The search for a place to call home just gets crazier and crazier.
When we last left off, Scott and I were trying to decide between “wood meets more wood” and “meh meets 2001″.
You can tell I’m really excited about our options.
When our realtor called with an exciting new prospect on Monday evening, I may or may not have done a celebratory happy dance that sent Jolie scampering under the bed out of sheer terror. Or embarrassment. It was definitely one of the two.
Here’s my recollection of how it all went down:
Realtor: I think you’re really going to love it. It’s a two bedroom on Lake Carlos. You’d have private access to the water and could even bring a boat in if you like. The owner plans on putting it on the market…but at the price she’s asking, it’s not going to sell anytime soon. She wants it listed for a million dollars.
Me: A million dollars? And it’s a two bedroom? That’s perfect! We want something on the lake, but everything we’ve seen is way too big for just the two of us. It’s sounds really nice.
Realtor: It’s beautiful. And she just did a huge remodel a few years ago, so everything is new…she spent a pretty penny on the updates.
Me: This sounds like just what we’re looking for! What’s the price.
Realtor: Well, she’s asking $1,300 a month — but it would include all of your utilities. And I think she’s willing to negotiate.
I was quickly transported into my own miniature lake house fantasy land. Visions of custom drapery and abstracts portrait of Jolie danced through my head as I started mapping out my interior decor strategy. A strategy which will undoubtedly involve one of these.Image courtesy of WhiteFauxTaxidermy
I travelled with Scott to Small Town early yesterday morning and spent the entire day working from my new favorite coffee shop so that we could check out our million dollar pad after work. By the time the realtor picked us up for the appointment my excitement had only escalated.
Fifteen minutes later, we were greeted with a massive four car garage adorned with a 12 foot tall stained glass peacock.
It was over the top. Ostentatious. Gaudy, even.
It was a gargantuan stained glass peacock on a building made for cars and lawnmowers.
It was perfect.
But a four car garage seemed a bit much for a two bedroom bungalow.
And really…it seemed like less of a cozy bungalow and more of a giant lakeside plantation on steroids.
Me: So this place only has two bedrooms?
Realtor: Oh, no. I think there’s five or six bedrooms upstairs at least. The basement has two bedrooms.
Me: The basement? We’d be living in the basement?
Realtor: Yes. But don’t worry…the owner travels a lot, so she won’t be home half of the time. I do have to warn you though…she’s a little bit eccentric.
A that exact moment, a woman who I can only describe as looking like Carrie Donovan’s identical twin sister emerged from my bungalow.
“Meet me around back if you would, please. I don’t want you getting snow on the hardwoods.” she bellowed.
“Apparently we’re going to be renting the servant’s quarters.” Scott murmured.
I can assure you, the $1,300 basement wasn’t anything close to servant’s quarters.
Servant’s quarters would have been much more private. And the carpets probably would have been cleaner.
The entire visit was a huge mistake. There were about a million reasons why Scott and I would never even consider renting the place…but here are my top five.
1. The basement comes furnished. With hideous old lady furniture that we would be required to keep. Bed linens and towels included. Eww.
2. The “huge remodel” had involved painting the fifty year old cabinets earlier that day. I did find it quite amusing when the realtor mistakenly leaned on them and smeared fresh white paint all over her leather jacket, though.
3. For the low price of $1,300, we would not only have the privilege of living in a musty old basement, we would also be lucky enough to shovel all of the snow, salt every square inch of pavement during icy weather, and take out crazy lady’s trash each week.
4. The basement was clearly lacking a giant stained-glass peacock.
5. Crazy lady doesn’t allow dogs.
This was another minor detail our realtor forgot to mention. Interesting, as I had already told her about Jolie.
When I brought this up, she claimed she had forgotten, then promptly asked “Well how long have you had her? Are you really attached?”
Yes, because I’m the type of person whose going to give up my best friend so that I don’t miss out on the opportunity to pay an exorbitant amount of money to live in a cellar.
Clearly, she doesn’t know me.
The most ridiculous part of the entire experience was that she had the lease right there, fully expecting us to sign it on the spot.
Scott shot me a look that according to my spouse ESP translator said something along the lines of “Are we in a mothball infested version of the twilight zone right now?”
“Worse,” I silently glanced back. ”We’ve been blindly lured into a subterranean antique mall by a giant peacock.”
On the long drive home one thing became perfectly clear. The time had come to make an offer on “wood meets more wood“.
The owners responded to my email this morning. Our lumber-filled golf villa had slipped away…gone to some renters who were willing to sign a two-year lease.
So, it’s back to the drawing board. Despite our present lack of options, I remain optimistic that we’ll find something great in the end. Plus, while yesterday’s viewing was a huge waste of time, at least we’ve all learned a valuable lesson.
Don’t ever, under any circumstances, judge a home by its peafowl.