God, I am so stupid sometimes I want to just grab a frying pan and hit myself in the face. It is only slightly comforting that none of my frying pans are cast iron, but Otto says I am not allowed to live in the south without a good cast iron pan, so I had best do all of my face-smacking now before I buy something I could really break my nose with.
Today I did two things with the very best of intentions, and I am already kicking myself.
First, I filled out one of those ubiquitous online “Give us some basic information about your move and you’ll be contacted with estimates!” forms. Within an hour I’d received two phone calls from gruff-sounding men with names like Cletus and Groundhog wanting to know whether I own any furniture over 8 feet long. Isn’t that a rather personal question?
No matter, I quickly made a date to be hacked to bits in the morning, er, to have a walk-through weight estimate in the morning. And it’s a good thing, too, because then I received MORE phone calls and several emails and everyone wants to know how much my stuff weighs and when, exactly, I would like to move, and DUDE, I have no idea.
Truthfully, I also have no idea how much of this stuff is going with us and how much of it is going on Craigslist with headlines like “My Crap Can Be Your Crap!” This will depend quite a lot on how far the moving companies tell me to bend over and what the next house is like.
Which brings us to the other stupid thing I did.
There is a house on the real estate site Otto and I have been using that I keep returning to, mostly with great frustration because it’s on our “possible” list and it doesn’t have a lot of information in the listing. Well today I was looking at it AGAIN because, who knows, perhaps I could WILL IT to tell me more, and guess what? It worked! I discovered a little button labelled “TOUR” and that button took me someplace else entirely—a wonderful world of panoramic room views and square footage calculations and an actual street address.
And then my fool self fell immediately, madly, deeply, and completely in love with this house. My fool self then forwarded the link to Otto with the kind suggestion of CALL THE REALTOR IMMEDIATELY AND GET YOUR ASS OVER TO THIS HOUSE.
Which: Go on, you can say it. “Oh honey, no.” It’s February. My house is under a contingent contract and Otto’s isn’t sold and we haven’t even bothered getting preapproved for a new mortgage yet and blah blah blah BLAH. This is not the time to become infatuated with a house.
Even if it is in the right neighborhood with the good schools. And has space for my office. And a gorgeous yard. With a gazebo. A GAZEBO.
I have a feeling it’s going to be kind of a wild four months, here.