jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

Me and Donald Trump…

I fired the mortgage broker and the lawyer today. A little more research showed me that each was charging me more than their perfectly capable competitors. It shouldn’t surprise me, since one referred me to the other. The lawyer wanted $1500, and the mortgage broker wanted $400 just to put the application in, covering no other fees. Ack! So… new guys have been hired and my real estate broker assures me I made the switch early enough that it won’t affect the process. The contract is supposed to go out tomorrow.

I’m thrilled. I’m nervous. I’m thrilled.

My hilarious mother keeps coming up with ideas like “We should mount mirrors on the building outside your windows so that they reflect in more light.” So cute. She was in New York for two days when she was in college, and never again.

Tah dah! We put an offer on an apartment on Sunday.

Lawyers have been hired and many brokers have leapt into action. Buying in Manhattan is a different thing from anywhere else in the US (of course). So even though our offer has been accepted (one hurdle down) we can’t be sure it’s ours until contracts have been pitched back and forth and signed by all concerned.

Tomorrow our lawyer digs into the financial status of our building, so we’re very hopeful that we won’t hear anything like, “Hey, your building is the subject of a class action suit, plus it’s packed with asbestos.”

I can’t remember the last time I was in here posting, which probably means it’s been a good, long while.

I was thinking this morning about how many of the small details of my daily life have been shelved in the whirlwind of work and of getting ready to move. I assume once I’m working in only one city that I’ll be able to fold them all back in.

Carla (the boss of my boss) told me that people who travel a lot for work recommend that you keep your routine as static as possible. Stay at the same hotel, go in to the office at the same time, eat the same breakfast… A few months ago I would have said that’s the most boring way of doing things that I can imagine. But now I think I’ll adopt it for these last few weeks. I think it will help with the sense of disorientation. It’s not terrible, it’s not like I’m suffering. But when I pick a new hotel to try each week, it leaves me wandering the streets at 8pm, wondering where I can get a good dinner. It would be nice to just know that stuff. I will miss all the expense report dinners. I order shrimp cocktail every chance I get. I guess the West Side of Cincinnati will never fully leave me. Which is good.

My Dad tells me he’s moving back to Cincinnati, back to the street he lived on as a child. I completely understand that desire, although I wish he could frame it as “I want to live there” rather than “I want to die there.” He also offered me money to help buy the apartment in New York. I was so touched, and relieved. I don’t think I’ll take it, but it’s always nice to hear that reminder that your Dad has your back. I felt simultaneously loved, and like a loser. The latter for having a hard time buying a home at 33. Which I know isn’t that unusual, much less in New York City. But I find I do best when I keep my standards for myself really high. I think I’m inclined to laziness, so if I’m not hard on myself I’m afraid I’ll become one with the couch forever.

The apartment search has been frustrating, but not unmanageably so. Of course, I say that before I’ve actually locked down the purchase. New York has its own way of doing everything, including selling real estate. But I’ve got about four real estate brokers and two mortgage brokers on the case now, so progress is speeding up. I’m thinking about staying through the weekend next week. Damon could come up Friday night and we could go to open houses all weekend.

Anyone have an apartment to sell me in NYC?

So I had my second night of dreaming that I’m best best best friends with the ‘Queer Eye’ guys. About two weeks ago I dreamed that Thom was calling me to sing songs to me over the phone.
Last night I dreamed that I was palling around with Carson, and then later Kyan was washing my hair. He was teasing me and getting water and suds everywhere.

I thought of this now because we’re watching the show as I type. This poor guy they’re working over clearly has some major issues having nothing to do with his aesthetics. For example, he only eats fruit soup and chicken. But he seems like a very sweet guy, so I hope all their help sticks.

I found out a few hours ago that a dear friend of mine was attacked and beaten out in California. I can’t reach him, I suspect he’s sleeping the sleep of the Vicodin-ed. I’m sure that’s a good thing. The really good thing is that he’s going to be okay, I spoke to a mutual friend who did speak to him. But the thought of random violent teenagers (it was a group of them hanging out near a bar, apparently) hitting him in the face, creating a need for a full night in the emergency room getting things like stitches and MRIs, is going to stay with me for a good while.

He’s actually someone I enjoy looking after, so I deeply wish that I were there with him right now. All I can do is leave him a message overflowing with love and concern and affection, and I already did that. Once a few more days goes by, I’m sure I’ll think of something to mail to him.

But for now I will continue to sit here and watch a great nature show called “Wild! Life” It’s a tape I have from my CNN days. A naturalist set a bunch of traps in the jungle with night vision cameras. A passing animal triggers the trap and the camera takes a picture. The animal never knows anything happened, although I’m sure it hears the shutter click. They’re showing some amazing photos of howler monkeys, tapirs, pumas…

And now there’s a funny dorky naturalist lady doing an imitation of the sound a howler monkey makes.