area was shot/mugged/killed in no particular order. So we decided to check it out, and we found something that might actually work.

To make matters complicated we immediately drove over to the nice townhouse in the inner ring suburbs and listened to the birds chirping, watched the light fall between cedar trees, and befriended a young married woman who was kind enough to show us into her house, trade stories with us about travel, and generally serve as a reminder that everyone in that neighborhood is nice/very similar to us.

Which life to choose?
Because I'm not really certain which life will work better for us, I'm assuming that this blog will lead to a sort of "It's a wonderful life moment" for me, where everyone will pour out gifts upon us so that we can buy both houses and screw old Mr. Potter, that cheat!

Anyhow, nice quiet inner ring suburb or bustling metropolis?

M: I'm exhausted. I don't think I can work on my writing tonight. I need you to wake up in the morning and work really hard on whipping my fiction into shape, fixing tense mistakes, grammar et al. Can you do that for me?

S: I want to say yes, but my heart is telling me no.
M: Your heart? I think you mean your head.
S: No, its my heart.
M: You should probably have that checked.

PS Watched Mamma Mia at the outdoor film festival today. To quote the great Ed McCarthy: "It's like watching a slide show of someone else's vacation, in which it's clear that they've had a really great time, but you're just sitting there, hoping that the next slide will be the last." Or something akin to that.