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5.30.2007

Lake Pictures! Because the Lake Is Definitely Not My House!

You can pretty much just read this post and that will fill you in on what's been going on lately. People offer low. We counter high (yet, still below market). They are never to be heard from again. Rinse and repeat.

So, let's talk about pleasant things, can we?

Like, how we went to the lake with friends this weekend.

Me, Myself and Vi


Where I drank way too many Mike's Hard Berry's and started wearing the kids' entertainment.

No, I have not seen your frisbee disc!
No, I have not seen your frisbee! Stop asking!


Go away now thanks bye!
Mmm. Nitrates.

I brought 1800 buns, yet a spatula never occurred to me.

Cave Men
A flattened Guiness container is handy!

Or a bottle opener.

Oh...was I supposed to bring the bottle opener?
Just before slicing his thumb open with a key. Here Gilbert! Have a bun!

Then of course we played drunk badminton. Which, incidentally, is much more fun than regular badminton because when you lose the birdy, you start using Oreos!

It was good to laugh and see Chris relax for the first time in a year and just hang out. In the sun, I should add. Which was so not okay since I am AllergenGirl. I've had scales on my face ever since. And I think I may possibly be growing a tail. I scare me.

What else is new? Oh! We are very tricky and clever and decided to take the house off the market for two whole days. This way we can relist on Friday and shock and amaze a buyer with our new-listing-ness. I know it's weak, but you've seen my other ideas and well, I think my dog and the deer would fight.

In other news, Savannah lost her first tooth!

Toof!


It only took three weeks of daily prodding, but it finally came out at story time at the library. Which, can I tell you what it means when your child hits a milestone at story time at the freaking library? It means you sound like the most rockingest parent ever. Because you listen to them call every grandparent and aunt to announce "I lost my tooth during story time at the library!".

And do you know what every family member is hearing? They're hearing "my mother is very actively involved in my upbringing and exposes me to good clean fun on a regular basis". What it doesn't say is "my mom is on the interweb all day while I serve myself soup from dented cans". And that is a good thing.

She's got a second loose one on the way. I think I'm going to take her to the Art & History Museum and bring pliers.

I will leave you with this: Would you like to know what the most awkward situation is? It's the one where you cancel your last session with your trainer claiming to have a "conference call" and then you're in the McDonalds drive-thru 10 minutes later shouting your McGriddle order into the intercom when you look up and see his face in your rear view mirror. With one eyebrow raised.

Now it's official. We have to move.

5.21.2007

Let's Title This One "House Post #173,949,287,050"

I was just looking at the option in Blogger for "change language" and I think I'm going to change this entire website to German. Just until the house sells. Then you'd no longer need to subject yourselves to the craptacular wonder that is my life.

Frikon this scheisse!

Oops! There I go again, being negative. I already forgot my new goal: to be ridiculously, unreasonably, psychotropic-ally positive.

For instance, on Friday when we found out we had another offer on the way while we were still negotiating Thursday's offer, I dressed completely in pink. And wore ponytails.

And then? When both offers fell through on Saturday? No problem. I made cookies in the shape of Ghandi.

Even the giant inexplicable stains that appeared on the front carpet couldn't bring me down. I just raced out and bought Precious Moments figurines.

And when we had two showings yesterday and absolutely no feedback, I stenciled hearts up and down my arm ...with a knife.

Mainly what we've surmised from this market is that our area is at record-breaking lows, that there are over 400 homes in our price range (about 100 houses for every buyer! Neat!), and that the slightest negative aspect will turn away an offer.

Bearing this in mind, for our last Open House, I was so meticulous that I ended up sacrificing my olive oil brush for a last-minute touch up of the cabinet paint. And yet, our realt*r still overheard a husband whisper to his wife "The cabinets are painted".

I so wish I were there, so that I could've stepped up and said :"Well, look at Mr. Obvious here! Damn right they're painted! It only took four months, three hundred dollars, and a torn tendon. AND? What of it?".

Then I would have flashed my Home Improvers gang sign.

I hate buyers. Hate them. It's like an abusive relationship. I hate how they're treating me. But, I want them to call.

I think I'm going to stage our next showing. I'm not messing around anymore.

I'm renting animals and people.

At the exact moment the buyers look at our backyard a doe will gallop across our grass with her fawn.

And then two bluebirds will carry a tiny blanket in their beaks before gently laying it on a sleeping bunny.

I'm also going to rent different neighbors.

So, when the buyers walk out the front door, a family of six rides by on bikes at that exact moment and waves. Before stopping to deliver a fresh pie.

And then an ice cream man (that doesn't look like a serial killer driving a modified panelled van) will pull up and 50 clean, well-mannered children will scamper over clutching their allowance money while their parents watch from their porch rocking chairs.

That's all I'm missing. That and a positive attitude.

Now. Does anyone know how angry a caged deer is likely to get?

5.17.2007

Just Tell Me When It's Over

We just received another purchase offer.

(Is it you guys? Did you collectively pool your money just to put my pathetic self out of my misery? So that I can write a post that doesn't have the words "realt*r" and "woe" and "misery" in it? And Chris can go back to just being Chris instead of the White Stallion?)

I'm visualizing happy things.

I'm visualizing a full-price purchase agreement. I'm visualizing writing the final m*rtgage payment. I'm visualizing handing the keys over. I'm visualizing Matthew McConaughey's glistening body running down the beach and...oh, wait. Wrong fantasy.

I'm visualizing the end result: us living in a home we love in a city we love near our family.

We just faxed our counter offer.

Now we wait.

Not trying to hear that

Lord grant me the serenity.

5.14.2007

Off Her

Updated Below

I woke up Saturday morning in a foul mood. Which was weird because on Friday night I felt happy and positive. Chris and I and Savannah went out for Mexican food and I had two margaritas. One was happy. One was positive. Ha!

But, then Saturday morning I felt sad and mopey and I went downstairs and sat in our front window and looked out on the very presentable street (sans crazy people) and admired our lush green lawn and silently wondered why no one wants to buy my house.

Then the phone rang.

We had a full price offer.

Hearing those words from our realt*r caused me to spontaneously hang up on her - I'm still not sure why - and run upstairs where Chris was in the shower.

"What news would make our lives so much better right now?"

"Getting an offer."

"A full price offer!"

We were overjoyed. I called the realt*r back and we made plans to meet an hour later to respond to the offer.

In that hour I was a ball of emotions. I felt relieved and I felt very sad. This is the only home my daughter has ever known. Our best friends live right down the street. While we know we must move, there is still sorrow when it becomes a reality.

So, I decided I'd write a letter! Of course I did! I wrote the buyer a letter telling her that I had hoped so much to turn this house over to someone that would take care of it the way we have.

I told her that this house is full of so much love and so many memories.

I told her that we like to walk home from dinner on warm summer nights.

I told her we like to ride our bikes through the wine country. (We totally would have too if Chris had put air in my tires.)

I typed and cried and purged.

When the realt*r arrived, I gave her my letter to include in our response. That is when she told us that the buyer's realt*r admitted that they were also submitting an offer on another house.

Huh.

But, our realt*r assured us that both she and her buyer "loved" our house and thought it was "gorgeous". They referred to it as "the cottage house" and given the information our realt*r has, she was sure that they were just "low-balling" on the other house and that ours was the one to which she was truly committed.

We responded with a counter-offer that addressed an item regarding her closing costs. We sent it off along with my letter and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

That was Saturday.

It is now Monday evening.

Countless phone calls to the buyer's realt*r later and we are all left scratching our heads. I want to give her the benefit of the doubt. I want to believe that someone who "loves" my house and reads a letter where I pour my heart out about leaving it, would have the decency to let me know that she changed her mind.

Did you even know this was possible?

I'm assuming that the offer on the other house was accepted, to her surprise. I'm assuming that she's thrilled that in this soft market, she was able to score a deal with a desperate seller. I'm assuming that this was all a cruel joke.

I'm assuming this is why the dog had diarrhea all over the carpet.

I think it also contributed to Chris walking around our house this weekend in front of our guests with a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass while referring to himself as "White Stallion".

As one of them laughingly said the next morning, "I can't unsee what I saw last night".

We are not handling this well.

Updated: She chose the other house. Her realt*r didn't know how to break it to us, so she avoided us altogether. Our realt*r had to corner her this morning to get an answer. Unbelievable.

5.08.2007

You Must Be Joking

I would welcome this as an entertaining plot twist were this not my life.

One couple came through the house last week. One.

For the first time in literally a full year everything came together in our neighborhood last weekend. Almost every lawn was mowed and green. Spring disguised weeds into "wildflowers". The sky was a crisp blue adorned with big fluffy white clouds. People were actually out pushing jogging strollers and walking dogs. Walking dogs! Expensive SUV's were driving around. It was splendiful!

Do you think anyone came? At all? Even one?

No.

Would you like to know when that one couple came? Three days later. In a driving rain. With gray skies. Which I would have been able to handle on its own were it not for...

the crazy man...

strolling down the sidewalk...

in the pouring rain...

without an umbrella...

or jacket.

Strolling.

And also glaring! As if strolling is not enough!

Awesome.

As Chris and I jumped in the car we saw him coming. 'Oh God, please don't let them pull up right now'.

But, of course they did. And Chris let out a small cry like a wounded bird. A wounded bird with a very large m*rtgage.

And as we slowly drove away we watched the nice lady get out of her car and come face to face with the crazy on the sidewalk. She gave him a weak smile and he stared her down.

A crazy man stared her down! I could not have orchestrated it better myself!

Needless to say, we have not heard from them since.

Over the last three years we have occasionally seen some characters:
  • a 300 pound latina woman walking down the center of the street in her sweats with one leg pulled up above a knee and the most giant red bow I have ever seen in her hair
  • the old man with a shaved head and vacant eyes who shuffles around the neighborhood with his pants unzipped
  • a young guy dressed all in black dragging a large garbage bag behind him down the sidewalk
While these weirdos are outweighed by the mostly normal people in our neighborhood, we had a suspicion that something was not right at the end of the street - the direction they hail from.

And hey, we were right for once!

Our neighbor confirmed for us that there is, in fact, a house for crazy people at the end of the block. A real loony bin! Right here on our street in our flaccid market! Admittedly most convenient given my current mental state.

We weren't sure what to make of this discovery until last night when our realt*r said this:

"Well, let's just hope we sell before it gets really hot. ...That's when the 300 pound lady walks down the middle of the street in her red bikini".

We immediately lowered our price. For a fourth time. Which was rewarded with a jaunty sign.

A sign which I've taken it upon myself to alter in order to convey the truth of the matter:

P.S. Next post is going to be positive, I swear to god, it's going to be about unicorns and kittens. Although, are kittens positive? I have a stain on the new carpet that says otherwise.

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