The Home-Improvement Chronicles: The Floors

ready to come inside? are you sure you’re ready? are you positively sure you’re sure? because there is something in here that will rival the ridiculousness of the speaker that’s implanted into the ceiling.


it’s not a mirage: the floor in the living room really is ceramic tile. and that thing in the center really is a medallion.


star of Chuy: Mo and i have created a character named Uncle Chuy whom we blame for all the ugly in the house. he’s the evil mastermind behind the pepto pink paint, the shit-smeared room, the speaker in the ceiling and medallion in the living room. although this isn’t saying much, the medallion is actually one of the few things in the house that Chuy must have executed when he wasn’t totally drunk. it was clearly his passion project.


check the wheelbarrow! Mo’s painstaking project was pulling the tile up, which he did, one tile at a time.


the ripper stripper: that piece of machine couldn’t cut water. we rented it for the day, hoping it would speed up the floor demo like the guys at the rental shop said it would. sadly, it did nothing but make a lot of noise, and was returned the shop two hours later with regrets. i almost ripped a new one into the store guy for suggesting that i should pay for the rental. (clearly, i was not at Micky Mouse Hardware.)


meanwhile: i was pulling up the laminate flooring in the bedrooms and throwing the boards out the window.


damn you, Chuy! underneath the laminate were hardwood floors. hardwood floors!! who the hell covers up perfectly good hardwood flooring with laminate flooring, huh?


nevermind: a consultation with my contractor revealed that the hardwood floors were in pretty bad shape and not worth salvaging. the wood was douglas fir, which is one of the softest wood species around. contractor said he could refinish the floors, but that they would look wrecked again in three months.


still plugging away: Mo spent a few days working on the floors, saving the demo of the medallion until the very end.


ghost of Chuy: the tile was cemented to big sheets of wonderboard, which Mo pulled up after the tile was done. it was actually a little sad to see the medallion go. it served as the target of so much good-natured ridicule that i began to imagine Chuy as a real uncle to me — the type of uncle who would have sold me this old house. i imagined inviting him over for dinner once the house was done and him noticing all of his handiwork destroyed. he would ask me why i found his beloved medallion so offensive and i would look down in embarrassment and not really know what to say. then i would offer him a drink and we’d get drunk together and laugh it off, making jokes about that one time he tried to touch me inappropriately when i was a teenage girl.


heart of Chuy: Mo made sure to pull up the center of the medallion in one solid piece. we didn’t have the heart to throw it out with the rest of the broken tile, so we stored it in the garage for safekeeping, with the promise that we’ll find some way to incorporate it into the house’s ultimate decor.


more hardwood: pulling up the wonderboard revealed red oak floors in the living room, also too busted to restore. when it was done, we noticed that the floors had some soft spots that would give a bit too much when stepped on. there were some lumps and dips, too, with the floor in the hallway noticeably sloped (a sad harbinger of things to come).

at this point, Mo and i stepped away from the house, our muscles sore and faces covered with muck. with the demo done, the time had come to bring in the contractor and his crew, whose work would involve putting down new bamboo flooring, among other things like priming, painting and moving the plumbing in the kitchen around.

sounds simple enough, but there have already been a slew of unexpected delays and surprise expenses, with move-in now pushed back to mid-may instead of may 1. i have noted this as my first lesson in homeownership: it takes twice as long and costs twice as much as they said it would.

Don't Try This at Home

(cue drumroll)

by popular demand, i present to you the shit-smeared room. apologies for the glare in the first photo. hopefully you can still make out the hideous sponge-painting (or ragging?) approach employed in the coloring of these walls. looks like crusty monkey shit to me.

Not About the House

just kidding! all roads lead back to the house. i don’t remember the last time a thought that did not concern the house floated through my head. every time i sit down to engage in a little harmless web surfing, i end up googling things that involve the house. the house! the house! the house!

it’s my new boyfriend. not to be confused with my human boyfriend who is equally obsessed with the house. it’s quite the ménage a trois. if we go out to dinner, we bring his notebook along so we can add to the pages already filled with sketches, layouts and notes. we spend our weekends working on it, breaking our backs, visualizing the outcome.

i have to throw him some love here because he’s been a tremendous help to me in this whole house pursuit. beyond just enduring my months-long bad mood during the house hunt and escrow, he’s a design marvel who dreamt up a kitchen that was far more fantastic than the one i had in mind. handyman Dan is also pretty fantastic as he comes equipped with lots of tools and electrical know-how.

if anything, i’m more the useless helper circling around them all day asking if they need anything — screwdriver, hammer, lemonade? "yeah, bring us a wheelbarrow." i started to chuckle until it sunk in that they were serious. a wheelbarrow? really?

so i drove to the hardware store to get a wheelbarrow, an object i never imagined i would be purchasing for myself. the house has created many of those moments already. thankfully, the store had only one type of wheelbarrow so i didn’t have to choose between several models, because if there’s one thing we’ve already discovered, it’s that i shouldn’t be sent to the hardware store alone to choose anything, especially primer (long story, don’t ask).

the guys were super nice at this hardware store, which i’ve lovingly nicknamed Mickey Mouse Hardware in honor of how shoddy some of the work in my house was done. i imagine the house’s previous owners frequented the same local store to buy the scotch tape they used to hold together the broken mirrors on the closet doors.

i had no luck fitting the wheelbarrow into my car, so the hardware guys disassembled it and even threw in a wrench so i could reassemble it when i got home. they also knocked 10 bucks off the price, which is the discount i’m sure they give all the big-boobied girls who come in. i’ll definitely be taking myself and my boobies in there often in the coming months.

there’s a lot to do, and if there’s one piece of advice i’ve heard countless times already, it’s “don’t try to do too much at once.” my main objective for move-in is taking care of the floors and paint, though this is proving to still be a complicated endeavor as i have to make decisions on colors and baseboards in a jiffy. given that i’m the type of person who spends two months researching a printer before deciding to buy it, i don’t really excel at jiffy decision-making.

luckily, i have a little help from the trusty “design folder” i’ve been maintaining for the past few months. i got the idea from Pardon Our Dust, an LA Times blog on design and remodeling. (i seem to be addicted to these LA Times blogs.) i sent in a question to the editor last August, asking what i should keep in mind, design-wise, as i begin my house hunt. she suggested i subscribe to a few design/home magazines, which i did, and tear images out of the magazines that i find appealing, to be kept in a design folder. (she also suggested i start a separate folder for the things i dislike, but i just kept one folder with the love stuff.)

my folder of love has been growing since August and is now filled with photos of these ultracool things i can never afford. thanks, Dwell magazine! but it has provided me with some guidance. judging from the images i crammed into it, i guess my design aesthetic could be described as… eclectic? yeah, that’s right. eclectic. i’ll take that. don’t box me in, man!

there does seem to be a bit of everything in there. i certainly do like modernism, but not in every corner of the house — more so for the exterior. for kitchens, i like them to be bright and colorful, fun for cooking, so no stainless steel appliances for me. (i’d rather have the Big Chill Fridge, though it’s too pricey.) i seem to also be partial to vintage-type things and find myself leaning toward darker woods over the more honey-colored hues.

my ideal house would be fun, cozy and unique. i’m not exactly sure how to achieve this, but i’ll start by imbuing some whimsy into the scenery. this means filling my home with oddball tchotchkes so it doesn’t look like every item in the house came out of a Crate & Barrel catalog, though there will likely be plenty of items that have, because i do love my C&B. if you recall how i decorated the living room in my apartment last year, it’ll probably be more of the same.

although i didn’t keep a folder of things i dislike, i can already tell you that you’ll never find wrought-iron anything in my house, nor will you find horribly girlie stuff like pillows with hearts or butterflies on them. i also refuse to buy blinds or carpet. so far, i’ve decided on the flooring — and very reluctantly because i only had three weeks to do research for it. next, i need to decide on paint, which must be the hardest decision of any remodel. it’s causing all sorts of anxiety. i simply don’t know, and being constantly told that it will look totally different on the wall than it does on the swatch isn’t helping, people.

The House-Hunting Chronicles: LA Landing

i have been reading this LA real estate blog published by the LA Times, LA Land, for about a year now. i became a frequent reader when i first began researching real estate prior to my house hunt. the editor of the blog seemed terrific and provided tons of timely and useful stories about the local market, and though the blog’s regular commentators are not nearly as fantastic as the commentators here, they are — how you say? — rather colorful, and staunchly anti-buy.

after closing on my new buy, i wanted to shout from the rooftops, so i sent a pitch to the editor, asking to be a guest blogger and write about my home-buying experience. it would be a contrarian viewpoint to dispute the greek chorus of commentators who constantly piss on the housing market. he has had guest bloggers in the past and agreed to publish my essay, first asking if he could publish a few lines from the email i sent him, with the full essay later. i agreed, thinking nothing of it as it was a short post on recent homebuyers, profiling two others in addition to me.

so he published. and then... well, you can read the comments for yourself. in short, i came under heavy fire for my decision to buy, my ability to afford my house and for things i’ve said on this blog. i had all sorts of insults hurled at me, ranging from the always creative “you’re DUMB!!” to accusations that i was subprime or without steady employment, would be in foreclosure and going to be living in a barrio. and my personal favorite: “Milla will be in a world of hurt - shortly.”

funny that i was taught to say “congratulations” when people tell me they bought a house. not to say there weren’t many kind folks who offered their well wishes for the future, which i appreciated, but sadly the bitter trolls outnumbered them. also interesting were all the angry demands i received to reveal my annual salary and monthly mortgage payments, which must be the tackiest question of all time. people were literally sitting there with calculators and throwing out their expert estimations of my financial situation, complete with “Assume state and federal taxes, SS, medicare, unemployment lop off 30% of Milla’s check...”

all i can say is wow. WOW.

i understand this is the internet, which Mo always reminds me is the bathroom wall. having a blog for the past four years has made me less sensitive to the judgment of others, which i know i invite with each post. it’s the cost of doing business and i accept it without complaint. it’s just shocking to me that there were so many armchair experts on my situation. i can understand someone’s decision not to buy in the current market — prices will likely fall more, loans are hard to come by, LA is a tough market — but i’m disappointed that my decision to buy was not met with the same understanding. and not just lack of understanding, but outright cruelty.

because many of the commentators have revealed themselves to be well-paid people unable to afford a house in LA, i imagine the anger stemmed from the viewpoint of “why do these poor people qualify for breaks that i can’t have? why am i punished for making too much money?” part of me can understand this viewpoint, as i one day hope to be better paid. (and my desire to buy a house is in many ways preparation for that day.) but the bigger part of me, the immigrant part who saw my parents work multiple jobs to afford our little starter home in Van Nuys can understand that sometimes people need a helping hand as they work their way up. because, truly, the reward for having money is having money. and i refuse to believe that those six-figure earners cannot afford a house. they probably can’t afford the house of their dreams — the one they desperately want to impress all their friends and coworkers — but they can afford a condo in a decent area, and to claim otherwise implies that they’re doing a poor job managing their money.

if i can afford, they can afford. i know i went in as a lower-income person, which is comical to me seeing that i’m not exactly a single mother raising three kids on a minimum-wage salary, which is my impression of low income. instead i’m a nice jewish girl from the valley with a master’s degree and a good job in finance. perhaps i’m the new poor: the type of educated, struggling poor one finds in metropolitan cities like LA and NY, where the cost of living is alien when compared to the rest of the country. maybe we’re the suckers who value location over lifestyle (though for me, the two are one in the same). in any case, i consider myself middle class and know i played by the rules — strict ones — when receiving my government assistance.

and personally, i’m happy with my decision to buy. i can honestly say that these haters have not pissed on my parade in the slightest. for me it’s a matter of whose opinion i value. if these people were all friends or regular readers who questioned my judgment, i would perk up and listen. like all humans, i want to win the approval of the people closest to me, who i know have my best interests in mind. but the opinions of strangers, not so much. so i’m able to dismiss the vitriol as standard bathroom splatter motivated by people wanting to justify their own decision not to buy. still, it was a shit storm i did not expect to be caught in the center of, however entertaining.

and it WAS entertaining: “she says she doesn’t make six figures, and has to beg money off her parents, that really is too much money for her to handle” and “You’ll be sending in the keys within 18 months I bet” and “Milla’s story is just another example of creatively stretched financing.”

wow. i will say that my house cost $410K, which is a public fact anyone can easily find on Zillow. it appraised for more than i paid for it, and the comps were excellent. i took advantage of terrific first-time homebuyer programs offered by the city and state, which i will sing the praises of until the end of time. the income limits of those programs are published online, and will reveal that i make — gasp! — under six figures. i understand if you want to delete me from your Blackberry now.

my only goal in all of this was to prove that you don’t have to be rich to afford a house in Los Angeles and that the housing market is more alive than people might imagine. and i’m proud of my house, i’m excited by it and see it as far more than a money-making machine. but these people would not have it. no sir, they knew better. i was a fool who would be in tears, in a world of pain, and shortly. ok, sure.

i must be a masochist, because i still sent in my full essay for publication, knowing full well that i would open myself up to all sorts of criticism. the comments are already quite rich, very good for a laugh. don’t worry about me taking them to heart — i’m still smiling. and i’ll be smiling wider when i’m finally moved into my new house, sitting on my deck with a glass of wine after a long day, appreciating my view.

The Home-Improvement Chronicles: 3 to 2

welcome to the new chronicles! now that the house hunt is over, the home improvement begins. i expect this latest series to run for a long while, as countless homeowners have told me that home improvements are never-ending. i don’t intend to document every new nail i hammer into the house, but the big changes will be highlighted. i imagine they will also be plentiful in the coming year, as the house needs TONS of work.

i’m not exaggerating when i say this. trust that i saw plenty of fixers that were in way worse shape than my little castle on the hill. if i wanted, i could move in tomorrow if i didn’t mind the tacky flooring and garish paint, but i do mind them. i mind them very, very much. this means that April will be absolutely insane with fixing the place up for a May move-in. last week, i hired a contractor i like a whole lot after interviewing tons i didn’t like at all. he and his crew will be doing the bulk of the heavy lifting over the next few weeks. but because my budget is laughable, i’ll need to do as much as i can, too, to cut down on expenses.

so far, working on the house has given me tons of gratification. it’s this warm fuzzy feeling of self-satisfaction that i’m sure all DIY homeowners are familiar with. i’m surprised at how much i can actually do — and i’m desperate to keep learning. i’m thankful as hell i proofed that carpentry book a few months ago as a freelance project. i’m also thankful that i have a terrific architect boyfriend helping me do the work and considering things like traffic patterns and natural light in the planning of the remodel.

i’ve gotten a few requests to post interior shots of the house, and i will once i have “after” shots to accompany them. it’s not that the previous owners didn’t maintain the house; they lived in it for 10 years and did plenty of upkeep. it’s just that their upkeep was always cheaply done — usually by the dad, who i’ve heard was a drywall guy, meaning he did most of the work himself with scrap materials gathered from the junkyard. there are plenty of mismatched cupboards and poorly cut countertops to confirm that.

the family’s aesthetic decisions were also rather questionable. there’s tile throughout the living room and laminate flooring of different colors in the bedrooms. the house’s exterior is painted two different shades of barf, i mean, peach. and the interior is painted in the most ridiculous combination of pepto pink, lavender, mossy green and a cartoonish shade of maroon on some of the walls. one of the bedrooms was even painted a poopy brown in that do-it-yourself sponge-painting way they show on the home-remodeling shows. i’ve gotten into the habit of calling it “the shit-smeared room.”

legally the house is listed as a three bedroom, though every inspector who looked at it said that because the third bedroom didn't have a closet, it couldn’t technically be considered a bedroom — it was more of a “study.” the troubling thing about the house’s layout was that the no-closet bedroom was adjacent to one of the house’s regular bedrooms, separated by a wall and joined by a door.

well, no more! the first order of business was taking down that wall to open up those two bedrooms into a larger — yet oddly shaped — master for me and my Mo. it’s oddly shaped because the walls of the bedrooms don’t align perfectly, as the third bedroom is a bit wider than the second. the ceilings are also of different heights. but as i'm not a stickler for geometry, that’s ok by me.


ugh, that paint: also notice the two different colors of laminate flooring laid out in different directions. truly charming. this shows the door joining the two bedrooms.


i will crush you! me in my demolition gear ready to make the first strike.


pow! there goes my investment.


thwack! Mo showing me how it’s really done. apparently i demolish like a girl.


digging in: behold, Mo the demolisher!


two hours later: the great wall of ugly had fallen.


that’s dan: he’s our handyman who brought the sawzall.

when it was finally over, i seriously could not stop smiling. i know that a house with three bedrooms is better than one with two for resale purposes, but i refuse to make decisions based solely on resale. this is my home, first and foremost, and it made much more sense to remove that dumb wall and create one big bedroom. the demo experience wowed me tremendously because a) i've never done it before, so i got to see all the assorted stuffing and things that actually reside in a wall, which was eye-opening, and b) i've never done it before because i never could as a renter, but this wall i could make decisions about because i owned it.

and that felt mighty fine.

The House-Hunting Chronicles: In Escrow

it happened just like everyone said it would. i walked into a house, the right house, and felt it immediately. it didn’t overwhelm me or make my knees buckle. nor did it strike me in a love-at-first-sight kind of way. it gradually built as i walked through the house, surveying each room carefully and critically, and continued growing long after i left.

i had seen enough dumps by this point to know that this was it. oftentimes, my agent would pull into a driveway of a new house, only to have me take one look at the house’s exterior and utter, “nope, this isn’t it. let’s keep going.” i wouldn’t even get out of the car. and on the occasion that i did get out of car because the house’s exterior didn’t repulse me, i would race through the interior in three minutes, which was enough time to notice the holes in the walls, the tiles missing from the bathroom, the mystery stains on the carpet. there was even one house full of rabbits — loose rabbits that would circle my feet and then go shit in the corner. oh yes, house hunting was an adventure.

but this house was different. this house i wanted to enter and explore. this house impressed me with its layout, location and view. it was perched on a hillside in Highland Park, three bedrooms and one bathroom with a skylight. windows everywhere, the place was filled with light. at the side of the house was a sizable deck with an incredible view into the valley below. there was a two-car detached garage and partially finished basement. the ceilings were sloped and made the house look bigger than its 1,000 square feet.

i liked the house. i liked the house a lot. i liked it so much that i was able to overlook the fact that a subwoofer had been implanted into the living room ceiling (no joke). but the house was out of my budget. still, i thought about it for days after seeing it — dreamt about it even. i called my agent and said we should make an offer. this was january when no one else was making offers, so what would the harm be? the house was a foreclosed property and the bank was probably eager to get it off the books. so we made an offer, a low one, and negotiations began.

rather, the nightmare began. i’m sure this had more to do with the fact that i was dealing with a bank instead of a live human being with a heart and a face and eyes i could look into while sitting across the table and negotiating a deal that would suit us both. with the bank came a game of hardball negotiations and jugular attacks. the first offer i made was met with a weeklong silence when three days is the standard response time. and then came a 5pm fax on a friday listing out a bullshit price with insane terms and a response deadline of sunday afternoon.

at first i got all panicky and confused. i feared i was out of my league and would surely get bulldozed by these fuckers. luckily i had the best conciliary around, also known as my dad, who assured me that this was just a starting bid and the bank’s test of my character. he advised me to play it cool and not respond to the bank’s offer until tuesday. “buyers market,” he reminded me while telling me to quit hyperventilating into the phone. “write them an offer saying you will except all their terms for a price that’s lower than the price you originally offered. accepting their terms will show them that you’re ready to work with them. lowering the price will tell them that they have to work with you.”

i wish i could say this did the trick and we rode happily into the sunset together, but it wasn’t that easy. i countered on tuesday with my dad’s offer and got a response on wednesday with the same crap terms but slightly lower, yet still too high price. negotiations continued — for weeks. at one point they broke off completely and i feared i would lose the house altogether, but dad said not to sweat it so i tried not to sweat.

a week passed and i was sweating buckets. i worried about competing offers coming in and ruining my chances for the house. i called my mortgage broker about increasing my budget, but was told i was stretched too tightly already and couldn’t go a penny over. i waited some more. i chewed my cuticles. finally i had to put my cards down — i came back with my firm and final: my terms, my price, take it or leave it. (but please, please take it!)

they took it. exhale! rejoice and celebrate! the house is in the bag!

yeah, not so fast. inspections came and unearthed a multitude of problems: the electrical was shoddy, termites had eaten the deck, there was mold in the garage. on the bright side, the foundation was solid, the plumbing surprised us all by being copper and the roof was secure. then came the request for repairs paperwork, which was sent to the bank. no response. another week passed. more sweating.

meanwhile, my loans suddenly were in trouble. my mortgage broker began making me nervous by being sloppy with the documents he was sending for my signature. the closing costs estimates seemed to be inching upward with every new version. other documents were also flawed — with my name misspelled, the address of the house wrong and my income miscalculated. finally, i sat down one night with my red pen and highlighter and reviewed everything, marking up all the discrepancies while riddling my hands with paper cuts. then i sat down with the broker and proceeded to question every charge, every discrepancy until i reduced him to a bumbling mess of a man begging for mercy in a pile on the floor, while i pretended that he was the bank. well, not really but i did shave a fair amount of charges from my closing costs.

then came more bad news about my loans. since i was going into this transaction as a low-income, first-time homebuyer, my funding was coming from multiple sources, meaning i had three underwriters all disagreeing on how to calculate my earnings, which consist of an unpredictable blend of my base salary at work, two work bonuses and some freelance. i assured everyone that my base salary was the only one that mattered because that was predictable each month, with the rest being gravy. but because i had to deal with governmental agencies that did not want to provide me with one penny more than they had to, calculations did not go in my favor.

then the bank responded: zero for repairs. ZERO. the bank’s listing agent — a cunt-whore-scumbag-bitch-slut who was still advertising my house on craigslist while we were in escrow — said the bank was thinking of fixing the house themselves and selling it for more money than i was offering and that my inspection reports just told them what they needed to do. “bullshit,” dad said, “they’re in too deep. they just don’t want to give you money for repairs, that’s all.” so fine, i reduced the amount requested substantially and waited. again.

during this latest wait, i took the time to get my loans in order, which looked bleaker by the day. it seemed that every day saw a new fire that needed putting out. i had been getting increasingly pissed at my mortgage broker and his empty reassurances, and still sloppy mistakes on the paperwork. i got into the habit of berating him during our daily chats on the status of things. it got so bad that he voluntarily reduced his commission on the deal.

finally, he came back with a plan that had me paying off my car loan to reduce my monthly debts and increase the amount i could borrow. this killed me as it cut into the remodeling budget substantially. i was steamed: “what am i going to do when i take that subwoofer out of the ceiling, huh? just leave a big hole? i need to pay someone to patch that up, you know.”

there was more than a hole in the ceiling at stake. the house needed some termite spray, new paint, a new deck and an electrician to come find out why the HVAC was tripping the breakers. then the bank called after its weeklong stonewall and said they would put some bucks down for repairs — still way under what was needed, but i wasn’t too proud to beg at that point. i even went begging at the bank of mom and dad, who kindly granted me a small loan for repairs, with a reminder that they are getting ready for retirement, bitch, so you better pay us back in five years.

with the loans in place and inspections and appraisal done, i removed all contingencies and waited for the funding to come through. again, with this being government money, the waiting was long and escrow stretched past 40 days. i kept waiting for that call, the tap on the shoulder that would let me know that the deal had fallen through, because a happy ending to this story did not seem feasible to me.

i waited and acted jumpy all day, especially when my cell phone rang. i couldn’t sleep at night, too busy grinding my teeth and fearing for the worst. waiting and waiting until i finally got the call: funding came through, the sale was recorded, deed was mine, and escrow was closed. i now own a house. holy shit.


my little piece of earth


at least it’s a sony


check out my view, bitches!


hell yeah

Chicago!

so i went to Chicago for the first time ever. in October of last year. but let’s just pretend it happened last week so this entry feels more current. i have no good reason for waiting so long to post on it besides my usual lamentations about being busy and lazy, but i didn’t want to forget my trip altogether because i have some (but too few) photos i wanted to post, and because i immensely enjoyed my visit.


that skyline: when i first got to Chicago and saw that immense skyline, with its diverse skyscrapers, and the vibrant culture full of cool and interesting people, the first thing i felt was embarrassment. like, why haven’t i been here before? and why didn’t i know that this town was so fantastic? oh, right — because i’m retarded.


“the loop”: that’s what Chicagoans call their downtown. i spent lots of time here but, sadly, never once rode the L. next time.


the reason: remember Mo? he’s the boyfriend i split with last summer. well, after our split he embarked on a three-month road trip across the western U.S. to tour some mighty fine architecture, which he captured on film. you can see his journey at Archinect Travels. and you can see me in his Chicago episodes, which are still a few months away from being published, as he’s still working on earlier episodes. in any case, i help Mo with his work by editing his scripts and offering my two pence on his films before they are posted on Archinect.com. so when he called me from the road back in October, inviting me to meet him in Chicago on his dime, i felt it was my duty as a professional copy editor to pay a visit to one of my most cherished clients. i know what you’re thinking — i must be very dedicated to my work. that, or you think i acted like a russian call girl. you’d be right on both counts.


the usuals: we did the usual tourist thing by looking at the art stuffs at The Art Institute of Chicago, which had a pretty cool collection of pointillism pieces, among other works. they have that famous Seurat piece i’ve wanted to see ever since i saw “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.” after finally seeing it, i spent the rest of the day singing “Danke Shane.”


the inspiration: i was so inspired by the arts at the museum that i took a series of what i thought were arty shots the next afternoon.


the lion: he sat outside the museum looking mighty fierce. so i sat near him and could swear i heard him whisper, “your art sucks.”


the architecture: art aside, Mo and i were there to see the architecture, which included a stop in Oak Park to visit the Robie House, designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.


the smiles: Mo was all smiles outside the Robie House, despite his camcorder battery dying in the middle of filming. we took the $12 tour through the house, after which we concluded that Wright was pretty much a total badass with some mad design skills. (sadly, interior photography was not allowed.)


fantabulous: not to be outdone, Mies van der Rohe’s McCormick House at the Elmhurst Art Museum was equally impressive. after seeing it, i decreed that my dream house would be built of glass and steel.


the Sears tower: everyone i talked to before going to Chicago urged me to take the architectural boat ride down the Chicago River, which was great advice. there i learned that Chicago is home to the modern skyscraper and that the 110-story Sears Tower was designed to resemble a pack of cigarettes.


whole kernel: the boat ride also taught me that i really like buildings that look like corn on the cob.


the hard stare: and buildings with windows that look like eyeballs are also pretty neat.


best: but buildings that reflect the clouds are the greatest of all. i think this one was my favorite, though i might have felt differently if i were there on a gloomy day.


blooms: but there were no glooms and dooms. the weather was unseasonably warm and only really turned cold on the day i was leaving. in short, the trip was perfect! i saw lots of fancy art and architecture, ate each meal like it was my last, and felt the boundless elation that only a great week out of town can bring. and yes, Mo was a huge reason for that. and yes, Chicago was the perfect backdrop for our honeymoon of love.

i know what y’all are wondering. i see your eyebrows raised in the unmistakable question of “what’s going on with you guys?” it seems silly to answer it now when everyone around me has known for months that we’re very much back on. our little break did much to help us realize that we couldn’t live without each other, meaning we needed to figure out how to live with each other. and we’ve been figuring it out and it’s been going remarkably well. we’re communicating better and trying our hardest to always operate from a place of love.

in our time apart i didn’t go on one single date, which is unusual for me. i told myself at that time that i was anti-men and couldn’t be bothered with their nonsense. but deep down i knew the real reason — i belonged to Mo. i felt it then on the night of our first date almost three years ago and still feel it now. so yes, Mo is my boyfriend again. for now. and maybe forever.

The House-Hunting Chronicles: My Dream House

still working on it...

Happs

man, oh manischewitz. this year has started with quite a flurry. i wish i could say i’ve been doing all this cool and amazing shit, like dining with the queen of england, that has prevented me from posting, but truth is i’ve just been working like a jerking.

i must be suicidal or very, very greedy because i cannot seem to say no to a paycheck. january dropped three new freelance projects in my lap and of course i said yes to everything despite their overlapping deadlines. but in the spirit of keeping my eye on the prize, i’ve vowed to work hard and do everything i must to secure my mythical kingdom. (queendom?)

yes, house hunting still. no, no news yet — at least none that my jewish superstitions would allow me to share. there are rumblings here and there, as there have been since the start, but i’m getting better about remaining detached. i’m not falling helplessly in love with houses so much anymore and i’m trying not to allow the process to frustrate me. i’m sure my new attitude has frustrated those around me, however, who’d like me to extrapolate on the “i’ll think about it and let you know” response that i seem to be saying too often nowadays — complete with the too-cool-to-care shoulder shrug.

it’s not that i’m suddenly unconcerned about where i’ll end up living, i’m just trying to replace the stress with faith — faith that i’ll find the right thing, that i’ll know it when i see it, that i won’t need to go and “think” about it too much. it will happen because it has to happen. and if it doesn’t happen, then i will murder my agent, broker and anyone else who’s been working so hard to make money off of me. just kidding! if it doesn’t happen, then it wasn’t meant to happen. i read that in a book somewhere.

what’s nice is that one of my current freelance projects has me proofing a carpentry textbook, which i’m sure i’ve mentioned before. it couldn’t have come at a better time and has provided quite the education on house construction. not that i can get a miter saw and some plywood and construct my dream house suddenly, but at least i now know what a miter saw is. i’ve also learned why sloped roofs are better than flat ones and that carpentry involves a lot of scary geometry.

speaking of scary, my other project has me proofing a scan of a Stephen King novel. the novel is The Mist and it’s scaring the bejezuz out of me and making all the ominous rain clouds currently rolling through Los Angeles look mighty unnerving. in the book, the mist is full of creepy, crawly, flesh-eating insects that can decapitate you with their juices. not fun. now when i kiss the puppies goodnight before bed, i find myself telling them not to pee on the floor and to stay out of the mist.

oh yes, the puppies! yay for them! Pinko has turned super duper in the past few months. she’s far more affectionate and relaxed than she was in the beginning, and she’s even managing to separate herself from Juice’s side for more than two paces at a time, which is a breakthrough. i’ll post some photos for y’all to barf at soon.

Annual

yippee to 2008, which will be so great that i can’t wait to meet my lovely fate in this big golden state which i almost ate, um, for lunch, it was tuna — tunate? ok, wait. i’m getting ahead of myself but i am fully stoked that this year has arrived. i did indeed go into it wide eyed and smiling, joined by a handful of close friends who also lacked grandiose plans so they came over to drink at my place and clink glasses to the new year. and we drank and we clinked and it was warm, loving and positively invigorating.

i must confess that i was in a pretty heavy fog these past few months, walking around with head and spirits low. i started to think that i should go see a head shrinker or a psychic or someone, anyone who could pull me out of my funk. then the light shone and the thought dropped in that maybe i could be the one to pull myself out with some positive thinking and visit to the masseuse.

now is all better. i’m into the year and happy to have the holidays over. work is plentiful but that’s ok because so is my motivation. now is the time to get shit done. and i’m doing up a storm and reveling in the productive.

in addition to the predictable new year’s resolutions of being effortlessly fabulous, buying a house and banging johnny depp, i’ve made some others especially for this year. they include:

• keep your eye on the prize: remember that your family, friends and dogs are what’s most important in this crazy world and that everything you do should be tied to their betterment as well as your own. (apologies to the starving children in africa.)


• eat less meat: this one will be hard because you are a carnivorous (yet kind) soul who thinks that a meal is not really a meal unless there is a dead animal on your plate. but healthwise, you could probably benefit by cutting down on your filet consumption so go find some good tofu recipes.


• spend less time in front of the computer: this will probably be harder because although your computer doesn’t taste as good as a steak, it is less fattening and presumably less harmful to your health, despite its potential for time suckage and a sedentary lifestyle.


• calm the fuck down: having a puppy with an implacable will really made you realize what an impatient madwoman you have turned into. those first few months with Pinko were quite rough and compelled you to behave more like mommie dearest than mother teresa, you bitch. however, you’ve since learned that a few deep breaths will go a long way when puppy’s tail knocks glasses full of red wine off the coffee table or when you come home to find your underwear buried in the yard. so keep breathing.


• whine less: seriously. your life isn’t so bad. instead, consider adopting cousin Gitella’s mantra of “shut up and do it.”


• spoil yourself more: sadly, you’ve begun to realize that you’re just an overemotional crybaby prone to spells of depression who needs to step away from life periodically to recharge. this could be caused by unresolved teen angst or by chemicals in the brain or by simply being a jewish woman who worries too much. whatever the case, this year it will give you license to get more massages, facials and microderms. not a bad bright side. now go enjoy your year.

y'all enjoy yours too.