Stressed

Portrait of the Blogger as a Middle-aged Man:

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Y’all can calm down about the cow dung

I mean, we have (calmed down).

First thing this morning, we drove back to Dung House and smelled the neighborhood. Not a trace of poop. I greeted a young guy who was walking his dog and asked him — Do you like the neighborhood? (Yes.) Does it ever smell like cow poo? (Huh? Whaa?)

Perhaps a freak occurrence, some over-liberal use of fertilizer nearby . . . undaunted, windows down, we drove towards the nearby undeveloped land, which easily could be pasture land. Up the hill we saw a large facility that might have been a slaughterhouse. It was under construction, and since there were no “No Trespassing” signs on the gate, we drove in to get a look at the signs that were posted.

No clues there, but a bored security guard drove up behind us to tell us we were trespassing. He kindly answered all of our questions. No, it’s not a slaughterhouse. It’s a school. That big thing that looks like a slaughterhouse? It’s a gymnasium. (If they play war ball there — same difference.) Does he ever smell cow poop in the area? Nope.

So Dung House rises to the top of our list; I guess we’ll find out tomorrow if our credit checks out.

Meanwhile, we’re back home, and I’m looking at our view with sad, sad eyes. The sky is clear, the breeze is cool, the tide is high. This was probably the only place on the Pacific Coast where we could have afforded oceanfront, so Karen and I were a couple of lucky shits to find this place. Will we ever get back to the ocean? Who knows. Maybe I’ll be fabulously successful in Santa Rosa, and we’ll buy a little cabin in Bodega Bay.

It’s hard to believe we’ll be leaving so soon. Have I mentioned lately how poorly I handle change?

D.

We’ve narrowed it down

. . . to either Dog Pee Place, Water Damage, The Cat House, or The Dung House.

The options are actually more appealing than their nicknames would suggest.

Dog Pee Place is on a quiet street in a nice neighborhood. It’s more expensive, a bit more remote, and the bedrooms are small. So named because the occupant’s Pomeranian was that excited to see us. Landlord’s a cool dude. I liked him a lot.

Water Damage is one among over a hundred condos, all of which were built in a substandard fashion. Most but not all of the problems with this particular condo have been fixed, but there’s still a crack in the floor of the master bath, and apparently the whole place has to be raised four inches. Advantages: it’s month by month (cuz if they decide to fix it, they want to be able to give thirty days notice), it has the nicest master bedroom of all of the properties, and the bedrooms are on a sub-level, so they’re cool, cool, cool. On a hot day, the bedrooms were easily in the high sixties, even without the AC on. Disadvantages: they could toss us out with thirty days notice.

The Cat House would probably be the nicest of the bunch were it not for The Bonnie Situation*. I called this guy yesterday. Does the place have AC? Yes. Do you allow cats? Um. Maybe. Maybe not. I’ll have to ask my wife, she’s terribly allergic. I called back later. Do you allow cats? I don’t know, I’ll have to ask my wife, she’s terribly allergic. Today, we’re looking at the place, really liking it. So how’s the cat situation? I’ll have to ask my wife. But only if you’re really serious about this place.

We figure he’s scared to death of his wife.

I ask him: so, what’s up? It’s not like she’s going to be living here, right? (Although part of me is thinking: maybe she’ll be living here. Hey, man, your wife, is she hawt?) He says, We’ll be moving back in a couple of years. What if we give you an additional security deposit so that you can clean the carpets after we’re gone? I don’t know. I’ll have to ask my wife. But only if you’re really serious.

If I called him right now, I’m willing to give 10:1 odds he hasn’t asked his wife.

We call it The Cat House because a black cat strolled through the back yard and Jake befriended her. Nice cat, took an immediate shine to Jake and even let me pet her. But the moniker works well for other reasons, too.

The Dung House may be the perfect place for us. The price is right — fully five hundred dollars per month cheaper than Dog Pee Place or The Cat House. Big place, lots of hardwood floors, good-sized master bedroom. But the neighborhood smells like cow shit. Or maybe pig shit. How should I know — I’m not a country boy. It smelled like a County Fair.

We think maybe someone in the neighborhood is fertilizing; we’ll check back tomorrow morning to see if we’re unfairly maligning the place.

All of them are two story homes. I tried to find a rambler, I really did, but no one would call back!

Home tomorrow . . . and one week from today, we’ll be back in Santa Rosa.

For good.

D.

*I think I like Pulp Fiction even better in Italian.

Santa Rosa bound

Yes, yes, I know you know that. Just wanted to say we’ll be driving down tomorrow evening in order to have two full days in Santa Rosa. We need to do some stuff at the office, meet with a counselor at one of the public schools, and Job Number One find a home to rent.

This last bit has been the most stressful. Half the listings on Craigslist are rented by the time we call. I wonder if all Craigslist postings are like that? For example, someone (not ME, of course) might call this young lady,

What can I say? I am divorced and single and I really miss having a man around. And not just to open jars and reach things on the top shelf. I miss making out like teenagers and teasing each other and especially I miss a big, hard [hey! This blog is strictly R-rated. Enough of that]

only to hear, “Oh, sorry, sorry! Is that old ad still up? Well, gee, guess what, I’m married again! How embarrassing. But — and this question is strictly professional — how’s it hangin’, guy? Able to reach that top shelf without hands, if you know what I mean? Because, just between you and me, this new man in my life can’t crack my jam jar . . . ”

Anyway. I don’t know if I’ll get a chance to write tomorrow. Probably not.

Wish me luck on the house hunt?

D.

Wherein I act like a little bitch

All I want to do is schedule a visit to a home we might want to rent.

Minimum Wage Doofus: [Name Redacted] Property Management.

Me: Hi. I’m calling about the house on [Address Redacted]. We’ll be in town on the 8th, and we’d like to —

MWD: You’ll need to download our application and return it to us with the twenty dollar application fee. If your credit report checks out, one of our agents will show you the property.

Me: I see. I need to cough up twenty dollars and THEN you’ll show me the house?

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