Egads

As of noon today, we are officially in contract to buy a condo.

[long pause here]

I am scared shitless.

Nothing's set in stone yet. We still have to secure financing and go through inspections. And we are still in the 72 hour "aw crap what have I done?!" window where we can back out for no reason at all. Including, you know, being scared shitless.

Aw shit.

Sssssnakes!

We went to see "Snakes on a Plane" yesterday! It was, well, as one of my co-workers put it, it was "awfsome." So bad, and yet, so great. Mostly, it was great because of the audience. Make no mistake, this is a BAD BAD movie. Awful. If you find yourself saying, "That makes NO sense," just stop. Stop thinking and go with it.

Irvin had the brilliant idea to print 100 sheets of paper with images of snakes and instructions for folding paper airplanes. As we sat in line, we started, and soon, the pages spread (snaked?) down the line and in the theater, paper airlines and tortillas (?) were zinging around the room. And I heard not a word of the previews for all the "SNAKES!!!" and "ssssss" going around the room. For that matter, I think I only heard about half of the movie's dialogue because of the laughing and catcalling. But honestly, I don't think I missed anything.

The movie was FAR gorier than I expected: seriously gross. I spent a lot of the attack sequences hiding behind my jacket, as the sound effects provided enough clue as to what was happening onscreen (very squishy). But the big surprise was seeing one of Chris's college buddies on the screen! He had a small, but pivotal role. Though he only spoke two or three words, he was one of the guys who helped get the snakes ON the plane! He's been acting professionally since before Chris met him, but we had no idea he was part of this phenomenon. And I don't know why. In his shoes, I'd be telling EVERYONE I know. "I'm in 'Snakes on a Plane!' I PUT the snakes on the plane!"

Stay tuned...

Things are a-brewin' on the house hunt front (rhyme!). More later...

Home sweet home

Sorry I've been so quiet. On the one hand, nothing's been happening. On the other, we've been doing a lot. Namely, a lot of house-hunting. Yes, we are diving into the pool of insanity known as San Francisco real estate.

This kind of thing is always fun in theory. You find out how much house you can afford, then you ease that number down into the realm of sanity and the occasional green vegetable to go with your ramen and PBJ. You meet an agent, the person who will show you the ropes and keep you in check. And then, you start looking at houses. In theory, this is all good. Fun even, because you get to re-imagine yourselves in different settings. It's like staging your life.

(Somehow, in these imaginary scenarios, I am far more tidy and organized than I am in real life. And color coordinated. And I read the Great Books. And have vases upon vases of fresh-cut flowers that the cats don't eat. Even more amazing: the cats don't shed. I'm sure some kind of magic switch will flip when I become a home owner. I'm sure of it!)

Anyway. Then you actually find a place you like and realize you could probably love it. You start thinking about the fact that buying this lovely house/condo/hovel means paying out $X each month (when your current rent is approximately [X - 1 kajillion]). And then you read the disclosures, and realize: if you buy this house, you are responsible for it. There's no running to the landlord when problems arise, and just picking up and moving when you get fed up with the neighbors is a lot more difficult. There are minor cracks in the foundaton, leaks in the window sills, electrical wiring that needs to be upgraded...and you! get to pay for all of it.

And suddenly, renting seems like the greatest thing ever. EVER.

But then again, it would be nice to have a little patch of land to call your own. Where you can paint the walls and store too much stuff in the basement, fire hazards be damned. And you know that every time you send out a check for the place you live in, it's just a little bit more yours.