Denied

Damn.

We didn’t get the house. There wasn’t even a bidding war. In the end we just couldn’t agree on price. And, to be honest, the seller didn’t even try.

It’s too bad. I won’t deny I’m a little bummed. Once you get to the stage where you’re willing to make an offer on a place you start to envision yourself living there and you can’t help but get emotionally attached. Thankfully our cold money grubbing hearts were still functioning and we didn’t chase after the price. Which means that we still have enough sense to realize that the allure of home ownership ain’t worth draining our bank accounts over.

I really thought we had a shot at the place.

The house is significantly overpriced given its condition and the neighbourhood. It’s been sitting on the market for two months and already had one considerable drop in price. We probably would have been willing to meet his selling price if the place didn’t need so much work done to it.

I suspect that that owner has a number in his head that he’s not willing to go below, even if that number scares most potential buyers off.

Who knows, with so few houses on the market these days maybe he can afford to wait until the supply dries up so much that someone will have to meet his price because there are no other options available.

Meanwhile, we’ll keep looking and hopefully we’ll have a little more luck with the next place that tickles our fancy.

First Loves

I’m trying really hard not to get attached to the first house we looked at.

Oh we’ve kicked the tires on a couple other places, but we haven’t seriously considered anything after seeing that first place.

So we’re going back to look again. Only this time we come armed with family. My B-I-L and my father, armed with decades of construction experience, are going to help us look a little more objectively at the house we’re coveting.

They’ll be able to see beyond the future dream world of birthday parties, Christmas dinners and personal space we’ve constructed into the harsh reality of the now. The now where the plumbing leaks, the electrical needs work and that back porch is going have to be replaced. And all those things cost money.

Our biggest advantage. The house has been on the market for two months, with one price drop.

Mayhap the price has a little more flexibility left in it?

Extra money

We were fortunate enough when selling to get a bit more than our asking price. This was entirely unexpected. We even had a lowest minimum offer, below our original asking price, that we were willing to accept. So when our place took off we were content to earmark this ‘extra’ money for agent’s fees, home inspection costs, lawyer fees and all the ancillary costs that crop up during a scenario like this.

The last thing I want to do is get into the mentality that since we sold for more than we wanted, we can turnaround and use the extra cash to buy a bigger place than we originally expected.

Not happening.

There are a whole plethora of reasons why that’s not going to happen. But for me, I want to avoid any scenario where we end up taking on more debt than we have too. If there’s one thing S and I can agree on it’s debt is bad. (I’ve seen too many episodes of TIL DEBT DO US PART to know that some couples don’t necessarily agree on that.)

So we’ve got a price range we’re happy with (350-400k), a neighbourhood we’re circling like predatory birds and enough money in our pockets to give us options.

Not to shabby.

A done deal

Wow.

So we sold our place and the whole process was lightning fast.

I didn’t really know what to expect. I’d been a renter many times but when I moved in with S I just moved into the place she was already living in so we never had to take the step of house hunting together.

After two weeks of back breaking labour to get the place ship shape and three days of lurking in movie theatres or bars until it was late enough to slink home we got an offer.

Correction

We got six offers.

I thought the days of multiple offers were dead. Don’t believe the hype.

I thought the whole thing would be done with offers that had been faxed into the agent’s office. I was shocked to find out that a couple agents were actually going to come in and present to us directly. I was grappling with my best poker face as each agent sat down and presented the particulars of their offers. On the whole I was just aiming to be pleasant about the whole thing because soon we’ll be in the same position and it doesn’t pay to piss off karma if you can avoid it.

Anyway, we were obviously spoiled with a plethora of options. We were able to sell with the terms and conditions we wanted, ones that gives us enough time to look for a place without being rushed.

We’re already pouring over RE listings and driving through neighbourhoods. I think we’ll be all right when it comes to generalities (neighbourhood, location, style) but I suspect we might clash a little bit when it comes to the specifics.

But who knows. I’ve been wrong before.

Moving

Our house went on the market this morning, nearly two weeks to the day that we made the decision to sell. And we’ve already got four showings booked. Not bad, eh? While it seemed like an easy choice at first, practically a no-brainer, it became tougher and tougher as we lurched closer to our sell date to steel ourselves to the task at hand.

We got bogged down in conflicting schedules, the rigours of back breaking labour, illness and yes, unexpected sentimentality.

(We can’t move now. It’s right downtown. And so convenient. What’re we gonna do in the sticks? I love this place)

I admit. I got a little miffed when I had to put the bulk of my belongings in storage. Apparently, everything I own is repellent to potential female buyers.

That vintage Dawn of the Dead poster?

Gone.

My precious books?

Gone.

Clothes?

Gone.

Everything was hidden away to make the place seem larger, roomier, more inviting.

And then there was the endless cleaning, packing, and repacking.

One of my favourite sayings is ‘no matter how well a move is going, it’s never really going well.’

Well, this is like that. Only worse. Because this is the pre-pack. A lot of what we shipped out, is gonna have to come back in while we look for a new place of our own. And when we move? It’ll all have to be packed…AGAIN.

Bugger.

I can’t afford to be sentimental about this place. I can’t afford to think about how this home is the place where I met my wife and where we have lived together (for better or worse) for the past 4 years.

Or how soon, if they aren’t already, complete strangers are going to be tromping through halls (don’t they know I just vaccumed those?), looking in my cupboards and making judgement calls about our design choices. I know it’s not personal, they’re just looking for their own little piece of paradise.

But I happen to think it’s pretty perfect already.

Silly season

Rumours of my demise have been greatly exagerated. I've come out the other end of the Awards\Magazine\Conference silly season, shaken, stirred, but not broken.

Although if forced at gunpoint, I would have to say it was a near thing.

So now happens to be the time of year where I step back from the hustle and bustle of the world and peer closely into "what else is going on in my life."

I'd really like to up my physical regimen. I dropped down to one game a week and I quickly saw the unfortunate reprecussions of that choice in my weight and my stamina. My intent was always to pick up yoga and rock climbing and give something other than frisbee a try. The time to put that plan into effect is now.

Stace and I are considering buying a home. We're not stupid people, just people who are considering taking the next step in our relationship at a very inopportune time. The alternatives are to act now or wait out the financial apocalpyse first. Only there are no guarantees the latter will end anytime soon and we'd kind of like to get moving on the former now. So we're researching our asses off and going into the house buying thing with our eyes fully open.

Financially it's save, save, save time. I'm topping up my RRSP's this week and hoping I come within spitting distance of my maximum contribution amount. I think this year may get me close enough to max out completely next year. That would be nice. I'm still working on repairing the emergency fund after the wedding and Oz trip and I'll feel much happier about the state of that by the summer.

My birthday is coming up. No comment. I feel fat and flabbtastic as it is. No need to mark that milestone with celebrations.

I'm way behind on my reading and I need an injection of some quailty film making ASAP. But there's not much else happening for me right now. Mostly I'm trying to catch up on all the little things that I had to put aside during the aforementioned silly season.

Q: Who knows what little forgotten work gems are going to crawl out of the woodwork now?
A: The Shadow knows.