The buyer’s market is buzzing in Los Angeles, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. At least–it is in our modest home buying bracket. Competition is ferocious for houses with shredded interiors, houses with mild hills in their kitchens, droopy ceilings, scarred wood floors, most houses with ominous holes in all closet walls (why???). Frankly, it’s discouraging after a day of house hunting to be informed that the hovel-interiors we could fall in love with and joyfully restore are bombarded with offers far above the sellers’ asking prices, bumping us out of the game. However, the good news is that after visiting these hovel-interiors we return to our one bedroom condo with its HD walls and enormous old-fashioned TV and king sized bed in the living room and Ikea inspired baby’s room and S washes the dishes and I dust and vacuum and just check to be sure there are no holes in our closet walls and there aren’t, ever. And we realize with relief that we have hope, despite cramped quarters, and that we have respect for our living space, despite cramped quarters and that we have a lakeside view, despite the evaporating water line in the silly sad vacant lot next door. And we carry on in our hope that the right hovel will choose us as much as we choose it and place our offers anyway and then we put the baby to bed and share a tub of popcorn, watching whatever latest release Blockbuster has to offer that doesn’t involve excessive dire gun-drama or Armageddon. We carry on, not bothering to wonder how long we will be carrying on until we get a house. And in this carrying on, the movie playing, the popcorn not burned for once, we look at each other and realize we don’t do this quiet, togetherness stuff nearly enough. And we squeeze hands. And then dump the popcorn in the trash and switch off the movie and the lights because how the f*** did it get so late and he’ll be up for the midnight hump in like half an hour, so be quiet, quiet, quiet, just go to sleep, quick, sleep. Shh. S***! Brush teeth. Sleep. But the brain, the brain—zzzzzzzzzz.
And today, we’ll do it again—and again—and we’ll just see what happens—all vitals (popcorn, movies, Chunky Monkey ice cream, a bag of organic apples that taste like candy and my no-holes closet stocked in cheerful T shirts from Target) standing by. Why?
Because, essentially, we have everything.
