I'm hungry. I'm on the hunt. I'm prowling. I've got my gear on and I'm going for the kill. It's either kill or be killed. That's right, I'm house hunting. So much game out there, but some just not good enough for hunting. I'm packing heat, my finger's on the trigger, and I'm dying to find just the right target. So far, my finger is just tired from looking and being poised to make an offer. I am SURE my realtors are either close to hunting me or moving on to some fresh meat.
I've been called a snob before. Actually, I think that was today. My good friend said I was just too picky. But here's the way I look at it. I've often said I was a woman on the edge. I'm on the edge of so many things: menopause, being fit, being skinny, being rested, being nicer, being blonder, being more brunette, having softer skin, looking trendy, wearing clothes in my closet, and the list just goes on and on. I'm just on the edge, now, of losing my mind searching for the right house.
We got burned on this one. We rolled the dice and lost. Funny what they say about gambling. I guess that's why there are 12 steps even for gamblers. Anyway, it's time to move on. I swear, I'm trying. Everything I want is a meager $200,000 above my price range. Doesn't the housing market KNOW me? Why does it not embrace me in the manner in which I DESERVE to be embraced. Who does it think I am? I am NOT Grapefruit. I do NOT "bloom where I'm planted". I very intentionally plant myself where I need to be planted -- maybe to look better than the actual flower that I am. It's a good strategy and has served me well. It's like Miracle Gro for humans!
I'm spoiled. I get it. But I'm 42 (I think -- haven't done the math recently), and I'm in no mood to change my standards nor my personality. I don't need the mansion with the sports court, jacuzzi, workout room and olympic-sized swimming pool. I mean, my mother didn't raise me that way. (I'm not saying she shouldn't have...ha ha). BUT -- I need what I need. I'm high maintenance. I like the dressing on the side and if you don't bring it to me that way, I'm sending it back.
And so the hunt continues. I feel it aging me. I feel how I'm wearing my husband down. I see him ducking into the next room to avoid me and the conversation...again. He better look out, I'm getting ready to pull out the big guns because it's been a while since I had a good meal (if you'll forgive this metaphor) and I'm starting to feel a little shakey. No one is safe when that happens!
Bang. Bang.
3 comments:
Okay, this was so funny. I'm the only one awake at my house and I'm cracking up, all alone in the den.
This was you to a T. Hilarious. And not in the DH kind of way. For reals hilarious.
Someday you'll have your big house on the hill. And I'll still be living in da hood. Gun shots and all.
Don't give up! Your house (with a guest house pour moi) is out there somewhere. In fact, I think Scottsdale is a good place to start...
I haven't commented on your blog before, but maybe today's a good time to start. You've probably seen me commenting over at Liz's and Grapefruit's blogs. (I actually know Liz and have enjoyed getting to know Grapefruit in blogland.) I think you are a great bunch of sisters. :) I hope your boot camp went well. And good luck with the house hunting. :)
Ooooooh, watch out! The woman can't remember her own age. Last time I checked you are still 41 until July. Am I right? or am I right? Right? Right? (Sorry, another Groundhog Day moment) This is my big year to turn forty and you aren't getting a day older faster than I am, so just you hold on there, honey! And this may just be YOUR big year to find a place you would love to call home--for the right price!
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