Thursday, May 19, 2005
Dear Internet,
I haven't forsaken you. I've just been really busy.
It's not you, it's me.
Oh... I'm sorry. Please. Please don't cry.
I hate it when you cry, Internet. I still love you.
I didn't say I just wanted to be friends or that it was over. Really, you're misunderstanding my intent.
I'll be back soon, Internet.
I promise.
I haven't forsaken you. I've just been really busy.
It's not you, it's me.
Oh... I'm sorry. Please. Please don't cry.
I hate it when you cry, Internet. I still love you.
I didn't say I just wanted to be friends or that it was over. Really, you're misunderstanding my intent.
I'll be back soon, Internet.
I promise.
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Monday, May 09, 2005
A Story for the Times We Live In
This is a true story. It's a very sad story. Well, it's very goddamn sad to me. Those of you living in smaller metro areas may find it funny. But I find it very, very sad.
As you all know, John and I are on the house hunt. You SHOULD know, it's all I've blogged about lately, losing about half my readership, but I don't care--I love you, internet, but at the end of the day I do this for me, not you. It's been an eye opening few months. We've had a sale fall through. We've spent a sizeable chunk of money that we are never going to get back. I spend every goddamn Saturday pouring through listings, on top of the ones my agent sends me every week. I have gone to so many dreadful open houses (and so many lovely ones that we can't afford) that I'm in serious danger of losing my eyesight.
John and I are professionals. We make in the top 5% in income for the nation. Our financing is in place. We have what feels like a huge amount of money ready to put down (although compared to people who have just sold their homes and have $100,00 burning a hole in their checking accounts, what we have is a pittance). So what is wrong with us?
It's called the fucking real estate market in the greater metro NYC area. There's someting very, very wrong when a $500,000 home is billed as a "starter cottage". There's something very, very wrong when the beautiful house that I fell in love with last weekend; that we put in an offer of $10,000 above asking price has FIVE fucking offers after two days on the market and is already $45,000 above their asking price and they haven't even opened it up for the second round of bidding yet. There is something very, very wrong with this picture.
And that something is making me cry.
Really, really damn hard.
Because I can't compete with the investment banker and his pregnant wife who just offered the seller $45,000 above asking and are putting $75,000 down.
I. Give. Up.
This is a true story. It's a very sad story. Well, it's very goddamn sad to me. Those of you living in smaller metro areas may find it funny. But I find it very, very sad.
As you all know, John and I are on the house hunt. You SHOULD know, it's all I've blogged about lately, losing about half my readership, but I don't care--I love you, internet, but at the end of the day I do this for me, not you. It's been an eye opening few months. We've had a sale fall through. We've spent a sizeable chunk of money that we are never going to get back. I spend every goddamn Saturday pouring through listings, on top of the ones my agent sends me every week. I have gone to so many dreadful open houses (and so many lovely ones that we can't afford) that I'm in serious danger of losing my eyesight.
John and I are professionals. We make in the top 5% in income for the nation. Our financing is in place. We have what feels like a huge amount of money ready to put down (although compared to people who have just sold their homes and have $100,00 burning a hole in their checking accounts, what we have is a pittance). So what is wrong with us?
It's called the fucking real estate market in the greater metro NYC area. There's someting very, very wrong when a $500,000 home is billed as a "starter cottage". There's something very, very wrong when the beautiful house that I fell in love with last weekend; that we put in an offer of $10,000 above asking price has FIVE fucking offers after two days on the market and is already $45,000 above their asking price and they haven't even opened it up for the second round of bidding yet. There is something very, very wrong with this picture.
And that something is making me cry.
Really, really damn hard.
Because I can't compete with the investment banker and his pregnant wife who just offered the seller $45,000 above asking and are putting $75,000 down.
I. Give. Up.
Sunday, May 08, 2005
The Stuff of Legend
You know those stories of your childhood? The ones you were probably too young to remember, but that you've heard so many times that you're no longer sure what really happend and what has become the stuff of family legend? Well, I have a lot of those stories.
A few posts ago, in the comments, a reader asked me to tell more stories of my childhood. So, here, for your reading pleasure, we have two not-sure-if-they're-true stories of when we lived in Vienna.
We were in Vienna, Austria for a time when I was five. When we left Latvia as Jewish refugees, our visa said that we were emigrating to Israel, but we were actually planning to go to the United States. For some reason that escapes me now, we had to stay in Vienna for a while before we went on to Italy and then, finally, to the States. Probably something having to do with paperwork.
So, my parents were in Vienna, with no money and very little german language skills and a small child in tow. Apparently, the hotel were we stayed was frequented by ladies of the evening and their customers. My parents, being young and broke and unable to afford any entertainment, would sit in the lobby some evenings and make wagers with one another as to which hooker would have how many johns during the course of the evening. I can almost see the scene in my mind's eye, but once again, I am not really sure if this is true.
They were on a perpetual quest for something to break up the boredom without spending the precious little money that they had.
My parents had met another couple in Vienna who were there for precisely the same reason we were. They were a nice Muscovite couple witha young son my age. One day they went somewhere together (museum? symphony? I don't know) and took the metro. No one was sure whether the tickets were round trip or one way. After much consultation, it was decided that my parents' friends would ask someone for assistance. They looked around the metro car and spotted a nicely dressed older lady. After additional discussion husband of the other couple was elected to go ask the older Austrian lady if the tickets they had purchased were round trip. My parents watched as the man walked up to the very proper little old lady, showed her the ticket and asked her something that they could not hear.
Suddenly, this little old lady, in her hat and gloves, glowered at my parents' Russian friend a started beating him with her umbrella. He beat a hasty retreat.
Apparently, in his broken german he had tried to ask her if the ticket was "there and back."
So, what did he actually say?
"In and out?" No wonder she beat him. Wouldn't you if a lascivious Russian accosted you for some ol' in and out on the metro?
You know those stories of your childhood? The ones you were probably too young to remember, but that you've heard so many times that you're no longer sure what really happend and what has become the stuff of family legend? Well, I have a lot of those stories.
A few posts ago, in the comments, a reader asked me to tell more stories of my childhood. So, here, for your reading pleasure, we have two not-sure-if-they're-true stories of when we lived in Vienna.
We were in Vienna, Austria for a time when I was five. When we left Latvia as Jewish refugees, our visa said that we were emigrating to Israel, but we were actually planning to go to the United States. For some reason that escapes me now, we had to stay in Vienna for a while before we went on to Italy and then, finally, to the States. Probably something having to do with paperwork.
So, my parents were in Vienna, with no money and very little german language skills and a small child in tow. Apparently, the hotel were we stayed was frequented by ladies of the evening and their customers. My parents, being young and broke and unable to afford any entertainment, would sit in the lobby some evenings and make wagers with one another as to which hooker would have how many johns during the course of the evening. I can almost see the scene in my mind's eye, but once again, I am not really sure if this is true.
They were on a perpetual quest for something to break up the boredom without spending the precious little money that they had.
My parents had met another couple in Vienna who were there for precisely the same reason we were. They were a nice Muscovite couple witha young son my age. One day they went somewhere together (museum? symphony? I don't know) and took the metro. No one was sure whether the tickets were round trip or one way. After much consultation, it was decided that my parents' friends would ask someone for assistance. They looked around the metro car and spotted a nicely dressed older lady. After additional discussion husband of the other couple was elected to go ask the older Austrian lady if the tickets they had purchased were round trip. My parents watched as the man walked up to the very proper little old lady, showed her the ticket and asked her something that they could not hear.
Suddenly, this little old lady, in her hat and gloves, glowered at my parents' Russian friend a started beating him with her umbrella. He beat a hasty retreat.
Apparently, in his broken german he had tried to ask her if the ticket was "there and back."
So, what did he actually say?
"In and out?" No wonder she beat him. Wouldn't you if a lascivious Russian accosted you for some ol' in and out on the metro?
Monday, May 02, 2005
Hit me baby, one more time
Seven of the eight houses we were supposed to see on Saturday were under contract by Friday. There was a good reason that house #8 was still on the market (oh my god, they PAVED the back yard and put down BLUE OUTDOOR carpet and the kitchen! the bathrooms! the horrifying wallpaper EVERYWHERE! Eeeeeeeeeek!!!!!).
That's ok. Because I will live forever in my tiny apartment because I can't afford a home and by transative property of equality I will never have the space to have a child and I will die of exhaustion because my life will BE ALL ABOUT WORK.
Or something.
By the way, dinner and drinks with J-a and M was fantastic. They are super fabulous cool.
So, see... it wasn't all bad.
Seven of the eight houses we were supposed to see on Saturday were under contract by Friday. There was a good reason that house #8 was still on the market (oh my god, they PAVED the back yard and put down BLUE OUTDOOR carpet and the kitchen! the bathrooms! the horrifying wallpaper EVERYWHERE! Eeeeeeeeeek!!!!!).
That's ok. Because I will live forever in my tiny apartment because I can't afford a home and by transative property of equality I will never have the space to have a child and I will die of exhaustion because my life will BE ALL ABOUT WORK.
Or something.
By the way, dinner and drinks with J-a and M was fantastic. They are super fabulous cool.
So, see... it wasn't all bad.
