Just got word from my attorney that my closing is Nov.1 at 3 PM. This it it, folks. I am signing my life away!
I'm excited but scared. I know that's normal but I really DO hate signing papers. I mean, I know what it's like for buying a car so I can just imagine the papers I have to sign for a house.
I am glad that all this jazz will be over. But then I've got moving to which to look forward; that takes place Nov. 5. We're trying to be good, packing up a little bit day by day. Plus, we don't have to be out in one day because we decided to pay an extra month of rent for that very reason. Sound advice from my friend, Deborah, in North Carolina. Thanks, Deb, I owe ya one!
Boy, will I need a BIG DRINK after this!
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Saturday, October 27, 2007
And Away We Go!
We should be in our new home on Nov. 5, God willing.
Have to share one bit of funniness with ya'all. Tom, the quintessential packrat, has taken to retrieving just about EVERYTHING I'm throwing out, saying, "Honey, what are you throwing THIS out for?" or "You're not throwing THIS away, are you?"
Yes, I am because I don't want our new house to resemble Sanford & Son. But, he replies, our new house is four times the size! Yes, and that means that it can hold four times the junk and I am not having any of it.
I think I'll save the real purging for when he's not home. :-)
{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{SIGH}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}
Current Mood: amused
Have to share one bit of funniness with ya'all. Tom, the quintessential packrat, has taken to retrieving just about EVERYTHING I'm throwing out, saying, "Honey, what are you throwing THIS out for?" or "You're not throwing THIS away, are you?"
Yes, I am because I don't want our new house to resemble Sanford & Son. But, he replies, our new house is four times the size! Yes, and that means that it can hold four times the junk and I am not having any of it.
I think I'll save the real purging for when he's not home. :-)
{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{SIGH}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}
Current Mood: amused
Friday, October 26, 2007
Bush's Mistake
I have no clue who Ed Barr is but he wrote this powerful piece that someone shared with me today:
President Bush did make a bad mistake in the war on terrorism. But the mistake was not his decision to go to war in Iraq. Bush's mistake came in his belief that this country is the same one his father fought for in WWII. It is not.
Back then, they had just come out of a vicious depression. The country was steeled by the hardship of that depression, but they still believed fervently in this country. They knew that the people had elected their leaders, so it was the people's duty to back those leaders.
Therefore, when the war broke out the people came together, rallied behind, and stuck with their leaders, whether they had voted for them or not or whether the war was going badly or not.
And war was just as distasteful and the anguish just as great as it is today. Often there were more casualties in one day in WWII than we have had in the entire Iraq war. But that did not matter. The people stuck with the President because it was their patriotic duty. Americans put aside their differences in WWII and worked together to win that war.
Everyone from every strata of society, from young to old pitched in. Small children pulled little wagons around to gather scrap metal for the war effort. Grade school students saved their pennies to buy stamps for war bonds to help the effort.
Men who were too old or medically 4F, lied about their age or condition trying their best to join the military. Women doubled their work to keep things going at home. Harsh rationing of everything from gasoline to soap, to butter was imposed, yet there was very little complaining.
You never heard prominent people on the radio belittling the President. Interestingly enough in those days there were no fat cat actors and entertainers who ran off to visit and fawn over dictators of hostile countries and complain to them about our President. Instead, they made upbeat films and entertained our troops to help the troops' morale. And a bunch even enlisted!
And imagine this: Teachers in schools actually started the day off with a Pledge of Allegiance, and with prayers for our country and our troops!
Back then, no newspaper would have dared point out certain weak spots in our cities where bombs could be set off to cause the maximum damage. No newspaper would have dared complain about what we were doing to catch spies.
A newspaper would have been laughed out of existence if it had complained that German or Japanese soldiers were being 'tortured' by being forced to wear women's underwear, or subjected to interrogation by a woman, or being scared by a dog or did not have air conditioning.
There were a lot of things different back then. We were not subjected to a constant bombardment of pornography, perversion and promiscuity in movies or on radio. We did not have legions of crackheads, dope pushers and armed gangs roaming our streets.
No, President Bush did not make a mistake in his handling of terrorism. He made the mistake of believing that we still had the courage and fortitude of our fathers. He believed that this was still the country that our fathers fought so dearly to preserve.
It is not the same country. It is now a cross between Sodom and Gomorra and the land of Oz. We did unite for a short while after 9/11, but our attitude changed when we found out that defending our country would require some sacrifices.
We are in great danger. The terrorists are fanatic Muslims. They believe that it is okay, even their duty, to kill anyone who will not convert to Islam. It has been estimated that about one-third or over three hundred million Muslims are sympathetic to the terrorists cause...Hitler and Tojo combined did not have nearly that many potential recruits.
So...we either win it - or lose it - and you ain't gonna like losing.
America is not at war. The military is at war. America is at the mall.
Ed Barr
President Bush did make a bad mistake in the war on terrorism. But the mistake was not his decision to go to war in Iraq. Bush's mistake came in his belief that this country is the same one his father fought for in WWII. It is not.
Back then, they had just come out of a vicious depression. The country was steeled by the hardship of that depression, but they still believed fervently in this country. They knew that the people had elected their leaders, so it was the people's duty to back those leaders.
Therefore, when the war broke out the people came together, rallied behind, and stuck with their leaders, whether they had voted for them or not or whether the war was going badly or not.
And war was just as distasteful and the anguish just as great as it is today. Often there were more casualties in one day in WWII than we have had in the entire Iraq war. But that did not matter. The people stuck with the President because it was their patriotic duty. Americans put aside their differences in WWII and worked together to win that war.
Everyone from every strata of society, from young to old pitched in. Small children pulled little wagons around to gather scrap metal for the war effort. Grade school students saved their pennies to buy stamps for war bonds to help the effort.
Men who were too old or medically 4F, lied about their age or condition trying their best to join the military. Women doubled their work to keep things going at home. Harsh rationing of everything from gasoline to soap, to butter was imposed, yet there was very little complaining.
You never heard prominent people on the radio belittling the President. Interestingly enough in those days there were no fat cat actors and entertainers who ran off to visit and fawn over dictators of hostile countries and complain to them about our President. Instead, they made upbeat films and entertained our troops to help the troops' morale. And a bunch even enlisted!
And imagine this: Teachers in schools actually started the day off with a Pledge of Allegiance, and with prayers for our country and our troops!
Back then, no newspaper would have dared point out certain weak spots in our cities where bombs could be set off to cause the maximum damage. No newspaper would have dared complain about what we were doing to catch spies.
A newspaper would have been laughed out of existence if it had complained that German or Japanese soldiers were being 'tortured' by being forced to wear women's underwear, or subjected to interrogation by a woman, or being scared by a dog or did not have air conditioning.
There were a lot of things different back then. We were not subjected to a constant bombardment of pornography, perversion and promiscuity in movies or on radio. We did not have legions of crackheads, dope pushers and armed gangs roaming our streets.
No, President Bush did not make a mistake in his handling of terrorism. He made the mistake of believing that we still had the courage and fortitude of our fathers. He believed that this was still the country that our fathers fought so dearly to preserve.
It is not the same country. It is now a cross between Sodom and Gomorra and the land of Oz. We did unite for a short while after 9/11, but our attitude changed when we found out that defending our country would require some sacrifices.
We are in great danger. The terrorists are fanatic Muslims. They believe that it is okay, even their duty, to kill anyone who will not convert to Islam. It has been estimated that about one-third or over three hundred million Muslims are sympathetic to the terrorists cause...Hitler and Tojo combined did not have nearly that many potential recruits.
So...we either win it - or lose it - and you ain't gonna like losing.
America is not at war. The military is at war. America is at the mall.
Ed Barr
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Sunday, October 14, 2007
We Interrupt Your Regular Program...
Do you remember what the weather was like last Sunday, Oct. 7? I do. To refresh your memory, that the was day that they cancelled the Chicago Marathon halfway through, where someone died on the course. When the temps hit 92 degrees at noon. I don't even know what the humidity was but it was way up there.
Well, that was also the day that I, and some of my running club buds, were doing the Long Beach Island 18 Miler, a race I've done 4 years in a row with no consequence. My goal was to beat my best time of 2:47. I finished in 3:08. That should tell you something, but it doesn't tell you the whole story which is here, taken from the Essex Running Club web board:
"I should add that I felt fine during the race and at the finish. Yes, it was very hot but as my time attests (Yikes! That's slower than my Philly Marathon pace!), I wasn't trying to be a hero today. I took walk breaks after every 3 miles and around mile 9, I just wanted to finish.
"After the race, I hooked up with Tom at the post-race party at the finish area. I collected my stuff and changed into dry clothes in the bathroom. It was while I was changing that I began to feel well, weird. I didn't feel as if I was going to lose consciousness but I definately did NOT feel like myself. I knew I had to get outside and get fresh air. I found a bench in the shade and lied down. Then it hit me: I had the absolute worst calf cramps I had ever had in my life! So bad, that I could not move my legs without horrific pain. Then my arms began to go numb. I was VERY scared. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before.
"I saw Tom come out of the men's room and I yelled to him. I told him that something was not right (I think I scared the bejesus out of him). He ran to get the medics.
"An EMT guy came over and immediately put me at ease. He said I was going to be all right, I was just having lactic acid build up. He kept telling to try to calm down and take deep breaths. It was decided (not by me!) that I should be taken by ambulance to the hospital for observation. Once in the ambulance, I was put on oxygen and within minutes my legs began to feel better and the feeling came back into my arms.
"At the hospital, everything checked out fine: blood pressure, temperature (it was actually a bit BELOW normal). I was told that I suffered from mild heat exhaustion due to loss of electrolytes and build up of lactic acid. They kept asking me if I had any Gatorade on the course. I told them that took Gatorade and water every chance I could get. The problem was that the Gatorade wasn't being offered until about mile 10 or 11 or so! It really should have been made available from the beginning, especially in temps like we had yesterday.
"I should also add that for the first 3 or so miles, there were major problems with the water stations. One station actually ran out of cups, another had those spring water containers with the push button. Do you know how long it takes to fill cups with those? Runners had to actually stop and wait while cups were being filled, crowding the water stations. The organizers should have been better prepared, especially on a hot day like that.
"When I got to the ER, almost all of the units were being occupied by other runners! One RN actually remarked: "Whose bright idea was it to hold an 18 mile race today?" From what I was told, there were people there in a lot worse shape than me; one was brought in with a fever of 105, another couldn't even remember his name. I hope they all made it out OK.
"After being released, Tom & I hitched a ride back via ambulance to St. Francis where the awards ceremony and post-race banquet took place. I stepped out of the ambulance and I felt like Paris Hilton being released from jail: I was immediately surrounded by volunteers who began clapping the minute I walked through the door! I never dreamed my red carpet moment would be like this.
"I plan to write a letter of praise and appreciation to the EMT staff. They were terrific. They responded quickly and put my mind at ease and were just all-around nice folks. Thanks to Tom for not freaking out, thanks to Mick for his patience and to everyone (Lynne, Catherine) who called and expressed their concern. I am feeling 100 percent better today (just suffering the humiliation of my horrible finishing time)."
Well, that was also the day that I, and some of my running club buds, were doing the Long Beach Island 18 Miler, a race I've done 4 years in a row with no consequence. My goal was to beat my best time of 2:47. I finished in 3:08. That should tell you something, but it doesn't tell you the whole story which is here, taken from the Essex Running Club web board:
"I should add that I felt fine during the race and at the finish. Yes, it was very hot but as my time attests (Yikes! That's slower than my Philly Marathon pace!), I wasn't trying to be a hero today. I took walk breaks after every 3 miles and around mile 9, I just wanted to finish.
"After the race, I hooked up with Tom at the post-race party at the finish area. I collected my stuff and changed into dry clothes in the bathroom. It was while I was changing that I began to feel well, weird. I didn't feel as if I was going to lose consciousness but I definately did NOT feel like myself. I knew I had to get outside and get fresh air. I found a bench in the shade and lied down. Then it hit me: I had the absolute worst calf cramps I had ever had in my life! So bad, that I could not move my legs without horrific pain. Then my arms began to go numb. I was VERY scared. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before.
"I saw Tom come out of the men's room and I yelled to him. I told him that something was not right (I think I scared the bejesus out of him). He ran to get the medics.
"An EMT guy came over and immediately put me at ease. He said I was going to be all right, I was just having lactic acid build up. He kept telling to try to calm down and take deep breaths. It was decided (not by me!) that I should be taken by ambulance to the hospital for observation. Once in the ambulance, I was put on oxygen and within minutes my legs began to feel better and the feeling came back into my arms.
"At the hospital, everything checked out fine: blood pressure, temperature (it was actually a bit BELOW normal). I was told that I suffered from mild heat exhaustion due to loss of electrolytes and build up of lactic acid. They kept asking me if I had any Gatorade on the course. I told them that took Gatorade and water every chance I could get. The problem was that the Gatorade wasn't being offered until about mile 10 or 11 or so! It really should have been made available from the beginning, especially in temps like we had yesterday.
"I should also add that for the first 3 or so miles, there were major problems with the water stations. One station actually ran out of cups, another had those spring water containers with the push button. Do you know how long it takes to fill cups with those? Runners had to actually stop and wait while cups were being filled, crowding the water stations. The organizers should have been better prepared, especially on a hot day like that.
"When I got to the ER, almost all of the units were being occupied by other runners! One RN actually remarked: "Whose bright idea was it to hold an 18 mile race today?" From what I was told, there were people there in a lot worse shape than me; one was brought in with a fever of 105, another couldn't even remember his name. I hope they all made it out OK.
"After being released, Tom & I hitched a ride back via ambulance to St. Francis where the awards ceremony and post-race banquet took place. I stepped out of the ambulance and I felt like Paris Hilton being released from jail: I was immediately surrounded by volunteers who began clapping the minute I walked through the door! I never dreamed my red carpet moment would be like this.
"I plan to write a letter of praise and appreciation to the EMT staff. They were terrific. They responded quickly and put my mind at ease and were just all-around nice folks. Thanks to Tom for not freaking out, thanks to Mick for his patience and to everyone (Lynne, Catherine) who called and expressed their concern. I am feeling 100 percent better today (just suffering the humiliation of my horrible finishing time)."
Friday, September 28, 2007
What a Long, Strange Trip It's Been!
In a nutshell: Yes, we bought a house!
Is it the house we were orginally going to put a bid on? No.
Here's the story:
After we lost the house in Verona (the one where another buyer bid over the asking price), we began looking again, this time in Bloomfield. I found a gorgeous (or so I thought) Victorian on the Weichert web site. Again, pictures lie. You think I would have learned my lesson by now, but nooo!
Inside, the house needed mucho work. The kitchen was a mess and the backyard, which was described as "big and wonderful," was actually neither and sloped off clifflike into an abyss. Also, smallish rooms, choppy layout. Not for us.
Then we looked at 2 houses on the same street in Bloomfield. Neither one was really to our liking. Rooms were smallish, one had practically no kitchen cabinets, and the houses were very close together.
As we had gone running that morning, we were tired and planned to go home to take a nap. That's when our Realtor called. She found a great 3 BR Cape Cod in Roseland in a wonderful neighborhood in our price range. Sounded too good to be true but we were off.
She was right: The house WAS adorable. The neighborhood, grand. I have a soft spot in my heart for Roseland, having grown up there. We even met the owners, a 60-ish couple who were retiring and who had lived in the house for 35 years. The piece de resistance was their gorgeous Lab mix, Willie, who was the size of small pony but gentle as ever.
I recognized the value in this house. It was very well cared for, just need minor cosmetic work. The yard was cool; after all, Willie liked it and he was bigger than any dog we would ever get. I was ready to put in an offer the next night.
But something didn't sit right with Tom. He was bothered by the fact that this house had only one bathroom--and it was on the first floor. "You know how many times I get up at night to use the bathroom!" he said. Not to worry, those of you who are reading this. He doesn't have cancer or diabetes (he was checked for both). It's just the way he is. He gets very thirsty at night and drinks a lot of water. I know this is TMI for many folks but I wanted to put everyone's mind at rest.
So, we'll put in a second bath, I replied weakly, hearing the sound of an imaginary cash register going "Ka-ching!" inside my head. More money to spend. But, we'd be buying a house in Roseland. And the taxes were HALF of what Verona's and the surrounding towns are.
And then God intervened. We were coming back from a race on Sunday and we were driving through West Orange. I hadn't thought to look for a house in West Orange. Not that I have anything against it, it just hadn't occurred to me. I always mistakenly assumed West Orange was full of split-level Levittown horrors and Mc Mansions. I was wrong.
We saw lots of For Sale signs in West Orange and Tom suggested we go home, shower up and hit some of them. I noted a couple of the addresses and went home to check them out on the Net. Son of a gun, there was one on a dead end street, no less, in our price range: a 4 BR, 2 full bath Cape, with a nice yard with a deck, nice-looking photos of the rooms (I know, I know). Off we went.
Well, Tom fell in love before I did. I just couldn't wrap my brain around living in West Orange, forgive me. But the more I walked around, the more I warmed up to it. The rooms were very spacious and there were 4 of them! Two full baths, one up, one down. Fugly 1950s tiles but in good condition. Kitchen was in good shape, with plenty of knotty pine cabinets and a deck leading out to a great yard with a dog run(nicer than the yard in Roseland). Spacious living room, dining room with built-in, catty-cornered China cabinets (my fave thing about the whole house!)
In fact, there were LOTS of built-ins throughout. Someone, somewhere must have been a carpenter. Basement is partially finished and dry as a bone. And a workshop for Tom!
To make this very long story short, we put in a bid $15,000 less than the asking price and we got it! The owner is already in her new home and is desperate to sell.
I just got word that the attorney review has been completed and I scheduled the inspection for Wednesday. I pray they don't find any surprises!
We close in November...yikes. But it's a kinda good "Yikes!"
Is it the house we were orginally going to put a bid on? No.
Here's the story:
After we lost the house in Verona (the one where another buyer bid over the asking price), we began looking again, this time in Bloomfield. I found a gorgeous (or so I thought) Victorian on the Weichert web site. Again, pictures lie. You think I would have learned my lesson by now, but nooo!
Inside, the house needed mucho work. The kitchen was a mess and the backyard, which was described as "big and wonderful," was actually neither and sloped off clifflike into an abyss. Also, smallish rooms, choppy layout. Not for us.
Then we looked at 2 houses on the same street in Bloomfield. Neither one was really to our liking. Rooms were smallish, one had practically no kitchen cabinets, and the houses were very close together.
As we had gone running that morning, we were tired and planned to go home to take a nap. That's when our Realtor called. She found a great 3 BR Cape Cod in Roseland in a wonderful neighborhood in our price range. Sounded too good to be true but we were off.
She was right: The house WAS adorable. The neighborhood, grand. I have a soft spot in my heart for Roseland, having grown up there. We even met the owners, a 60-ish couple who were retiring and who had lived in the house for 35 years. The piece de resistance was their gorgeous Lab mix, Willie, who was the size of small pony but gentle as ever.
I recognized the value in this house. It was very well cared for, just need minor cosmetic work. The yard was cool; after all, Willie liked it and he was bigger than any dog we would ever get. I was ready to put in an offer the next night.
But something didn't sit right with Tom. He was bothered by the fact that this house had only one bathroom--and it was on the first floor. "You know how many times I get up at night to use the bathroom!" he said. Not to worry, those of you who are reading this. He doesn't have cancer or diabetes (he was checked for both). It's just the way he is. He gets very thirsty at night and drinks a lot of water. I know this is TMI for many folks but I wanted to put everyone's mind at rest.
So, we'll put in a second bath, I replied weakly, hearing the sound of an imaginary cash register going "Ka-ching!" inside my head. More money to spend. But, we'd be buying a house in Roseland. And the taxes were HALF of what Verona's and the surrounding towns are.
And then God intervened. We were coming back from a race on Sunday and we were driving through West Orange. I hadn't thought to look for a house in West Orange. Not that I have anything against it, it just hadn't occurred to me. I always mistakenly assumed West Orange was full of split-level Levittown horrors and Mc Mansions. I was wrong.
We saw lots of For Sale signs in West Orange and Tom suggested we go home, shower up and hit some of them. I noted a couple of the addresses and went home to check them out on the Net. Son of a gun, there was one on a dead end street, no less, in our price range: a 4 BR, 2 full bath Cape, with a nice yard with a deck, nice-looking photos of the rooms (I know, I know). Off we went.
Well, Tom fell in love before I did. I just couldn't wrap my brain around living in West Orange, forgive me. But the more I walked around, the more I warmed up to it. The rooms were very spacious and there were 4 of them! Two full baths, one up, one down. Fugly 1950s tiles but in good condition. Kitchen was in good shape, with plenty of knotty pine cabinets and a deck leading out to a great yard with a dog run(nicer than the yard in Roseland). Spacious living room, dining room with built-in, catty-cornered China cabinets (my fave thing about the whole house!)
In fact, there were LOTS of built-ins throughout. Someone, somewhere must have been a carpenter. Basement is partially finished and dry as a bone. And a workshop for Tom!
To make this very long story short, we put in a bid $15,000 less than the asking price and we got it! The owner is already in her new home and is desperate to sell.
I just got word that the attorney review has been completed and I scheduled the inspection for Wednesday. I pray they don't find any surprises!
We close in November...yikes. But it's a kinda good "Yikes!"
Monday, September 17, 2007
Will You Be My Lawfully Wedded House?
Do you take this Cape Cod to be your lawfully wedded house, in (financial) sickness and in health?
Well, it's nitty-gritty time here at Martta's World. Tonight I am putting an offer on the house in Verona that we both like. I understand that there are 2 other offers pending. My offer is for about $10,000 less because if it comes to negotiation, I want the seller to pay for a French drain in the basement.
We looked at another comparable home in Verona but it needed more work, especially the kitchen. Plus, it was listed as a 3BR but the third BR was actually the basement that was converted into a BR! Not fair guys, especially since you also list a basement. You can't have it both ways, it's either a basement or a bedroom. So, we were put off by that.
We wanted to see another cute Cape Cod in Caldwell that was supposed to have an open house on Sunday. We got there and the sign said "Open House Cancelled." Bummer! Just as we were walking away, the owner drove up. We explained why we were there and he said, "My wife wanted to fix a few things up before we open the house. Call the Realtor if you want to see it during the week."
Now this tells me one of two things.
1. His wife wants to hide the bodies.
2. They are not truly motivated to sell.
If they were truly motivated (especially in this market!), he would have invited us in to look around. This tells us that there's something else going on there. My Realtor agreed. So, we're not going to bother going back. It's also a mite higher than we wanted to spend.
I will keep you posted about our offer. Send pixie dust, please!
Well, it's nitty-gritty time here at Martta's World. Tonight I am putting an offer on the house in Verona that we both like. I understand that there are 2 other offers pending. My offer is for about $10,000 less because if it comes to negotiation, I want the seller to pay for a French drain in the basement.
We looked at another comparable home in Verona but it needed more work, especially the kitchen. Plus, it was listed as a 3BR but the third BR was actually the basement that was converted into a BR! Not fair guys, especially since you also list a basement. You can't have it both ways, it's either a basement or a bedroom. So, we were put off by that.
We wanted to see another cute Cape Cod in Caldwell that was supposed to have an open house on Sunday. We got there and the sign said "Open House Cancelled." Bummer! Just as we were walking away, the owner drove up. We explained why we were there and he said, "My wife wanted to fix a few things up before we open the house. Call the Realtor if you want to see it during the week."
Now this tells me one of two things.
1. His wife wants to hide the bodies.
2. They are not truly motivated to sell.
If they were truly motivated (especially in this market!), he would have invited us in to look around. This tells us that there's something else going on there. My Realtor agreed. So, we're not going to bother going back. It's also a mite higher than we wanted to spend.
I will keep you posted about our offer. Send pixie dust, please!
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
I Think I'm in Love!
With a house, you sillies. Don't get all excited! :-)
Anyhoo, we looked at 3 more houses tonight after work. One in Verona, one in West Caldwell that I've had my eye on for awhile, and one in Caldwell.
First stop: Verona. This is where I fell in love. Adorable cottage-style Cape Cod on quaint street. The listing said 2BR but the second BR is actually a tandem bedroom which means it's a bedroom with an attached space. Perfect for a couple with no kids (us) and perfect for a computer/trophy room.
The house is in terrific condition, everything from the kitchen (recently remodeled), the roof (10 years old), the exterior (freshly painted). Nice yard, flat and deep, perfect for a dawg. Fireplace, clean unfinished basement, screened-in porch in the back, nice details like wall molding, two-car garage. All in all, move in ready. The only thing we'd do is rip up the fugly old wall-to-wall carpeting (we both hate wall-to-wall, especially other people's!) There are hardwood floors underneath.
Really, the nicest one we've seen so far. So nice that I am thinking of making an offer. The price is right: $399,000 but my Realtor says that because it's new to the market, I have very little wiggle room as far as negotiation. Especially since it's in such good condition. I have 2 more to look (they're not on till this weekend). Tom is on the same page as me about this one.
Second stop: Caldwell, a 3BR colonial priced at $375,000. The. worse. one. I've. seen. yet. Not only a handyman's special, but dirty and chock full of crap piled EVERYWHERE. Granted, the people are getting ready to move but my Gawd! I had to walk sideways through some rooms because there was so much junk. Moldy ceiling in the bathroom, Toilet looked as if it hadn't been cleaned since the year 1. Kitchen as old as my grandma. I didn't even want to see the basement. Next!
Third stop: West Caldwell. The things that attracted me to this house were the unusual architecture. The house is set back from the street and has one of those low-maintenance yards with lots of flowers, very little actual lawn, which we like.
Plus the driveway is bookended by two gorgeous stone walls. We both like stone.
The other thing I like is that the front of the house sports a huge balcony that stretches from one end to the other. Perfect for entertaining.
The inside, however, was disappointing. Lowish ceilings and a very cramped feeling. This is due, in part, to the fact that the family living there has humongous furnishings which dwarf the rooms. Also, the layout of the house doesn't flow well. Most of the land is in the front of the year, therefore there is no real backyward for a dawg.
This house is priced at $449,000, higher than my budget but I figured that because it's been on the market since May, there'd be some wiggle room. But, it's a moot point anyway since it's not for us.
So, the Realtor is previewing another Cape for me tomorrow in Caldwell. It's priced at $429,000 but the neighborhood is sweet. She'll let me know how it compares to the one I love.
Then there's another one in Verona that doesn't open till Sunday, a small, brick, 3BR ranch priced at $399,000. Looks cute from the outside but you can never tell.
I feel this much closer to buying a home now. Will keep ya'all posted!
Anyhoo, we looked at 3 more houses tonight after work. One in Verona, one in West Caldwell that I've had my eye on for awhile, and one in Caldwell.
First stop: Verona. This is where I fell in love. Adorable cottage-style Cape Cod on quaint street. The listing said 2BR but the second BR is actually a tandem bedroom which means it's a bedroom with an attached space. Perfect for a couple with no kids (us) and perfect for a computer/trophy room.
The house is in terrific condition, everything from the kitchen (recently remodeled), the roof (10 years old), the exterior (freshly painted). Nice yard, flat and deep, perfect for a dawg. Fireplace, clean unfinished basement, screened-in porch in the back, nice details like wall molding, two-car garage. All in all, move in ready. The only thing we'd do is rip up the fugly old wall-to-wall carpeting (we both hate wall-to-wall, especially other people's!) There are hardwood floors underneath.
Really, the nicest one we've seen so far. So nice that I am thinking of making an offer. The price is right: $399,000 but my Realtor says that because it's new to the market, I have very little wiggle room as far as negotiation. Especially since it's in such good condition. I have 2 more to look (they're not on till this weekend). Tom is on the same page as me about this one.
Second stop: Caldwell, a 3BR colonial priced at $375,000. The. worse. one. I've. seen. yet. Not only a handyman's special, but dirty and chock full of crap piled EVERYWHERE. Granted, the people are getting ready to move but my Gawd! I had to walk sideways through some rooms because there was so much junk. Moldy ceiling in the bathroom, Toilet looked as if it hadn't been cleaned since the year 1. Kitchen as old as my grandma. I didn't even want to see the basement. Next!
Third stop: West Caldwell. The things that attracted me to this house were the unusual architecture. The house is set back from the street and has one of those low-maintenance yards with lots of flowers, very little actual lawn, which we like.
Plus the driveway is bookended by two gorgeous stone walls. We both like stone.
The other thing I like is that the front of the house sports a huge balcony that stretches from one end to the other. Perfect for entertaining.
The inside, however, was disappointing. Lowish ceilings and a very cramped feeling. This is due, in part, to the fact that the family living there has humongous furnishings which dwarf the rooms. Also, the layout of the house doesn't flow well. Most of the land is in the front of the year, therefore there is no real backyward for a dawg.
This house is priced at $449,000, higher than my budget but I figured that because it's been on the market since May, there'd be some wiggle room. But, it's a moot point anyway since it's not for us.
So, the Realtor is previewing another Cape for me tomorrow in Caldwell. It's priced at $429,000 but the neighborhood is sweet. She'll let me know how it compares to the one I love.
Then there's another one in Verona that doesn't open till Sunday, a small, brick, 3BR ranch priced at $399,000. Looks cute from the outside but you can never tell.
I feel this much closer to buying a home now. Will keep ya'all posted!
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Realty Reality Check
Yes, the Happy House Hunting has begun and I've learned a few things this weekend:
1. Pictures lie.
2. Listing Realtors often lie.
3. Anything under $400,000 in suburban Essex County is either a fixer-upper or very small.
My Realtor (who is also a running pal of mine) warned me about this, telling me that I wasn't going to find something really nice for under $400,000, at least not right now. Things may change in a few months as prices continue to stabilize or drop. I thought she was exaggerating. How bad can they be?, I mused.
Pretty bad. House #1 we looked at was in Little Falls (LF), part of Passaic County where taxes are a mite lower. I am still familiarizing myself with LF so I had to do a Mapquest search to see where this particular house was located. Turns out it was near both Route 46 and the Passaic River. NOT a good omen.
From the outside, the house looked OK: well cared for, nice front porch (we both LOVE porches). The street didn't really knock our socks off (it was down the street from some sort of gated foundry, ugh). But we were there, let's start the tour.
The listing said that the house needed a new kitchen. What it failed to mention was that the house need "A" kitchen. That's right: this house had NO kitchen but a room with a stove and a separate tiny room with a sink. A few cabinets were scattered about but to call this a kitchen would be a stretch. Plus, it was carpeted. Yucky-poo. Why the F would you carpet a kitchen?
The rest of the house was rather ramshackle, in need of mucho work. There were indications that some the ceilings had leaked at one time.
The unfinished basement had to be designed by midgets. I am 5'2" and my head almost grazed the ceiling. There was no way to raise it; it would have to be used strictly for storage. Not for us.
House #2 was in Verona and also needed mucho work, every room. How can someone who owns a home let it go to seed like that? I could never understand it. It's your friggin' investment for crying out loud!
I guess if someone was very handy and had a lot of time and money to kill, they could make this a somewhat decent place to live. Still, I see a price reduction in its future.
House #3, also in Verona, was adorable but very small (2BR). Perfect, however, for a single gal or guy who doesn't want to do the condo route. Nice quiet street. But those taxes? Ouch! Over $5,000 on 2BR house? You gotta be shittin' me!
House #4, in Verona as well. The Realtor gushed on and one about this one, saying that we MUST see it, it's in a better neighborhood, blah-blah-blah, only needs cosmetic work. The minute we saw it from the outside, we know it we weren't going to like it. It was part of a (yuck) development, Verona's answer to Long Island's Levittown. Very boxy, no porch, not even a portico. Boring, boxy layout inside, horrible ceilings (looks like structural damage), disgusting wall-to-wall carpet buckling in places. Very depressing.
So, there you have it. Week one of house hunting. What I've learned from all this is that I will have to go up in price a bit. The bottom line is that I am either going to spend the money on fixing up a handyman's special or on buying a house that's a mite pricier but has less things to fix up. I vote for the second option. We don't mind doing some cosmetic work but when it comes to structural stuff, no way. Plus there's always room for negotiation, especially in this market.
Next weekend: the Caldwells.
1. Pictures lie.
2. Listing Realtors often lie.
3. Anything under $400,000 in suburban Essex County is either a fixer-upper or very small.
My Realtor (who is also a running pal of mine) warned me about this, telling me that I wasn't going to find something really nice for under $400,000, at least not right now. Things may change in a few months as prices continue to stabilize or drop. I thought she was exaggerating. How bad can they be?, I mused.
Pretty bad. House #1 we looked at was in Little Falls (LF), part of Passaic County where taxes are a mite lower. I am still familiarizing myself with LF so I had to do a Mapquest search to see where this particular house was located. Turns out it was near both Route 46 and the Passaic River. NOT a good omen.
From the outside, the house looked OK: well cared for, nice front porch (we both LOVE porches). The street didn't really knock our socks off (it was down the street from some sort of gated foundry, ugh). But we were there, let's start the tour.
The listing said that the house needed a new kitchen. What it failed to mention was that the house need "A" kitchen. That's right: this house had NO kitchen but a room with a stove and a separate tiny room with a sink. A few cabinets were scattered about but to call this a kitchen would be a stretch. Plus, it was carpeted. Yucky-poo. Why the F would you carpet a kitchen?
The rest of the house was rather ramshackle, in need of mucho work. There were indications that some the ceilings had leaked at one time.
The unfinished basement had to be designed by midgets. I am 5'2" and my head almost grazed the ceiling. There was no way to raise it; it would have to be used strictly for storage. Not for us.
House #2 was in Verona and also needed mucho work, every room. How can someone who owns a home let it go to seed like that? I could never understand it. It's your friggin' investment for crying out loud!
I guess if someone was very handy and had a lot of time and money to kill, they could make this a somewhat decent place to live. Still, I see a price reduction in its future.
House #3, also in Verona, was adorable but very small (2BR). Perfect, however, for a single gal or guy who doesn't want to do the condo route. Nice quiet street. But those taxes? Ouch! Over $5,000 on 2BR house? You gotta be shittin' me!
House #4, in Verona as well. The Realtor gushed on and one about this one, saying that we MUST see it, it's in a better neighborhood, blah-blah-blah, only needs cosmetic work. The minute we saw it from the outside, we know it we weren't going to like it. It was part of a (yuck) development, Verona's answer to Long Island's Levittown. Very boxy, no porch, not even a portico. Boring, boxy layout inside, horrible ceilings (looks like structural damage), disgusting wall-to-wall carpet buckling in places. Very depressing.
So, there you have it. Week one of house hunting. What I've learned from all this is that I will have to go up in price a bit. The bottom line is that I am either going to spend the money on fixing up a handyman's special or on buying a house that's a mite pricier but has less things to fix up. I vote for the second option. We don't mind doing some cosmetic work but when it comes to structural stuff, no way. Plus there's always room for negotiation, especially in this market.
Next weekend: the Caldwells.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
What If Labs Went on Strike?
The headline story in The New York Times might read like this:
Dog parks across the New York metro area, normally bustling, were nearly empty today as a group of New York City Labbies began a two-day strike.
Dog parks across the New York metro area, normally bustling, were nearly empty today as a group of New York City Labbies began a two-day strike.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Beef, It's What's for Dinner (And Lunch)
Just got back from visiting my brother and his wife in Oregon, had a blast, will post pix here as soon as I upload 'em. Took lots and lots of pix of Mount Hood (we were 7,000 feet above sea level), a really neat waterfall, the beach (nothing like the Jersey shore), and a very cool county fair.
And we ate. It seems we ate non-stop and we ate things that I normally don't eat at home: handfuls of delicious pistachio nuts, real ice cream (not frozen yogurt) almost on a daily basis, real butter and beef, lots of it. This IS the West after all. My brother and Tom kept telling me to relax, you're on vacation. Eventually, I acquiesced. There was no fighting it. I did tell Tom that I was not going anywhere NEAR a scale until after I had been home for a week.
I lied. I got on the scale the night we got home and to my surprise, I WAS ONE POUND LIGHTER THAN WHEN I LEFT! How the heck did THAT happen? Tom pointed out to me that we did run almost every day that we were there. In fact, I ran more miles during the past week that I have all year, being that we are gearng up for a fall marathon. (On Sunday ran 13+ miles as well). So, that's probably the explanation for it.
I tell ya one thing. If I trained in Oregon with all those hills and at the higher altitudes, I'd kick butt in Jersey. I don't have any races till Sept. 2 and I am anxious to see if all this hill training translates into faster times. If it does, it will be solid proof that I need to ramp up the mileage and hill work if I want to see personal records (PRs).
Anyhoo, the higher altitudes made us both very sleepy the first couple of days. Naturally, as soon as got used to them, it was time to come home!
Some cool surprises: Watching kids throw snowballs on Mount Hood (in August!) The best peaches I have ever had in my life. Ditto for fresh rye bread. How big and good-looking my nephews got (21 and 25, respectively). How dog-friendly Portland is. Lying on the beach and looking at fog-covered mountains.
Well, more on this later, when I post the pix.
Some good news while I was gone: my house closed!
The bad news: We are being raped by the government (both state and federal) in the form of capital gains taxes, most likely to the tune of $20,000 or thereabouts (don't know yet how much). And yes, it's rape from where I sit.
Every time you try to get ahead in this state/country, there's Big Brother with his hand out. I'd like to go back to 1911, before income taxes. Of course, my house would not be worth as much then! :-)
And we ate. It seems we ate non-stop and we ate things that I normally don't eat at home: handfuls of delicious pistachio nuts, real ice cream (not frozen yogurt) almost on a daily basis, real butter and beef, lots of it. This IS the West after all. My brother and Tom kept telling me to relax, you're on vacation. Eventually, I acquiesced. There was no fighting it. I did tell Tom that I was not going anywhere NEAR a scale until after I had been home for a week.
I lied. I got on the scale the night we got home and to my surprise, I WAS ONE POUND LIGHTER THAN WHEN I LEFT! How the heck did THAT happen? Tom pointed out to me that we did run almost every day that we were there. In fact, I ran more miles during the past week that I have all year, being that we are gearng up for a fall marathon. (On Sunday ran 13+ miles as well). So, that's probably the explanation for it.
I tell ya one thing. If I trained in Oregon with all those hills and at the higher altitudes, I'd kick butt in Jersey. I don't have any races till Sept. 2 and I am anxious to see if all this hill training translates into faster times. If it does, it will be solid proof that I need to ramp up the mileage and hill work if I want to see personal records (PRs).
Anyhoo, the higher altitudes made us both very sleepy the first couple of days. Naturally, as soon as got used to them, it was time to come home!
Some cool surprises: Watching kids throw snowballs on Mount Hood (in August!) The best peaches I have ever had in my life. Ditto for fresh rye bread. How big and good-looking my nephews got (21 and 25, respectively). How dog-friendly Portland is. Lying on the beach and looking at fog-covered mountains.
Well, more on this later, when I post the pix.
Some good news while I was gone: my house closed!
The bad news: We are being raped by the government (both state and federal) in the form of capital gains taxes, most likely to the tune of $20,000 or thereabouts (don't know yet how much). And yes, it's rape from where I sit.
Every time you try to get ahead in this state/country, there's Big Brother with his hand out. I'd like to go back to 1911, before income taxes. Of course, my house would not be worth as much then! :-)
Friday, August 03, 2007
BUDK--The Cutting Edge of Catalogs
My BF & I get a lot of catalogs, everything from Victoria's Secret (sometimes 3 a week, no lie) to pet products(even though we are currently dogless, boo-hoo!) to runners' products (no surprises there), to those that feature all kinds of kooky household gadgets. But I have to say that the one that wins the prize for the most bizarre is The BUDK Catalog. The strangest part is why my BF's name appears on it.
The BUDK catalog features everything your local sword collector, knife aficianado, white supremacist, neo-Nazi, psychopath would want. Here are some samples of what you can order from BUDK:
A semi-automatic C02 pistol
A belt buckle that has a nickel coin slot and says, "Insert Coin, unzip, shake well, guaranteed action, internal use only."
A Confederate Flag belt buckle
A full-size German WWII 1942 helmet with your choice of insignia, including the swastika
An SS Officer's Dagger circa 1933 imprinted with the motto, "Meine Ehre Heisst Treue" (My honor is truth).
A leather bullwhip
A Grim Reaper Clock
Lock picks
Stun guns
Various types of battle axes
A Medieval Barbarian War Helmet
An M-16 Air Assault Rife with BB bullets
Precision handcuffs "for all your law enforcement needs"
Well, at least they're all made in the good ol' USA. BUDK is owned by one Clint H. Kadel of Moultrie, GA, right in the heart of the Bible Belt (although I didn't see any Bibles for sale). There's a bunch of legalese on the order form, exempting BUDK from any indemnity for improper use of any of the products. But we know that only bonafide collectors would order this stuff. Right.
Good for Mr. Kadel. Where else can you go for a 16-gauge chain mail shirt to "protect your hide from the hordes?" Or a Lord of the Rings Battle Axe of Gimli that lets you be "ready for battle at a moment's notice?"
Granted, I have to admit there were somethings I liked in the catalog and would consider ordering (but I shudder to think what kind of catalog list I'd end up on). There's the Medieval chess set, the five-pointed star pewter pendants, the Medieval shields, the silver dragon necklace, the Viking Horn helmet (not historically accurate, I know, but cool as hell!), and a tiny hand-carved coffin for all your keepsakes. It WOULD be kinda fun to open my mail with a battle axe.
And, if I was single, I would always keep a copy of The BUDK catalog on my coffee table to help ward off predatory suitors.
The BUDK catalog features everything your local sword collector, knife aficianado, white supremacist, neo-Nazi, psychopath would want. Here are some samples of what you can order from BUDK:
A semi-automatic C02 pistol
A belt buckle that has a nickel coin slot and says, "Insert Coin, unzip, shake well, guaranteed action, internal use only."
A Confederate Flag belt buckle
A full-size German WWII 1942 helmet with your choice of insignia, including the swastika
An SS Officer's Dagger circa 1933 imprinted with the motto, "Meine Ehre Heisst Treue" (My honor is truth).
A leather bullwhip
A Grim Reaper Clock
Lock picks
Stun guns
Various types of battle axes
A Medieval Barbarian War Helmet
An M-16 Air Assault Rife with BB bullets
Precision handcuffs "for all your law enforcement needs"
Well, at least they're all made in the good ol' USA. BUDK is owned by one Clint H. Kadel of Moultrie, GA, right in the heart of the Bible Belt (although I didn't see any Bibles for sale). There's a bunch of legalese on the order form, exempting BUDK from any indemnity for improper use of any of the products. But we know that only bonafide collectors would order this stuff. Right.
Good for Mr. Kadel. Where else can you go for a 16-gauge chain mail shirt to "protect your hide from the hordes?" Or a Lord of the Rings Battle Axe of Gimli that lets you be "ready for battle at a moment's notice?"
Granted, I have to admit there were somethings I liked in the catalog and would consider ordering (but I shudder to think what kind of catalog list I'd end up on). There's the Medieval chess set, the five-pointed star pewter pendants, the Medieval shields, the silver dragon necklace, the Viking Horn helmet (not historically accurate, I know, but cool as hell!), and a tiny hand-carved coffin for all your keepsakes. It WOULD be kinda fun to open my mail with a battle axe.
And, if I was single, I would always keep a copy of The BUDK catalog on my coffee table to help ward off predatory suitors.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
RIP, Chief
It’s a sad time over here at Martta’s World. I found out last week that my beloved, God dog, Chief, had to be put down due to heart failure.
No one saw this coming. I spoke to my brother in Oregon about a month ago, told him how much we were looking forward to coming out to visit in August and especially to see Chiefy. My boyfriend, Tom, has never met Chief but based on all of my tales and descriptions, was eager to do so. And then this.
My brother said he noticed that something was up about two weeks ago. Chief seemed particularly lethargic on his walks. He no longer looked forward to jaunts in the park. At first, my brother chalked it up to the heat wave they've been having out west. But it was a lot more serious than that and there was nothing anyone could do.
Of course, animals can't tell you "where it hurts" and by the time we find out they are sick, it is often too late.
He was 8. Even by Lab standards, that’s not very old. Middle-aged maybe (56 in people years) but not a true senior citizen.
Anyway, no matter how old he was, he was a special dog. Beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, playful. Rare to find all these characteristics in a person, let alone a dog.
I remember one time I was helping my sister-in-law in the garden. There was this particularly stubborn root from a small, dead tree that, try as we might, could not pull out of the ground. Chief saw that we were struggling, came over to help dig, and it came out in no time.
The last time I saw Chief, he was just 2, a mere pup. He thought that his soggy rope toy was the most wonderful thing in the world and he just had to share it with anyone who walked through the door. We were all glad when the chewing stage was over, however.
Rest in peace, Chiefster. You will be missed.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Gee, What a Surprise!
Wow, Islamic fundies were behind this? Who woulda thunk it?
Breaking News from ABCNEWS.com:
SEVERAL EXPLOSIONS WERE PLANNED USING MULTIPLE VEHICLES BY ISLAMIC EXTREMISTS IN LONDON BOMB PLOT, U.S. AND BRITISH OFFICIALS TELL ABC NEWS
Breaking News from ABCNEWS.com:
SEVERAL EXPLOSIONS WERE PLANNED USING MULTIPLE VEHICLES BY ISLAMIC EXTREMISTS IN LONDON BOMB PLOT, U.S. AND BRITISH OFFICIALS TELL ABC NEWS
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
A No Win Situation
I arrived back from the local pub last week to discover that I had been followed. My apartment was full of men of different shapes and sizes. There was a shortish, plump one with thinning hair who was talking agitatedly into a cell phone and a taller one with a pointy goatee just standing around quietly surveying the place.
A skinny guy with ill-fitting glasses sat quietly on the couch reading Inca Gold by Clive Cussler. There was a very tall, very good-looking blonde one with blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. That was my boyfriend, Win. This made it sort of difficult to break up with him but what else was new? I have been trying to break up with him for six months now.
The plump guy had come over to sell me some stocks. It turned out, however, that he had brought along the wrong briefcase. Instead of the one that contained his stock portfolios and calculator, he had brought one containing some French ticklers and K-Y jelly. He was jabbering on the phone to his mother, asking her to please, please look in his bedroom for the correct valise.
Mr. Goatee was just there to offer the stock salesman moral support although I failed to see how a guy with a mismatched socks and a “Same Shit, Different Day” T-shirt could offer support of any kind to anyone.
The guy on the couch claimed I had borrowed one of his Cussler books, but had failed to return it. I told him that he must be mistaken, I don’t like Clive Cussler, never read even one of his books, and he must have me mixed up with someone else. But no, he was very insistent that it was me who was pillaging his great literary collection and then proceeded to go into great detail about the plot of Iceberg, the book presumably in my possession.
At this point, I thought I would die but I figured trying to get my boyfriend’s attention so that we could have “the talk” would buy me a reprieve.
“Honey, I need to talk with you.”
“Uh, I’m kinda busy,” he said.
“With what?”
“This guy was telling me about some great stock portfolios.”
“But he doesn’t even have the right briefcase.”
“I know but we’re taking a ride over to his mom’s house. Wanna come with?”
“No, thanks, I’m set for French ticklers. You go. We’ll talk later.”
During the past six months, Win and I had grown further and further apart, the irony being that physically, he was always here. But whenever I wanted to talk with him about ending the relationship, he was always watching something important on TV, fiddling with his computer, on his way out the door or, worse yet, doing something incredibly nice like bringing me fresh sunflowers. And then, I would forget why I wanted to break up with him.
A delicious hot and spicy smell of onions, garlic and peppers was emanating from my kitchen. Upon investigating, I found still another man stirring what appeared to be a pot of chili. I was hungry and went to take a taste. Instead, I was harshly slapped.
“Don’t touch!”
“How dare you! This is MY kitchen!”
“That may be but your cooking sucks,” he said. “Ever notice how your boyfriend always seems to disappear around dinner time?”
I couldn’t argue there. Probably the only way we’d ever have dinner together was if we were held at gunpoint. I decided to take a hot bubble bath instead.
I lit a candle, lay back in the tub, the aroma of mangoes filling my nostrils, the steam cleansing the impurities and assaults of the day, my toes tracing the pink tiles on the wall. I fell asleep and dreamed that someone was caressing my shoulders and feeding me chocolate-covered caramels while I lay in a grassy field somewhere in Vermont. In the distance, a cow’s low, plaintive moan could be heard. It seemed to grow more melodic as time went by.
Awakening slowly, I realized that it was not a cow I was hearing at all, but a saxophone. Three men I had never seen before had decided to join me in the tub, one of them serenading me softly with Harlem Nocturne.
“What are you all doing here? Can’t I get any peace?”
“Sorry, but you asked us here,” said the one directly to my left, holding an empty box of Russell Stover. He had way too many piercings and tattoos for my liking.
“Why would I do that?”
“To avoid the unpleasant task of breaking up,” said the masseuse, who was not much to look at but had the most amazing hands.
“I’ve been meaning to get around to that…”
“But you haven’t,” said the chocolate bearer. “So now you must put up with some minor inconveniences. It could be worse, I might add.”
“I just want my life back!” I shouted.
Just then Win walked into the bathroom, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I was sharing a tub with three naked men.
“Your candle went out,” he said. “Let me relight it for you.”
“Win, sit down a sec. I need to talk to you.”
“Hon, can it wait until later? My hard drive just crashed and I gotta get to the computer store before it closes. I promise, we’ll talk later.”
“There might not be a later,” I said, but he was already out the door.
I turned to the guy on the sax. “Do you know any blues tunes?”
A skinny guy with ill-fitting glasses sat quietly on the couch reading Inca Gold by Clive Cussler. There was a very tall, very good-looking blonde one with blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. That was my boyfriend, Win. This made it sort of difficult to break up with him but what else was new? I have been trying to break up with him for six months now.
The plump guy had come over to sell me some stocks. It turned out, however, that he had brought along the wrong briefcase. Instead of the one that contained his stock portfolios and calculator, he had brought one containing some French ticklers and K-Y jelly. He was jabbering on the phone to his mother, asking her to please, please look in his bedroom for the correct valise.
Mr. Goatee was just there to offer the stock salesman moral support although I failed to see how a guy with a mismatched socks and a “Same Shit, Different Day” T-shirt could offer support of any kind to anyone.
The guy on the couch claimed I had borrowed one of his Cussler books, but had failed to return it. I told him that he must be mistaken, I don’t like Clive Cussler, never read even one of his books, and he must have me mixed up with someone else. But no, he was very insistent that it was me who was pillaging his great literary collection and then proceeded to go into great detail about the plot of Iceberg, the book presumably in my possession.
At this point, I thought I would die but I figured trying to get my boyfriend’s attention so that we could have “the talk” would buy me a reprieve.
“Honey, I need to talk with you.”
“Uh, I’m kinda busy,” he said.
“With what?”
“This guy was telling me about some great stock portfolios.”
“But he doesn’t even have the right briefcase.”
“I know but we’re taking a ride over to his mom’s house. Wanna come with?”
“No, thanks, I’m set for French ticklers. You go. We’ll talk later.”
During the past six months, Win and I had grown further and further apart, the irony being that physically, he was always here. But whenever I wanted to talk with him about ending the relationship, he was always watching something important on TV, fiddling with his computer, on his way out the door or, worse yet, doing something incredibly nice like bringing me fresh sunflowers. And then, I would forget why I wanted to break up with him.
A delicious hot and spicy smell of onions, garlic and peppers was emanating from my kitchen. Upon investigating, I found still another man stirring what appeared to be a pot of chili. I was hungry and went to take a taste. Instead, I was harshly slapped.
“Don’t touch!”
“How dare you! This is MY kitchen!”
“That may be but your cooking sucks,” he said. “Ever notice how your boyfriend always seems to disappear around dinner time?”
I couldn’t argue there. Probably the only way we’d ever have dinner together was if we were held at gunpoint. I decided to take a hot bubble bath instead.
I lit a candle, lay back in the tub, the aroma of mangoes filling my nostrils, the steam cleansing the impurities and assaults of the day, my toes tracing the pink tiles on the wall. I fell asleep and dreamed that someone was caressing my shoulders and feeding me chocolate-covered caramels while I lay in a grassy field somewhere in Vermont. In the distance, a cow’s low, plaintive moan could be heard. It seemed to grow more melodic as time went by.
Awakening slowly, I realized that it was not a cow I was hearing at all, but a saxophone. Three men I had never seen before had decided to join me in the tub, one of them serenading me softly with Harlem Nocturne.
“What are you all doing here? Can’t I get any peace?”
“Sorry, but you asked us here,” said the one directly to my left, holding an empty box of Russell Stover. He had way too many piercings and tattoos for my liking.
“Why would I do that?”
“To avoid the unpleasant task of breaking up,” said the masseuse, who was not much to look at but had the most amazing hands.
“I’ve been meaning to get around to that…”
“But you haven’t,” said the chocolate bearer. “So now you must put up with some minor inconveniences. It could be worse, I might add.”
“I just want my life back!” I shouted.
Just then Win walked into the bathroom, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I was sharing a tub with three naked men.
“Your candle went out,” he said. “Let me relight it for you.”
“Win, sit down a sec. I need to talk to you.”
“Hon, can it wait until later? My hard drive just crashed and I gotta get to the computer store before it closes. I promise, we’ll talk later.”
“There might not be a later,” I said, but he was already out the door.
I turned to the guy on the sax. “Do you know any blues tunes?”
Monday, June 25, 2007
Helped Wanted
Mr. Cobb sat at the breakfast table drinking his coffee and smoking a Pall Mall Gold. Mrs. Cobb sat across from him reading the Help Wanted ads.
“Here’s one,” she said. “Own your own business. Owner forced to sell because of relocation. Turnkey operation.”
“What the hell do I know about raising turkeys?” Mr. Cobb answered.
“Not turkey, you idiot. Turnkey. It means it’s all set up for you, ready to go.”
“Smelly birds. You remember my friend, Ralph from Cortlandt, New York? Well, his brother-in-law owned a turkey farm upstate. Dirtiest, smelliest animals you ever want to see. I swear to Christ that you’ll never eat turkey again after seeing a turkey farm.”
“Don’t you listen?”
“I don’t want to have to be getting up at 4 in the AM to feed the damn turkeys! Let me see that paper.”
Mrs. Cobb shook her head and handed him the paper.
“Here’s one,” Mr. Cobb said. “Marketing specialist. Now let me ask you something. When you send me to the market, don’t I always get what you ask for? Jeez, some guys forget to bring the damn list with them. Other ones buy stuff that ain’t even on the list. Take Phil Green. His wife is always yelling at him because he s’sposed to be on a diet and he’s always trying to sneak Mallomars or Haagen Daaz into the house when he thinks she ain’t looking. And he forgets to buy food for dinner. He’s no marketing specialist.”
“I don’t think that’s quite what they mean,” Mrs. Cobb said.
“What who means?”
“A marketing specialist is not someone who knows how to shop in a supermarket. I think it has something to do with sales.”
“Then why don’t they just say that? Jeez! This job hunting stuff is for the birds, the turkeys, whatever!” He took another puff of his cigarette and turned the page. “Here’s a good one. TV specialist. International beauty products company seeks highly motivated TV specialist for negotiating and booking models for photo shoots… Let me ask you, who’s a bigger lover of TV than me? And, don’t you always tell me what a great negotiator I am when we go to Englishtown Flea Market? Didn’t I make a bundle on those fishing poles I bought and then resold because the numnuts who sold them to me didn’t know how valuable the reels were? And booking the models? They pay somebody to do that? Just sign me up! But I don’t like them too skinny.”
Mrs. Cobb sighed, got up and shuffled into the living room. Mr. Cobb put out his cigarette, got up, went to the Frigidaire and got himself a Pabst Blue Ribbon. He sat back down, flipped open the can, leaned back in his chair and smiled.
“Well, I would say this day is already a success and it’s only 10 o’clock in the morning,” he said to no one in particular.
“Here’s one,” she said. “Own your own business. Owner forced to sell because of relocation. Turnkey operation.”
“What the hell do I know about raising turkeys?” Mr. Cobb answered.
“Not turkey, you idiot. Turnkey. It means it’s all set up for you, ready to go.”
“Smelly birds. You remember my friend, Ralph from Cortlandt, New York? Well, his brother-in-law owned a turkey farm upstate. Dirtiest, smelliest animals you ever want to see. I swear to Christ that you’ll never eat turkey again after seeing a turkey farm.”
“Don’t you listen?”
“I don’t want to have to be getting up at 4 in the AM to feed the damn turkeys! Let me see that paper.”
Mrs. Cobb shook her head and handed him the paper.
“Here’s one,” Mr. Cobb said. “Marketing specialist. Now let me ask you something. When you send me to the market, don’t I always get what you ask for? Jeez, some guys forget to bring the damn list with them. Other ones buy stuff that ain’t even on the list. Take Phil Green. His wife is always yelling at him because he s’sposed to be on a diet and he’s always trying to sneak Mallomars or Haagen Daaz into the house when he thinks she ain’t looking. And he forgets to buy food for dinner. He’s no marketing specialist.”
“I don’t think that’s quite what they mean,” Mrs. Cobb said.
“What who means?”
“A marketing specialist is not someone who knows how to shop in a supermarket. I think it has something to do with sales.”
“Then why don’t they just say that? Jeez! This job hunting stuff is for the birds, the turkeys, whatever!” He took another puff of his cigarette and turned the page. “Here’s a good one. TV specialist. International beauty products company seeks highly motivated TV specialist for negotiating and booking models for photo shoots… Let me ask you, who’s a bigger lover of TV than me? And, don’t you always tell me what a great negotiator I am when we go to Englishtown Flea Market? Didn’t I make a bundle on those fishing poles I bought and then resold because the numnuts who sold them to me didn’t know how valuable the reels were? And booking the models? They pay somebody to do that? Just sign me up! But I don’t like them too skinny.”
Mrs. Cobb sighed, got up and shuffled into the living room. Mr. Cobb put out his cigarette, got up, went to the Frigidaire and got himself a Pabst Blue Ribbon. He sat back down, flipped open the can, leaned back in his chair and smiled.
“Well, I would say this day is already a success and it’s only 10 o’clock in the morning,” he said to no one in particular.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Miss Independence
In honor of the upcoming Independence Day (July 4) and following Bloomberg's lead, I am officially changing my party affiliation to Independent. It think this best reflects my views these days as I have no great love for either the Democratic or Republican party. I will vote for the best man (or woman). For the record, my money is on Duncan Hunter unless he does something reprehensible in between now and November 2008.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
What's It Like?
Many of you may know that I will be in the market to buy a house in next year or two. I've always been drawn to the southern part of New Jersey for reasons I can't quite explain. It's probably due to a combination of things, the main points being: my dad's family is from there; it gets a lot of press in Weird New Jersey magazine; from the pictures I've seen, it's absolutely breathtaking; it's less expensive than here; and William Least Heat Moon wrote about it in Blue Highways.
Other than that, and a day trip to Greenwich in Cumberland County a couple of years ago, I really didn't know about the heart and soul of Cumberland, Salem and Gloucester counties. So, I went onto Craigslist South Jersey "Rants and Raves" and simply asked people who lived there what they thought. The response below (condensed somewhat) was described to me by its author as "not the Chamber of Commerce version, but the truth!":
What's it like?
It ain't good.
Don't come down here expecting to find a job. They're in short supply, and what there is doesn't pay too well. Refer to table three at the following link: http://www.dvrpc.org/data/databull/rdb/db75.htm . You'll see that the percentage of total population living below the poverty level is 15%; for children, it's 20%.
Do you have kids? You don't want them attending public school when 20% of their classmates will be poor. Poor people get mean in a hurry. They can also bring down the quality of a classroom, and no area with these kinds of statistics is attracting a talented pool of teachers. (Disclaimer: I grew up dirt-freakin'-poor, I mean free lunch poor, clothes-never-fit poor, so I know whereof I speak.) We've also got the State's highest infant mortality rate, and the youth don't fare too well either. Per capita income: just over $17,000. There's lots of economic redevelopment projects down here--take that as you like.
Bridgeton, specifically, is a hole and I urge you to stay out of it. Take a cruise down Rt. 77 and look at the plates on the cars: all North Carolina (where you don't need to prove identity to get a license) and Pennsylvania (where it's cheaper to insure and apparently they don't check addresses too closely) tags. Stop and walk the streets--during the daytime, I mean. You'll hear nothing but Spanish. Half the stores have that hateful red-white-green flag outside with signage en Espanol. I know I read a statistic somewhere stating that one in five dollars of income in the city comes from some type of public assistance--welfare, unemployment, social security. By the way, it's the County Seat of Cumberland County.
Millville's broke, but it's got a stellar annual Airshow and they just built a new shopping center. An elderly woman was robbed in her garage last week as she pulled in to park her car. She was knocked to the ground and struck her head. The suspect is still on the loose.
The big local newspaper is the Vineland Daily Journal. Read it, check the forums, see what the locals have to say.
Cumberland County houses virtually all of the State's jails. If you can cut it as a prison guard, you'll enjoy it down here. If not, you'll have to put up with society's detritus--the folks who get released from jail but can't afford a bus ticket back up North. They find a job pumping gas and an abandoned car they can sleep in and bide their time until they fall back into recidivism, and back into jail. There's a lot of Superfund sites down here, and we're not too far from the balky Salem Nuclear Power Plant.
The State Police patrols much of the County. In many places, they are the only police presence. In most cases, it'll be a wait if you need 'em.
An important fact for North Jerseyans: there is NO, I repeat, NO PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION HERE. If you don't have a license, stay where you are. If you don't have a car, stay where you are. If you come down here and have neither of these things and no job, you may find yourself trapped! You've gotta drive everywhere, and gas is expensive.
Housing was once affordable. No more. Everything's $250,000, and since the local economy doesn't support that kind of expense, the builders are advertising the area to denizens of Cherry Hill.
I don't know Salem, but I've heard it's worse. And of course, Camden is legendary.
You might be okay toward Williamstown, or Thorofare / Deptford. You'll probably feel at home in West Deptford. Look at Swedesboro, too, I think. There's a good bit of employment there in places (Pureland Industrial Park especially).
Anyway, that's all I've got to say. Good luck to ya, buddy.
Mmmm, don't think I'll be rushing to move down there any time soon. Boy, has it changed from the day of grandma and grandpa.
Other than that, and a day trip to Greenwich in Cumberland County a couple of years ago, I really didn't know about the heart and soul of Cumberland, Salem and Gloucester counties. So, I went onto Craigslist South Jersey "Rants and Raves" and simply asked people who lived there what they thought. The response below (condensed somewhat) was described to me by its author as "not the Chamber of Commerce version, but the truth!":
What's it like?
It ain't good.
Don't come down here expecting to find a job. They're in short supply, and what there is doesn't pay too well. Refer to table three at the following link: http://www.dvrpc.org/data/databull/rdb/db75.htm . You'll see that the percentage of total population living below the poverty level is 15%; for children, it's 20%.
Do you have kids? You don't want them attending public school when 20% of their classmates will be poor. Poor people get mean in a hurry. They can also bring down the quality of a classroom, and no area with these kinds of statistics is attracting a talented pool of teachers. (Disclaimer: I grew up dirt-freakin'-poor, I mean free lunch poor, clothes-never-fit poor, so I know whereof I speak.) We've also got the State's highest infant mortality rate, and the youth don't fare too well either. Per capita income: just over $17,000. There's lots of economic redevelopment projects down here--take that as you like.
Bridgeton, specifically, is a hole and I urge you to stay out of it. Take a cruise down Rt. 77 and look at the plates on the cars: all North Carolina (where you don't need to prove identity to get a license) and Pennsylvania (where it's cheaper to insure and apparently they don't check addresses too closely) tags. Stop and walk the streets--during the daytime, I mean. You'll hear nothing but Spanish. Half the stores have that hateful red-white-green flag outside with signage en Espanol. I know I read a statistic somewhere stating that one in five dollars of income in the city comes from some type of public assistance--welfare, unemployment, social security. By the way, it's the County Seat of Cumberland County.
Millville's broke, but it's got a stellar annual Airshow and they just built a new shopping center. An elderly woman was robbed in her garage last week as she pulled in to park her car. She was knocked to the ground and struck her head. The suspect is still on the loose.
The big local newspaper is the Vineland Daily Journal. Read it, check the forums, see what the locals have to say.
Cumberland County houses virtually all of the State's jails. If you can cut it as a prison guard, you'll enjoy it down here. If not, you'll have to put up with society's detritus--the folks who get released from jail but can't afford a bus ticket back up North. They find a job pumping gas and an abandoned car they can sleep in and bide their time until they fall back into recidivism, and back into jail. There's a lot of Superfund sites down here, and we're not too far from the balky Salem Nuclear Power Plant.
The State Police patrols much of the County. In many places, they are the only police presence. In most cases, it'll be a wait if you need 'em.
An important fact for North Jerseyans: there is NO, I repeat, NO PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION HERE. If you don't have a license, stay where you are. If you don't have a car, stay where you are. If you come down here and have neither of these things and no job, you may find yourself trapped! You've gotta drive everywhere, and gas is expensive.
Housing was once affordable. No more. Everything's $250,000, and since the local economy doesn't support that kind of expense, the builders are advertising the area to denizens of Cherry Hill.
I don't know Salem, but I've heard it's worse. And of course, Camden is legendary.
You might be okay toward Williamstown, or Thorofare / Deptford. You'll probably feel at home in West Deptford. Look at Swedesboro, too, I think. There's a good bit of employment there in places (Pureland Industrial Park especially).
Anyway, that's all I've got to say. Good luck to ya, buddy.
Mmmm, don't think I'll be rushing to move down there any time soon. Boy, has it changed from the day of grandma and grandpa.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Sounds About Right to Me
Martta: At age 101 you will perish under strange circumstances involving a gallon of lotion, two nine volt batteries, and a photograph of a bicycle.
http://evil.berzerker.net/death_predictions.php
http://evil.berzerker.net/death_predictions.php
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