House Porn, for real
I added some photos of the house to flickr (or by following this link). These are the pics off zillow.com, so aren't representative of our furniture (non-existent) etc. For whatever reason, there are no photos of the back (and biggest) bedroom. There are also nopictures of the backyard (which is probably just as well, for now). Or the garage.
Trading one anxiety for another
So, today, I discovered when TW tickets go on sale. Calendar entry with 30 minute and 15 minute alarm set.
But then I found out that my boss is leaving. Which will probably result in a restructure of the office, which could go any way and have different implications regarding how things pan out.
There may not be enough lorazepam in the world to get me through the next few months.
I thought House Closing would be bad
but, not knowing precisely when Tom Waits tickets are going on sale is causing Great Anxiety. The Raindogs list, not much help.
I sucked down two lorazepam (1 mgs each) between 9 pm and 3 am this morning and still I couldn't sleep. A small glass of wine at 4 and things got a little better. I just need it to be June. In June I can relax.
Until then, at least there's Mario. My work here at Mario is keeping me (mostly) calm and collected.
I spent hours this weekend (plus hours earlier in the week) looking for furniture. Remember how I found a house so fast and easy? The decisiveness I exhibited when house buying is not evident in the hunt for furniture. This is what I need immediately: living room furniture and a new bedroom set. (And area rugs for both). We may end up living on tatami mats, instead.
Lazy, much?
The door from the lobby of my building to the corridor off which my office sits, is at the top of a small ramp and the at the bottom of the ramp is one of those little red buttons, to assist disabled people in opening the door (I know this is what it is for, since it has the universal sign for "handicap" right next to it. I know people who are perfectly abled who will use this button all the time. I, myself, push the door open the regular way.
A couple of years ago, one of my co-workers actually walked halfway up the ramp, realized she hadn't pressed the button and then walked back down the ramp to press it. I made fun of her relentlessly for this.
Today, though, I saw something that made my eyes bug out. I was the first person in the office today, but I brought the wrong set of keys. I sweet-talked the guard into letting me into my office, and a girl walked in and started up the ramp behind us. She pressed the red button but the door didn't open and I SWEAR she just stood there, glaring, until the security guard walked back down the ramp and pressed it again.
What really got me, beyond the sheer laziness, was the look of entitlement on her face. She didn't even try pressing the button again, she just stared at the security guard until he walked back down to do it for her. Her arms, empty. Her arms, fully functional.
This girl is a future doctor of America.
Now I'm all riled up and I wish I'd been snarky, but it was too early in the morning.
CasaChristy Goes West
(But not West of Skinker)
We've moved up the closing date to May 12th, which is exactly 1 month (or 4 weeks and a day) after I peered into the first house. The Toms (realtor and husband) are amazed that it happened this fast. Tom the husband said that when he talked to his (another) cousin last week, she mentioned that it took them 6 months to find a place. But we (I) knew what we (I) wanted and we (I) got lucky and found it early.
Let the packing (re) commence!
I think I'm going to donate my books and take the tax deduction. The plan was for Little N to take all of the discarded books and keep them in her basement so that she could go through them and take what she wants, but I don't think she really understands how many books this is. For instance, I have packed up around 25 boxes of books, and I still have most of two 6-foot bookcases and all of three bookcases to pack up, in addition to the ones NOT on bookcases. The number of bookcases completely cleared? One of six. The ratio of boxes to keep vs. boxes to get rid of is running about 1:1 right now. I expect that is representative of the entire project. That's not as good as the 1:2 ratio I'd hoped for, but that goal was created when I thought we'd be moving into another apartment. Now, we will have plenty of basement storage space. The question is: to whom should I donate these books????
I came thiiisssss close to hitting the purchase button for an Amazon Kindle this morning and then I chickened out. But, I really, really, really want one (and I don't want to wait until Christmas). I want one of these so badly that when the mortgage company inquired today about something on my credit report, I kept myself from freaking out by telling myself that if this house thing falls through, at least I can buy a Kindle. Maybe I'll feel better about it after I hemorrhage all the money at closing. I can wait that long at least. I've tried to rationalize this by saying (to myself) that I need one of these at least as much as we need a washer and dryer, because it would be pointless to buy this house, purge all of my books, only to re-amass them. The Kindle holds like 200 of them (which is more than I buy in a year) and has expandable storage. See Tom? No more books!
Or, perhaps I should wait for v.2.
June 2 is more than just someone's birthday I've forgotten
On June 2nd, weather permitting, I am going to walk to work. I am going to walk home from work. But, just in case my plans go awry, I'll make sure Tom doesn't leave for Decatur until June 3rd.
We had the house inspection today; there are a few problems, but nothing, Tom (the Realtor, not the husband) said he thinks the buyer will balk at fixing. I realized that unless I want to fill up a room with books (and I don't), we have more space than we have stuff (like furniture).
I managed to clean off the clothes monster and most of under it (shoes), and filled 3 30 gallon bags with clothes and shoes. Not to mention another 2 with sundry items to be tossed. I did this in less than 2 hours. Perhaps the job is not as insurmountable as I first imagined.
Radio Ga-Ga
Not quite so synchronous as below: JC Corcoran played Weird Al's parody of "Achy Breaky Heart" in which he repeats that the Achy Breaky is the most annoying song he knows; JC then followed it with Wesley Willis' "Cut the Mullet" which is the most annoying song I know.
I had to turn the radio down.
Synchronicity
On Angel yesterday morning, Charisma Carpenter asked to be demonized, already. A little more than an hour later, on Charmed, Charisma Carpenter, playing a demon, in an entirely different TV universe, asked to become human.
This is just as meaningful, I'm sure, as when the X-Files episode "Musings of a Cigarette Smoking Man" aired, in the natural course of its syndication on TNT, on Martin Luther King day.
Don't Know Why I Fight It
My most productive hours are in the morning, and I really should take advantage of the fact that I'm often up very, very early in the morning, instead of laying there hoping to fall back to sleep. The last two mornings, I've gotten my ass out of bed early and prepared for the move. Yesterday morning, I cleaned off the dresser (a more major undertaking than you can probably imagine) and the "junk" drawer, which was also a major undertaking. To wit: I found a letter that I wrote the POB a couple of weeks BEFORE we moved into the apartment (which was in January of '02), when we were living in the un-refinished, gloomy, grimy apartment downstairs from us, which had no heat. Our landlords let us live there for free while they were finishing up the rehab on my place upstairs.
I threw the letter away, mostly because there was an entire item (of 16) devoted to the fact that we drank too much, and that while I wasn't going to ask him to do anything about his drinking, both of us drinking was incendiary, and so I would curtail my own, instead. I actually wrote that I would: "...take one for the team, if you will."
This morning I took 40 minutes or so and packed up 4 boxes of books, one box of which is non-keepers. This particular bookshelf, however, holds the classics, and a number of my favorites, so that isn't representative of what's going vs. what I'm keeping. Further, there are still books on this bookshelf. I have 4 more 6-foot cases after this one, plus a couple of hundred upstairs.
I'm seriously thinking about giving away ALL my clothes and just buying new ones. It might be cheaper than moving them.
House and More House
I'm sure these are common stages when buying a house (especially a first house). A year ago, I didn't think we'd ever even be able to buy a house. But when the housing market and interest rates dropped, I figured this would be the optimal time for someone to be inclined to loan us money. So, we checked with a mortgage company recommended by Tom's cousin, and the agent pre-approved us on April 7. I scoured stlpropertysearch.com for properties, set up an appointment with Tom's cousin, the agent for April 12. We then showed Tom two of them the next day, and after, Tom and I drove around looking for For Sale signs, grabbing brochures when available. That's when we found "our" house. I looked at that house and 3 others on Wednesday, April 16th. Tom and I and the agent looked at this house again on Saturday the 19th, as well as a handful of others. Tom and I signed the offer paperwork Sunday night. Our offer was countered and accepted on Monday, April 21. The inspection is next Monday and we sign the loan paperwork on Tuesday, in anticipation of closing, which is occurring at some mystery date in the future.
Holy Shit. That was f'ing fast.
I'd be more excited if I didn't see the incredible amount of work that needs to be done towards the exiting of the apartment.
Expectant Bosses
My boss told me yesterday that she's 7 weeks pregnant. And she's having a hard time with morning sickness. And, apparently, afternoon sickness and really all the hours except 6-8 pm sickness. As a result, she's been taking some sick time. I, myself, have no problem with this. I imagine that no one else in the office will have a problem with this. Why should we? But, if this had been last month, crabby, crappy, unhappy
co-worker would have been marking the days on her calendar and
complaining about this every day. I never really understood this attitude, and why it made crappy, crabby, unhappy co-worker pop out of her skin? It doesn't affect the nature, scope, or quantity of our work load if the boss isn't here, but CCUCW took personal affront every time the boss took a sick or vacation time. I just use this to my advantage, that is: I don't feel guilty when I take sick or vacation time. My work doesn't suffer and that's why Mario gives us the days anyway. I never understood why CCUCW never saw it that way.
But, it isn't last month, it is this month and CCUCW has left for other pastures (which I imagine aren't going to be any greener for her in the long run). It's so refreshing when you work in an office filled with rational, normal, happy people.
Why do there always have to be titles?
I grew out of my panic yesterday and leveled into a low-grade excitement. If this falls through for any reason, I will be extremely disappointed. Yesterday afternoon, Berkeley rushed into the Pig, where I was all like squee! we're going to be neighbors, and she was all like squee! we'll have to get a bigger pool. And if you've ever seen a 38-year old woman squee! with a 50-year old woman, you know you don't want to see it again.
It got more exciting. She told me that the Little Irishman (who is once again her swain -- did I just write swain? -- anyway) the Little Irishman looked, with a realtor, at the house across the street (I looked at this one, too, and my info sheet shows that it was a great house, but it just wasn't right for Tom and me, but would be perfect for the Little Irishman).
It'll be like a compound now.
I want to buy a tree. Or a couple of trees. Trees are not very expensive. If you join the Arbor Day Foundation ($15/yr) they will give you 10 free trees. I think that all of you should go to arborday.org on Friday (April 25) and join. Or buy a single tree. Plant it. Name it, even. I'm going to name my Red Bud tree Dawn.
The Day after Sunday, Again.
The sellers counter-offered and we accepted it, and I signed the contract. As I stood by the receptionist's desk to fax the signed contract pages, I told her, "You are about to witness the most adult moment in my life." In fact, I told her, she was now witness to the two most adult moments in my life.
Spending money always, always, always makes me feel a little sick to my stomach. Seeing as how this is the most money I will have committed to spending, once it's all said and done, it's perfectly natural that I'd be fairly panicking right now. Right?
Off to the rationalizations.
Still Don't Know What I Was Waiting For
We're putting an offer on a house today. Last night, after we left the our realtor's office, where we signed all the offer paperwork, and after we spent some time and a glass of wine and some spinach toasted raviolis listening to EB at Hammerstone's, I said as we got out of the car on our street, "I've never lived anywhere as long as I've lived here." I haven't. My parents were in the Air Force and we settled in Belleville when I was 13. We lived in two houses between that time and the time I left for college. Then I left for college. Until December of 2000, the longest I'd ever had one address was four years.
Buying a house is more of a commitment than marriage. Blocker and I discussed this yesterday walking home from the Stadium. Can you imagine if you wanted a divorce, but you had to wait for someone to take your spouse off your hands first?
In some ways, I'll be a little relieved if our offer isn't accepted. I thought I'd have more time before I felt overwhelmed. But, I do love this house. It's big, it has not one, but two jetted tubs, four toilets, a pretty big kitchen, two decks, a small yard, patio, a large basement for storage and a garage. In the city. A garage. Berkeley lives down the block, it's closer to work (as if I could get any closer) and, like Blocker, who saw the outside said, "It's solid."
I don't think we're going to be able to do better than this. I'm still overwhelmed, though.
Disaster
I'm pretty sure we just experienced an earthquake this morning. I can't get this confirmed anywhere but Twitter, but hey if Aubrey felt it as far west as St. Charles, then I'm convinced. My Belleek plate fell over; I heard other things fall. The windows shook, and I really need to check on the status of the window upstairs (already slightly cracked, but epoxied). I wondered about the wisdom of staying here on the middle floor of the building. What if the floor above me falls? Am I safer on top? Should I go upstairs? (I just watched the end of The Mothman Prophecies, and though I know nothing of the prophecies, I do know what I'd do if I was on a bridge that was breaking apart. Living in the midwest, and having lived in the southeast, I'm well versed in the taking of shelter during hurricanes and tornadoes, but despite living in California and Alaska, I am unprepared for acts of god like Earthquakes.
(It's official, now. 5.4, epicentered in West Salem, IL).
The birds are singing again. I think it's safe to go back in the water.
Growing Up
Wow. Who knew getting married could be so fruitful? Tom came with an accountant, so this is the first tax season I haven't broken out into a cold sweat as April approaches.
[house porn and heartbreak redacted].
Work is kick ass lately, but it is also kicking my ass. I have never loved my job (or any job) more than I love this one right now. I should come up with a clever name, like the Queen did for her employer, like maybe Mario (from a constant misreading of a memorial plaque on my way into the building). And then, when I'm irritated with my job or my employer, I can call it Wario.
So, I totally love my job here at Mario. Even though today I feel like I landed on a Bowser space.
(I have lost two potential foreclosure houses by thiiissss much. I need a better line on these).
The Portable Casa
This post is coming from the Pig and Whistle. Earlier, I stopped at Veruca to pick up goodies for tonight's trivia (no, not the SRG trivia, as the last two years have sucked, and couldn't have gotten anyone interested if I'd tried). Instead, I got together my work peeps and some friends.
Now, I'm waiting to pick up lunch from Benton Park Cafe for me and Little N. I'm killing time with an iced tea.
I drove by the house with my dream kitchen yesterday on my way home from work; I zillow-ed it, and I am feeling a lot better about the neighborhood. Tom drove by yesterday, also, and is less than enthusiastic -- I also drove by another address on my list and knew immediately it was off the list. Compared to THAT neighborhood, this block in Fox Park is looking positively gentrified.
So, this is the morning scene at the Pig on Saturday. I'm holding down one end of the bar. Little N's stalker ass is next to me at the corner, not keeping the music from his laptop to himself. Next to him is crabby Dick, followed by two worker-types on lunch break. And then R, who is bald and wears his sunglasses on his forehead despite the fact that there's been no fucking sun for a week. That Carrie Underwood revenge song is playing on the jukebox. Dick is drinking a bloody mary, the workers budweisers and R is drinking some sort of cocktail, maybe grapefruit and vodka.
There is nothing surprising about the scene here, except for the fact that I'm drinking tea rather than Jack Daniels.
House Porn, the Beginning
Tomorrow I begin the hunt for a house. The on-foot, via-auto, in-person part, because I've been scouring stlpropertysearch.com (Thanks, JO) all week. We (that's me and the realtor, who is Tom's cousin -- Tom will be in Jeff City at the BBQ Contest) have about 6 or so properties scheduled between Fox Park and some place beyond Carondelet, almost to the county (simply because I was intrigued by the picture of the front porch). I found a house with a kitchen, the pictures of which made me wet my pants and say to my mother: the rest of the house could be crap, because I could LIVE in this kitchen. The downside is that I'm not entirely sure how comfortable I am with the neighborhood. I have no problems with 'hoods in transition, I'm just not sure how transitional this particular part of this particular neighborhood is.
Just like with wedding planning, and unlike with any other area of my life, I'm all uber-organized, with my listing print-outs, a spreadsheet for future comparison ease, and handy info sheets for each house, so that I can scribble notes and track other information. My notebook will eventually contain financial information and loan paperwork. (Give me a 3-ring binder and a 3-hole punch and I can organize ANYTHING). Probably, just like with wedding planning, I'll probably wind up doing most of the legwork myself, bringing in others (including Tom) only for company, objective input and, in the case of Tom, final decision making.
Cha-cha-cha.
Wednesday, Before the Deluge
Ashley called me yesterday evening, catching me on the corner trying to decide if I were going to head south towards the Pig and Whistle, or north, to walk around the block with Sonny. The truth is, I was waiting for the cat to decide if he wanted to walk around the block. If not, I planned to head south.
Ashley's call saved me from the Pig, although I did walk with the cat before leaping into Wolfie and meeting her at Juniper for a glass of wine. (I should note here, that more people on my block know Sonny by name than know mine. To be honest, I don't think I even knew I had neighbors).
Over a combined 7 glasses of Pinot Grigio, we talked about houses (of course), weddings (of course) and admitted we really, really like Dooce, even though it isn't stylish to say so. We also discussed the plethora of Dooce wannabes that litter the internet, and came to the firm conclusion that anyone who isn't Dooce, but tries to be Dooce, is ultimately setting themselves up for failure and ridicule. We also discussed a couple of local blogging dramas, and congratulated one another on staying out of at least one of them.
Ashely convinced me to accept a nefarious offer made to me last week.
She also convinced me that some of the insecurities I feel about my marriage are, in fact, okay.
We both believe that we have a problem with post endings. Here's mine:
I ordered the Veggie Risotto to go. It was spicy. Like Etouffe.
Measuring my life out in Coffee Spoons
Once upon a time I wrote a poem. Well, I've written many poems, but this poem, although it has a title is known widely as "The Poem." I wrote it in 1989, on deadline to write a 16 line, 4 stanza poem in iambic pentameter for Rodney Jones' 200-level poetry workshop, just after finding my ex-boyfriend (who lived next door) schmoozing with my new roommates on my front porch. It is clear from the content that even though more than a year had passed since the breakup, I was still a little bitter. In fact, it is clear from the first line:
Love Song #2
I wanted to rip off your balls last night,
But first I wanted to fuck you to
Show you how I've learned to be, I mean
How I've learned to suck and to fuck and to
Take charge of a man and make him want me.
I've pictured you tied and bound and blinded
Lying naked with your tender parts exposed
I've wanted to take each piece of you and
Mark it with my teeth and make you scream my
Name. Then, with tortoise speed, I'd
Slice the membrane that holds you together
And suck back the blood that you've stolen from me
I've prayed every night for some thirteen months
And I've tasted your blood in my mouth
I've wanted to hurt you, hold you, maul you,
Kill you; choke you with your own jewels.
Yeah, so I had a few unresolved issues. We submitted this assignment anonymously (I believe it was the first submission for this workshop and he thought we'd be more comfortable). As a student worker in the English Department, one of my main responsibilities was to mimeograph class materials. I had just finished duplicating the packet of poetry for this workshop when Rodney walked in; he picked up a copy and said to me, "Which one of these did you write?" Eventually, I told him. His eyes bugged out of his head and said, "YOU wrote that?" He then told me how he'd shown it to several graduate students and had called it a "strong poem."
As the days progressed, several grad assistants stopped me in the office to talk to me about "The Poem" (at that time titled "Praying Mantis"). Many years later it was published in a short-lived local alternative literary magazine. I was asked to read it at a fund-raiser poetry reading. After publication, my fame grew to tremendous proportions in the Carbondale area. Guys I didn't know would come up to me in bars and say "You're the girl who wrote the poem!" and then asked me to recite it to his buddy or buddies or the guy getting married next week. I was that kind of famous.
Later I published it at Uber.nu.
Most recently, I recorded it for a guy who collects folk arcana, and I can't remember how this goes, but my recording of "The Poem" is likely to end up in the Library of Congress with the rest of his collection.
