Why I am not in Real Estate

This last weekend we went to a small mid-Atlantic city to look at housing for my mother who is considering moving there. It's a neat little city with great food (and freaking unbelievable Italian cookies).

But I learned something important while there. 1. I now know who shops at Touch of Class. 2. I can not be a real estate agent.

On Saturday we looked at a bunch of condos which were cool, but not "it." One was in a converted abbey which was architecturally amazing (stained glass, carved wood, etc) but completely stultifying since the entire view, out of every window was either bricks from the walls across the way, or trash cans and dumpsters. Another one had a hallway so narrow, I thought I might have to turn sideways to make it down with my girth. It actually reminded me a little of getting an MRI. Not good. There was one that was phenomenal (Brazilian cherry floors, Thermidoor everything, marble steam shower and soaking tub, closets galore).

My first inkling that realty is not for me came in the MRI hall apartment. How cold I show that apartment to someone and not begin to wig out and need a valium every time I went down the hall? How could I tout the architecture of the abbey, without cringing from the claustrophobia of dumpsters and brick. It's one thing to be a monk and in a cell and feel closed in (with God, I'd assume). It's another thing to try to make someone else buy that lifestyle for $490k.

It was the second day of house hunting that clinched it for me, however. On that day we saw one crappy place after another. And then we saw a house. Right down the hill from the Thermidoor place. And I loved this house. It was quirky and funky and seemed so cheap for what it was. I'd live in the house. But not with the current decor. And here begins the true tale of why I can never become a realtor.

These people, whose names I do not know, who live in this charming mid-Atlantic city, near a lovely city park, have shopped at Touch of Class.

When we first entered the house it became clear that the people who lived there, had, how shall we say, eclectic tastes. Not only were there still several Christmas decorations up, but they were a very strange mix. There was the styrofoam dove with its glittered body and glittered strings in its mouth. But there was also the glass Christmas Barbie statue on a dresser. These were mixed in with two ceramic Easter Bunnies and a carousel horse.

The house was very long and narrow (not MRI narrow). You passed from the entry hall/living area, through the dining room which were both full of antiques (and strange holiday stautuary). The kitchen needed to be redone entirely and seemed to have last seen attention sometime in the late 70s or early 80s when the dark wood cabinets with their faux victorian shape and hardware were put in.

It wasn't until we were in the master bedroom that I first had the urge to begin to take pictures. I will not show any here because that would be wrong, and because the camera on my phone stinks. The master bedroom was resplendent in over the top, polyester golden stripes. But what held me in thrall was the artwork over the bed. There, painted on canvas, was a lovely scene of a pond in the country, surrounded by verdant growth, a natural idyll. And the piece de resistance was the wooden carved geese that flew up in formation from the painting, right out into the room in 3D splendor. The photo snapping commenced!

I could not believe my luck when I hit the closet. There were (God I hope they were!) costumes!! Velvet and downy feathers, sequens, lace and beads. A captain's hat. Boas. Either these people were reenactors, fetishists or worse, they wore these things out!

In the bathroom everything was carpeted. Why do some people need to dress their toilets up like that? The seat was carpeted. The toilet had its own special carpet around it, as well as one gracing the top of the tank, all in a soothing dusty rose color.

Another room featured resin scultpures of animals. There was a woman with wolf hounds (not unlike my beloved Greyhound lady), as well as mice and rabbits. Oddly though there was also a vintage print of the Cutty Sark.

My favorite "accent" may have been the resin switchplates throughout the house which featured irridescent pansies and violets on them.

But I ask you. How could I have shown this house to potential buyers? I was way too busy snapping photos of the beribboned carousel horse (which was as tall as my shoulders) to actually talk to anyone about such banalities as utilities and on street parking. No. I am clearly better off simply being the looker rather than the shower.

Come to think of it, I have been thinking I needed a new hobby...

Hantavirus

I am about 98% sure I now have the Hantavirus. Why do I believe myself infected with this deadly disease? Well, let me tell you why. It's long. You should not be surprised by that fact.

Over the weekend I decided that it was time to sell the Elliptical Trainer that has happily resided, like a neglected and yet abused kitten in my study for the last 5+ years. Now that I belong to (and actually go to) the Gym, I don't need it and it takes up a massive amount of space. So yesterday around 5pm I listed it on Craigslist and by 9:30 pm it was gone from my life (and my study! Yeah me!).

The thing is I have not been writing very much (ok at all, fine. happy now are you?!). I wrote while at my mom's and I've worked out some issues with the character development, but I am about 1/2 way through the novel and I haven't written anything on it in 3 weeks. Maybe that's because I am having a minor issue right now, but it could also be that I hate my study. So it was time for a change.

The plan was get rid of the Elliptical, move the desktop computer back to the kitchen, move the extra desk to the guest room and bring the chair and a half up from the family room. No problem right? All I had to do was move the computer, clean out the desk and do the switcheroo.

Maybe this is the time to mention the mice. We have mice. From what I can tell in my laundry room, actually the mice seem to have people rather than we having them. They chewed up my World Market scone mixes (OMFG I love those things!), ate my Kid's shirt, and chewed through the thistle seed for the finch feeder (which we no longer have so why do we have the seed in the first place anyway?).

Because my son is a kind and good child he refused to let me buy poison or traps. So I bought those little noise things you plug in to the outlets which make this hideous high pitched sound that makes mice run away. Or let's hope they do. Because the next step is massive giant portions of poison.

In order to move the extra desk from my study to the guest room, we needed room for it there. So my husband decided to move the random collection of cd players, VCRs, DVD players and microwaves (OK, just one microwave) to the closet. Which he could not do. Because it was full of voluminous piles of shit. Which he started hauling out and cleaning without even asking did I think this was the time or place for a household dark night of the soul.

Here's what was in the closet:

1 box of stunning, vintage Block Lagenthal china
22 rolls of wrapping paper for assorted occasions
1 box of tumblers (handy! I have a boy who broke most of mine)
4 music boxes purchased by my mother (I have shipped them to you, Mom)
3 sets of sheets which go to a bed we no longer have
4 cordless phones
1 corded phone
curtains so ugly I can't believe we bought them and instead cling to the fantasy that my husband's stepmother gave them to us
my late father-in-law's entire collection of pajamas
a collection of notebooks my husband used while in graduate school
a box of photos from my wedding (none of them any good)
two random pieces of glass
1 bag of art supplies
1 bag with random tea cups and saucers (?)
1 huge set of toys for a 4 year old boy (but not mine because we didn't give them to him)
a comforter and pillow shams given to us by my brother-in-law who got them free from a trade show 15 years ago
boxes to every piece of electronics equipment we've ever bought including those we no longer have
a box full of manuals to appliances we no longer have
a box of random detritus
office supplies
a box of three ring notebooks
and.....

The BIGGEST FUCKING MOUSE NEST I HAVE EVER SEEN

So the simple switcheroo became an exercise in mousey exorcism. First everything had to come out of the closet. Then we made piles just like they do on TV: keep (the glasses and the china, because that shit is just gorgeous!) recycle (boxes, notebooks, random pieces of glass etc) trash (everything that was permeated by mouse house or excrement, and everything we've never used in the 7 years we've lived here) and trash lite (everything else) which we were going to take to Goodwill.

Then we moved the desk. When my father-in-law died, my step-mother-in-law insisted we take this dolly they had. I thought that was ridiculous to have. How much moving were we going to do that we needed a dolly, for God's sake? My husband insisted we needed the dolly. We must have the dolly. How can one live without a handcart? And I now must confess today I am a grateful woman. Because no way was I moving that desk without it today.

All this was made harder by the fact that we started it after we'd been at the gym for an hour and a half, after I pulled my left lat muscle and while my car was in the shop getting inspected (yes I missed the deadline again) and new brakes.

So once the shit was all hauled out and everything was vacuumed, sanitized, scrubbed and sorted, we ravenously devoured a subway turkey sub, dropped the stuff at Goodwill, picked up my car, loaded it with boxes and took them to the recycling center. Then we ran home, showered and parted ways, Ricardo to retrieve the Kid at camp, take him to piano and a hair cut, me to ice my side and head to the post office to mail the boxes of my mom's stuff to her and then to the grocery store so I could get home and make dinner.

But ever since I was in that closet I have been convinced I didn't actually pull a muscle. That instead the pain is in my lungs and is the start of the hantavirus which I have contracted in my quest to expel the mice from my house which was a mere side effect to my getting rid of the Elliptical so that I can have a more pleasant place to write.

Oh yeah. I'm writing this from the dining room.

And the Kid has pointed out we have ants in the kitchen now.