HEELS

Especially when it involves this tiny fella...





...in a hat that is about 25 years old. My little dragon!

And a shirt that's even older-

(He's showing you some sweet dance moves here.)

I love dressing him in silly clothes. I also had him in a dress that is about 25 years old (I wore it in a picture when I was about 2), but I didn't take pictures of that, mostly just because I was too lazy to go out to the car to get my camera. Maybe some other time.

We put a counter offer on the house on Saturday. Now the waiting game begins again! We really want this house.

Sweet- I'm ALWAYS looking for good new authors. The fact that a test paired me with her is awesome- what an interesting person. I can't wait to read something.

I am: James Tiptree, Jr. (Alice B. Sheldon) In the 1970s she was perhaps the most memorable, and one of the most popular, short story writers. Her real life was as fantastic as her fiction.

Which science fiction writer are you?

Though I'm not entirely sure why, I've been having a really rough day. I just realized that I have had my teeth clenched for at least the last hour- probably all afternoon. A little while ago I nearly started crying. Nobody had said anything to me, I hadn't read anything particularly emotional, I wasn't thinking about bad stuff. Out of nowhere I just got this urge to cry. I'm just as confused as you must be.

See, I've been having trouble with my hormones, I think, due to the use of birth control pills. Before I went off of them to get pregnant with Cole, I was fine using them. I never had a day of trouble with them. I L.O.V.E.D. my pills.

Now, when I'm taking them I'm a roller coaster, and when I'm not I'm on my period (a roller coaster). I'm getting sick of the ride.

I'm sure it doesn't help that I had a baby less than 2 years ago (post-partum fuck-you-up can last at least 2 years. You know that, right?), that we moved across the country less than a year ago, that I'm not all that fond of my stupid job, that I'm constantly thinking of people I love who are going through hard/tumultuous times, and that I am working really hard to spend as much money as I probably ever will in my life by putting offers on this house. Those things don't put a person in the best head place to begin with.

I have an appointment next Wednesday to talk about how I hatehatehate-with-pointy-daggers the pills I'm on right now and what might be done about that so that my husband will not be afraid of me any more. Because I think that would be good.

But right now, I'm sad. Not depressed- no, I wouldn't call it that. Just sad.

I hope your weekends are wonderful and rejuvenating. I know I can use the days off.

They countered. They only took $2,500 off of their asking. Even my Realtor was shocked.

Dammit- I just want a house. I'm sick of these games. Don't these people realize they're in a market that's spiraling down and fast? Just today the paper from a nearby town had an article saying how the default rate has risen over 1000% from this time last year. That's 3 zeros, not a typo!

JUST GIVE US THE HOUSE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hey there, gorgeous- strike a pose.


Mama, mama! That baby has my hat on! That baby who lives in your camera!


Heeeeyyy- he's pretty good lookin'.


Bonus back shot of the hat.


Cole loves this "hat" and will wear it for a very long time. He can't put it on by himself, though, so he brings it to us so that we can put it on for him. The hat can do no wrong. Did it fall forward and hit his nose really hard? FUN-EEE! He sometimes entertains the notion of letting us wear it for a bit, but that never lasts long.

But folks- look back at that first picture. I no longer have a toddler; I have a teenage boy who occasionally entertains his poor, ailing mother by putting a plastic salad box on his head and running around in diapers for a little while. While that sounds really disturbing said like that, I think you know what I mean.

At every phone call.

Because I am occasionally called upon to cover for the receptionist, I hear every phone call that comes into the office.

At every phone call I look to see the phone number and rush to compare it to my Realtor's phone number so that I can pick it up first if it's him.

I'm making myself sick.

So let's talk about something else!

Yes, Hannah, we plan to come to SF for the APA. YAY! John and Naomi and the kids will most likely be there too. You can listen to John P try to convince John T to come back into the philosophical fold (which I can tell you ain't likely to happen any time soon). We will probably only have the weekend, but we'll try to make the most of it.

If anyone else would like to come to SF for the American Philosophical Association meeting, it is the weekend of April 7-8 (and the week before, but I won't be there).

On the clothing search front: All of your advice? Equals rockin' awesome.

However, I live in a small town. We have no mall. We have no real department stores. We DO have a Mervyn's, a Gottschalks, and a WalMart. Can you please tell me how I am to find a beautiful, suitable outfit for the wedding in March at these three places.

I have tried searching online, I really have! I looked at Saks and Nordstrom and even Amazon online (as well as numerous other places I will never remember the names of because they had NOTHING. NOTHING!), but it goes about like this:

Wow.


Adorable!


What the fuck? Oh. It only costs $16.95. Wait...what? That's $1,695.00? I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.


And this one too? What the hell is Donna Karen smoking? 'Cause I don't want ANY.


And overall: Not really appropriate; and I think I could afford a hem. Or maybe a strap.

So I'm still at a loss. I know what I'm looking for now, but I can't find it anywhere. Does anyone care to share their secret "Gettin' Places"? March is coming up fast!

There. That did take my mind off for a second. Thanks guys.

...I did it. I switched to beta.

I'm doomed. I just know it.

I don't know if that means you have to update your feeds. If so, I'm SO sorry.

Still no news on the house, but my friend just found out that she is going to have a boy. So YAY there!

We must all hold on to our pants for a while longer, my little artichokes. I too am excited, but I have no news about the house. I am itching to know what's taking so long. Perhaps they are giving really serious consideration to our offer? Perhaps they will come back and say "Yes, yes! Take this house for which you have offered us twenty-seven-thousand, five-hundred dollars less than we were asking! We WANT you to have it!"

I live most of my life in a dream world. I know this.

From here on I am going to be a little random because there are a few things I wish to discuss with you and I don't have time to post them all separately. Thank you for your patience.

John and I started watching Firefly last night, which is our Buffy replacement a la moment. I like it. I like the combination of the western/high-tech/Asian influences. So far I like the characters. I'm sure that I'm just falling into the stereotypes to like the plucky "Companion." It's a lot of fun, I'm just sorry that the run of the series was so short.

I forgot to tell y'all what happened last Saturday. You're gonna LOVE this.

My parents, as I think you know, are living with us right now because their house is torn to shit while they remodel. My mother asked me at 9 on Saturday morning to go to a town about 1 hr 45 min away with her to look at granite for new kitchen counters. I said that I was happy to go, but that I had to take John and Cole to get haircuts that morning, but that I was free after that. She complained a little about having to wait, to which I replied "if you get tired of waiting for me and feel okay about going alone, thats fine. But I'd love to go if you want to wait." She mentioned that they were only open from 10-2, but I knew we'd have no trouble getting there on time even if she decided to wait for me.

So I was getting ready to head out the door when I got a call. It was my dad. He told me that he was disappointed in my unwillingness to help my mother and that they had done so much for us and gone out of their way so many times and I was completely ungrateful to not do the same.

I was purely flabbergasted. I stood and stared at the phone with my mouth literally hanging open. LITERALLY. I even thought, for one second, that it was a joke (it's the kind of joke my dad would play and think was hil-AR-ious). But it wasn't.

I finally regained my brain and jumped in to explain that I, in fact, hadn't refused to go, and actually was hoping to be able to go, but that we had had the haircuts planned for 2 weeks and they guys really needed them. All I wanted was an hour!

He said "but they won't be there."

I said "THEY ARE OPEN FROM 10-2!"

He said "Oh."

I can just see it- my mother hated the fact that she couldn't get exactly her way and so ran and TATTLED on me to my father, purposely LYING to him (about their hours of operation) so that her case would be stronger.

Un-fucking-believable.

I did go to see the marble. The "discussion" was never acknowledged. I never got anything approaching an apology.

Parents.

And lastly, I am once again feeling the pull of the disgusting, devilish, dangerous, and damn vile Diet Dr. Pepper. Please make it stop.

Exactly nothing.

No news about the offer we put in last night.

Arrgggh.

They probably won't accept it, but at least let us KNOW that they aren't accepting it!

Of course, if they do accept it, I'll kick myself for not offering less. Can you counter offer with a lower number? No? I guess not.

I'm already dreaming about new paint outside, furniture arrangement, and house-warming parties.

Of course, I'm also dreaming about badly patched holes in the wall, rats that show up just after closing, smoking heaters, and exploding water-heaters.

I can't ever give myself the good without the bad.

I have dance tonight. Maybe I can dance some of this anxiety away. Sadly, I usually let the anxiety get to me and the dancing suffers instead. Or at least that's my convenient excuse for why I look about as coordinated and graceful as 10 month pregnant woman out of water. And I'm not pregnant.

Belly Dance- it sucks away my time and my money, it makes my hip hurt SO badly, and it tests the strength of my self-esteem, but I can't stop. The costumes are too cool.
(andilikethedancingalotbutitfeelsreallyunhiptoadmitthatbutwhatthehellijustsaidunhip)

And I like the dancing a lot. It makes me feel, during the times when I don't feel like a hippo, like I'm 4 again. I even have a spinny-skirt.

Blargh. Back to work.

John and I saw the house we want on Saturday.

It's a 3 bed/2 bath in a very nice neighborhood. It has everything we were looking for: central heat/air, backyard, garage, higher ceilings, decent kitchen, inside laundry. It also has new carpet and paint inside. Oh yeah- and it's maybe 2 miles from work.

The outside is rather hideous. It is white with shockingly blue trim and has really chunky grey gravel in the front "yard". But those things are purely cosmetic.

Today we drove past the road and I freaked a little when I thought I saw cars parked in front of it. We both started saying "Nobody else is allowed to look at our house!" We drove in and realized that it was just the neighbors who are doing some improvements to their house.

I think that means we like it.

We are very excited and nervous. We don't want to get emotional about it, but it's finally something we like at a price we can afford and we REALLY don't want it to get away!

I think I'll be hassling my Realtor now. Excuse me.

Now it seems that Spencer may havethis, which would really be better than what they thought before. So far he doesn't have any kidney involvement, but it could change at any time. He has to go to the hospital for urinalysis every week for the next 6 months and every month for the next 3 years just to be sure that his kidneys don't get harmed. If they do, he will have to go on dialysis.

It's still scary, but it seems like they are getting closer to having a real diagnosis with a good plan of attack. Thanks for all of your well wishes- I know it means a lot to them.

I've been searching for inspiration. I'm shocked to say that the best I found was on JC Penny.com. I may be 40 after all. Check 'em out:






What do you think? Am I way off? Would I look fake in these? Are they inappropriate for a 27 year old at a country wedding? Can I drink and dance in heels while wearing these?

C'mon. I need SERIOUS help here!!

So this wedding officiating thing... I'm excited about it.

Freaked the fuck out, too, but excited!

I've already determined that I will need to apply copious amounts of concealer so that my Irish skin will not betray my nervousness with its lobster-like hue, but that's as far as I get to answering the odious and onerous question of:

What the fuck does one wear to be an officiant?!

Constraints:
1. I don't really look that great in a dress. My calves should really be called cows. I don't have anything approaching cankles, but years of stairs, obsessive heels lifts (while playing bass), and weight fluctuations have not left me with the slenderest of stalks on which to stand. They are vaguely manly, and I hate them.

2. I don't, at this point, really own a dress that would be appropriate.

3. I'm not entirely sure that a dress would be appropriate at all, but I'm not sure why I have that reservation.

4. Yet, I'm not sure that pants would be formal enough. I am also not interested in looking 40, as I am still only 27.

5. Shorts would be all wrong- see above re: legs and formality.

6. The bridesmaids are wearing lavendar, but I don't think I should go that way because then it would look like a bridesmaid was marrying them. Like, what? You couldn't get anyone REAL so a BRIDESMAID had to step in? Which is not far from the truth, but still- it doesn't need to look like it.

7. But should I really wear black like I normally would? Usually it's not an issue- nobody really cares if you wear black to a wedding anymore, much to my teenage "Don't I SHOCK You With My Inappropriate Black Wearing" self's chagrin. But if I'm officiating, are the rules different? Do I need to do everything I can to not look like I'm presiding over a funeral? 'Cause I think that would send the wrong message.

8. What color would I wear so as to not 1) look like the bride or 2) clash uncomfortably with the lavendar?

9. These are becoming not so much constraints as OHMYGAWDWHATAMIGOINGTODOHELPFUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCK!

Because this is the most pressing, important issue facing the world a this moment. So please use all of your resources and limitless pools of talent and good taste to figure out what the hell I'm going to do.

If I look bad, the terrorists win.

It appears that I will be performing a marriage ceremony for a good friend in March.

In a church.

A real church.

It's a funny world...

My nephew. Yes.

Sometimes I forget that I've written about things here and then leave you hanging.

Unfortunately, in this case we have all been left hanging.

My nephew, Spencer, was in the hospital for about 26 hours, during which he had to endure lots of blood being drawn, urine being taken (though he probably thought it was funny peeing into a little cup), two awful, painful skin biopsies from his legs, two stitches for each biopsy location, one york peppermint patty, one peanut-butter cup, one churro, toys, and lots of hugs and kisses.

Okay- I guess some of those are worse than others...

And we have been told.... nothing helpful. Their best guess at this time is that it may be a form of Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis. Though that's not great, it could be a LOT worse. At least most kids who develop it before the age of 6 or 7 seem to grow out of it eventually. And it doesn't mean that he will have arthritis for sure when he's older, either.

But they still just don't know and are unwilling to label the problem until they have more information and more opinions. It may take 2 weeks or more to get any more answers. Some of the doctors are going to a conference soon and will be taking all of the information they have about Spencer's condition, along with LOADS of pictures they took, with them. They'll be showing them around and getting as much input as they can. I like that.

We are hoping right now that Spencer will qualify for a special grant from UCSF that will pay for all of the experimental stuff they want to do. Right now my sister has appointments for all kinds of specialists, but if they can't get this grant, they can't go. My sister is a single, student mom, living in San Francisco (NOT CHEAP!). She has no assistance from the birth-father, and the money she gets for school is nearly a joke, though she couldn't live without it.

So there are lots of scary parts- the unknown, the expense... Hey! That alone is more than enough!

I'm so proud of my sister and how she's handling everything. She is such an awesome mom. And I'm so proud of Spencer and how I've heard he was such a trooper through everything the doctors needed to do. Life is not the funnest for them right now, but I'm sure they will come out better than ever. They have good friends and a loving family to help them along the way.

Good thoughts and wishes for them wouldn't hurt though.

Have I showed y'all my beautiful son lately? Not recently enough! This is from this morning as we were headed out of the house.



People say he looks like me. I take it as a wonderful compliment, though I do think I drool just a bit less.

Am I the only one who, when I hear the word "vetted", thinks of a job candidate up on a table having his ears checked for foxtails and his anal glands drained?

Nobody else?

Huh.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I went to the dentist this morning. I don't know why people are so afraid of the dentist. I love the dentist. The gynecologist, on the other hand...

I had minimal plaque deposits, but also had a couple of little cavities starting, which he said probably had only showed up in the last 6 months.

The cool thing about the visit (besides the wonderful, relaxing cleaning. No, I'm not being sarcastic.) was that they took digital x-rays. I got to see my teeth displayed on a computer monitor above my head. It was so neat! The roots on my molars were beautiful. I'd never been allowed to see my mouth x-rays so clearly before.

So now I'm eating m&ms (because I was going to pass out due to sheer exhaustion otherwise) and contemplating what they might be doing to my bee-a-utiful, clean, fresh teeth.

Why exhausted? I'm so glad you asked.

Last night, after (thankfully) coming home early from dance class, my husband announced that a pipe had burst outside and a neighbor had called the property owner's association to come out and turn the water off. We're lucky, because lots of people had severe damage to their homes because of water pipes over the weekend. We just wasted some water.

So we packed up our junk and moved to my parent's house, which is not entirely hospitable because they are in the middle of a major remodel and the house is buried in dust. Also, they only have two towels. Fun.

Cole was a MONSTER, probably due to being in a strange environment. He was awake from about 3:30- 4:45. I gave him a bottle of water at one point to try to ease him back to sleep, and he rejected it, but didn't want to let it go. He just wanted to play with it. When I tried to take it away (so that I wouldn't be completely drenched with milky-water bottle-dribbles), Cole grabbed it to his chest and said "No! Mine." so clearly, as if he had been saying it for years. Then he thought a moment, realized that it wasn't all that interesting, and said "No. Yours." and handed me the bottle.

Where did my baby go, who is this tiny devil, and isn't it true that he must be a perfect genius if, at almost 15 months, he is able to distinguish between "mine" and "yours"?

That IS what it means, right?

No, you can't have him! He's MINE!

Please go read this.

Look- I know it's weird to ask strangers for help of any kind, especially when it's for someone who I really don't know well. Here's what I do know: this is a good person and the health care system in this country is just fucked. I don't believe this is even in question. It is fucked.

She's not asking for money- hell, SHE'S not asking for anything. It's her friends and family who have taken up this fight. But she needs help, and FAST.

If there's anything you can do to help- any insight, any ideas, anything you've lived through- please contact me or Alliya at I Dream In Print.

Thanks.

I'm feeling rather preoccupied at the moment. You see, my almost 5 year old nephew is in the hospital. He went in yesterday and they kept him overnight. I imagine he's still there now.

His symptoms are (as I understand it) swollen knees and lower legs, splotchy skin on his legs, and broken blood vessel-looking patches behind his knees. It also comes with terrible pain and lots of grumpiness. The doctors are pretty much clueless, though their best guess at the moment appears to be rheumatoid arthritis of some sort. Specialists will be coming in today to check him out, and I think they should have tests back soon. Until then, all we have is wild speculation, which, in my "over-reaction is not only our middle name; it's our lifestyle" kind of family, is dangerous. We have lots of time to think about the worst that this could be.

I'm going to write about the weekend to try to take my mind off, but please understand that it may not be with as much enthusiasm as usual. I'm sure you understand- you're awesome like that.

On Saturday we did not see 13 houses like I wanted to. We saw 6. I think. You know, they all really kind of blend together after a while.

The one I liked would take so much time, money, and work that it's just not practical. But it was the most charming, delightful little house you could ever hope for. It was old. REALLY old. It had all wood floors. The kitchen was small and had a built in table/bench thing that was just about the right size for a dollhouse. The refrigerator was really more like an ice-box. It came up to my chest, and the freezer part was a drawer on the bottom. I actually wondered if we would need to bring in huge hunks of ice to keep is cold. The cabinets had been built to only house that size of fridge. One of the cabinets in the kitchen only held the ironing board. In the den (that they were trying to call a third bedroom) there was a fireplace built out of native stones. It was beautiful. The fixtures all appeared to be original. They all matched and were bright brass colored metal with peach glass in sort of an art-deco style. It's hard for me to impart to you the charm and beauty of this place, but it was from a time gone by. To use another cliche- they don't make houses like this anymore. But it's true- they don't.

John's favorite place was way up the hill into what I like to call "The Snow Zone." I won't be particularly charitable because I hated it, so John might get peeved that I told you it was his favorite. I understand why he liked it, and I agree with him up to the point of actually liking it, which I don't. At all. It was a recently totally remodeled house, and they did a beautiful job of remodeling. It was gorgeous inside. Outside, however, was where it lost me. It was on a weird lot right on the edge of a fairly busy street. There was no yard to speak of. It was dark and cold, and it was obvious that the trees and the hill that it was built in front of made it impossible for direct sunlight to ever hit the house. It was depressing. I could feel that with the first snowstorm you'd find me typing "All work and no play make Dani a dull girl" over and over. "Darling. Light of my life. I'm not gonna hurt ya. You didn't let me finish my sentence. I said, I'm not gonna hurt ya. I'm just gonna bash your brains in. I'm gonna bash 'em right the fuck in. Ha, ha." We'd never be able to own an axe.

Our favorite person that we met was a man that we later worked out must be 88 or 89 years old. He graduated from a local high school in 1936 and owned a gas station from 1969-1979. His wife broke her hip and he built her an elevator in the house. It still works. It's a little scary, but it works. He was very proud of his house. He spoke lovingly of his wife and showed us some of the crafts that she had made that he still had up around the house. He had little squirrel friends that I think were about the only living creatures that he saw most days. He was tremendously adorable and I maybe tried to put him in my pocket to take home with me, but then who would feed his squirrels?

So there was really nothing much from that day that seemed promising. But I asked about two houses that we hadn't seen that I was really wanting to and she said that she'd look into them.

I don't remember much about Sunday. I was really out of it with a cold (still have it) and I think I had to go to WalMart at one point. That's enough to make anyone want to forget. I won't bore you with it any longer.

Monday I had the day off because Cole's daycare was closed. We spent the whole day together and it was lovely. The Realtor called and we made an appointment for the afternoon to see the two houses.

I was really pleasantly surprised by the first one. It was in a great neighborhood in town, it was large, had a big back-yard, and didn't seem too terribly overpriced. It needs some work, but I really think we could make something of it. I get more excited about it each time I think of it. I think we may have to put an offer on it. John hasn't seen it yet, but I can't find any reason why he would veto.

The other one we saw was a 3bd, 2ba manufactured home on 5 acres. It had a small orchard and well established fruit and nut trees. It was close to town. The land was very usable and totally beautiful. It came with three gorgeous big-horned sheep that were the natural weed-eaters (Cole squealed and wiggled like crazy when he saw them, pointing and yelling "Coco!Coco!" which is his new word for dog because our dog's name is Yoko and the dog at his daycare is Cocoa). They wanted $299,000 for it (which is a very good deal, objectively). The catch? Our view would be of the city sewage treatment ponds. And not a far away view, either. Nope- right down the hill. YUMMY! I couldn't smell anything when we were there, but I imagine that's not always the case. On the bright side, we wouldn't have to blame farts on the dog anymore. I also couldn't stand the house, but that seemed beside the point. I just couldn't live there. I really wanted to make myself be okay with it, but I just couldn't.

So eight houses, one possibility.

That's all I have energy for right now. If you happen to have any ideas about Spencer (my nephew) or know any good doctors who might have a clue, please leave me a comment or send me an email at heelsblog at gmail dot com.

Man, you guys are so cool. And I really want to write about stuff. No, really- I do! I want to tell you how I almost cried because we watched the last episode of Buffy, and how much I loathe wintergreen flavor, and how I'm a car dancer and was made fun of when I admitted it.

But I've used up all my time for the day. Do you realize that I've been 100% billable today? That almost never happens.

So I'll be back on Tuesday. Then I'll have stories about the 13+/- houses I'm going to see tomorrow, delicious things my delicious baby has done, and ,I'm sure, scores of other grippingly exciting topics.

For now, I'm SO excited about what you all are writing and the new blogs I've discovered. I'm just so amazed at the talent that is out there. I rarely feel adequate, but I keep reading in the hope that your skills will rub off on me some day.

Have a great weekend!

It's delurking week and I'm late, even though I knew about it on Monday. I had more important things to tell you about on Monday (and dudes- where were all the house-shopping horror stories from you? I know some of you must have them), and Tuesday I... well I was frankly too busy investigating REALLY REALLY IMPORTANT STUFF. Um... yeah.

But y'all aren't posting! What's up? Is the internet taking a sick day? 'Cause I could totally use a sick day.

All I have for you today is this thought that came to me as I was driving someone else's truck to the shop and (because it is my policy to never fuck with anyone's radio settings EVER) listening to the local country music station: Country music is like a bad romance novel and a soap opera all rolled up in one, and both of those are really quite related to soft-core porn.

Discuss.

Blogger hates me. Again.

If you want to leave me a message (and please do!) for now and until they get their act together, please write to heelsblogatgmaildotcom.

Well, for now we're not going to pursue the house any more. The owners just aren't ready to be flexible enough. We'll give them a few months of having to pay two mortgages and then see how they feel. Or maybe we'll have found something else by then.

This coming weekend we will be going out again with the Realtor. I sent him a list of 13 houses that I want to see. They range from dinky on the order of "HELLO! One elbow is in the toilet and one is in the kitchen sink, but isn't it CHARMING!" to rather expansive with acreage (and why is it in our price range, Hmmmm?). I'll be sure to give a full report when I get back.

Which won't be until the following Tuesday. I'm being forced to take Martin Luther King Jr. day off because Cole's daycare will be closed. It's not that I'm bummed about it, I'd just rather keep my vacation days for a REAL vacation. Like Baja. Or Hawaii. Or even Big Sur (in a yurt!).

Until then...

Weekend, weekend, who stole the weekend? All weekends should be three days, so I sayeth, so it shall be. With no pay cut, too. And, while I'm dreaming, free shoes and massages all around! YAY!

But really, I think the most "exciting" thing that happened this weekend was that Cole did a header into the brick at my parent's house and busted his lip again. He actually caught himself with his hands on the edge, but his head was too big and moving too fast to stop completely. Poor kiddo. It wasn't anything a popsicle couldn't put right, though, and I'm sure his future modeling career will not be jeopardized.

Other than that, my mother and I drove around and looked at houses. One place was about the right size for a hobbit and was lavishly decorated in crucifixes and garish colors. Sooooooooo appealing.

The only other place that we actually walked into was a slice of hell right from my husband's childhood. If you know what his childhood was like, or you know the worst that this particular county has to offer, I needn't say any more. But, since I know that some of my lovely readers are blissfully unaware, I will attempt to describe.

To start, it was a manufactured home on 2 acres and they were asking $299,000. When we drove up, there was another man there who was beating a hasty retreat after viewing the interior of the house. We should have known then to just turn around, but we parked instead.

The outside of the "house" was charmingly decorated with no less (and possible more) than 8 broken down cars, a random assortment of parts, and several bags of overflowing garbage lovliness. It achieved a look that I will call "junkyard chic". There was a lovely, weathered shed that easily could have held any number of tools with which to dismember two unsuspecting females and a 14 month old baby, or possibly hold their bodies, or maybe that's just where they kept the still.

We parked in mud. The "walkway" up to the "house" was covered in thin wooden sheets so that we wouldn't sink into the ground.

When we walked up, we were greeted by an obviously drunk (and who knows what else) bearded man who was wearing a dirty t-shirt that was giving us ample glimpses of his huge, hairy stomach and swilling a can of beer nestled in a "coozy." We asked if we could go up to the house and he told us to wait until he could roll his cigarette and he'd take us up and show us around (in other words, murder us foully).

After he finished rolling his cig, he told us that we should watch out for "Zeus", the dog. My mother (who is just a tad afraid of dogs) said "Are you telling us that you have a dangerous dog?" Bearded Man (BMan) said "Shit no! He's a friendly dog, but he's too friendly. He'll jump up on you and take you out."

Fucking fantastic. I REALLY want to go up there now.

So we walked up to the house where Zeus was on a big, thick, dirty chain next to the stairs. My mom asked if it was safe to go up the stairs and BMan said "Oh sure- that's why we have The Board", indicating another, rather worn, thin piece of wood that was keeping Zeus, the old sweetie pie, from gnawing off our feet at the ankles. We made it inside and immediately wished that we hadn't.

The "house" was a wreck, and you could tell that they had worked very hard for quite a while to even get it that good (The Trash! The Filth! The Stench!). The TV was playing some show that I think may have been "Pouring Stuff That Looks Like Vomit Into Bowls and Stirring It Up." BMan started shouting for his woman to come out and then said "Oh shit. I just realized she went to get me my lunch." Precious. BMan tried to show us around, but the fella didn't even know the word for the thing in which you can sit and have water pour in from a tap with which you can bathe (tub) or the place in or near the kitchen where you can store your non-perishable food items (pantry). We had clearly caught him at a bad moment.

BMan had been doing some painting, but some reddish, rather alarming stains on the wall of one bedroom made me wonder how bad everything he painted was that he elected to do those walls first. Fucking scary, it was.

There was a charming little rectangular, cement hole in the ground "pond" out back (BMan says "It's got fish!"), but no stairs out the back door to get to it. There was a huge slope failure right above the "pond" that was threatening to sweep the whole "house" away in a wave of red clay at the next heavy rain.

Let me stop here and just wrap it all up in one word : NIGHTMARE.

When we left (just scootching past the darling Zeus), my mom said "I'm so glad that the woman wasn't there. I do not want to meet the woman who lives in that house." I have to agree. Maybe it's snobby... well, yeah- it is snobby. But you go there and try to keep an open mind.

So now I think I'll do most of my house shopping with my 6'8" Realtor. And maybe a stun gun.

How was your weekend? Any Close Encounters of the White-Trash Kind?

We just got a counter offer from the sellers. If you could even call it an offer.

They agreed to take $999 off their price, making it a round $339,000.

Oh, and they won't give us the refrigerator.

I almost snorted into the phone when my agent told me.

Apparently, they owe money on it, have a $10,000 pre-payment penalty on their loan, and would only be making $5,000 off of the sale.

My reaction? It's not my problem that you owe money. It's not my responsibility to ensure that you get a good deal. You are NEVER EVER guaranteed to make money on the sale of a house. You are desperate in a buyer's market. STOP WHINING AND FUCKING PLAY BALL ALREADY!

I'd be insulted by their tiny drop in price if I didn't think it was so ridiculously hilarious. All I can do is shake my head and laugh.

We'll play. We'll give them a counter offer with no regard to their "issues." If they really aren't going to come down farther, we'll let them sit on the market for another month or so, during which time they'll be paying TWO mortgages. We'll still just be paying rent and saving our cash.

Who do you think will break first?

I don't think our Realtor is an asshole. I think he's just trying to keep us real, yo. We had so much conflicting advice from so many sources that we're having trouble actually knowing what a fair price for this house would be. From one side we get $260,000 "because the market is going DOOOOWWWN!" From the other we get $350,000 "because the market, though not as active and thriving as it was last year, is just settling back into a normal pattern."

They started out asking $349,500. They dropped their price before our offer to $339,999 (I mean really- a whole frigging DOLLAR less than $340,000? Give me a break). We feel that the house needs about $25,000 worth of work before it is in really good condition. It's not a fixer-upper, but it could use a little work.

I feel a bit uncomfortable disclosing the range of prices we are willing to pay to the internet. Please understand- this is CALIFORNIA, and a rather desirable portion of it. Paying the mortgage on this house would mean that we don't get to do anything fun. Ever. It represents that large of a portion of our COMBINED income. Bottom line- WE ARE NOT RICH PEOPLE!

We've been told that the sellers have already purchased a new house, which makes them motivated to be rid of this one. However, we have also been told that they owe rather a lot on a second mortgage and so "can't" come down much farther. Part of me understands that, but another part of me thinks "how is it MY problem that you can't manage your own damn debt?" I also think that you come down as far as you need to to sell a house when you're desperate. I know for a fact that they have no other offers and haven't had much interest in the house at all besides us.

John and I have settled on the price above which we will not go. We will not fight for this house. It's not worth that much to us. We would love to have it. We adore the neighborhood, we like the neighbors, it is convenient, quiet, safe, has a big back yard, and a lot of potential. We could make a really nice home for many years out of it. But there are always others. We can afford to wait. We are in no way desperate to buy this house or buy at all, for that matter. It's a want, not a NEED. A rather big want, but a want all the same.

I think we have a healthy attitude about it. I think it would be a mistake to get too emotionally involved at this point. I won't be counting on it until escrow is closed.

But that doesn't stop the endless churning in my stomach. Seriously- is someone mixing cement down there or something?

Okay- yes. We put in the freaking offer today. I'm just avoiding talking or even thinking about it because I'm scared shitless that they will turn around and say "HA! What are you smoking? Not only will we not sell you the house for that much, but we also are raising our asking price. And we're thinking about suing you for millions."

Alright, alright- I know they can't sue us.

I just felt really stupid and poor when our Realtor looked at us with his mouth agape and said "That number you just gave me? That number that represents nearly all of your money in the entire world? That goes into F***-you territory. You need to go higher."

Fuuuuuuuck.

(Barfing into my handbag. Wait- I don't carry a handbag. What did I just barf into?)

They have three days to get back to us. Three looooooooong days which with to craft their painful response. I'm hoping they don't use too many curse words.

Can you swear in a counter offer? Here's what I expect:

Dear Cheap-Ass, Poor, Insulting, Mother-Fucking Buyers (John and Danielle),

Fuck you. We spit on your offer. Take your offer and shove it up your bums. Then shove it up your Realtor's bum for making it seem like you could ever get this house.

Sincerely,
Meanie-Head Sellers

Am I blowing this out of proportion?

Soundtrack provided by the tub water.



Nak1e C01e on Vimeo

Okay, so tomorrow we will be meeting with our Realtor at lunchtime to work out our offer on the house. We will be making an offer this week. This week we will put in an offer. We will make an offer on the house tomorrow.

Do you think if I keep saying it that it might eventually seem real?

I think I'm going to barf.