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The Hunt Begins
Nov. 19th, 2004 11:23 pmTime has come.
It all started at around noon yesterday when I talked with the buyer's agent. Little did I know how twisted I'd become only 18 hours later. We talked about what property I had in mind, went through a bunch of non-optional criteria, talked about the market a bit, and so on. I left with a small stack of paper giving me all the relevant details about a few domiciles that looked interesting. Nothing special, and it got the ball rolling.
I didn't even suspect anything when my sweetie and I went to see a place yestreday evening. I'm sure it's possible to lay out 1125 sqft. of space in a less-optimal layout for us, but you'd have to try. We walked around, she did some sketches, I took some pictures, all good.
It's the little things that get you. As the prospective place was only about seven blocks away from where we lived, we took the scenic route through the neighborhood. First, it was noting every single for-sale sign on every lawn in a three-block radius. I could smell them. Every piece of property that wasn't on my 18-candidate list (all memorized, of course) was duly noted for later inquiry. I started looking through houses to see the general structure, to predict the layout without even walking through the front door.
It really is an augmented reality. Once I earnestly started the task of looking for property, I started viewing the world with a heads-up display and crosshairs. I am Elias K. Mangosteen, real-estate-seeking missile. No "For Sale" sign eludes my gaze. I keep a pen and paper with me at all times, just to note addresses and realtor numbers for immediate followup. I have five different MLS websites in my bookmarks bar. I plan my weekends around at least two (but no more than four) open houses each day. I am Azathoth, gibbering madly at the center of a universe of charming three-bedroom one-and-a-half-bath condos with breathtaking views of the Boston skyline.
This morning, in between me talking about the current mortgage environment and the general Boston real-estate market, my sweetie asserted that real-estate is like wedding planning, but for guys. Therefore, if I somehow become the house-hunting equivalent of Bridezilla, it is upon all of you to tell me to chill out, calm down, and get a life.
No guarantee of me listening, though.
Update: Okay! Okay! You're all guys!
It all started at around noon yesterday when I talked with the buyer's agent. Little did I know how twisted I'd become only 18 hours later. We talked about what property I had in mind, went through a bunch of non-optional criteria, talked about the market a bit, and so on. I left with a small stack of paper giving me all the relevant details about a few domiciles that looked interesting. Nothing special, and it got the ball rolling.
I didn't even suspect anything when my sweetie and I went to see a place yestreday evening. I'm sure it's possible to lay out 1125 sqft. of space in a less-optimal layout for us, but you'd have to try. We walked around, she did some sketches, I took some pictures, all good.
It's the little things that get you. As the prospective place was only about seven blocks away from where we lived, we took the scenic route through the neighborhood. First, it was noting every single for-sale sign on every lawn in a three-block radius. I could smell them. Every piece of property that wasn't on my 18-candidate list (all memorized, of course) was duly noted for later inquiry. I started looking through houses to see the general structure, to predict the layout without even walking through the front door.
It really is an augmented reality. Once I earnestly started the task of looking for property, I started viewing the world with a heads-up display and crosshairs. I am Elias K. Mangosteen, real-estate-seeking missile. No "For Sale" sign eludes my gaze. I keep a pen and paper with me at all times, just to note addresses and realtor numbers for immediate followup. I have five different MLS websites in my bookmarks bar. I plan my weekends around at least two (but no more than four) open houses each day. I am Azathoth, gibbering madly at the center of a universe of charming three-bedroom one-and-a-half-bath condos with breathtaking views of the Boston skyline.
This morning, in between me talking about the current mortgage environment and the general Boston real-estate market, my sweetie asserted that real-estate is like wedding planning, but for guys. Therefore, if I somehow become the house-hunting equivalent of Bridezilla, it is upon all of you to tell me to chill out, calm down, and get a life.
No guarantee of me listening, though.
Update: Okay! Okay! You're all guys!
