Our house hunt was short and intense. Ten houses a day over a number of weekends this past Spring. It was exhausting. And, at times, quite surprising.
I've watched a lot of HGTV and this is not my first time as a home buyer so I thought I knew what to expect when shopping for a home. Well, what I did not take into account was shopping for a home in an economy where most people were not about to invest any spare cash, or shame, into their home for sale. Boy did it show!
We walked or, I should say, climbed through a few houses that really should have started their Spring cleaning by renting a dumpster. Seriously. Often, there was nothing left to walk on but a path through the stuff. Books. Clothing. Garbage. Life size statues of the Virgin Mary. Obese dogs. Cheeto bags. And lots and lots of people. Humans. Humans who were selling their home but who were not interested in making it easy or at least comfortable for potential buyers to look at the home.
I cannot tell you how many times I walked into a dark bedroom, during an official "go see" only to flick on the light and discover people...asleep...in the bed...in the room I'm standing in. Or to find dogs locked in closets. I am easily startled, so I'd like to apologize to those people for waking them with my startled screams.
The home we bought, our bungalow baby, no exception.
The first time I saw my new house, it was scary. The house itself was a little scary and the people in and around it...and on it...and behind it were a little intimidating too. People don't normally intimidate me. Even tattooed, smoking people giving me the stink eye don't scare me. But a crowd of them? That is a little intimidating.
The first time we pulled up to see it, there were a large group of teenagers on the front lawn (glaring at us), 2 large motorcycle guys pulling up and parking, a hand full of adults sitting on the front steps, smoking...and all that was before we got to the front door! Once inside we discovered a 400 pound man in a tiny bedroom, barely dressed and NOT moving for us to see the space. We discovered that Gramma lived in the attic. Which was cool since the attic was finished and seemed comfortable. They even gave her a private toilet up there. Not a bathroom, mind you, A TOILET. In the middle of her living space. Some say that is gross, some say that is convenient. I just found it odd.
We wandered through the house, trying to step over and around what seemed like a dozen people, trying not to knock over the life size card board cut outs of Chicago Bears players or step on the band equipment in the front room to get to the basement. The basement had potential, all you had to do was ignore the black carpeting, the blaring cartoons on one of the 2 dozen televisions sets around the home and the "to-do" list that one of the teen age residents had written on his bed room wall, which read:
Life Goals:
#1--Move out of grams house.
#2--Smoke less pot.
Well, I guess it's good to have goals.
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