House (the non-medical drama)

Kara and I are trying to get into a rental house. The Apartment of Doom lost its charm long ago, and now we're just ready to move on with it.

Recently, we found a place we really liked. It had an appropriate number of bedrooms, sweet living and dining areas, hardwood floors and a converted garage that serves as a family room. It had a great kitchen and a great yard. But my favorite part was the friggin' sweet office and workshop area in the back. Rocksome (my new word for beyond awesome. Use it!).

Before we could hand in our application, though, we were told that someone had come along and dropped a deposit. D'oh. We were told that it was too late. The place was off the market.
"Don't worry" I said with confidence. "We'll still get it."

That was about a week ago, and since then I've been convinced that something would come up. We would get that house. It was meant to be.

Last night, we ran into our realtor while bowling in a part of town that is nowhere near where either of us live. Funny, huh? Want to hear the punchline? He told us that the house is back on the market.

Sweet.

So we're in the push for it again. And I'm asking you, friends, neighbors, loved ones and people of the Awesome Public, to put your brains and hearts to work on wishing us the best of luck in getting it. This place is perfect for us, and we have a couple of obstacles to overcome to get it, but I know we'll be in.

Just wait and see.

British people are mean

This weekend Kara and I found the perfect house. Two bedrooms, two baths. Completely remodeled from the baseboards up. Two-car garage. Nice-sized yard. Brilliant area (in the Heights ... Kara's mecca). The only hiccup might have been the rent (turned out it wasn't).

So we were excited. We could hardly sleep that night, thinking about all the things we would do in that place. Kara had practically decorated it, and I had already figured out the perfect setup for the garage (it was to be my Fortress of Solitude). We figured out all the hard stuff, and we were set to meet with our future landlord Monday at 6:30p.m.

Let's call him Mr. Moore.

He seemed like a pretty good guy. Clearly British ("But I got here as soon as I could," he quipped). And he made a point of telling us that he wanted to rent to a couple he really liked. He liked us, he said. We were his kind of peeps.

So Kara and I hop in the car yesterday and head for the house. We're going to sign us some papers and get this kitten purring! My signing hand is all a-tingle and I'm ready to get my garage in order.

I call the confirm that he'll be there.

"I have some bad news," he said. "I had another couple come by yesterday and offer me the full rent. They could also move in next week."

Admittedly, Kara and I had asked for a slight reduction in the rent (I'm a bargainer ... what can I say?) and we had said we had to give 30 days notice to our apartment manager (reasonable, isn't it?). But Mr. Moore had told us he'd hold the place for us, no problem. "I won't even entertain other offers," he had said with a smile, "until we settle on whether or not you want the place."

I pointed this out to Mr. Moore. "I'm really sorry," he said. "But this is business for me, and I have to think about what's best for that business."

Fine. Finefinefine. We didn't want your stinkin' ol' house anyway, ya Limey.

Ok, that's a total lie ... we SO wanted that house. But hey, we can deal. We can live with it. We won't be living with it in the perfect house, but at least we still have our crappy apartment.

Anyway, the moral of the story is, "Kick over the FOR RENT sign before you leave."