So. Instead: New hair!
(Nothing to worry about, just a little more buffeting from the Universe today than my poor, delicate psyche can handle. A bottle of wine for dinner and hopefully I’ll forget all about it.)
(And Saturday better involve flowers, is all I’m sayin’.)
OK, OK, OK. I know. I apologize for the delay. Contrary to Jennifer’s concerns, I am not suffering any personal tragedy, unless you count fighting The Plague for the last week, coupled with far too much work to do in my last two weeks (because I am one of those stupid people who actually cares about wrapping up my projects before I am no longer employed there), and the remaining precious moments dedicated to sleep or having a social life. And fear not — my real life people aren’t any more up-to-date than you all are. In fact, I told my parents about the house after I told you. See how special you are?
First, let’s quickly cover That Which We Do Not Talk About. Do not worry, Tracy, I didn’t quit my job in a blaze of I Hate You All glory. I love my job and I mostly love the people I work with, even the creepy old guys who probably have inappropriate thoughts about me while they’re with their wives. (Yes, really. No one looks at you like that on the elevator and thinks only innocent thoughts about you.) But, I’ve been there for five and a half years and it is time for me to try my hand at something new, lest I turn into a lifer there. (I believe we’ve talked about this before.)
In the way that pretty much everything in my life goes, I keyed in a on particular type of job I wanted and then worked worked worked to make it happen. In the end, that job didn’t happen and I ended up with something that I didn’t know existed, but once I knew about it, wanted even more than my previously-zeroed-in-on target.
(Sidenote for those of you who do not fully grasp my networking compulsion prowess: At a friend’s birthday party, I met a woman whom I knew by reputation, but not personal connection. I called her later in the week and re-introduced myself. We talked about career stuff, what I was looking for, what advice she had, etc. About a month later, a former colleague of hers mentioned wanting to hire someone with prior experience at my organization, did she happen to know anyone? She called me to see if I was interested in talking to him. I was, and now her former colleague is my new boss.) (Which reminds me, I should probably send her flowers. Or a bottle of wine.)
Enough about boring work stuff, onto the Oh My God this is the most money I’ve ever spent on anything panic fun.
I have many issues (hard to believe, I know), but “inability to commit” is not one of them. I sketched out what I want and don’t want in a property, where I want to live, and how much I was willing to spend. My Realtor and I went out looking at properties a grand total of three times over two weekends, even seeing some properties more than once! (Quite a change from the DC real estate market I left, where you had to be prepared to make an offer on a property that you saw once for 20 minutes during the first — and only — open house. Thinking about it for a few days pretty much guaranteed that someone else had snapped it up. For more than list price.)
I found several places I liked, didn’t get my top choice, and made an offer on this one. It meets all of my Must Have criteria, a couple of my Nice To Have criteria, and has none of the Not On Your Life items. Much to my surprise, the seller accepted my offer the next day. No haggling over price or settlement date, just a couple of minor items that were easily resolved. And, just like that, I am no longer homeless.
All pictures are courtesy of the listing agent, so if you don’t like the camera angles, blame her. But not until after we settle — I don’t want her mad at me before the transaction goes through.
That’s my house there, on the right, with the white picket fence.
Ha! Oh, I make me laugh. Yeah, that’s my house…twenty years from now, after I write a New York Times bestseller and earn eleventy jillion dollars. Really this is a picture of the front yard of the condo building. My point here is — trees! grass! cute residential neighborhood!
Living Room
The green wall has got to go. It’s not terrible, I know, I’ve seen much worse, but it’s not at all my style.
More living room
Taken from the front door.
Eat-in part of the kitchen
Standing at the front door, turned 90 degrees to the right, looking into the kitchen.
Work-in part of the kitchen
I’m not wild about the paint color in here, either, but it can wait.
Hallway
Off of the left side of the living room, opposite the entrance to the kitchen. Closet on the left of the hall, bathroom on the right. Bedroom straight ahead. The bathroom is in need of some updating (Hello, 1936 shower! Who knew people had indoor plumbing back then?) but that project can wait until such time as I have cash money to spend on anything that’s not the mortgage.
Bedroom
Not pictured: 1/3 of the square footage in here. I promise, the bedroom is bigger than a queen-sized bed. Also a candidate for painting, but I have no idea what color.
All right, so that’s the quick tour of my new home. I’m having the floors refinished before I move in (far, far easier to do with no furniture to move and no stuff on which mass amounts of wood dust will collect), and then I have to paint. This is where you come in — any suggestions? Obviously, things will have to coordinate somewhat, as you can see all the main spaces from the living room.
I’m keeping the same bedroom furnishings I had in California — reddish-pink duvet cover, eggshell pillow shams and bedskirt, and very girly artwork (this and this and a black-and-white painting of a flower) — in part because I’m frugal and in part because I doubt very much that I’ll be permitted to have this feminine of a bedroom when I have to share it with someone. (I’m speaking purely hypothetically here. I do not have anyone in particular in mind for this bedroom-sharing arrangement. Why, do you know someone? Is he cute? When can I meet him?)
In the living room, I want something warm and cozy and probably in a highly-saturated color. It needs to match … um, the floors, I guess, as I have no furniture and no decor to speak of. It’s exciting, but somewhat troubling, as I have eighteen different ideas and only one room to decorate. Chocolate brown leather couch! No, wait, chocolate brown on the walls and … something … for the couch! No, wait, dark wood tables with Tiffany box blue walls! No, wait…!
Seriously, send your suggestions. And wine. And maybe an interior decorator.
I quit my job today.
And bought a house.
Lots more to tell you (obviously), but I’m a little swamped right now. Details soon. I hope.
I keep thinking, Today. Today will be the day I write about what it’s like being back in DC. But then I’m busy condo-hunting or grabbing drinks after work or snuggling my friends’ babies or having brunch or going to the grocery store or picking up my car from its $15-oil-change-turned-$500-tune-up.
So. That’s what it’s like being back here: utterly, blissfully normal. This is not to say that everything is perfect. For starters, real estate is still far too expensive. A girl should be able to sell her kidney in order to get something nice. Here, a kidney only gets you a closet. You want the bedroom attached to that closet, you’d better be willing to part with a pot of gold, one lung and maybe your firstborn child. Which is good, actually, because where would you put that child in a 500 square foot studio? That’s what I thought.
Also, I’m having trouble driving — Friday night it took me 40 minutes to get somewhere about 18 minutes away. It’s not that I’ve forgotten how to drive, but I no longer remember where all the streets intersect or what neighborhood they’re in or what the name of a given street is. I instinctively know I want to turn left at that light up there, but I don’t know why and I can’t tell you what street it is I’m turning onto, nor what direction I’m facing once I do. Please do yourself a favor: do not ask me for directions.
Of course, there are things I miss about California. Avocados, for one. (She says while eating grocery store guacamole. SO not the same.) The weather. Being on the ski hill in under two hours. My friends. I thought I was done with having friends who live 3000 miles away, but apparently not. Sunlight. Being able to stay up for the end of a Monday Night Football game.
Despite all this, it’s pretty good being back on the East Coast. Yeah, I think this about sums it up:
The answer to your question is, in a word, surreal.
Last night was the fifteenth consecutive night I spent in a room that is not my own. This morning was also the fifteenth consecutive morning on which I donned an outfit straight out of my suitcase. I didn’t make it to the grocery store after work tonight like I promised myself, so tomorrow will be the fifteen millionth consecutive day that I eat like crap.
(Thankfully, today was only the first day during which I failed to operate an unfamiliar alarm clock correctly and was rudely awoken at midnight. And then again at 12:05 AM, since I apparently hit the snooze button in my attempt to make the damn thing shut up. I think I’m going back to my cell phone alarm tonight.)
In many ways it feels much like those other weeks I would spend in DC, minus some of the rush to get all my work done (because I was only ever here for a busy week) and see everyone and make it to the gym and not turn into an alcoholic, before getting back on a plane headed for California.
I spent the day getting caught up on the status of work projects and other people’s personal life happenings and, finally, late this afternoon after I’d seen enough people and talked to my new manager and placed a call to a friend’s real estate agent, it started to sink in: I live here now. I live here.
Happy new year, indeed.
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