Bunker 3
This month I am going to become a homeowner. More precisely, J and I have purchased a condo loft in SOMA. We have survived inspections, assessments, intimate financial probing by a number of banks, and a stupor of document-singing. Now all that's left is escrow and in a few weeks, we will have the keys to our new home.
I will be glad to leave Bunker 2, where the landlady never made repairs, had a fit any time we made changes to her property, and has raised our rent by $500/month in the last six months. A few weeks ago, just days after the latest rent increase, she called to tell us she was short on cash and begging us to sign a lease guaranteeing that we will stay until at least January. J, that angel of diplomacy, informed her that she cannot have it both ways--you cannot put us on a month-to-month lease so you can crank up our rent and then have us a sign a long-term lease so that we cannot leave. I expect that she will try to keep our entire security deposit. I do not know if I feel sufficient rage to power a trip through small claims court.
I have seen the future and the future is expensive. The future is moving costs and throwing out anything I haven't unpacked since settling into Bunker 2 in 2010. The future is picking paint colors and refinishing floors. The future is consultations with architects and hiring contractors, getting plans approved by the home owner's association, and pulling permits. The future is celadon green glazed subway tile and stainless steel appliances. The future is extensive electrical work and rigging a pulley for my aerial apparatus. In the future, I will buy a crash mat.
The future is a little bit like the past, when J and I moved into the Concrete Bunker and spent a few weeks sleeping on a futon next to the kitchen while we finished installing the bedroom floors. Everything smelled like sawdust. When we wanted to move the walls, we moved the walls. When people walked into the Concrete Bunker, they asked "What bar is this?" Time has cloaked the Concrete Bunker in an impenetrable fog of nostalgia. It was so nice, aside from the occasional flood of sewage coming up through the living room floor.
In the future, I must make appropriate sacrifices to Poseidon, who has not flooded my dwelling with water or shit in just over two years now. Perhaps I have placated him with ceramic fish in an empty bowl and fetal sharks in formaldehyde and that Aquaman figurine. Or is he just biding his time, waiting to strike? What must I burn or kill to ensure a peaceful remodeling of my bathroom?
I fear I am not adequately prepared for the vagaries of homeownership.
I will be glad to leave Bunker 2, where the landlady never made repairs, had a fit any time we made changes to her property, and has raised our rent by $500/month in the last six months. A few weeks ago, just days after the latest rent increase, she called to tell us she was short on cash and begging us to sign a lease guaranteeing that we will stay until at least January. J, that angel of diplomacy, informed her that she cannot have it both ways--you cannot put us on a month-to-month lease so you can crank up our rent and then have us a sign a long-term lease so that we cannot leave. I expect that she will try to keep our entire security deposit. I do not know if I feel sufficient rage to power a trip through small claims court.
I have seen the future and the future is expensive. The future is moving costs and throwing out anything I haven't unpacked since settling into Bunker 2 in 2010. The future is picking paint colors and refinishing floors. The future is consultations with architects and hiring contractors, getting plans approved by the home owner's association, and pulling permits. The future is celadon green glazed subway tile and stainless steel appliances. The future is extensive electrical work and rigging a pulley for my aerial apparatus. In the future, I will buy a crash mat.
The future is a little bit like the past, when J and I moved into the Concrete Bunker and spent a few weeks sleeping on a futon next to the kitchen while we finished installing the bedroom floors. Everything smelled like sawdust. When we wanted to move the walls, we moved the walls. When people walked into the Concrete Bunker, they asked "What bar is this?" Time has cloaked the Concrete Bunker in an impenetrable fog of nostalgia. It was so nice, aside from the occasional flood of sewage coming up through the living room floor.
In the future, I must make appropriate sacrifices to Poseidon, who has not flooded my dwelling with water or shit in just over two years now. Perhaps I have placated him with ceramic fish in an empty bowl and fetal sharks in formaldehyde and that Aquaman figurine. Or is he just biding his time, waiting to strike? What must I burn or kill to ensure a peaceful remodeling of my bathroom?
I fear I am not adequately prepared for the vagaries of homeownership.