House hunting is hard.

This, of course, goes under the “no shit” column.

Being car-free (six years now, as of two weeks ago) and otherwise limiting where in Baltimore we are looking really narrows down our pool, more than finances, actually.  (Not that we can afford everything in our target area.)  You’d think that would make it easier to find a house.  But in reality, we have to juggle what we don’t like against what we do like with each house.

I’m told this is not uncommon.

I’ve decided that the supposition that we’d walk into a house and “just know” and fall in love is not only stupidly romantic; it’s going to lead us into bad decision making.

We’ve really only seen two houses we’d look at again or pursue.  But it only takes one.

And we really like our realtor, who is also growing a winter beard.

And we’re doing this while other people are looking to move out of Baltimore, with its really high property taxes.  Some people, like my brother, just don’t want to live in the city and don’t act like dicks because you do.  I can respect that my brothers don’t like the city and and don’t want to live here.  They don’t usually give me shit for preferring it.  Other people, shit, it’s like:

“And Soandso says the property taxes are one hundredth of the city right over the county line, and, you know, you get, like all the same services.”

“Really?  There’s a 3-minute response time for fire/EMT service?  You have trash and recycling pick-up for free?  The bus lines and bike routes are centered in the county?”

“No.”

“What services are you talking about?”

“Uh…”

“Yeah.”

Etc.  Sure, I know.  The city’s not for everyone, especially not a…scruffy one like Baltimore.  But let’s compare them with facts, Okay.  And all that.

I feel like I’m getting older, when one of my serious considerations in house-hunting involves a possible mancave.  And, also, having to think about things like hot water heaters and copper pipes.

I am tired of talking about this now.

In Proud Dad News: Charlotte can tell the difference between books we read and Daddy’s notebooks.  “Noh book!”

My kid is a genius.

Apartment hunting now?


So we got fed up with our apartment last week, when we noticed that there was MORE water damage in the kitchen, where a wall is leaking. There are three spots where water has seeped through in Charlotte’s room. Luckily, I used really good (non-VOC) paint when I painted her room last year; it’s bubbling instead of falling off the wall for now. Then there’s the brown finger-sized stain on the living room ceiling, the cracking plaster and paint all over the whole apartment, the stuck windows, the falling windows, the two broken windows (and how I love to shower with a breeze in the room, but that one’s broken and, hence, locked).

Sure, you could chalk this up to it being an old building. We’ve lived here for nearly five years, our longest at any one address since we lived with our parents over a decade ago. Three apartments. We might have the very best one right now, actually.  But they used to run this place differently.  They used to run this place better.  Used to be that a maintenance request came right away.  I mean the same or next day, depending on the problem.  But now, we’ve had a window broken since October that the management has known about but hasn’t fixed; another they’ve known about for 3-4 weeks; water damage they’ve known about for 3-4 weeks.  They used to keep the building clean when we had the shitty carpet and the ugly wallpaper.  Since remodelling the place last year, they stopped sweeping/mopping or doing anything to keep the place from looking like a pooptrap.  I was excited that I would be less embarrassed to have people over, since everyone we’re friends with/related to owns a house (and quite a few of them look down on us for not owning a house or trying to own a house).

So, yeah.  It’s not a problem of it being an old building.  Wall leak?  Fix it!  Broken window?  Fix it!  New floors/walls/ceilings in the hallway?  Clean it [all]!

So we’re sad to leave, if we leave.

They showed us another building yesterday, which is where the office is.  We made the mistake of assuming that it was better maintained.  The building was gorgeous.  But the unit was, well, worse than ours in a lot of ways.  We went to lunch, made pro-con lists in my Field Notes, saw my old advisor/mentor, and apartment hunted online while Charlotte took her afternoon nap.  Called about a building we’ve always liked, and while they didn’t have any two-bedrooms there, they owned another building further up in Roland Park where they had/have a nice two-bedroom just out of our price range.  The lady said it was unlocked, to go and look at it.  Weird.  But we did, and we really liked it.  It has a sunroom, working fireplace, but it doesn’t have a great view.  We talked to the lady who works for the owner at night, and she called her boss, and he came down $100 a month so that we could swing it (and so that he could fill it). I also got a free coffee at the local Starbux (I know!) because I forgot my wallet.  Good omen?  And I broke the French press that reminds me of this building this weekend.

So.  We’re nailing down the last leads and getting the hell out of here in 2-3 weeks.  It’s only occurred to us lately that the difference between a charming old building and a shithole is that the latter is what happens to the former when you don’t take care of it.  I don’t feel safe having Charlotte here when windows fall and break (and don’t get fixed) and walls leak (and don’t get fixed) and plaster and paint crack and sometimes have tiny pieces of ceiling fall (and don’t get fixed).

Of course, I have mixed feelings about moving further into Roland Park and farther from everything we walk to now.  The closest grocery store is expensive.  The closest coffee shop is a Starbux.  Further from family and friends, too.  But.  Same bus line.  Easier to get to the one that goes downtown.  In a perfect world, they’d fix shit and take better care of this place, and we wouldn’t have to move and drop another $200 a month to live somewhere nicer.  But, thems the breaks.  Thems the breaks.

To rent is divine?


It looks like we’re no longer on the market for a house.  This means that I can go to bed before 1 or 2 a.m. every night, not spending 4-5 hours at a time on house-hunting.

After a pretty exhaustive search for houses in areas we like (none of which, I confess, I like better than where our apartment is) and long walks (Charlotte and I strolled for nearly three hours today — lucky I’m always packing baby snacks on my person!), we cancelled our meeting with the real estate broker.

I haven’t written about the details on here or in my journal or even much in my brain.

While renting is not always the best financial decision, our student loan debt and very…modest income don’t make us the best candidates for loans.  Our apartment needs some repairs, and we have not ruled out looking for another apartment.  But, for now at least, it’s home sweet apartment.

I LIKE apartment living, though, to tell the truth.  I haven’t lived in a house since I was 19.

And, if nothing else, this probably will end my recent radio silence.

Housing aventures!

Crazy week:

Apartment to house to condo to apartment to condo to co-op to house.

Also, the whole thing is really making me hungry, like all the time.

Strange, huh?

House hunting?

I think we’re house-hunting.  We found a great house by accident on the net last night and then stayed up too late talking about how much fun Charlotte would have in a yard, etc.  Turns out that particular house is under contract.  But, well, it got us thinking.

And now we’re on the search.

Edit: I don’t think we’re hunting.  Not really.

Baby’s room.


It’s officially the coolest room in our apartment.  I’m jealous!  I was joking last night that I wanted to sleep on the floor in there read all night.

We never bother to paint because we move a lot; so our walls are all off-white.  For Baby’s room, I used non-VOC paint to get the space a glossy shade of blue.  There is wonderful light (from soft flower and bug wall lamps, to a medium lamp to a big floor to the nuclear dawn of the ceiling light), a soft rug, cute curtains, soft, wooden furniture (including some that we intend to grow with her), a rocking chair, TOYS and — for now — two bikes!Also , to keep the dragon plant company, a money tree!

It was a task. It felt like my Augean stables, as I cleaned off a storage shelf, the huge closet, computer desk, two full bookshelves, bike parts and tools, pens (PENS!). This took me several weekends.

Then I painted with a brush, so that I wouldn’t have to make a mess. Before and after painting, I had fun with sandpaper, putty and DUST (which had to be vacuumed from everything, mopped up, etc., in case of lead paint, etc.).  This took a week of evenings, with a few mornings and one afternoon.

Then there was a big trip to Ikea, after some careful planning and measuring.  And, you know, putting everything together (which I really enjoy).

And, finally, decorating!  This was the fun part.  I had a nice beer, my headphones and went to town last night.  I think that was the last beer I’ll ever drink in there.

The crib is in our room, closer to me, since I’m a light sleeper.  After that, it will replace the bikes in Baby’s room.  Her window looks out onto trees and, when they don’t have their leaves, North Baltimore.  There are three doors: one to the hallway, one to the closet, one to the bathroom (both bedrooms have doors into the bathroom, which is pretty cool and part of the “charm” of this old place).  The floors are the original (creaky and scarred) hardwood floors.

It’s weird to think that, in a matter of weeks or even days, there will be a tiny baby there.

Also, in the mail today: my new camera and the Baby Bjorn!

More photos here on Flickr!

Quiet Friday evening, with knitting and Moleskines.


I am on my Ubuntu Mini, with the laptop speakers hooked up, playing music that makes Baby dance inside Mama (The Doves, Frente!, The Smiths).  Mama is on the couch, knitting me a sleeve for my Moleskine/planner/pen.  Very swell evening.

I’m dehydrated enough that my fingertips are like sharkskin.  So I’m having tea instead of coffee.  I am eyeing the nice Guinness pub cans in my fridge, though, and the pint glasses I keep in the freezer.  Hmm.

Netbooks, charging and chilling.


Being stuck inside from last weekend’s blizzard and staring down another one, it’s nice to have netbooks.  Mine has been a source of WORK that has kept me busy.  I took off Dell’s customised Ubuntu and installed the (much better, faster and prettier) Ubuntu Netbook Edition.  Not to mention transferring tons of music via my 4GB mp3 player. And, tonight, just when I thought I had done a good job putting an excellent selection of music on here from our desktop, I remember some bands I forgot but really feel like listening to. Doh.

Rockport rock mouse.


[Click here for larger image.]

I can’t place this little devil in its location from far out because you’d never see it.  Excuse the bad close up and dirty floor of a hidden recess in my bathroom.

My wife is rather terrified of mice.  But in a kinda cute and funny way, not in a heart-attack way.  From time to time, mouse jokes and pranks pop up.  I recently got a bug in my crawl to tell her there was a mouse in the living room of our apartment.  I made a scene of chasing it to the bedroom, watching it, reporting its movements and then telling her it hid under her dresser, which is next to the bathroom door.  All night she asked if I made up the story, and I said I didn’t and offered more tiny pieces of information and details to make my story more believable.

I have used small rocks I’ve collected over the years to act as bugs and mice and rats on folks when they would walk into poorly-lit rooms with these critters in their minds, put into their minds by me or by the critters themselves walking around Baltimore.  This time, I took one such rock from Rockport, Massachusetts and placed it in a dim spot in the bathroom.  Then I put a twisted q-tip under it for a tail.  I thought to cut the ends off to make ears.  This is the result.

If I thought I would not give away the joke with my camera, I wouuld have gotten pictures of Mrs. P’s reaction.  She went into the bathroom as I crept up to watch.  She turned on the light, took a step and saw my little creature in the shadows and jumping up and down, one leg at a time, a sort of cute little running in place at high speed, accompanied by giggly squealing.  She ran from the room and found me nearly pooping my pants in laughter.

But lest you think me cruel, she was laughing as she was jumping and screaming.

For Photo Friday: Sharp, because, dang, my Mini Mouse Rock was sharp!