The House-Hunting Chronicles: The Hunt Is On

i’ve been a house-hunting lookie-loo lately, driving around every weekend in search of open houses. i’ve seen tons of places already, most of which i’ve hated. to date, there’s been just one house that gave me that warm feeling of “i can see myself living here!” but i hemmed and hawed like a moron and someone else snatched it. since then, i’ve been praying that it falls out of escrow while rolling my eyes at every new dump i enter.

and yes, they’ve all been dumps. i know i’m supposed to be looking for the worst house on the best block, but when the worst house is 600 square feet of cramped living space, sans yard, on a 1,000-square foot lot — which i found in a great part of Eagle Rock — i can’t do it. i need a place i can live in and maybe add onto in the next few years before trading up.

what’s that you say? i should look into foreclosures? that would be sage advice if i didn’t mind a shitty neighborhood, but since i refuse to move to sacramento, compton or the inland empire, the burgeoning foreclosure market doesn’t do me much good. trust me, the housing market in LA proper is still holding steady and the good parts of town are not overrun by foreclosed properties.

this has been hard. much harder than i thought it would be. not that i thought it would be so damn effortless, but just, i don’t know, maybe more exciting. so far, it’s been a constant hustle and huge epicenter of stress. i’m now on my second mortgage broker and second real estate agent, both of whom i had to scramble to find after realizing that my first choices weren’t working out.

i’m also coming to terms with the unavoidable truth that countless folks have told me already — that my starter home will be far from dreamy. i’ll have to make compromises, reshuffle priorities and throw my lengthy “have to have” list out the window. and i fully intend to, as hard as it will be. i’ll also need to overcome my fear of “the fixer” and learn to be handy around the house.

one good thing is that i’ve gotten better at decoding the cryptic lingo agents and sellers use to describe their properties. example: “cozy” = tiny; “bring your imagination” = dump. in addition, i’ve realized that a pilates studio in a neighborhood means i could never afford to live there. however, if the neighborhood has a “checks cashed” establishment on each corner, i have my pick of the litter.

what’s that you say? i should wait to buy until prices fall more? yeah, i’ve heard that one, too, and i wouldn’t disagree. but certain financial and logistical circumstances are pushing me to buy sooner rather than later (though if i don’t find anything by march, i might just wait another year). plus, every agent, seller and broker i’ve encountered has told me that “it’s a great time to buy!!” and i’m sure they would never lie to me.

Nothing New Really

still being a bizzy bee, with day job and freelance by moonlight occupying every moment. i’m hoping to wrap up this damn book i’m editing in the next few weeks. i can see the finish line and am inching steadily toward it like a marathon runner, though i worry my knees will buckle at the last mile. i’m already tired as fuck, cranky as hell. i want it to end already so i can get some sleep. soon, soon, young grasshopper.

thanksgiving was very nice. i’m sure i can do better than “nice,” but that’s all i got. we had it at my sister’s house this year and had too much food on the table, as jews tend to have, with my sister making ham, my ma making pork chops and me making my world-famous zucchini lasagna. add to that about a million side dishes and you have a feast for an army, though we were just seven.

since we were once poor immigrants, we can’t bear to watch good food go to waste, so we proceeded to stuff ourselves to the brim until we were all sitting around the table groaning, hands on our bellies and our pants unbuttoned. then we collapsed on the couch, popped in some dreadful mandy moore romantic comedy for the kids and drifted into fantasyland until dessert magically appeared on the table. then we ate some dessert. and by “we,” i mean i.

this year, i opted out of the standard what i’m thankful for on thanksgiving post because i’ve done it countless times before and guess what? nothing’s changed. i’m still most thankful for all the living beings around me who fill up my heart with light and make me strive to be a better human being, blah, blah, etc. so thanks, skanks!

i do wish to give a special shout-out to the latest living being that’s enriched my life for the better — my indomitable, inexhaustible puppy Pinko, who’s taught me that i can offer unconditional love to a creature that gets on my every last nerve and drives me bat-shit insane most of the time before turning on the cute and making it all better at just the right moment. but i guess that’s parenthood for you.

beyond that, i’m trying to get myself together for 2008, which means setting some realistic goals, half of which i really really hope i will keep. they include eating less and exercising more (hahahahahahaha!!) and, of course, buying a house. they also include blogging more and banging johnny depp.

The House-Hunting Chronicles: Open House, Downtown LA

my mortgage broker forwarded me an email she received from the city a few weeks ago that said the city would have the money i need to fund my home purchase in another two or three months. recall that the very generous and wealthy city of Los Angeles is helping me secure my mortgage through a first-time homeowners fund set aside especially for low-income peeps like myself. mortgage broker also said that she faxed in a reservation for me, which should secure my cut of the pie.

i’ve decided to look upon this unexpected delay as divine intervention from the real estate gods who know that home prices will continue to fall. by how much, who the hell knows? i read estimates each day in the paper that predict anywhere from a 15% to a 60% drop. and honestly, i don’t know whom to believe. i don’t even believe my own estimate of a 30% drop, because i don’t own a crystal ball, and my tarot cards don’t count.

however things go, my goal has never been to flip a house or time the market to my advantage. sure, i don’t want to buy real estate that depreciates, but if it’s a short-term loss that’s eventually regained, i could live with that — and in that. already, as i check the MLS, so many more places have entered the realm of my search criteria, with their headlines of “REDUCED!! REDUCED!!” this is quite awesome, as it’s expanded my concept of what i can afford.

still, i can’t afford much. without getting into the dollars and cents of it, my budget might allow me to buy a nice house in compton, but that would run counter to Dave’s advice of “buy the worst house on the best block.” i’m already priced out of the areas i really want to live in, like Silver Lake, which already had its influx of aging hipsters who were tired of hollywood move in and gentrify. the next wave went farther east, into Eagle Rock, which i’m also priced out of. so hello, Highland Park.

there’s also the downtown area, which i was considering until i attended the grand opening of a popular loft complex in the fashion district. i went with my girl, Dee, who’s also toying with the idea of the big buy, for the promise of a live band, free food and a chance to win an iPhone in a raffle. turns out the band was a DJ, the food was all fried, and neither of us won the iPhone. we probably looked like a pair of picky power dykes as we sauntered from one showcase loft to the next, opening closet doors and asking the ushers stationed around the complex, “um, excuse me, is this laminate cus it sure doesn’t look like real wood?” (it was laminate.)

if location is everything in real estate, these lofts proved it. some of them had the most breathtaking views of the downtown skyline, which i stood and stared at for a long minute. it struck me that these tall buildings, one of which i work in, looked more beautiful than a pack of trees. i began imagining that view at night or during the rain, and how inspiring it could be. it overwhelmed me with love for Los Angeles and got me thinking that i should call the u-haul to schedule the move-in.

then i’d walk into a different loft and find a view of the parking lot behind the complex, which was breathtaking in a different way. though the lot was guarded, i could see the junkies surrounding the perimeter, one of whom accosted me for change when i stepped out of the building, and said with slurred speech and out-stretched hand, “iss not fer drugs.”

that got me thinking i should cancel the u-haul and keep my hands in my pockets. as far as it’s come, downtown LA still has a ways to go. it’s always been a place to avoid at night, good only for warehouse parties where you can drink past 2am and buy drugs. trees are rare, and the ‘bark park’ promised by the complex offered just a patch of astroturf for the residents’ dogs to do their doodies on.

maybe i could have done it ten years ago when i was fearless and dogless, but today, loft living downtown just doesn’t suit me. it’s too urban, remote and uncomfortable. it’s not dog-friendly, and there’s no supermarket nearby. plus, parking is nonexistent, which means none of my friends would visit. i hear enough complaints now, living in West Hollywood, about the ‘parking situation.’ in Los Angeles, there is always a parking situation and in downtown, it’s a catastrophe.

i know downtown has nicer lofts in nicer, safer neighborhoods, but i’m already priced out of those. though if i did have money to burn, i would totally get a loft as a weekend retreat, which i would turn into a studio space where i could write the great american novel while gazing at the skyline.

at night, i’d invite my arty neighbors over to drink red wine and talk about postmodernism. i’d smear brie on my crackers without a care about the calories, because in this fantasy i’m ravishing and effortlessly thin. we’d play LCD Soundsystem records, on vinyl, to drown out the noise of the urban bustle outside and think nothing of the sirens and helicopters that circled around us. we’d be cool like dat and make funny jokes — haha that one about Nietzsche! good one, Pierre!

the next morning, i’d drive back to my real home, which would have a paved driveway not filled with panhandlers. then on weekends, i’d take the jet to my beach house in Maui. better yet, i’d just teleport there because jet fuel is bad for the environment nowadays and i’ve gone green.

but i’ll save all that for another day. today, i’ll focus on finding the worst house on the best block.

The Busies Continued

work is insane lately. like loony bin, nuthouse, certifiably, committably, need medication for life insane. in my brilliance, i overlooked the fact that i might need to sleep now and then and picked up another freelance gig that has me editing a two-volume book on cinematographers. as with most things, it sounds cooler than it is and it’s whittled my free time down to zero.

but i signed myself up and i’m the type of gal who keeps her commitments. trust me on that point. don’t listen to my friends, who’d likely tell you that i’ve been LA flaking on them left and right. don’t mind the stack of unopened mail on my desk or myriad unanswered messages in my inbox, i get my shit done.

and after i’m done with the cinematographers, i have the carpentry book to keep me warm through the holiday season. and after that i’m hopeful for a seasonal slowdown that will afford me time to visit with the peoples and spend some of the cash i’ve been working so hard for. currently, it’s all been going toward the pay-off-your-damn-car-already fund, but mama needs a new iPod and some microderm.

mama also needs to update this blog more often. i’m sitting on a few stories i’ve been meaning to share about my attendance of open houses downtown and the annual copy editor forum and about my trip to chicago. bear with me. they’re coming. but for now i’m going. work beckons.

Puppies!!!

that look: it’s the look she always seems to be wearing, particularly when i’m busy doing housework, checking email or — heaven forbid! — giving Juice a morsel of attention. that's when the stink eye comes out in this look that screams, “what are you doing, woman? don’t you know that I am the puppy? give all your attention to ME!!”


inattention: but the moment i pay attention to my special needs child i become irrelevant. i could be sitting with Pinko, scratching the sweet spot on the side of her neck that seems to paralyze her with pleasure, causing her to lean into the embrace and look up at me with the sweetest eyes. it’s a rare moment that could become my favorite of the day, maybe the week. and i’ll bend down and get all cutsie-poopsie in her ear and plant a kiss on her snout. then Juice will walk by leisurely on her way to the water bowl. and BOOM — Pinko will leap off my lap and trot alongside Juice like they had long-standing plans to meet at the water bowl all afternoon and her visit with me was only to kill time.


fusion: i’m fully expecting to come home one day to find Pinko’s skeleton fused into Juice’s. i hope they make special leashes for that. Pinko’s like an extra appendage already, the way she’s attached herself to Juice like a bunion. bright side for me is that i only need to ever look for one dog at a time, since the other will always be a step behind.


is that asparagus? for the record, i’m not one to get all weird about dogs sniffing each other’s asses. i understand that it’s a simple gesture for them, akin to a handshake. but imagine shaking your sibling’s hand up to ten times an hour, each time you both enter a new room, just to, you know, get reacquainted.


stuffed animal: now imagine viewing your sibling as a security blanket that must be in contact with your own body at all times. if the security blanket should ever fall off the bed or inch away from you as you sleep, imagine the horror such a discovery can bring. for Pinko, it means waking up in a flurry, crossing the room to find her beloved Juice and collapsing on top of her before returning to sleep.


from chopped liver to paté: though i’ll likely always be first runner-up, Pinko has warmed up to me tremendously. she’s not quite as affectionate as Juice, which bugs me a bit, but i’m trying not to take it personally. Juice is the type of dog who insists on taking every single nap in your arms, whereas Pinko only needs to lay her head across your foot to feel close. it’s clear she craves contact, but too much contact, like a hug, seems to smother her into a recoil.


pobrecita: i forget that Pinko was mistreated in her first few months of life, especially now that she’s grown so vibrant. it’s heartbreaking to think of some bastard abusing my puppy. and infuriating. it doesn’t happen much anymore, but at the beginning, whenever i would place my hand on her for some petting, her whole body would twitch, maybe from surprise, maybe from fear. to get her past her discomfort with contact, i got into the habit of resting my hand on her while she slept.


the crazy hour: i think Pinko might be part werewolf because, come sundown, she acts totally insane. it’s her “crazy hour” when she runs circles around the living room, ricocheting off furniture and jumping on Juice’s head like a hyperactive kid who’s upset that bedtime is approaching. my systematic research has discovered that crazy hour will occur no matter how much exercise Pinko has engaged in during the day. we could have spent the entire day hiking runyon and chasing balls at the park, but at the first sign of dusk — BOOM! — crazy dog.


the miyagi method: when Pinko becomes nutty — whether at night and often when guests are over — i try to reassure her that yes, Pinko, the sun will come out again tomorrow and no, Pinko, these people are not your new owners. when contrasted with my past strategy of exasperated frustration, reassurance is a winner. the trick, i’ve found, is to find that rare moment when she is still and gently place a hand on her belly or neck and leave it there. this acts as a sort of kryptonite, sucking out her nervous energy until she drops to the floor in a sleepy stupor. sometimes just holding her paw will do it. i think it helps her to know that mom’s here, baby, and it’s safe to go to sleep. (so fucking go to sleep!)


matriculation: best news is that Pinko has finally become a fully integrated member of the household. the novelty has worn off. she’s here to stay, and she knows it as much as Juice and i do. at this point, Pinko’s lived with me longer than she’s lived anywhere else, about half of her 10-month-old life.


the new sheriff: but with this newfound security, Pinko has decided to let her flag of mischief fly high and proud. before, she was trying harder than ever to conform to house rules, but now that she sees how hypnotized Juice and i are by her charm, she’s getting more brazen, as if she’s the one making the house rules.


rule #1: i am never allowed to leave the house. only when i am putting on my shoes do i become the most important creature in Pinko’s life. then comes the whining, the jumping, the pawing. and on those special days when Pinko’s at her most ballsy, she’ll pop into the yard and return with a stick in her mouth — a firmly established no-no — and lay it at my feet with a look that seems to say, “if you leave the house, i might be tempted to misbehave. and you wouldn’t want that, right?”


not good enough: as i’ve burned through my sick day stash at work, i can’t really call in to say i have to stay home because i fear my mischievous puppy, so i get up and go to work as usual, always uneasy about what i might see upon my return. once, i made the mistake of leaving my laundry hamper in Pinko’s reach only to find my clothes strewn throughout the house, covered in dog hair. as i leave the back door open for the dogs when i’m gone, lots of clothes were also scattered across the yard, including a lacy pair of panties that Pinko buried in the dirt.


rule #2: when i am at home — which is more often than not nowadays — all my attention should be focused on Pinko. this means playing with Pinko and her dirty dog toys and stuffing Pinko full of dog treats. any deviation from these two activities causes her to snake around my legs, wagging her tail so hard that it looks like it will break off her body. then comes the “talking,” which is not quite a whine or bark. it’s more of a constant vocalization that really sounds like there could be words in there. the speech generally falls into two categories: there's the low, guttural pre-bark growl that seem to say, “bitch, you better not be leaving the house again”; and the high-pitched pre-howl cries that translate to, “why, oh why, won’t you play with me? please, please, please!”


Juice! still a cutie.


Pinko!: just as cute — despite her destructive tendencies, talking back and divided attention. there's not a day i don't look at her and grin. she was the right dog at the right time, exploding with that hot pink personality that endears as it puzzles. i have no buyers remorse. you may put a fork in me. i’m done; i’m sold. i love this dog.

Stuff and Things

someone has gotten a case of the busies. i’ll give you one guess who that someone could be. that someone has been doing a lot of shit, some of it bullshit, but all of it is shit that needs to be done. a summary of the shit includes:

• work has been nuts lately. my day job has me juggling three projects in various stages of completion in addition to the day-to-day tasks that need attention. seems like every moment of the day is occupied by my coworkers calling, emailing and messaging me with the same burning question, “Can you look at this? Can you look at this? CAN YOU LOOK AT THIS?” look at this, people. it’s my middle finger. i only have two eyeballs.


• then comes the freelance work. i’m just finishing up a proofread of an 850-page high school health textbook that has occupied my weeknights and weekends for many months now, first with the student edition of the book and then with the teacher edition. i’m happy to have done it, though, as i learned a few things and also opened the door to more projects with this publisher. in fact, they have already offered me a new project proofing a vocational book on carpentry. fancy that, me reading a carpentry manual. that’ll make me super cool, just like Jesus!


• on the home front, my landlord decided to remove the tacky track lighting that rules every room in my house, prompting every last person who enters my home for the first time to ask, “what’s with all the track lighting?” i usually say it was big in the nineties when my gay landlord remodeled the guest house. but seriously, my living room alone has 18 track lights controlled by 6 different dimmer switches. i’m happy to see them go and to also have my ceiling painted, but dang, what a mess it’s created. the dogs are all kinds of nervous with the spike in foot traffic, the smell of paint is suffocating, and i’m tripping over ladders and brushes at every turn. but once it’s done in another day or two, those lights will be as distant a memory as perms and leg warmers. now i just need to buy a lamp.


• social calendar has also been overflowing. beyond the longstanding weekly dinner with the girls, there’s now the weekly hike at runyon with Chad, and dinners with grad school friend Grace and college friend Elisha, both of whom i recently reconnected with. add to this phone calls to New York to keep up with JD, John John, Zahra, Als and Allison. plus, i’ve begun attending open houses with Dee on weekends. (apologies to Zee and Wade whom i’ve yet to schedule a meal with.) so yes, lots of social activities with lots of positive people who are way cooler than i am. and no, still manless.


• because my summer of bronchitis originated in my workplace i’ve had to file workers compensation paperwork. this isn’t quite as big a deal as one would think. i basically need to fill out some forms, provide some receipts and doctors notes, and then my case is recorded as having happened and my claim is considered resolved. it should be no big deal, but the bureaucracy surrounding something like this as documents are misplaced and phone calls go unreturned and files are incomplete and whoops, we got your date of birth wrong. headache.


• speaking of sick, the bronchitis has finally left the building that is my body, but stayed in the building that is my workplace. (ok, lame. sorry.) i’m not coughing much anymore, but i’m still allergic as hell to the construction dust. one day last week i spent about three hours on the toxic floor for assorted meetings and greetings with coworkers, and by the end of the day i felt fairly crummy. it felt as though the water level rose in my body, starting in my lungs with some wheezing and shortness of breath; then it moved through my head with my nose and sinuses clogging up; and by the time i left the floor in the afternoon, my eyes were burning and i could feel a hive developing on my eyelid. i came home and promptly bathed in hydrogen peroxide and have sworn to myself that i will not step foot on that floor again unless i’m wearing an astronaut suit. yeah, just like bubble girl.

poor me, right? i need a break, right? my thoughts exactly, which is why i’m taking this friday off to engage in a bit of retail therapy. my only objective that day will be to sleep late and then hit the mall to spend my hard-earned money. after all, everyone knows that the only way to cure the stress of having bronchitis, visiting with friends and getting my house redone is by buying many pairs of cute shoes.

The Single Life

three months ago i blogged that my two-year relationship ended and i’m again a single woman. it went something like, “we broke up. the end.” i didn’t feel like talking about it much then and i still don’t. perhaps i’ve finally learned enough to know better than to be consumed by the melodramatic sadness a breakup brings, or maybe the fact that i saw it coming this time cushioned the fall.

whatever the reason, i’ve been surprisingly at peace with singledom. i have zero desire to jump into anything serious anytime soon. it’s been liberating not to be waiting on anyone’s call or dealing with the stress that comes from entangling my personal well-being with someone else’s. i cannot remember the last time i found myself in this enviable position, where my heart is neither swelling nor aching.

and i like it. life is so calm lately, so full of the simple pleasures — the smelling of the roses, the easy like sunday morning. my emotions look like clear blue skies. and the thought of anything coming in to disrupt this rare internal equilibrium and my happy home life with the pups is repulsive to me. for now.

for now.

i know me and y’all likely also know that time and restlessness will create an itch that only a ravishing man can scratch. and given my history i’m sure he’ll be tall and dark-haired and wrong for me. and i’ll blog about it with a conclusion that will go something like, “we broke up. the end.”

there are times nowadays when i’ve felt that tug. it always arrives with the witching hour, around the twilight, after i’ve finished my work for the day, have had my dinner, read my book, cleaned my house and catered to the dogs. then will follow a moment of stillness when i look around, largely pleased with what i see: the safety and stability, abundance and comfort, and the unyielding warmth from the cuties. it'll absorb me and evoke a wide smile.

then something will bubble up, as much as i’d like to deny it, the feeling will rise up and wash over the moment — the desire to share it all, to sit on the couch with someone who’ll hold my hand while we watch TV.

for now it’s just a flash that disappears as quickly as it comes, but i know it will grow into a primal need as it has before, with the maddening loneliness that grows with it. i’m not there yet, and i sense i still have a ways to go. but when i do get there, i hope i’ll have the fortitude to bypass the hunt altogether and allow things to happen organically.

The House-Hunting Chronicles: The Prequalification

as i tell friends that i’m interested in buying a place, i’m often met with a look that seems to say, “damn, girl, i didn’t realize you made THAT much money!” truth is i don’t make THAT much money. in fact, i barely make THIS much money. and, as counterintuitive as it may seem, my lack of money is the one thing that will make homeownership affordable for me.

pretty much all the first-time homebuyer guides i read through in preparation for this quest said the same thing: check with your state’s housing authority, which provides great incentives for first-timers, to find your mortgage. so i checked and wow — down-payment assistance, gap financing, deferred junior loans and, the deal-sealant, a 40-year fixed mortgage at a below-market rate. and in this ridiculously wealthy county of Los Angeles, my salary places me in the low/moderate income bracket, meaning i qualify.

though that’s not the same as prequalifying for the loan, which can only be achieved through mondo paperwork and a thorough credit check. for my appointment with the mortgage broker specializing in these ghetto loans, i came equipped with documents galore: three years worth of W-2s, tax documents filed with the IRS, pay stubs, IRA account statements, quarterly statements for my investments, checking and savings account documentation, my passport and any other outstanding loan or asset documentation i could provide. then came a blood test, a urine test and a hearing exam, followed by the inner-ear culture, pap smear and rectal swab — concluding with a quiz on Rorschach inkblots.

and then something weird happened. “uh oh,” said the mortgage broker while looking at her computer screen. immediately i froze because nothing is more frightening than hearing “uh oh” from someone about to loan you a bunch of money. “uh oh?” i asked cautiously while trying to clear the quiver out of my throat.

“well,” she began, “part of your mortgage is provided by the state of California and the other part is taken care of by the city of Los Angeles, and it looks like the city ran out of money.” ghetto indeed.

of course the city-sponsored part of my mortgage is the good part — the zero-interest, deferred junior loan, gap financing portion that i only need to repay once the principal mortgage supplied by the state is paid off (in 40 years!), meaning i need that city money BAD. that’s the part that really gives me “purchasing power,” mortgage broker said.

she also said the fund would be replenished by the government, eventually, and that i would need to wait. ok, so now i wait through a subprime mortgage meltdown for the government to pour money into a depleted fund set aside for low-income homebuyers. yeah, i’m sure that’s a real high priority right now.

but wait i will, as i simply have no other choice. mortgage broker assures me it won’t take more than a few months for the new funding to come in, despite her admission that she’s never known this to happen before. in the meantime, i would be put on the wait list, which, yes, is already lengthy.

Rebounding

i’m really starting to come out of the fog now. another week of recuperation has passed and i’m breathing better and feeling brighter. i’ve resumed my old habits of leaping off tall buildings in a single bound and fighting underground street crime. from now on, y’all can call me the Pheonixxx. and damn, it feels goooooood to be back.

i had been sick for so long that i had grown accustomed to the congestion and coughing, forgetting what it’s like to feel healthy. and now i’m doing what i can to forget this summer of sick. to put it behind me, i bit the bullet and bought a bunch of new bedding accoutrements, including allergy protectors for my mattress and pillows, a new sheet set and a new duvet cover.

with sadness (and a bandana tied around my mouth and nose as a mask), i peeled off my old duvet cover from my comforter — a gorgeous, strawberry-colored, shimmery silk cover that i loved dearly. it fell to the ground where i proceeded to stomp on it for causing me so much allergenic agony. then i scooped it up and just threw it in the trash bin, right on top of the watermelon rinds.

half an hour later, my ankles were covered with the most obnoxiously itchy welts, making me wonder whether i should have called a haz-mat team to dispose of the cover instead, lest some homeless man dig it out of my trash for warmth and develop rashes and bronchitis.

but that didn’t ruin my spirits, which were elevated to ultimate heights the following morning after i enjoyed the most restful night of sleep i’ve had in months, lounging as i did on my new softer-than-soft beechwood sheets, with my comforter now wrapped in a still gorgeous copper-colored silk duvet cover.

and more bright sides have begun to emerge. for starters, i’ve conclusively quit smoking — before it was just a theory — which means no more social cigarettes. i haven’t had one since june, and the few recent times i’ve been out and about and been offered a cig i’ve declined, which never happened before. occurrences like these are indicative of a general paradigm shift toward positivity, which is my latest life aim. going forward, my goals are to make healthy choices, live for the long-term and surround myself with positive people, myself notwithstanding. lofty, eh?

the time off also got me exercising regularly and going to bed earlier, making me a happier, more energetic camper during the day. i’m well rested now and focused on the house-hunting adventure that lies ahead. all in all, all is well again.

The House-Hunting Chronicles: The Decision to Buy

they say that before buying a home, you should list all the attributes you’d like your future residence to have and then categorize the list into the “have to haves” and the “nice to haves.” they say you should be realistic in your assessment and have the majority of attributes in the “nice to have” column, leaving just a few big deal items, like good schools and safe neighborhood, in the “have to haves.”

so far, my list is comprised of 15 “have to haves” and 10 “nice to haves.” and for the life of me, i cannot bear to move any more items into the “nice to haves” column, no more than i could ever justify spending a boatload of money on something that only halfway suited my needs.

i know this is bad. i know i live in california. i know i am not rich. and i know i want to own the home in which i live. i know i’ll need to compromise and i’m sure i will, but given the fact that i’m madly in love with my current home — which possesses almost all the attributes on my list — i can’t imagine willfully moving to a place where i’ll have less than i have now.

now, i already have a house with character and high ceilings and a yard for my dogs and hardwood floors and a washer-dryer and dishwasher, and a terrific neighborhood with a Whole Foods and dog park within walking distance, and i have really great neighbors and a good-sized kitchen. and i absolutely love my landlord. and why the hell am i moving again?

ah, right — because i can never own it. it’s a guesthouse, and i will never be able to afford the main house it’s attached to, nor is that main house for sale. and i really really want to own my own place, because 1) a house is the most sound long-term investment, etc., etc., and 2) tax-wise it makes sense for me, especially with the amount of W-9 work i do each year. plus, i’m domestic by nature and need my own little castle and kingdom i can crown myself queen of.

to this end, i’ve spent the past few months doing a whole lot of research. i’ve read guide after guide on home-buying, with emphasis on what first-time homebuyers should know. and while i’ve learned a bundle, i’m still terrified of getting it all wrong, of being bamboozled by money-hungry real estate agents, mortgage brokers and contractors who’ll bully me into buying some dumpy ghetto studio with poor plumbing and crumbling ceilings that’s next door to a freeway on-ramp. to afford it, i’ll spend the next 30 years eating nothing but Top Ramen.

it could happen. i’m in los angeles, one of the priciest housing markets in the country. true, the market has been changing here as it has everywhere else, arming me with some mighty leveraging power, which i fully intend to use. buyers market, here i come.

but before i can even attend my first open house, i need to visit the mortgage broker to get prequalified for a loan. i have my paperwork gathered and my appointment set. can’t wait to find out how much i’m worth. keep tuned for the next installment of the househunting chronicles, which will have the answer.