it’s angel food – we were too lazy to bake ourselves

On this day, (yesterday) – one year ago, shameless_157 and her friend Bev, (our real estate agent), came by the old house in Dogtown. I threw an extra pain pill down my throat and they laid me down, ass up, in the back of Bev’s truck. (I was in my second hellish week of tush-surgery recovery). We were going to go close on our new house.

It was March of the previous year that started the whole house-madness. I had my eye on a house in Dogtown that sat on a double lot with a detached 3-car garage which was going to become my new studio.

I was skeptical we could make it work considering what I had to go through to get a mortgage on the $30K one-bedroom shack, purchased in 2000. My new client at the time, LoanScapes promised that they could find financing for self-employed types. They were right.

We started “the process” and within two weeks, thanks to the buying frenzy in Dogtown, had a contract on the new house and a buyer for our old place. Everything seemed like it was good to go….. until.

The appraisal came in on the purchase house under the contract price. The owner took the Dogtown buying frenzy a little too seriously. While we turned what I still think was an obscene profit on our place – this guy was aiming a little “too” high.

The schmuck refused to re-negotiate and it voided our contract because I couldn’t get the financing. No bank will finance a house for more than it’s worth.

So.. there we were ready to sell our old house with no-place to move to. Fortunately the buyer of our old place was intending to turn the old shack into a rental and let us stay in the house after closing as renters.

For the next two months I would digest my own internal organs. Every weekend and a lot of weeknights were spent walking through countless houses. We tried putting a couple of contracts down on others but were beat out because of the excited market. Other places we liked were priced just out of our reach thanks to the city-housing boom. Other places we could afford were a little “too” transitional. (transitional = “read as: there’s a crack house on the block”)

I was just about at my wit’s end and one night while crying in my beer – a friend at happy hour who used to be an agent asked:

“Hey… You like that 50’s shit don’t you? Have you thought about looking in south county?”

It never honestly occurred to me. I grew up out there…

I punched in the zip codes for the area our friend told us about and on the first page of hits…. I saw… “It”. Our house..

Making a noise similar to when you step on a squeaky dog toy – I picked up the phone and frantically dialed our agent. It was 6PM.

We were pulling in the driveway by 8PM… Dusk… The house was all lit up. My heart stopped. We walked through and I stopped the guys in the backyard privately: “Do you like it? Could we live here?”

They didn’t have to give an answer – their smiles was all it took. And they could tell I was about ready to pass out.

Probably appearing like a melodramatic idiot – I re-entered the house where my agent, the owners and Kevin’s mom, (in town visiting) were chatting about baby diapers. With a tear running down my face and my voice shaking I announced: “My God Bev.. This is it… I don’t care what you have to do…”

I got too choked up and excused myself to the driveway to sob – certain that it would be like the countless houses before… Something would go wrong.

Bev worked her magic inside. The couple had just received a contract earlier that day but hadn’t signed it yet.

The wife had taken a shine to us – (most likely thanks to the charms of Kevin’s mom), and divulged some details of the contract in front of us. It was for a little less than the asking price and outlined some work that needed to be done.

Bev exited the house, grabbed my hand and said; “Common kido, we’re going back to my office NOW… We’re gonna get you this house.”

A contract was drafted for the asking price with NO requests to fix anything and hand delivered to the sales agent at 11:30PM. I didn’t sleep that night.

The phone rang at 9:15am… It was Bev. “Jim… oh honey…. I’m soooo sorry….. (long pause)… But you’re going to have to start packing…. YOU GOT THE HOUSE!”

I don’t remember the closing too well.. I was full of darvocet – but I remember having to stand to sign the papers.

Happy Birthday 707…

I can’t believe it’s been a year already….

I can’t believe I’d blog about this either.