REDRUM

After our Canadian adventure, Ru and I decided to lay low a bit. We spent a day roaming around Seattle. First, she took me downtown to Pike Place Market.

These guys are the famous fish-throwers.

Unfortunately, there was not a whole lot of purchasing going on that morning, so I guess they were not in much of a fish-throwing mood. The place was packed though, as we were there during Memorial weekend.

I have no idea how you cook any of this stuff, but I thought that maybe Chris of www.inanethoughtsandinsaneramblings.blogspot.com might be impressed.

The market also featured many homemade crafts by local artisans and there were many beautiful arrangements of fresh flowers at insanely low prices.

After that, we went to Seattle Center, in the area of the Space Needle to check out the Folklife Festival. I managed to distract Ru just long enough for her to lock her keys in the car, but my AAA membership came in handy as unknown to me, they provide FREE locksmith services!

The festival was a lot of fun. There was a good variety of performers and tons of food to try out. I spotted this sign and just had to snap a quick photo-- sorry about the poor quality:

Does the word dingleberry mean the same thing to you as it does to me? It is not exactly the most palate-tempting name.

We played it safe and stuck to funnel cakes with powdered sugar, banana & nutella crepes, and fudge! Ru had been raving about this groovy donut guy, who inconveniently RAN OUT OF DONUTS when we arrived.

These guys were fun to listen to, and I especially found it amusing that the drummer’s setup featured a Safeway shopping cart (where we happened to have parked illegally) and a Starbuck’s umbrella with the logo ripped off. Way to “Stick it to the Man”, dude.

These guys were also amusing, as were their unpictured groupies who were shaking their stuff in tanktops and had their own following of teenage boys hoping for a wardrobe failure.

Other interesting performers:

After the festival, we tried to meet up with Ru’s church group to go on a ferry ride around Puget Sound, but they had left without us, despite our arriving 5 minutes early. Instead, we walked up and down the very cute main street of Ana Cortes. It was there that we had our most extravagant dinner during my trip, dining on some excellent salmon and also some sort of ravioli with a weird name that was stuffed with lobster and crab. Mmmm.

I don’t think my fitness model friend who reviews my workouts would have approved of my diet that day, but whatever. I think the best way to get over a performance plateau at the gym is to screw things up quite a bit!

There are no pictures of the next day as we laid low, and rented semi-obscure movies. We met up with one of Ru’s friends, L, for dinner, who I can best describe as an entertaining bundle of energy in a small package. I highly approve. Ru also pulled her disappearing key act once again, but this time I had her spare in my purse, so there was no delay for a locksmith!

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Back on the homefront, I really think that this city is out to get me. I survived my obligatory lunch, but a funny thing happened on the drive home.

My car had been sitting outside the restaurant in the sun for about two hours, with its contortionist silver sunshade in the windshield.

I was wearing shorts and luckily was stopped at a stoplight. All of a sudden, I felt something hot and wet on the top of my right thigh. I looked down, and there was a quarter-sized splotch of dark, red fluid on my thigh that had left small splatter droplets across the inside of my left thigh. Gross!

I looked up at the roof of my car, looking for the source of the blood. I didn’t hurt anywhere and the roof was suspiciously its usual dry beige color. I don’t know what I was expecting to find up there, maybe a small animal tacked to my ceiling by some sort of psychopath vandalizing parked cars? I don’t know.

I looked down at my leg and back up again.

This time I noticed that tucked under the elastic of my driver’s side visor there was a red ink Pilot pen. Apparently, it had gotten too hot when I had the visor folded down with the sunshade and red ink had started slowly leaking out just in time to land right onto my bare leg.

Pretty random, eh? I guess I’m a very lucky girl that it didn’t happen when I was wearing nice clothes and that it didn’t even land on the upholstery of my car! I guess tomorrow I’ll grab some rubbing alcohol and try to get it out of the fabric of the visor as it does look kind of morbid.

I tried to clean up a bit as I was on my way to the mall to look for some new running shoes. I don’t believe I have a pair that’s less than 2-3 years old, and on our hikes I’ve noticed that I can feel the texture of the rocks I’m stepping on.

So there I was, in the bathroom of a very snooty department store scrubbing at the top and inside of my thighs with a wet, soapy paper towel. It smeared around some, but wouldn’t really come off. I probably looked kind of suspicious to the other women in the restroom. If it was blood, it would have been darker and washed off really easily, but perhaps these upscale housewives aren’t as well-rounded as the ones on television.

The shoe salesmen were particularly unhelpful today. I don’t normally shop there, but I had a gift card from my birthday that I have been meaning to use before I leave town. Perhaps the oddly placed streaks of red ink on my thighs had something to do with it.

The End of an Era?

I think that 28 is a bit too old to be doing things I don't want to do just to please other people. If I had my way right now, I would just disappear with a barely-audible *poof* and perhaps a wisp of smoke for dramatic effect.

You are probably wondering WTF I'm talking about right now.

You are probably also wondering whether or not I actually returned empty-handed from the Canadian pharmacy the other week.

I now have less than a week left in this city, and there's still so much to do. I'm just sick of all of the unneccessary time-killers like lunch today and another lunch tomorrow because so-and-so couldn't make it today. I am not a goodbye person. I would much rather just leave and let everything sort itself out later. I already know which friendships are maintainable and which aren't. The rest is all just fake pleasantries.

So in the meantime, I am cranky. I am saying the things that I'm thinking without a filter even more than normal. At lunch today, when a Jewish friend of mine made a big show of the rosary necklace her husband gave her for graduation (don't ask), I asked her if it burned-- which was not very nice of me.

By the end of the week, I'll probably be so intolerable to be around that poor Ru will end up wearing headphones and bringing some sort of makeshift room divider for the cab of the rental truck!

I know it is naive to think I won't continue to put myself in empty social situations in the future, but hopefully I will be a little more saavy about who I choose to spend time with. I don't know why I am so careful about not wanting to offend others. I dread constantly going to all of these stupid get togethers, but in the end, it is no one else's fault but my own that I'm there.

Exodus

I am continuing on with my Washington/Canada vacation. I last left off with Ru and I arriving in Squamish, BC late at night and checking ourselves into an older motel. Things often look entirely different in the morning, and I was thrilled when I opened the dreary motel room curtains to this view:


When vacationing with little disposable income, it becomes necessary to improvise a bit along the way. Since we pretty much came to the conclusion that while Vancouver looked like it had some nice window shopping, there wasn’t really much there in the city that we couldn’t find in Seattle, so we headed on further north towards Whistler.

Along the highway, I spotted a sign that had a silhouette of a hiker and the name Brandywine Falls, so we pulled over. The falls turned out to be less than a kilometer from the highway and were spectacular!

Additionally, there was a 3.5 km trail leading to a suspension bridge so we did that as well, first attempting the unmarked route and then doubling back after losing the way when we came to a wall of loose boulders. We did eventually make it all the way to the bridge, and I think our spontaneous stop turned into a 10 km hike!

Next we continued on to Whistler, which turned out to be a very well-manicured ski resort area. While there was still plenty of snow, I don’t think it was particularly the best time to ski, but we enjoyed walking around the shops and had a nice dinner at a local deli and flirted with a cute coffee barista. It turns out that both Ru and I are suckers for men with accents.

I have only ever attempted skiing once. After feeling that I had mastered snow plowing on a bunny slope, I insisted that I was ready for a “real run” and proceeded to pull every muscle in my legs, taking well over an hour to complete the run. The next time I go out, I’m definitely going for real lessons rather than 5 minutes of guidance from an acquaintance!

After that, we decided to head back to “the States”. The day before, we had “borrowed” a tulip from Stanley Park to take with us on the road. Seeing as how it was the end of the tulip season there, the poor flower continued to drop petals over the course of the two days. It finally gave up the last one just before we crossed back over the Canadian border.

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Although our trip wasn’t what we had originally planned, it still turned out to be a lot of fun. I think we did pretty well too, having only offended two Canadians (that we know of) during the course of our stay.

The first was a bank teller in Squamish, who Ru was chatting with about exchange rates. She commented on how she had thought that the British pound and the Canadian dollar should be more similar in value then they are. All of a sudden the teller retorted, “We ARE our OWN country!”

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Our next “victim” was a pharmacist close to the Canadian border. I was once again checking prices on some things, When I found out that the cash price of one of medications that I was interested in was only a few dollars more than the co-pay here, I said, “I’ll take two of them!”

The pharmacist kind of paused and gave me a strange look and said that I’d need a Canadian prescription for it.

Without even thinking about it I said, “Really? In Mexico, I can just pay cash for whatever I want.”

At that point, he rather sternly reminded me that I most certainly was not in Mexico.

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Oh well, so much for diplomacy…

Think Metric!

On Day 2 of my visit, Ru and I decided it would be cool to cross the US/Canada border and drive up to Vancouver, BC. I was a little disappointed to see that the Border Patrol vehicles up there look exactly the same as along the US/Mexico border.

This is the Peace Arch:

Does anyone else remember the push to switch over to the metric system? I just remember that one year in math class, my teacher insisted that we learn the metric system as “the changeover is sure to occur any day now.” Was this a national phenomenon or just the quirk of a particular teacher of mine? I mean, it was the mid-1980s and I was attending a parochial school in south Texas, so who knows what was really going on!

I hate the metric system. I still can’t tell you whether a quart or a liter is bigger. I can convert pounds to kilograms, but that’s about it. And as for speed limits, while it sounds cool to be barreling down the road at 80 km/hr, that’s really only like 55 mph. Even worse, is when American doctors start pronouncing the word centimeter as son-ti-meter…apparently it’s some bizarre right-of-passage that goes with the degree.

As for the actual border, they were reluctant to even let us into Canada. I had my passport with me, but Ru had only her driver’s license. We also had the misfortune of choosing the slowest entry lane, so poor Ru got grilled about who owned her car and what our plans were, etc.

Once in Vancouver, we crossed the bridge and made our way to Stanley Park.

This is perhaps the world's tamest peacock:

We walked around a bit, and then made our way back to the city, where to our horror we discovered that even the cheapest room in a Holiday Inn cost $215. The Canadian dollar is also pretty much equivalent to the US dollar right now, so there were no deals to be had.

Frustrated, we had a very late dinner and drove off into the dark night, headed north towards Whistler. We drove for well over an hour along a windy, unlit road that at the time we believed was a highway. Visibility was poor, and it had begun to rain. Signs for falling rock and truck crossings did not soothe our nerves. Our maximum speed was probably 60 km/hr and our only company was a pair of distant red taillights. Eventually, we merged with an actual highway. Exhausted, we settled into the first available nonsmoking room in Squamish that we could find. Apparently there was some sort of movie being filmed in that area and hotel rooms were not easy to come by.

Can't Sleep...

I am not blessed with ever knowing what words to say. One of my friends got some very crappy news today. After finding myself at a loss for words, I agreed to accompany her to a movie that I clearly stated in my last entry that I did not want to see. I guess everyone has a different coping mechanism for dealing with their problems. I can't speak for her, but for 1 hour and 45 minutes tonight, I forgot all about her problems.

So here I am, having safely made it back to the house without having a homicidal nanny attack me in my car. However, I am now wondering if anyone will cut off my hair in my sleep with the world's biggest scissors looking for any telltale birthmarks on my scalp!

Ketchup

Sorry about the lack of entries lately… I am scum, I am the slime that collects on scum, etc.

Anyway, today is 06-06-06: bars are hosting devil-themed parties, and many went to the opening of The Omen. Personally, seeing as how I will be soon living on my own and scary movies are not my bag, I went to X-Men III with my best friend, who has hereby dubbed herself “The Phoenix”. I think that it is a well-earned moniker as our school has been trying to kill her spirits as of late, but I am confident that she’ll make it out intact and keep her good sense of humor.

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After graduation, I made the drive in the blistering heat to see the PU’s (Parental Units) to pack up stuff at their house. Yes, my hometown has internet, but it is dialup service and seeing as how I haven’t quite decided about sharing this blog with family members, why risk updating on their computer?

On Sunday we drove their beat-up Ford Explorer out along a desert trail for a short hike. Luckily, we waited until evening when it was a cool 104^o to venture outdoors. (It was 114^o on graduation day!) After a short hike we turned around to head back and managed to puncture a front tire on a sharp rock. Seeing as how we were over a mile from the main road, my father decided that we should drive for a few minutes on the leaking tire. Rather than jaunting down the steep dirt roads we had climbed up, he veered us into the softer sand of a wash.

From there we proceeded to bury the Explorer into the sand, and I mean axle-deep into the sand. I attacked the sand around the tires with great ferocity as it was dusk and the light was fading fast, however, there was no coaxing the Explorer out. It had lost its will to live and abandoned its four-wheel drive capacity in the process.

So, my sexagenarian parents and I proceeded to walk back to the house.

For over five miles.

At night.

Having not eaten dinner before we left.

I am not proud to admit that I sulked a little bit, as I thought we could have tried a little harder to dig the Explorer out. Two hours later, we made it home and had a light supper of freshly-baked bread and butter, as we were too tired to be hungry.

It is somewhat odd visiting home as it seems that our roles are evolving, and even reversing a bit. I am now the overprotective one, and I warily kept an eye on my father throughout my stay. Although he is the only male on his side of the family to have made it into his sixties without a heart attack, he is not the intimidating figure that he used to be. Small changes in behavior appear with every visit, and although he still somehow manages to bombard me with advice, he is so much more cautious and fearful than he was in the past.

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As you may have already guessed, my recent vacation was to Seattle, Washington. In true tourist fashion, the first night I requested to visit the Space Needle. It turns out it costs $14 to ride to the top! We got our money’s worth though, as we stayed up there watching the sunset wash gold, pink, and ultimately, blue hues over the water and skyscrapers while we sipped on hot chocolate.

It’s always fun to catch up with old friends, and with Ru I am never quite sure what to expect. We have known each other since middle school, and although interests and location have often separated us, it is always good to reunite.

I remember a recent visit of hers when I met her at the Greyhound bus station. I had expected to find the same girl from my childhood—halfway through any book she could get her hands on, and too smart to conform to things like peer pressure. I always somewhat envied her, as back during high school, I was always scraggling to fit in with everyone from student council to the cheerleaders to the weekend binge drinkers and never quite seemed to find my place. She always held steadfast to her beliefs though, and didn’t seem to waste time worrying about what everyone else thought.

However, instead of the quiet girl from the past, a tank-top clad woman stepped off the bus that day, complete with straw cowboy hat and flowing honey-red tresses—a completely transformed confident and carefree Ru.

So last week, when I halfway expected to see a cowboy hat in the car coming to meet me at the airport, I was shocked again to meet a metropolitan version of Ru, smartly dressed in a fitted jacket and tailored pants with a sophisticated shorter hairstyle.

Many times I think that distance is really the true test of friendship, and it is always interesting to see which friendships endure with time.

School's Out FOREVER!!!

It's official: I graduated today! Hooding ceremony, oath, diploma, and all that other junk.

Off to celebrate!

Hermaphrodites and MORE!!!

My vacation was excellent, and there are many pictures to share. Tonight I'm too tired, so I'm giving you a slightly blurry picture of the hermaphrodite that I rescued during a six-hour hike yesterday. I probably should have set him/her down on something brown so that the picture would have shown up better.


Not having ever encountered a banana slug before, my friend Ru emailed me this link that I thought was rather amusing... particularly the paragraph about the sexual practices of banana slugs.

Today's vocabulary word: apophallation

Vacation!

Ok, where do desert rats go for vacation? Where it rains, of course!

I should be back next Tuesday-- pictures to follow!

Don't be a Dumbass

I am not one who is blessed with the ability to remember movie quotes, bible verses, or antibiotic dosages for that matter. I came across this during my reading last night, and just had to laugh.

The Lord says, "I will guide you along the best pathway for your life.
I will advise you and watch over you.
Do not be like a senseless horse or mule
that needs a bit and bridle to keep it under control."
Psalm 33:8-9

So the next time that someone asks me what my favorite verse is, maybe I can respond "Don't be a dumbass. Psalm 33:9!"

Some days I think I'm not mature enough to be anyone's doctor!

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I also learned a new word last night from the other book that I'm reading: kleptocracy

Here's the definition according to Wikipedia:

Kleptocracy (sometimes Cleptocracy) (root: Klepto+cracy = rule by thieves) is a pejorative, informal term for a government so corrupt that no pretense of honesty remains. In a kleptocracy the mechanisms of government are devoted to taxing the public at large, or using their control of government processes in order to amass substantial personal fortunes for the rulers and their cronies (collectively, kleptocrats), or to keep said rulers in power through redistribution schemes. Kleptocrats typically use money laundering and/or anonymous banking to protect and conceal their personal illegal gains.

What's a Little Uranium Between Friends?

Ok, so the home inspection went well-enough. Other than playing lottery with both a furnace and water heater that have outlived their life-expectancies, most of the problems are actually with the detached garage. Fine, I can deal with that.

This morning I found out that the radon inspection came back high, specifically 8.8 pCi/L. The cutoff for livable spaces is 4. I’m not that familiar with radon, as the soil clay here is pretty much too hard for anything to leak out of it, so today I did a little reading.

Radon is formed from the breakdown of thorium and uranium. Decay elements include two different forms of polonium, which are highly effective in damaging lung tissues. Even worse is that it has a synergistic effect in smokers.

The response from the seller is that they do not want to fix it (cost approx. $1500), and are questioning the validity of the test, as technically the basement is unfinished and not a “livable space” and they recall the levels being significantly lower than 8 when they bought the home 8 years ago. They are ordering a retest of the first floor, which should come back with a level half that of the basement. Their agent additionally told my agent that a lower result could be obtained be opening windows, and improving ventilation in the house. While I’m glad he’s figured out a way to destroy the entire integrity of the test, my concern is that radon levels are often quite a bit higher during the winter when the house is sealed up.

I am not really all that concerned about my own personal exposure, particularly as I am only planning on living there for my residency, but it might make the home more difficult to resell to anyone wanting to modify the basement. Ultimately, if when their test comes back negative, I’ll probably just end up doing long-term testing over 6 months to a year, and deciding whether or not to fix it then.

My loan application was “instantly approved” today as soon as I submitted it, and a good chunk of the morning was spent calling for estimates on homeowner’s and auto insurance. It was another thrilling day all around.

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I haven’t mentioned my running in terms of distance lately because it has been sporadic at best. And, considering that I’m leaving again on Wednesday for a week, I doubt that I’ll make my original goal of 5 miles by June. Hopefully, I can pull it off before I leave town for a week’s worth of driving a big-ass rental truck!

Today I ran 3.25 miles without stopping. After a few minutes of walking, I was able to do another 0.75, but I was sure huffing and puffing by the end of it!

Sigh

Today I cleared everything off my desk, leaving only exactly what I need over the next few weeks behind. And, while it's always good to remove a layer of dust, sometimes you find some good surprises and some not so good surprises. Every time I think I've gotten rid of most of the remnants of my past relationship, something else surfaces.

I was sorting through a collection of thank-you cards and found a couple of random "thinking of you"/"I love you" cards from Hallmark's Warm Wishes line. Every now and then, when I'd go over to X's house, I would hide a card somewhere for him to find after I left--in the microwave, clothes dryer, under a pillow, tucked in with a uniform, just wherever I could think of.

Although he wasn't much of a talker, he was a sentimental guy. He saved every card I ever gave him. One year, I baked a batch of sugar cookies that were heart-shaped, and decorated them with phrases like the little Valentine's Day candies. He refused to eat them, and kept them in his pantry, forever on display in a glass cake dish.

I ended up tossing the cards tonight, even though they were blank. I am sure there will eventually be more someone special's down the line, but it just doesn't seem right to recycle them.

And, while I now have a tidy desk, there's still a big pile of random crap on my bed to sort through.

Waffles, Anyone?

There was not a whole lot going on today. I finished the HR nightmare this morning—30 more pages, not including a 10 page history and physical I dropped off at my doctor’s office for her to initial. So anyway, since my life is pretty much boring right now, I’m going to attempt to entertain you with another story from my friend doing an OB/Gyn rotation. I had briefly considered going into that specialty, but ended up changing my mind after doing a second rotation in it.

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It seems my friend’s preceptor has been looking for alternative ways to bring in more cash. A representative for laser hair removal came in to the office the other day. Apparently, he told the doctor that a good way to become more familiar with the equipment would be to offer to perform free treatments on his office staff.

That night, my buddy called me and said, “So do you think I should get one of those?”

“One of those what?”

“You know, one of those Belgians.”

Long pause… “Why would your preceptor offer you waffles?”

“No, it’s a bikini wax!”

“Oh, you mean a Brazilian?”

“Well, I knew it was one of those countries that starts with a B…”

I just about died laughing and told her a Belgian would probably involve Rogaine and more hair growth! Don’t worry, I don’t think anyone in that office got a free bikini wax—that’s the last service in the world I’d ever want to be performed by my boss—way inappropriate!

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I did kill a couple of hours today watching “Memoirs of a Geisha”. A friend had given me a copy of it for my birthday, but I wasn’t too excited about it as I don’t remember enjoying the book all that much a few years ago. However, I think this is one rare case where the movie was actually better than the book!

Damn

One of my friends recently told me she's been feeling like saying the word damn a lot lately, and today I wholeheartedly agree. After getting an email from my new HR department informing me that the 15-page packet of information I sent them two weeks ago was not entirely complete, I went to the website thinking that I shouldn't have too much left to do. Boy, was I wrong! I didn't miss 3 forms... I missed THREE MORE SECTIONS of forms to fill out!

After spending no less than FIVE HOURS this morning printing forms, filling out forms, and copying said forms for my own records, I still have more to go! Remember me complaining about HIPAA training a few months ago? Now there are more automated modules of information to read, with tests to submit and certificates of completion to print. I can now tell you what both CODE ELMER and CODE GROVER mean when paged overhead. I think this is all somewhat ridiculous as we still have two days of orientation at the end of June, but I suppose I'll play along because really I have no other choice.

I went to the gym today, and still am not up to the level I was working at before I went to Philadelphia. I'm going to really have to step it up a notch.

On the plus side, my realtor called and said that my home inspection was done today and they should be emailing me the report sometime soon. Apparently the seller also wanted to sell me her dining room set, but I don't need one. Part of me wonders if she wanted to offer it as a trade for the clothes dryer?

Drive It Like You Stole It

After reconfirming with the family that we weren’t getting together for Mother’s Day, I decided to drive 200 miles south to where one of my friends was doing an out-of-town rotation. Let me just preface this story with the fact that the last two road trips we have done together have involved speeding tickets for her. Prior to this weekend, I had never been pulled over. Ever.

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It had been over a month since our last desert hike, so we headed to a nearby mountain to check it out. This was the sign at the entrance:

Instead of following a trail to who-knows-where, we decided to play it safe and walk up along a dirt road… for three miles… entirely uphill. Luckily, for once we started in the morning, so only the downhill portion was in the noonday sun.

Let me just say that on Monday it hurt just to sit in my car and drive home.

The entire time that we walked there were birds that kept circling overhead. We kept joking about them being vultures, but now I can see that they definitely were not. I guess I should have paid more attention to all the times my father has talked about classifying birds. Hawks, maybe? I don’t know.

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And just in case you want to know what improvements have been made in securing our country’s borders, I’ll have you know that the US Border Patrol is now watching from the skies with bright, white blimps.

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After cleaning up at her place, we headed out to one of the local wineries. It happens to be very close to Mexico. I had never done wine-tasting before, so I have nothing to compare it to, but they gave us fifteen different types to taste! After walking around for a bit, I drove my friend’s Firebird back towards town. Unfortunately, I handed her my digital camera, and most of the pictures she took look something like this…

…but she did manage to take a few nice shots.

When we were about a half-hour from town, I looked in the rearview mirror to see flashing lights. Uh-oh—but I was only doing 55 mph, and my friend had long since stopped taking pictures, so what was the problem? I pulled to the right, and this 18 year-old kid walked up to the window.

The first thing out of his mouth was, “Why are you parked in the middle of the road?”

To which I fired back, “Dude, there’s no shoulder here,” and pointed to the weeds. For future reference, I wouldn’t suggest addressing an officer with dude, but luckily once stopped, I saw that he was a Border Patrol agent.

“Are you two US citizens?”

Is he kidding? I’m a glow-in-the-dark strawberry blonde and my friend is of the pasty-variety as well. “Um, do you want to see some ID?”

“No, but could you pop the trunk?” There’s not exactly a whole lot of space to stash people or drugs in a Firebird but ok, let’s just pretend like he had any reason to pull us over.

At this point, my co-pilot pipes in, “Those are the T-tops in the back, just in case you don’t know what they are.” Fabulous, so now not only have I called him “Dude” but we’re openly questioning his intelligence.

He lets us go, and we drive off mystified as to why we were ever pulled over to begin with. Everyone so far has opined that he was just bored and wanted to stop two women in a sports car.

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The next morning, we actually did go to Mexico, if only briefly to check out the cost of prescription medications. And, while you can buy pretty much anything (well, not Botox!), most of the stuff ended up being cheaper at home with insurance coverage. However, I’m pretty sure we’re probably the only people to walk into pharmacies there with a PDA in hand, ready to price-compare. We ended up haggling on some blankets and calling it a morning.

Home Sweet Home?

This is what I am hoping will be my new casa:


I love the maple out front, and the garage in back has a basketball hoop, which I'm hoping the current owners will leave behind. A home inspection is still pending, but the contract has been signed by both parties, so I am keeping my fingers crossed--not literally, as that would probably lead to deformity after a week!

I did take some pictures of the inside, but since it is still occupied and we haven't closed yet, I feel kinda funny about posting pictures of someone else's stuff. I will definitely take tons of pictures when I move in, and comparison shots after I've messed things up. The layout is basically three bedroom and one bathroom, which are all upstairs. The first floor has a eat-in kitchen, separate dining room, living room with brick woodburning fireplace, and a tiny office. Laundry is in the basement.

Week in Review

I am exhausted, completely drained. The past five days have been a frenzy of frustration. Now I understand why buying a home is such an ordeal.

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Sunday- I arrive late, and am fortunately able to stay with one of the residents and her fiancé for the week. I didn’t sleep much the night before because I was up late preparing a portfolio of all my accounts for my lender. Over at least the past six weeks I have been looking at area properties and reading and re-reading a question and answer book on home buying. I had thought that I was a well-prepared woman, ready to waltz into a buyer’s market and take my pick of many cute, available older homes.

Monday- I met with my realtor at 10 am, and was horrified to discover that most of the 20 properties that I had previewed online and compared against one another already had contracts! Apparently, www.realtor.com is not updated regularly! After over an hour of scheduling appointments, we hit the road. Eight hours later, with only a short break for lunch, we called it a day. Only two homes had any promise—most I was able to immediately eliminate after simply driving by and seeing obvious structural problems. Many more failed after mold, natural gas leaks, and shoddy repairs surfaced. The highlight of the day was jogging at a nearby lake in a cool breeze at sunset with the resident I was staying with.

Tuesday- My realtor was busy with an art class in the morning, so I met with the bank and got my paperwork in order. That afternoon’s appointments were even worse, as we were subjected to crazy paint jobs and landscaping, suspiciously smelly carpets, and railroad tracks that were practically in the side yard. The jet lag starts to kick in, and I realize that my parallel parking skills are subpar as I try to interpret the 3^rd type of automated parking payment system that I have seen in this city. That night, I search frantically online for more housing options, and come up with very little.

Wednesday- Another half-day with the realtor. The condos and townhomes in my price range are slummy at best. We find an adorable house near a pond with ducks, but my realtor suspects that it is over-priced for the area. We call to reschedule appointments at the two houses from Monday to find out that one now has a contract. Apparently, her agent acted in his own best interest by telling her to accept an offer from one of his other clients so that he can get both commissions. She said that she told him that I seemed very interested in her house, but he insisted that she had to take the offer right there and then.

I drive back and forth between the two remaining properties and time the distance from the hospital. I am left with a cute two-bedroom Tudor/colonial that’s overpriced, but half the distance from work, or a three-bedroom bungalow that I love, but involves driving in a large U-shape to avoid the bad part of town. After stewing on it for a few hours, I decide to make an offer on the Tudor/colonial. I tag along with my friend on a few errands to check out the largest mall in town.

Thursday- I meet up with the realtor and we check out a few more places that I either hate or are in disrepair. We visit the Tudor again and scope out the owner by talking with his inexperienced agent who reveals more than he should. Back at my realtor’s office, we research the property to find that it is $50,000 over the price of three-bedroom homes in that particular neighborhood. Also, it was originally a HUD home that he bought for an extremely low price two years ago. We find two more properties in the computer and schedule early-morning appointments as I’m leaving town tomorrow afternoon. I resign myself to making an offer on the bungalow in a sketchy part of town, but it now has another interested buyer. At this point, I’m still not sleeping more than 4-5 hours/night and have no appetite.

That evening, I meet up with several of the residents in my program and am recruited to play in a softball game. It has been 15 years since I have touched a softball. I remember that the last game I played, as the only thing I proceeded to catch in left field that night was a grasshopper in my mouth during a very poorly-timed yawn!

The game was fun, although we lost 2-10. The other team showed up with matching shirts, knee socks, and metal cleats—yikes! I only had two opportunities to hit over the course of seven innings and both times I actually hit the ball on the first swing—even making it on base once!

After the game, we went to Hooters for beer and wings, which was a first for me. Yes, the wings were good, but the waitresses weren’t particularly anything special. Frankly, I think they were all only A/B cups. One of them was also at least five-months pregnant—not a good combo with a push-up bra and hot pants! I guess maybe they have a policy about you can only work there as long as you can fit into your uniform? Anyway, everyone in the program that I have met so far seems pretty cool and laidback.

Friday- I meet up with my realtor, an am totally down-spirited. However, the first property we see that morning is a reasonably-priced colonial in a neighborhood that I like that is still close to the hospital! The second place turns out to be a dump, so feeling elated, we go back to the office to make an offer. As we are finishing up the paperwork, the seller’s agent finally returns our phone call and says that two other offers were submitted the night before, and that he’s meeting with the sellers at lunch to review them.

My agent insists on submitting our offer in person and we go to the same restaurant for lunch. I end up raising my offer $10,000 to the high-end of my budget. A half-hour ticks by, and we hear nothing. In the meantime, I nibble at the freshest fried fish that I have ever had and awesome macaroni and cheese. An hour passes, and my stomach is in knots. My agent’s phone has rung at least a dozen times, but they have yet to call. Finally, they call and ask to split the difference between my offer and their listing price, saying that “She’s having a hard time letting the clothes dryer go as it was a wedding present.” Seriously, what the hell is that about? I decide it is not worth it to lose the deal over another $1800, and go for it.

We walk over to their table, and a massive flurry of paper signing ensues. The wife is in tears, and the couple is noticeably stiff around each other, so we’re thinking it was a divorce and selling the house is kind of the final step. My agent asks what took so long, and theirs says, “Oh, we were just eating lunch first.” What an ass! He knew we were sitting there waiting on them!

I am relieved that the search is over. After spending a week looking, it would have been such a bummer to go home with nothing. The house is a bit bigger than I need, but much nicer than anything else that I had looked at. And, while my realtor has been telling me that decorating has little to do with value, I have other issues with having no time and no stash of cash, so for me move-in condition was a huge factor.

So after a week of searching, I find out that I have a house only three hours before my plane leaves town!

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I have a new respect for realtors out of this whole ordeal—at least for mine. Everything is so volatile and between all the driving and lunches, she would have been out quite a bit of money had we not found anything. Overall, I feel really good about my purchase, and if even if the market slows down some, I think that I will be ok.

On the way home I got re-routed since Continental airlines couldn’t get me to my connecting flight on time. I should have known, since on my flight reservation lists them as being 10% on time. Whatever. I have one more flight this month—but for a real vacation, and then I should be back to one or two flights per year. I like seeing new places, but for me getting there is not half the fun—particularly via giant germ tube.