My favorite thing about being on a house search is the quality time that S and I spend together in the evenings. Typically, S arrives home around 6:30 or so from work, meanwhile I've been slaving away on the 11-4 three day a week shift at the library, and starts to look at houses. She then proceeds to look at houses for about two to three hours, scrolling through pictures and trying to count the number of cabinets in the kitchen. Changing camera angles to see if she's missed one that just might be underneath the dishwasher. "I just need somewhere to put that cheese cloth I bought."
As it turns out cheese cloths have nothing to do with cheese. Or very little. Honestly, I don't know what a cheese cloth is.
"I like that they have an indoor pool and an English butler named Nigel or Jeeves depending on your preference, but I'm really going to need a spot for that cake cooling pan."
It's ostensibly like being married to a zombie, except instead of their sole desire being to eat your cranial fluids, their sole desire is to count kitchen cabinets. I guess the analogy breaks down rather quickly. Unless zombies enjoy stainless steel appliances as well. I know about as much about zombies as I do about cheese cloths.
The fourth house was charming. It was charming in the sort of way, where when you were on the second floor you noticed the floor slanting so precipitously that you find yourself wondering why they don't have a slip and slide laid down on the carpet. The closets had half of old staircases that lead to nowhere in them, which is actually useful. Every time I open my closet I'm thinking, "I could use a few random steps leading to nowhere. Who needs shoe space when you've got that?"
The back deck was falling apart and rickety in the sort of way that makes you want to be sure that your will is in order before you step out for some lemonade. That said, something about it was charming. In the same house where S would have closed the closet door in disgust, we described the odd protuberances as quirky. The original windows with cracked frames=quirky. The room with the five foot ceilings directly connected to the master bedroom=quirky.
S: I think this house is still settling.
M: When was this house built?
Seller: 1930.
Later
M: That's what they get for building on quicksand.
We watched another young couple walking around the house, taking lawn samples or something. Looking at the property in an authoritative way that indicated that they were interested. I'm not sure how to go about developing this look myself, but I'm thinking that a top hat and a waxed mustache might do the trick. Failing that, I'm thinking that it would be a good idea to start bringing a tent to all the open houses and claiming squatter's rights. Nothing says I want to buy this place like urinating on the front lawn at six A.M. out an open tent flap.
"What? No. This is just how I prefer to water the lawn. All natural my friend. Honey, wake up. I think we're going to have to leave."
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
House # 3
The third house was really more of an apartment. And when I say really more of an apartment, I mean it was the exterior of an apartment building that we were locked out of. I found it really hard to get a feeling for the place from the front entrance, and we didn't have any pictures. I'm guessing that it had five walls in every room, a live in cockatoo, that strangely butch maid from the Jetsons, and a harpsichord, played by someone distantly related to the English royal family. One does never know, now do they?
Additional questions for agents that every D.C. owner/renter should ask.
With the help of Mike.
"Does this place have asbestos in the walls? No. How much would it cost to get something like that put in?"
"I'm thinking of flooding the exterior of the house and sort of turning it into an aquarium. Do you think that table will float or not? If you want me to buy the house Ted, you'll say that it will stay anchored. (It's important to nod or wink at Ted at this point in your conversation, so he knows he's dealing with a real player).
Granite, Granite, all I ever hear about is granite. What's it going to cost me to get some sheep's wool on these f-ing counters Ted!?"
Random conversations from a night spent at home.
S: Oh, I almost asked a stupid question.
M: Well, you were asking a question so....
S: I will stab you in the eyeball with a fork.
S walks toward the dish drainer where I've been "stacking" the dishes. I use the term loosely because I've piled them in some strange configuration, which resembles an Egyptian hieroglyph/impending disaster.
S: What is going on here. (Begins fixing the dish drainer)
M: What are you doing?
S: I'm fixing this.
M: You're destroying a very complex system that I've worked out to put away the dishes.
S: I'm fixing your system.
M: I worked hard on that system. It took hours.
S: I'm fixing your broke ass system.
M: That hurts. Don't forget, many a truth is said in jest.
S: Who said I was jesting?
Additional questions for agents that every D.C. owner/renter should ask.
With the help of Mike.
"Does this place have asbestos in the walls? No. How much would it cost to get something like that put in?"
"I'm thinking of flooding the exterior of the house and sort of turning it into an aquarium. Do you think that table will float or not? If you want me to buy the house Ted, you'll say that it will stay anchored. (It's important to nod or wink at Ted at this point in your conversation, so he knows he's dealing with a real player).
Granite, Granite, all I ever hear about is granite. What's it going to cost me to get some sheep's wool on these f-ing counters Ted!?"
Random conversations from a night spent at home.
S: Oh, I almost asked a stupid question.
M: Well, you were asking a question so....
S: I will stab you in the eyeball with a fork.
S walks toward the dish drainer where I've been "stacking" the dishes. I use the term loosely because I've piled them in some strange configuration, which resembles an Egyptian hieroglyph/impending disaster.
S: What is going on here. (Begins fixing the dish drainer)
M: What are you doing?
S: I'm fixing this.
M: You're destroying a very complex system that I've worked out to put away the dishes.
S: I'm fixing your system.
M: I worked hard on that system. It took hours.
S: I'm fixing your broke ass system.
M: That hurts. Don't forget, many a truth is said in jest.
S: Who said I was jesting?
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
House # 2
To be honest, I don't really remember house #2 all that well. I believe it was built in the nineteen fifties. The interior was nice, but the yard stretched on for a country mile. I stood in the backyard, picturing myself mowing the lawn on a Saturday while S stirred up some lemonade. Then I pictured myself sitting in an air conditioned house watching a football game, and I realized that this wasn't the house for me.
A: "The yard is too big."
S: "The yard is too big?"
A: "I keep talking with my brother and my dad and they're spending all their time in the yard slaving away on weekends."
Had a brief conversation with the seller. We exchanged pleasantries. He kept trying to sell us on the big master bedroom that didn't have a door. I wanted to ask how much a door would have cost. In my understanding, you can have one painted in about ten seconds. Then again, most of my knowledge comes from Looney Tunes cartoons that I watched when I was seven. I may not be the best home buyer. I always imagine myself walking in, setting down a hat of some sort, preferably a fedora, and asking the agent all sorts of incisive questions.
"What's the insulation like in this place?"
"Do you have any mold problems?"
"Why is their a staircase on the third floor that leads to nowhere?" (At this point I'm actually looking at the Winchester Mystery House)
"What are the property taxes?"
"If I wanted to start an Alpaca farm do you think the neighbors would be amenable?"
"Does this place have a washer and dryer hook up?"
"How do I look in this shirt? It feels a little tight through the shoulders, but I can never get a proper look at my back in the mirror?"
"Is the basement finished?"
"How much would it cost to remodel this kitchen?"
"How many kids do you think we could chain in the crawl space in the attic?" "What, no. It's really more of a hypothetical thing."
And so on.
A: "The yard is too big."
S: "The yard is too big?"
A: "I keep talking with my brother and my dad and they're spending all their time in the yard slaving away on weekends."
Had a brief conversation with the seller. We exchanged pleasantries. He kept trying to sell us on the big master bedroom that didn't have a door. I wanted to ask how much a door would have cost. In my understanding, you can have one painted in about ten seconds. Then again, most of my knowledge comes from Looney Tunes cartoons that I watched when I was seven. I may not be the best home buyer. I always imagine myself walking in, setting down a hat of some sort, preferably a fedora, and asking the agent all sorts of incisive questions.
"What's the insulation like in this place?"
"Do you have any mold problems?"
"Why is their a staircase on the third floor that leads to nowhere?" (At this point I'm actually looking at the Winchester Mystery House)
"What are the property taxes?"
"If I wanted to start an Alpaca farm do you think the neighbors would be amenable?"
"Does this place have a washer and dryer hook up?"
"How do I look in this shirt? It feels a little tight through the shoulders, but I can never get a proper look at my back in the mirror?"
"Is the basement finished?"
"How much would it cost to remodel this kitchen?"
"How many kids do you think we could chain in the crawl space in the attic?" "What, no. It's really more of a hypothetical thing."
And so on.
Monday, July 13, 2009
House #1
This blog has re-launched as the D.C. housing blog. I'm throwing a party over at my place right now to celebrate. We're serving fruit punch spiked with Sprite, but the party has been pretty low key thus far. I'm assuming the cops won't break it up like the last book club meeting we had.
The first house we looked at on Sunday had a real estate agent who was sweating profusely. She kept saying that the house had air conditioning, but she wasn't sure how to make it work. I'm thinking, is this the best way to sell a house? By playing a game of sweat out. Incidentally, S and I were actually feeling pretty good in the house, so the conversation seemed unnecessary. S and I explored the kitchen where she made notes on her pad about how many cabinets it had.
We wandered outside and were barked at profusely by a dog that sort of looked like the Turner and Hooch dog. He was drooling and I'm fairly certain that if he had full use of his legs, he would have jumped the fence and bitten us. I wanted to walk back into the house and ask if the dog came with the house or if we had to pay extra for the barking. The family also put a carport where I would have liked to have a vegetable garden. It seemed really shortsighted of the previous tenants to have put a car port where my vegetable garden was supposed to be and frankly a little selfish.
Then we wandered downstairs to the finished basement, which featured a ceiling of an appropriate height for people of S's height, but sadly head smacking for us taller folk. Then we went upstairs and inspected the bathroom. One thing I've learned from looking at houses built in the 1950's is that people used to be smaller. Or they were really attached to the idea of brushing their teeth while sitting on the toilet. I'm not sure which it is because I didn't live in the fifties.
I'm also hoping for a home with double sinks because S likes to loom around the bathroom when I'm trying to brush my teeth and suddenly swoop in when I need to spit. She claims that its happenstance, but I think it's fair to say that it's an aggressive campaign devised to keep me from using the bathroom. Eventually she'll have the full run of the place, which is what women want. At least according to this great Mel Gibson movie I saw years ago.
The first house we looked at on Sunday had a real estate agent who was sweating profusely. She kept saying that the house had air conditioning, but she wasn't sure how to make it work. I'm thinking, is this the best way to sell a house? By playing a game of sweat out. Incidentally, S and I were actually feeling pretty good in the house, so the conversation seemed unnecessary. S and I explored the kitchen where she made notes on her pad about how many cabinets it had.
We wandered outside and were barked at profusely by a dog that sort of looked like the Turner and Hooch dog. He was drooling and I'm fairly certain that if he had full use of his legs, he would have jumped the fence and bitten us. I wanted to walk back into the house and ask if the dog came with the house or if we had to pay extra for the barking. The family also put a carport where I would have liked to have a vegetable garden. It seemed really shortsighted of the previous tenants to have put a car port where my vegetable garden was supposed to be and frankly a little selfish.
Then we wandered downstairs to the finished basement, which featured a ceiling of an appropriate height for people of S's height, but sadly head smacking for us taller folk. Then we went upstairs and inspected the bathroom. One thing I've learned from looking at houses built in the 1950's is that people used to be smaller. Or they were really attached to the idea of brushing their teeth while sitting on the toilet. I'm not sure which it is because I didn't live in the fifties.
I'm also hoping for a home with double sinks because S likes to loom around the bathroom when I'm trying to brush my teeth and suddenly swoop in when I need to spit. She claims that its happenstance, but I think it's fair to say that it's an aggressive campaign devised to keep me from using the bathroom. Eventually she'll have the full run of the place, which is what women want. At least according to this great Mel Gibson movie I saw years ago.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Housing
Today we looked at houses. It's a fun thing to do when you're only marginally employed. It's nice to stand there idly shifting glasses on your nose and then saying that you just aren't as crazy about granite as everyone else and that you feel that recycled glass is really preferable. It's nice because the sellers don't know that you couldn't be pre-approved for anything over 10,000. My favorite thing to do is to ask the real estate agent if they allow pets? Then, regardless of the answer, I regale them with stories of all the antics and capers that Mr. Jingles gets into at our house. Typically, I ask if I can bring the cat inside on the next visit because I really think we'll know it's home when he looks comfortable.
Meanwhile, back in reality, my wife is opening every closet and peering into it closely as if she's looking for Narnia. I'm pretty sure that we'll run into Mr. Tumnis (sp?) one of these days. Meanwhile, I'm checking out the window, trying to see what the neighbors look like, and she's down the hallyway wondering if we'd be able to fit two vacum cleaners into the hall closet.
She also has a proclivity for wandering into the basement straight away. I'm thinking that we should start asking the agents all sorts of questions about hook ups for bathrooms, and televisions et al in these places, and pretty much just never leave the basement.
"Do you want to see the master bedroom?"
"No, I think we're all set here just looking through the basement. How many trowels would you say you could put on that wall?"
Blank experssion. "Because the previous owners pushed out the wall, and they've really got a nice master suite upstairs."
"My wife and I are actually from an ancient race of trolls, and it's too complicated to get into it right now."
Agent, switching tactics, because it's their job. "Oh yeah, actually the couple who lived here before had a dog, which is kind of like a troll. Are trolls like dogs? And the deck. Have you seen the deck?"
Inevitably when we convene in the basement, and S mumbles something about the degree of available storage I say, "Just think how many bodies you could fit down here?" I'm pretty sure she appreciates the joke, though she only laughed the first time. I suspect that when she frowns and takes copious notes about the dimensions of the house in lieu of responding, she's really just trying to hold back explosive bits of laughter. This is what happens to a child of the 80's who saw "The Burbs" at too young of an age.
Meanwhile, back in reality, my wife is opening every closet and peering into it closely as if she's looking for Narnia. I'm pretty sure that we'll run into Mr. Tumnis (sp?) one of these days. Meanwhile, I'm checking out the window, trying to see what the neighbors look like, and she's down the hallyway wondering if we'd be able to fit two vacum cleaners into the hall closet.
She also has a proclivity for wandering into the basement straight away. I'm thinking that we should start asking the agents all sorts of questions about hook ups for bathrooms, and televisions et al in these places, and pretty much just never leave the basement.
"Do you want to see the master bedroom?"
"No, I think we're all set here just looking through the basement. How many trowels would you say you could put on that wall?"
Blank experssion. "Because the previous owners pushed out the wall, and they've really got a nice master suite upstairs."
"My wife and I are actually from an ancient race of trolls, and it's too complicated to get into it right now."
Agent, switching tactics, because it's their job. "Oh yeah, actually the couple who lived here before had a dog, which is kind of like a troll. Are trolls like dogs? And the deck. Have you seen the deck?"
Inevitably when we convene in the basement, and S mumbles something about the degree of available storage I say, "Just think how many bodies you could fit down here?" I'm pretty sure she appreciates the joke, though she only laughed the first time. I suspect that when she frowns and takes copious notes about the dimensions of the house in lieu of responding, she's really just trying to hold back explosive bits of laughter. This is what happens to a child of the 80's who saw "The Burbs" at too young of an age.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Things that I find funny
I spent the morning sweeping up roaches and wishing that I was trying to put together an insect collection. Or that I was entomologist, if that's what entomologists do, look at insects that is. I wouldn't want to have that job if it was just sweeping up insects, unless they paid me like a hundred dollars an hour, then maybe I'd do it.
I also applied for a job today to work at Loyola College in Maryland. I'm fairly certain right now that they are trying to work out a proper signing bonus for me before they hire me on. That's the sort of thing that employers do when they get new resumes.
It's slightly chilly in D.C. tonight, which makes me kind of hate it. And I'm sure people are walking around thinking, "What a wonderful and lovely cool summer evening we're having." But they're probably from upstate New York or Boston, or somewhere else where it's always cold, and they think that it puts hair on your chest, and it's just another excuse to wear another layer. These people are crazy about layers. You'd think they'd make better cakes.......
I'm from California, so when it's slightly chilly outside I resent the whole Eastern seaboard. I immediately think of the long winter, when people from the Northeast are unhappy because it isn't snowing, and I'm watching my fingers turn blue. Winters here on the average last on average forever, which might seem like an exaggeration but not if you moved here from Santa Barbara. I used to bitch about the weather there as well, or at least complain that S would say every day, "It's so beautiful here!" while we watched the waves crash down and the sun drop into the sea in pinks and greens. Then I'd get annoyed and wonder why she couldn't just shut up about it being so nice. It's kind of like those sorts of good-looking people who go the extra mile to look even better. Can't they just enjoy the damn sunset without talking about how beautiful it is?
Oh, but on the bright side of things this video made me laugh.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rChjMRfi40c
Actually it made me giggle because when I'm laughing really hard I giggle. Which yes, is a little feminine, but I'm pretty certain it tightens the abs. And when is the last time you had a good giggle Mr. bigshot. It feels good to giggle. It's better than damn Pilates, giggling. Anyhow, I need to get back to studying insects in my kitchen with E.O. Wilson. I wish I had a cat sack to play with. I love the unbridled joy it brings me when it crinkles.
I also applied for a job today to work at Loyola College in Maryland. I'm fairly certain right now that they are trying to work out a proper signing bonus for me before they hire me on. That's the sort of thing that employers do when they get new resumes.
It's slightly chilly in D.C. tonight, which makes me kind of hate it. And I'm sure people are walking around thinking, "What a wonderful and lovely cool summer evening we're having." But they're probably from upstate New York or Boston, or somewhere else where it's always cold, and they think that it puts hair on your chest, and it's just another excuse to wear another layer. These people are crazy about layers. You'd think they'd make better cakes.......
I'm from California, so when it's slightly chilly outside I resent the whole Eastern seaboard. I immediately think of the long winter, when people from the Northeast are unhappy because it isn't snowing, and I'm watching my fingers turn blue. Winters here on the average last on average forever, which might seem like an exaggeration but not if you moved here from Santa Barbara. I used to bitch about the weather there as well, or at least complain that S would say every day, "It's so beautiful here!" while we watched the waves crash down and the sun drop into the sea in pinks and greens. Then I'd get annoyed and wonder why she couldn't just shut up about it being so nice. It's kind of like those sorts of good-looking people who go the extra mile to look even better. Can't they just enjoy the damn sunset without talking about how beautiful it is?
Oh, but on the bright side of things this video made me laugh.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rChjMRfi40c
Actually it made me giggle because when I'm laughing really hard I giggle. Which yes, is a little feminine, but I'm pretty certain it tightens the abs. And when is the last time you had a good giggle Mr. bigshot. It feels good to giggle. It's better than damn Pilates, giggling. Anyhow, I need to get back to studying insects in my kitchen with E.O. Wilson. I wish I had a cat sack to play with. I love the unbridled joy it brings me when it crinkles.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Vacation
8:20-Finish a brief dispute I was having with my alarm clock about when to wake up. I recently returned from a vacation where I got an average of about six hours a night. Somebody somewhere needs to queue the quote "I need a vacation from my vacation." A little part of me just died inside.
9-10:00-Spend the morning surfing around the internet (do kids still use the word surfing? Is it browsing? Somebody somewhere queue the quote "The Internet is not a place it's a series of tubes. Apply for a job at Montogomery County Community College. Kind of think that the third C is a bit of overkill. MCCC. Too many right?
We've been having a minor battle with a colony of roaches that have taken up residence in our walls. We've had the exterminator come by and spray down our cabinets, which my wife insists is going to poison us. I try to reassure her by telling her that Scientists, which I always spell with a capital S, have worked out a poison that provides strong bones for us while killing roaches dead in their tracks. Queue RRRRAAIDDD/dying roaches.
Upon returning from our brief vacation to our humble little apartment that had just been sprayed for roaches, we were greeted on the front entryway by a scuttling black insect. Needless to say we were thrilled at the effectiveness of the exterminator. I guess in this economy you want to be certain of work, so it wouldn't be a good idea to do a good job all at once.
I've tried to suggest that if spraying doesn't work that we should shrink ourselves down and slowly mate with the roaches, thus changing our differences over time. Steph is skeptical.
Which reminds me: Typical evening scene.
S wanders into the kitchen.
(Shriek ensues)
S: "Bring me a shoe!"
A: "Did you see a roach!"
S: "Yes, bring me a shoe!"
A: "Reason with it. Reason with it!"
S: "Throw me your shoe!"
A: "Reason with it!"
S squashes with shoe.
A: "Well that's not going to solve the bigger issue that's going on here."
Leaves in a huff.
7:29-Conduct an argument with my wife in which she accuses me of misquoting her in a previous blog. "I don't think I said that the statue of Paolo and Francesca was boring."
Me: "I might have just put that in there for a affect."
S: "James Frey."
Me: "Did you just call me James Frey?"
9-10:00-Spend the morning surfing around the internet (do kids still use the word surfing? Is it browsing? Somebody somewhere queue the quote "The Internet is not a place it's a series of tubes. Apply for a job at Montogomery County Community College. Kind of think that the third C is a bit of overkill. MCCC. Too many right?
We've been having a minor battle with a colony of roaches that have taken up residence in our walls. We've had the exterminator come by and spray down our cabinets, which my wife insists is going to poison us. I try to reassure her by telling her that Scientists, which I always spell with a capital S, have worked out a poison that provides strong bones for us while killing roaches dead in their tracks. Queue RRRRAAIDDD/dying roaches.
Upon returning from our brief vacation to our humble little apartment that had just been sprayed for roaches, we were greeted on the front entryway by a scuttling black insect. Needless to say we were thrilled at the effectiveness of the exterminator. I guess in this economy you want to be certain of work, so it wouldn't be a good idea to do a good job all at once.
I've tried to suggest that if spraying doesn't work that we should shrink ourselves down and slowly mate with the roaches, thus changing our differences over time. Steph is skeptical.
Which reminds me: Typical evening scene.
S wanders into the kitchen.
(Shriek ensues)
S: "Bring me a shoe!"
A: "Did you see a roach!"
S: "Yes, bring me a shoe!"
A: "Reason with it. Reason with it!"
S: "Throw me your shoe!"
A: "Reason with it!"
S squashes with shoe.
A: "Well that's not going to solve the bigger issue that's going on here."
Leaves in a huff.
7:29-Conduct an argument with my wife in which she accuses me of misquoting her in a previous blog. "I don't think I said that the statue of Paolo and Francesca was boring."
Me: "I might have just put that in there for a affect."
S: "James Frey."
Me: "Did you just call me James Frey?"
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