nine eight months to get out of here, sure. But nothing makes a family feel more unwanted than knowing they're, well, unwanted...
It's like hearing from a boyfriend that he's going to break up with you in nine months. Would you want to stay with said boyfriend? Um, no. You'd be like, "FUCK YOU, BOYFRIEND! I'm going to sleep with your best friend, Steve, you asshole!"
So that's where we are. Looking for our house's equivalent of "his best friend Steve"... except Steve is currently nowhere to be found.
Last week we went to look at our first house. And yes we will be renting again. In order to purchase a house in our neck of the woods with three or more bedrooms we would need (at least) 200k in cash to put down as our 20%. We do not have these monies. And even though renting is risky (Ahem) and some would argue, "throwing money away!" this is where we are. We'd rather rent a place we love in a neighborhood that makes us happy than buy somewhere we can afford in a neighborhood we hate. Living miserably is never the smart move in our opinion. And it isn't "throwing money away" if it makes you happy. Even if it means getting booted out by landlords.
The problem? We got an incredible deal on our house. (We have three bedrooms plus an office which is kind of UNHEARD of in West Hollywood. With our budget and requirements, anyway.) SO. Operation find-a-house-without-overspending-past-our-budget begins.
Unfortunately (fortunately?) I am extremely picky and would like only to live somewhere excruciatingly beautiful. Spoiled after living here in a house I never thought I would be able to afford let alone pull off. Now, I refuse to settle on anything other than fabulous. So for every fifty listings Hal sends me, I approve one.
So, as of today, after three weeks of searching hundreds of listings, we've gone to see one house. From the outside it was almost perfect. The bars on the windows were a little too paranoia-chic for my taste but the bougenvilla was TO DIE for and the vines that wrapped around the house were divine...s.
If I could build my fantasy doorway it would look identical to this:
I was so thrilled I took sixty-one pictures and said, "Omg" forty-seven times.
"I could SO come home to this doorway every day."
Except the inside was another story. We pushed open the door to a dismal and dark interior, stained and smelly, its linoleum kitchen depressing and bathroom dated and sad. The master bedroom was decent but the rest of the house was reminiscent of some of my early LA apartments and not in a good way. If the house was a thousand dollars less a month? It might be worth it. But for the asking price? (You don't want to know.) SO not.
The backyard was lovely as well but the "guest house/office space" out back was more like a haunted shed. Hal and I both agreed it was more "American Horror" than Home Sweet Home and left the house feeling a little low and slightly defeated. Here was a house $700 more a month than ours and not nearly as nice.
"This is just the first house, Bec! We'll find something just as amazing!"
And of course he's right. Still. Every night I scan Craigslist in the nook of the kitchen of the house I adore hoping to fall in love or at least like with our future home ... but alas, sigh, alas...
So this is me putting a call out to "Steve."
Steve, if you're out there? Please heed our call. We're looking for you, Steve. We want to sleep
with in you, Steve! STEVE!