Spring Cleaning

Well, it’s not even Spring, but I’ve already started cleaning.

Ever since the calendar hit January 1, 2011, it was like a switch turned on in my brain, realizing that we are moving this year. Though we likely won’t be moving until towards the end of the year, we’ll probably put our house on the market within a few months.

I’ve already made it a priority to start getting rid of the stuff we don’t want. There’s nothing worse than arriving in a new home and trying to get it in order, when you’re unpacking box after box of things that you never wanted to bring in the first place.

Today we made a trip to Goodwill to donate a pile of household items that we’ve already set aside.

Among the pile was the ever-talked-about-but-only-used-once Deep Fryer. Soon after we got married, Husband gave me this enormous Fryer as a birthday gift. I was speechless when I opened it. Husband nodded and smiled, thinking that I loved it. “Think of all the good food we can make!” he said.

The problem is that even though I do like fried foods occasionally, they make my stomach sick for the most part. Giving me a Deep Fryer was like giving someone that is lactose intolerant an Ice Cream Maker. I ended up keeping the gift, only because my Mom guilted me into it. When I told her on the phone that I wanted to return it, she said, “You can’t do that! This is the first birthday gift he gave you as your husband! You have to keep it!” In 3.5 years of owning it, we only used the behemoth of a Fryer once. Then we realized that for all the money we spent on the oil, we could have just bought the fried foods at a restaurant cheaper and with less mess. Also among the pile was a S’mores maker that I gave Husband for a gift. (Don’t ask – I’m still not sure what I was thinking.) I think we used that only once, too. It, too, took up a lot of valuable space in the kitchen. I decided before I gave it away, I’d open the box to make sure all the pieces were there. That’s when I found a Hershey’s chocolate bar (which, surprisingly, still looked fine), and a bag of hard-as-a-rock marshmallows that, oh by the way, expired in 2006. (Eeek!)

I almost feel 10 pounds lighter after getting rid of bags and bags of stuff we don’t want. Plus, the Goodwill volunteers were very grateful.

I’m sure we’ll have more things to donate. As for the marshmallows, they were donated to the trash.

Identity Change

I spent the majority of my childhood living up North, but I’ve lived most of my adult life in the South.

Since then, I’ve been quickly won over by sweet tea (which is entirely different than unsweetened tea that you sweeten at the table yourself).

I’ve happily gotten rid of my huge winter parkas, thermals, and other bulky gear.

And once I realized that the young Southern man that was offering to help me with my groceries wasn’t going to rob me, I’ve grown to love the kind hospitality.

Yesterday I realized that I’ve become an official, card-carrying member (or more accurately, a magazine-carrying member) of the South, when I saw this in my mailbox:

My Northern side can rationalize that I subscribed because I saw a deal on Amazon for a year’s subscription for just $5 (that’s sadly no longer available). Or maybe I’m just becoming a Southerner, y’all.

They found us

I’m totally amazed that in less than a full week of having our telephone connected, the telemarketers have already found us. Not only that, they asked for us specifically by our first and last names. (I might have to give them bonus points for pronouncing our names correctly.) If the calls weren’t on the annoying side, I’d go so far to say that I was almost impressed by how quickly they tracked us down. The first call was for some sort of trial offer for magazines. Clearly they did their homework on this one - I’m a big fan of magazines. But, I’m also smart enough to realize that their “free” offer is probably going to cost me money. I politely declined. The second call was asking for a donation for a police organization. It was followed immediately by the third call, where a woman informed us that we were entered in a raffle to win cash prizes. Oh, and I supposedly “won” a watch with diamonds on it. (How come I’m lucky enough to supposedly win a diamond-encrusted watch, but I can’t score a decent parking space at the grocery store?) Again, I politely declined the offer. Notice I said, “politely” declined. There’s a good reason for it. I wish I could say that it’s because I’m always nice and patient with everyone I encounter, including irksome telemarketers that call at dinnertime. But, really it’s because I know what it’s like to make those phone calls. I, um, once spent a summer during college calling alumni asking for donations for the university. It was definitely the low point of my working career, falling behind even the summer I wasted away as a clerk at a souvenir store. I don’t know what the worst part about the job making those calls – knowing that I had sold my soul, or knowing that I had sold my soul for a mere $6 an hour. (Let’s face it. I put my soul on clearance.) From that summer experience, I took with me my puny earnings – and the lesson to always be nice to the human on the other side of the phone. I will continue to politely decline their offers. And promptly add our number to the “national do not call” registry.

new home

We are slowly getting settled into our new location and house. There’s a lot to celebrate, just in this past week alone. The mountain of boxes has dwindled into a small hill. We’ve met a few friendly neighbors. We love our new house, and it’s already starting to feel like home. Here are the highlights of the good and the bad, so far. The Good: Almost all of our stuff arrived without any damage. The Bad: We have that much more stuff (junk) to keep and figure out what to do with it. The Bad: One of the few things that arrived broken was a mirror, and now we have to wonder if we’re really subject to 7 years of bad luck. (I’m inclined to think, at least on a technicality, that we aren’t subject to the bad luck, since it was technically the movers that broke it.) The Good: It’s nearly impossible to get lost in this small town. The Bad: My poor sense of direction has moved with me to our new place, meaning that I will probably get lost at least once. The fact that I shouldn’t get lost means that I will become that much more frustrated when I do. The Good: There’s no traffic in town. The Bad: We no longer have an excuse if we are late to a party or event. The Good: We might not need to buy a lawnmower after all. The Bad: Our grass appears to be dead. But, Husband has started sprinkler-to-lawn resuscitation to help revive the dying grass. The Good: I’ve grown enamored with our spacious kitchen and the window view. The Bad: Nothing! What’s not to love about a spacious kitchen with a view? The Good: We found a bakery (I sniffed it out on the second day!) that has delicious homemade goodies for a bargain price of 50 cents a piece. The Bad: Forget the oatmeal and fruit – let’s have greasy baked goods for breakfast! I admit that it might not do so well for our health. The Good: We are quite happy in our new home. The Bad: We’ll probably move again in 2 or 3 years for Husband’s next military assignment. But, even that is not so bad. By then, it’ll be time for healthier breakfasts and to chance our luck with a new place – and our fragile mirrors in the (moving) process.

Moving!

We’re moving - again! In less than one year of marriage, this is our second move, and it will be our third address. It would be nice to think that we’ve won some sort of military-moving record. But, if we did, I suspect the only thing we won was the extra trip to the post office to change our address, besides getting the delivery full of boxes of our own stuff. But still, the move is a reason to celebrate. We’ve survived the last few months at our tiny, temporary place. Specifically, we’ve survived extreme heat, an awkward dinner invitation, and an almost unspeakable air freshener incident. No doubt, we’ve subsisted on pizza and macaroni. And, the only real casualty was a small plant. We’re also excited to move into our new house and get settled in. The prospect of unpacking all of our boxes, I’ll admit, is not quite as exciting. Eventually, after probably many trips to Goodwill, I know we’ll get everything in order. I’m not sure when we’ll get our internet hooked up, but I imagine we’ll probably be without it for a while. Rest assured, though, that I’ll probably have a new set of stories to share when we do. That is, as long as I don’t get lost in the boxes (possible, but not likely) or have to be admitted to the hospital for a bad case of internet withdrawal (slightly more likely). In the meantime, Happy Easter!

Christmas in February

The movers brought our stuff to our new house today. In a way, it’s kind of like Christmas. Except that the loot is all of our old stuff (with slightly new scratches and/or smells) and Santa is a young tattooed man wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. All of our stuff had been in storage for the last 3 months. And quite honestly, I didn’t really miss it. Until I saw our comfy couches that just begged me to sit down and sprawl out, and I willingly obliged. We haven’t unpacked the boxes yet, so I’m sure that more surprises await us. But for now, we’re celebrating our February Christmas. Oh, and in case you didn’t know, Santa will gladly accept a McDonald’s lunch in lieu of cookies and milk.

Precious Water

Surprisingly, the most difficult part of our recent home-buying experience might just be setting up our water account. It shouldn’t be that difficult, especially because the water is already working! I called to ask the company simply to transfer the account to our name. I thought that since we were just crazy enough to volunteer to give them money every month (on time, of course), they would gladly take my contact information and be done with it. But, they said I needed to supply copies of just a few things: my ID card, my social security card, the deed to the house, my 5th grade report card (will they care that I got a “B” in art?), and my high school yearbook photo (yes, the one with the braces). And, that doesn’t include the 5-page application form! They know all about us now. Our driver’s license numbers, our phone numbers, our lucky lotto numbers, the last 3 years worth of addresses (only about 5 different locations), jobs we’ve had (including my depressing summer job at a souvenir store in Florida and Husband’s boring stint as a grocery bagger), my shoe size, and the number of readers on my blog (3 - my parents; and Husband, since he can’t escape and I force him to read it). I’m not sure if this act is supposed to make them want to give us water, or a hug (mainly for my ugly braces phase and the lame jobs we once held). Regardless, Husband and I have about a dozen moves between us, and I never remember a water company being this particular. Is there something I’m missing? Is water the newest commodity on the black market? Psst…hey you. Yes you. I can get you a good deal on water. Yeah, the good stuff. Just bring a bucket and the cash to the backside of our house. Come alone. Tonight. I’ll hook you up. I’m convinced that something good will come of this. Besides running water in our home, of course. Maybe we’ll get rich selling water on the black market, or maybe I’ll just take a long hot bath in our hard-earned H2O to relax and forget the whole thing.

house shopping

This weekend confirmed it. Buying a house is a lot more fun than selling a house.

We got the royal treatment. The realtor chauffeured us from house to house in hopes of finding one we’d like. The sellers, if present, greeted us warmly and invited us to look around. One overly ambitious seller, an older man dressed in a too-tight shirt and jeans, gave us a personal tour of the entire home highlighting all the details. “How nice,” we said, when really we were thinking, “it smells like smoke in here!”

One house, with fresh vacuum tracks and fragrant candles lit throughout the home, reminded me all too much of the hard work and desperation involved when we were selling our condo. In that moment, I felt bad for strolling around and ogling their home, especially since they would realize later with disappointment that we were not their buyers. For other sellers, I didn’t feel as much pity. Like the ones that for whatever reason decided it was not important to leave the electricity on in their home, which left us with a tour experience similar to one that Stevie Wonder might have.

Our home shopping experience yielded us with one questionably-acquired orange. [“Please take one,” the realtor insisted, pointing to the orange tree in the back of one home. “They’re just going to go to waste,” she added.] But more importantly, it ended with us putting an offer for a just-built home. It’s exciting. And humbling, too, since it is nicer than anything I thought we would get.

sold!

I’ve been waiting a long time to write the following words…

Our condo sold!!

After about 128 days, 80 e-mails, 25 showings, 2 bogus offers and 1 near-nervous breakdown, it finally sold. In fact, it closed today!

We are ecstatic, relieved, and just plain thankful.

I’m not sure our old neighbors will share the same enthusiasm if what their new neighbor says is true on his myspace page…that he spends “countless hours” on his “drum set.” Whoops. But on the positive side, he has nearly 300 myspace friends, so maybe he’s not such a bad guy.

Regardless, we are ecstatic. And did I mention relieved and thankful?

Happy early thanksgiving, everyone!

hello to our new home

After 3-days of driving in separate cars (and a lot of calls between on the walkie-talkies), we have arrived at the new place we’ll call home. For just the next 4 months, that is. (Thankfully!)

The first day that we arrived I was speechless. Literally. I knew that our living space (a one-bedroom studio-type apartment) would be rustic, but I wasn’t totally prepared these rustic proportions. (Think camping out, except not as fun and indoors.)

Husband, noticing my unusual silence and shock, was trying to be the energetic optimist. He pointed out any positive attributes with energy that would rival any used car salesman.

“Wow! Look…not one, but TWO TVs!”

“Ooh…what a nice big desk for your computer!”

“Cool, a four-slot toaster!”

He then got so desperate to cheer me up that he resorted to pointing out even the most basic items with the same enthusiasm.

“Wow, a closet!”

“It has a refrigerator, too!”

“Check out the table!”

I moped for a day, and then got over it. Sure, this place wouldn’t be my first choice (or even second choice) for a living space, but it’ll do. I’m grateful that we’re together and we have a safe place to live. (And that there’s internet in the room!)

So my gloomy mood faded and I became the “it’s-not-so-bad” cheerleader for the both of us. That’s when Husband caught the gloomy blues. After all his initial enthusiasm (and after nearly 72 hours of living here), he finally looked around, as if he just saw the place for the first time, and frowned saying: “this place is a dump!”

He’s right. It’s sort of a dump. But we are laughing at all the quirks of the place. (Trust me – there’s plenty, so we’re doing a lot of laughing.) Like the bed that seems to be only slightly larger than a twin bed, fit more for a small child than two adults. Or the overhead fluorescent lights that cast a yellow-ish haze over the room. Or, the kitchen sink that isn’t big enough for more than one dish at a time. And, last but not least, the invisible stove and non-existent oven that’s made the microwave our best friend.

Regardless, I know that we’ll survive…and we’ll have many more laughs at the expense of our poor little place.

farewell to the condo

It’s finally time to say goodbye to our condo.

No, it hasn’t sold yet. (Unfortunately!) But we have to leave tomorrow anyway.

I’m surprised at how sad I am to leave the condo. Sure, it has its quirks…like the old washer (that sounds like it’s going to explode when I overfill it), the nail that perpetually sticks out on the deck, and a slightly “spotty” paint job (brought to my attention by a Realtor yesterday – thanks for that). But, it’s ours, and it’s been a good home over the past 4 years.

I’ve never been one to get too attached to things, but somehow leaving the condo feels like saying goodbye to a friend. A quiet, slightly musty-smelling friend, that is – but a friend, nonetheless.

Regardless, it’s both exciting and sad to leave. We’ll spend our last night here in our sleeping bags, watching the 13” TV that Husband insisted we keep with us. (I’m grateful for that now, since the rest of our belongings were whisked off by the movers yesterday!)

And tomorrow begins a new adventure. The first part will be deciding which car (and which lucky driver!) will carry all the leftover Halloween candy… :)

rain and an open house

I love the rain. Except when I’m held hostage by it in a near-monsoon, huddled under a small shelter in the park.

I had been reading there, eyeing the looming storm clouds and hoping that they would pass quickly. I would have been reading comfortably in my own home, but Realtor was showing it as an “open house” this afternoon. [The irony of an “open house” is that it is open to everyone except its very owners! But I much prefer it that way, avoiding all awkward conversation between the desperate home-seller (me) and the potential buyers.]

All my frustration – about the rain and about our hasn’t-sold-yet condo - melted when I came home. Waiting for me were 7 business cards of interested Realtors, 3 balloons, a container of chicken noodle soup, and a loaf of fresh bread. The numerous business cards were a hopeful sign and should have been the focus of my delight. But I have no shame in admitting that I was won over more by the balloons and the food. (What can I say? I’m a sucker for both!)

Tonight I will enjoy every spoonful of the chicken noodle soup, which seems like a perfect meal in the backdrop of a rainy day. And I will hope that on some sunny day in the future (hopefully soon!) we can finally celebrate the sale of our home…

Condo Craziness, Part II

We had another showing on our condo today.

I fulfilled my end of the bargain, going into the normal cleaning fury and completing all bizarre rituals to cleanse the condo of any signs of filth. [Reference previous post for all the sorry details.]

I planned with military precision. Candle lighting would begin upon first waking to purify the condo of any odors, allowing the vanilla scent to sweeten the air for hours. The wipe-down of all sinks and counters would begin soon after, followed by the opening of all windows to let in the fresh fall breeze. Then, I would vacuum 40 minutes before they arrived to minimize any footprints on the unspoiled vacuum tracks. Finally, I would spray some air freshener and leave the premise exactly 20 minutes before their arrival, to avoid the awkward “um, hi…here’s the condo” conversation between me and Potential Buyer and Realtor of Potential Buyer.

It was all going according to plan…until the vacuum unleashed a foul stench in what could be described only as burnt rubber. Drat! It must have been from the last vacuuming, when the vacuum tried to devour a backpack strap.

From there, the plan unraveled. Potential Buyer and Realtor of Potential Buyer arrived 30 minutes early! The vacuum stench was at its strongest, and worse, I had no time to use the air freshener. Plus, all of my items that I was taking to occupy myself at a nearby park were strewn around the entryway. So instead of walking into an immaculate condo smelling of vanilla, they walked into a nose full of burnt rubber, nearly tripping over my belongings.

I struggled to act calm, offering: “Oh hello. Take a look around. I was just about to leave.”

I left hoping that maybe the smell wasn’t as bad as I thought, but all hopes were dashed when I returned later and got a whiff of the stench. But, perhaps they didn’t notice?

They did. A couple hours later, an e-mail from my Realtor was waiting for me in my inbox, with their feedback on the showing:

“They loved the condo but indicated that there was a very strong 'burnt rubber' smell.”

Agh!

I was horrified and called Husband in a fit of frustration. The conversation - or monologue of my ranting - sounded something like this: “and I cleaned for hours..and the vacuum…and there was this smell….it’s like burnt rubber..and they noticed…it’s in the e-mail…might have ruined the sale...we need to get rid of that stupid vacuum!”

Husband assured me that everything was fine. We then played the it-could-have-been-worse game, coming up with the following scenarios that beat burnt rubber any day:

1) An overflowing toilet, with sewage and the associated stench overtaking the condo. 2) A cockroach – or a herd of cockroaches – making an appearance for the showing. 3) A toilet overflowing of both sewage and cockroaches.

Everything is cleared up now – both the condo smell (which I doused with air freshener) and the misunderstanding, as I explained the story to my Realtor. She laughed and told me not to worry.

I’m not sure what will come of this showing, but I’m considering this story my consolation prize if it doesn’t sell.

Oh – and Goodwill just got themselves an extra vacuum.

selling our house, and losing my mind

I’ve been dreading writing this post. I knew the topic was too good to pass up, but somehow putting it down in words seemed to admit what I knew was already true.

I’m going nuts.

It's true. Selling our house has made me crazy. Husband would wholeheartedly agree. (Although he wouldn’t in front of me to spare my feelings and whatever self-respect I might have left.)

It started slowly over time, so that we both barely noticed the insanity creeping upon me. But when Husband asked yesterday – “where are we putting our recyclables now?” and I responded “in the freezer” with a tone of “duh.” Well, there’s just no getting around that. I’ve gone nuts.

We’ve had our condo on the market for a few months now. It started with a For Sale By Owner effort for about a month that only yielded interest from 1 nosy neighbor, 2 crazies, and 3 cheapos.

Next came the Realtor phase, which we’re still in. I happily passed the buck to her, thinking of her as my home-selling savior and worshiping her advice.

But exactly 2 months later, we still have no offers. I’ve chalked it up as out of my hands, and started focusing on the only thing I could control: cleaning.

I figured that we could at least keep the house neat and tidy, it might entice any home-lookers. So that’s what I told myself – “neat and tidy” - but somehow my warped brain translated that into “nuts and nuttier.”

It started innocently, liking making sure the house was vacuumed, the beds were made, and the blinds were open. Then it moved into making sure the counters and sinks were clean, starting a horrible requirement for us to “wipe down” our sinks after each use. Then it moved into smoothing out the wrinkles in our futon (our poor substitute for a couch).

The list of tasks got longer and crazier.

*Lighting a candle – not for romance, of course, but to give a better fragrance throughout the house.

*Putting what I deemed as “smelly” trash in a bag in the freezer until trash pick-up day. (We don’t own a garage, and it seemed like a “logical” place to contain the smell that’s out of sight of any potential buyers. Yes, further evidence of my craziness.)

*Storing our recyclables in the freezer or the refrigerator. (Our recycling bin was stolen last week - that’s a story for another post.)

*Putting a Hawaiian-print beach towel over our laundry basket to hide any dirty clothes. (Heaven forbid if any potential buyers knew that we – gasp! – kept dirty clothes in a dirty clothes hamper!)

*Keeping a variety of “show” items around the house, with the real ones hidden and inconvenient for actual use. Like our “show” rolls of toilet paper that are large and plump on display, with the real raggedy small rolls hidden under the sink. Or like the “show” toothbrush that’s displayed – white and crisp – with my real imperfect purple one concealed under the sink in a cup, next to the imperfect toilet paper roll.

*Hiding bills and other papers in the junk drawer we never had, leaving little room for the silverware and items that actually belong there.

* Avoiding or jumping over carpeted areas after a fresh vacuuming to preserve the "vacuum tracks." The list goes on and on, but I think I’ll stop before I further embarrass myself. I know – it’s all sick and sad.

I tried to shield Husband from my bizarre practices, preferring to keep them as the weird things I did while he was gone. But, he noticed them over time, especially if we got a call that potential buyers were on their way. I’d morph into a tornado of cleanliness, rushing around the house, wiping and cleaning everything in sight, muttering under my breath about the “filth” in the house.

With every new scheme to somehow add more cleanliness (and inconvenience) to our house, I tried to excuse it, by saying “I know this is crazy, but…”

But, there’s no excuse.

It’s all making the temporary studio apartment that we’ll live in when we move look better and better. Sure, it’s only one real room and a bathroom, but think of the joy we’ll have when we finally get to put trash in the trashcan!