theology&geometry

Fun fact: Midtown Memphis is the only area in West Tennessee in which you cannot pull housing comps based on Zip code alone. What that means, essentially, is that finding a house in Midtown Memphis and settling on a fair price for it is a huge pain in the ass. I am learning more about real estate than I ever cared to know.

I don’t want to write a whole lot about it because so much is still up in the air and everything is still SUPERSTRESSFUL, but let me say this: Nothing I have ever done in my life has made me feel as idiotic as the process of trying to buy a house for the first time.

I try not to do things that make me feel stupid. Dating, for example. So this experience has thrown me for such a loop that I had to drop off the face of the planet for a bit just to get some perspective and quiet the static. The static, it was too much. It’s still too much but at least, right at this very moment, I feel equipped to filter it. Last week, not so much.

It feels a little like walking on eggshells with lead weights for feet.

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Supposedly there was a redneck fight at Minglewood. I rubbernecked on my way home and didn’t see anything but lots of spinning blue and red lights. I sure love to imagine how it went down.

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Felt restless. Sat outside and listened to the breeze for a bit. Felt even more restless. Lather, rinse, repeat.

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No, I didn’t eat it off the floor. Although it sure looks shiny enough!

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We didn’t intend to trash Ashley/Will/Semelea/Justin’s house when we went over there for food and fellowship, but we are a whirling dervish of crazy and we leave a path of destruction everywhere we go.

Also, we will spend a substantial amount of time making out with your sweet little dog and possibly breaking his heart. You’ve been warned.

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I got out of the office tonight for dinner at just the right time. The sun was setting and the sky was heavy with blue. People were out and about, letting the warm air hit their skin. I love this time of year right at the birth of spring, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get tired of saying it.

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Today Phil and I shoveled Mexican food into our mouths and then capped it off with a trip to Hi-Octane Vintage on Young, where I kind of fell a little in love with a muumuu (can I just point out that my iTunes queued “Fat Bottomed Girls” as I typed the word “muumuu”?) and several bits of glassware. Alas, despite there being plenty of room in my lifestyle to accommodate a muumuu, I did not buy it. It was only $7 — AND MAGNIFICENT — and yet I resisted! This recession hurts like a bitch, man.

Despite my repeatedly demanding time for a post-Mexican-food nap, we ended up driving around Midtown, surveying the crop of houses for rent. Phil’s soon to be in the market because his roommate/bandmate (to go unnamed because it is not my story to tell, really) has suddenly decided to move back across the country and back in with his parents, leaving Phil in the lurch and unable to afford their rather lovely house. And me? Well, I just like daydreaming about having a house of my own. No roommates, no dude wandering around in his underwear, dribbling piss on the toilet seat. Just me.

But then the more I started thinking about it, the more confident I got that I could actually make the house scenario work. I have a good job, I’m not in much debt, and I don’t need anything terribly fancy or big. But then again, you just never know what life will throw at you, especially when you work in an industry that struggles daily with the question of whether or not it will even exist in five years. Three years. Tomorrow.

The housing market may be super sweet but the job market is getting sour.

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My mantra for the day.

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