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The Highs and Lows of Selling Your Home.

Okay my lovelies, here’s a brief run down. Mister and I are selling the house. It has been on the market since the 25th-26th of March and as of today we have had over 31 showings. Pretty impressive, no? Yes, mother fucker, it is impressive. What is not impressive is that the home has not sold yet. The average days on market for a house in our neighborhood (one level, 3 bedrooms, 2 baths) is seven to twelve days. SEVEN TO TWELVE DAYS.

We met with our realtor on the 14th of March and had it fixed up (trim painted, front and back doors painted, carpets cleaned, windows washed, house professionally cleaned, walls retouched, all light fixture covers removed and scrubbed, lawn mowed, hedges trimmed, had it staged by a friend who may not want her name or website linked here as I just said “Mother Fucker”, ect ect ect.) by the 23rd. Professional photos taken on the 24th and the house listed the afternoon of the 25th. First showing… and many to follow… on the 26th.

It has been nonstop and I don’t know if you guys knew this but seeing that timeline up there really made me want to throw up in my mouth a little.

We have had two offers on the house. One flakey family who had just bought a house not 20 miles from here, and one “cultural difference” issue where the client wouldn’t talk to the realtor bringing the offers except through email. Asian gentleman didn’t want to talk to some uppity FEMALE gwylo and her know it all antics, verbally assaulted her when she couldn’t get us to accept low ball offer. Awesome.

But the best by far are the Sneaky Smurf Surprise attacks. Or… showings. Mister and I get up early every day… yes, even on weekends…. And vacuum, dust, open blinds, turn on lamps, ect to make the house look pretty. Because showings in these parts can start as early as 8 am and end as late as 9 pm. So we are basically perched and ready to flee at an instant. Two Saturdays ago, we got up early, did the cleaning and had our bags packed and ready to go at 10:30 am.

Mister: When are they supposed to show up? Are they late?
me: Not until 12:30.
Mister: Then why are we up so early?
me: Well, you never know.

Heads cock as we hear something at the front door. I think it is a solicitor putting a flyer in the door. I walk forward, see through the windows a realtor and a family of four.

me: Somebody’s HERE!
Mister: OHsNOs!
me: Abort! Abort!
Mister: Run out the back door!

We grab our shit and head out the back door, furiously trying to get the garage door to close before they come in the house.

Mister: [pulls out of the driveway like a NASCAR driver] Man Your Buddy! MAN YOUR BUDDY!*
me: [phone rings] Hello?
Showing Service: Hello, this is blah dee bloo with Blah Blah Blah, there is a Blah Blah there with Blah Blah office wanting to show your house…well… right now actually.
me: WE KNOW. [dramatic eyeroll]
Mister: Heee.

*He totally didn’t say this. But it sounded funny. To me.

So we have had at least two Sneaky Smurf Surprise attacks… or… showings the past two Saturdays and then… Duh duh DUUUUUUUUUUUH! Yesterday. I am so freaking stressed out I have a rash (yes, another allergic reaction to … air or whatever) across the front of my neck. It’s hot. Really, I have been emailing the picture out to random people (shout out to Dre’, Jen, Kim, Mike, Co-worker and Kerry… hot guys, right? Can I get a What What!? Right? Hey, wait a minute… come back here.) all over the internets and I decided I needed to get my biannual blood work done, might as well get hot Argentinean Doctor (MROW) to check out the hot neck action I am working.

So I go to see Hotness (aka, Dr. W, love him SOOOO!!!! ::sing songy::) and one of his awesome PA’s drew my blood, got a urine sample (again with the hotness, cut it out already Sue!, you’re killin us over here!.. Alright, alright… Fine.) and sent me down to room four (MROW!?) so Dr. W. could look at my neck (with desire). Shot in the butt, stop by Arby’s for a jr. roast beast sammich and headed home….

I got there, set my laptop up on the dining room table, and started working, ate my sandwich and then looked up around 12:40 and a lady in a black jeep pulled up to the house… backed up to look at the house. She popped out with a man-child of about 21 or so… they walked up and looked at the front of the house… I… I fucking hid in the kitchen with my Arby’s bag. Because I didn’t know who they were and … I’m yella. Shut up.

My shit was sitting right there on the dining room table. Purse, laptop bag, laptop… CORD for laptop. Then they rang the doorbell. I threw away my Arby’s bag and went to answer. My car was sitting out front so I was surprised that she had the door halfway open as I traversed the 10 steps to open the door.

I stepped up and said, “Hello.” She said, “Oh, didn’t you know you had an appointment?” “No ma’am… I will be out of here in a moment.” I shoved my laptop and cord into the bag, flung my purse over my shoulder and hauled ass. I stopped when I got into Samantha and made a note about her make and model of car and license plate because something seemed off. I drove around to the Wal*Mart parking lot and just hung out and worked for a while. I had another showing from 2-3:30 pm and so I just sat in the parking lot working on a conference and making calls from my car like a jackass until 3:30.

I went back home, there was no one there. I gathered my stuff, took it back in the house and about the time I set it all down on the dining room table again, my phone rang.

Showing Service: Hello, this is blah dee bloo with Blah Blah Blah, the 2-3:30 showing needs to reschedule. Her clients had to leave but they would love to see your home.
me: Okay, could you look in the system and tell me the name of the lady who was here earlier today?
Showing Service: We don’t show anyone other than the rescheduled appointment I just told you about.
me: Alright.

I walked into the hallway and the smell hit me.

There had been an unauthorized poo in my house.

I’m just going to ask you to read that sentence again. Twice should do it.

That lady in the jeep and her condescending, “Oh, didn’t you KNOW you had an appointment?” and her man-child (unless parents are buying their kids houses nowadays) used my home… MY ABODE… my Sanctum, y’all… as a rest stop.

Hey, that house is for sale. Can we pull over so I can poo? SURE!

I was mortified.

I Oust©ed, I Ozium©ed and when I felt that the air had been purified (By The ALMIGHTY SPIRIT!) I went in there to Scrubbly-Bubble it. I lifted the lid… and MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY!! We have a rouge hair… I repeat, WE HAVE A ROGUE HAIR!

No. It wasn’t Mister’s. I have been with that man for almost eight years… I would know one of his if I saw it.

To put it sweetly and shortly. This is getting Old. Someone please buy my house. What do y’all think of that burying a St. Joseph idea? Hmmm?

Love you. Mean it.


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Comments (4)

anne:

Holy crap. No pun intended. (Obviously.)
Fingers crossed you sell it soon, darling. xxx

Brian L.:

DUDE! You were the victim of a drive-by deuce!!

A dump and run! Poor you! Sure, go ahead with the St. Joe action. What could it hurt? Love you back. Mean it more.

Totally just bought a St. Joseph off of www.buryjoe.com ... NO I AM NOT KIDDING.

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