So, I haven't posted a house-hunting update lately. Mainly because the offer that I made in my last post was rejected. (Not countered. Flat-out rejected, as in; we no likey, sayanora, we won't be doing business with you, thanks...)
After all that number-crunching, paperwork and skipping out of work early to getter done, how could they possibly not take my money?! I was sad, offended, embarrassed and really had nothing much more to say about it at the time.
It's true. Rejection from a house feels just as stingy as rejection from a boy.
The last showing I had was around the holidays and at a smaller, older, crappier-located condo in the same development as the one that broke my heart.
In keeping with nick-naming my showings, this one has been dubbed the "Poopy Carpet Place".
|When a giant rug is the only staging...|
|...ALWAYS lift it up! [I'll spare you the poopy pics.]|
Since not much has been listed in my price range over the winter, the Poopy Palace sadly remains my front-runner for the time being. And, I have not been by for a second look yet because I still can't wrap my mind around the concept of sloppy seconds. (Pun, somewhat intended.)
In the meantime, I've been house-sitting for my parents while they spend the cold season in Florida.
Sweet gig. But, not home.
This could not be more clearly exhibited to me than when I tried to do the seasonal switch-out of my closet today.
No, I haven't been able to live out my real estate makeover yet, but one transition has taken place in the meantime. Me dropping three pants sizes! (I'd like to say it was from healthy living and exercise. But, quite honestly, at least 2/3 or those pounds disappeared due to stress-induced diarrhea and gastroesophageal reflux.)
:D :) :D :) :D I'm now distracting you from that last sentence with a sudden influx of emoticons that don't seem to be working on Blogger. :D :) :D :) :D
|A little over a year ago VS earlier this week|
(No matter the size... I will, apparently, always
be incapable of taking a serious picture.)
It's fun to fit into smaller clothes and wear panties that don't leave marks of cutting on your bum-cheeks. Normally, in such circumstances, I'd merely take a stroll down to the boxes in the basement, pull out whichever of the three sizes I always keep on hand bears the magic number and, voila, "new" wardrobe!
But, life's not so simple when you're living in between residences.
First off, I have no clothing anywhere in the size that now fits me. (Cue the world's tiniest violin, I know...) So, my cheap ass has been raiding eBay to stock up. (Trust me, the sagging pants look is not one I am capable of pulling off.)
There is now an explosion of patterns and fabrics happening in my closet that was already bursting at the seams! Between my need to move out the "fat pants" and the fact that Michigan has finally decided to thaw, the time has come to box up half of this stuff and put it the heck away.
When living in between residences, that means no quick jaunt downstairs. It's off to the storage unit!!!
So, this is what's happening in my storage unit:
(Not to mention, an abnormal amount of selfie-taking.)
|This piece symbolizes my likelihood of being buried alive|
before my mortgage even begins.
I don't know where half of this crap came from, where it will be going, and cutting the itchy tags out of my old pants now seems like the worst idea since the Flowbee!
|"What friggin' size are these?!"|
But, I'm not ungrateful.
I realize that I'm not living in a shelter. I've still got money in the bank. I have a job that I love. I have four different sizes in my wardrobe now. And, most importantly, I know God's timing is more perfect than mine and I certainly trust Him alot more than I trust myself.
When life throws you curve balls, take a seat on a Christmas tree and wait it out.