Another day with the realtor. I must confess, I really wasn't in the mood to house hunting this morning. (Being crapped on will do that to you.) Without going into detail as to why I am so sad, I will do what every girl does and blame the opposite sex, even if it's true.
What doesn't kill us makes up stronger...or whatever bullshit slogan people say to make demoralized people feel better. Now that I have said that, it's probably a scripture or something and I've now moved up the list of those going to Hell. ~sigh~
Today was the Final Four of the houses I liked. Once again, Paul agreed to go with me for an unbiased eye. However, he worked the night before, and had to drop his car off at the garage for a whatever-thousand mile service. My morning: get up, drop Sam off at daycare, go home and shower, get ready, drive to someplace I've never been before to pick up Paul (who regales me with the story of him changing in the washroom, and being scared half to death by seeing another guy standing there...only to realize it was his own reflection in a full-length mirror), drive to Gladstone to meet with the realtor, pile into her car and go to our first house.
This is the teal-trimmed house. I still like it, but the seller would have to make pricey concessions for me to buy it: new carpet/flooring in the entire house, new driveway. It would be a fine house for someone, but not for me. Sorry, teal-trimmed house.
After the realtor took us back to my car, we drove to this house. I remembered how to get there under my own steam. Yay. I tell Paul that I know of the one thing he will hate about this house. My guess is correct when he blanches at the site of the neighbor's yard: old boat, old Beetle that looked as though it hadn't been driven since the 60's, and various clutter. "Do they make 10 foot privacy fences?" he wonders.
This house is white, but it's a cold white that gives it a blue-ish cast. Paul calls it blue. Whatever. I still like the inside...it's really move-in ready and I would have to do very little except paint the colors I want. Lots of room in the basement for my brother's family to live in should they stop making house payments again. My initially suspicion was correct in that I thought the house was flipped. It was. The seller really didn't have much to say on his disclosure because he "only knew about stuff he did to the house". A nice house to be certain, but I didn't feel like it was my house. I liked the house, but I could be easily swayed elsewhere...so that is a pretty good indicator to keep looking.
This is the beige house that was the front-runner on my list. No one had been there since we looked at it last week (the realtor card was still on the counter). I poked around a little more. Paul thought it was good house, he was immediately smitten when he saw the red front door.
It had been on the market for so long because the sellers initially were asking way too much for it. I made mental notes of stuff I would have to do: paint, kitchen counter tops, and get rid of the fugly chandelier in the dining room.
If I put in a bid, I'm going to try to low-ball the piss out of them.
This is the realtor's favorite house. It's been very well cared for, but sorely outdated. I expect to do some updating no matter where I move to, but I do have to consider the extra amount I need to spend. Painting in all the rooms, new appliances, building additional work surfaces in the kitchen.
The selling point was the rec room, but it seems the seller wants to nickel and dime me for every little extra. Apparently, he didn't read the reports that it's now my market. You want to sell your house? Toss in the hot tub. The rec room would be perfect for entertaining guests. Then, I remembered that I haven't done any serious entertaining since I was the activity coordinator for the singles' branch...which was, ummm, years ago.
This house is closer to work than the other ones I looked at. One straight shot and I am downtown.
So, it comes down the houses #3 and #4.
We bid our farewells to the realtor and came back north. Paul complained that he felt like his blood sugar was tanking, so I mentioned I had crackers in the glove box. He fished them out, ripped open the bag, and popped one in his mouth before I had a chance to tell him that the crackers were at least one and a half years old. The look on his face was priceless, but he chewed and swallowed like a good little trooper. He declined any more crackers, but accused me of tricking him.
We had a late lunch, I took him back to his car, and I came home and took a nap.
I will spend the next few days deliberating. I will probably look online and see if anything has been newly listed. If not, I should have a decision made by the end of the weekend.