A Little Bit of Voodoo Never Hurt Anyone

Last week, my heart settled on a house that I had looked at way back in the beginning of our search. At that time, I hadn't realized what a gem this place was because I was blissfully unaware of just what, exactly, my $40* dollars could buy in the area where we are searching.

I was under the delusional impression that I could order up a gourmet dinner at a French bistro, complete with appetizer, dessert, and an award winning bottle of perfectly aged wine, but it turns out that my forty bucks* can stretch only so far as a comfortably satisfying meal with a half carafe at the Cheesecake Factory.

(Nothing wrong with the Cheesecake Factory, mind, you, but when you think you have reservations at French Laundry, it takes awhile to step off of your cloud.)

After the P-Dawg and I had looked at every house in the neighborhoods to which we had narrowed our search, I came back to the house on W street, and when I walked through the front, door, I heard harps playing and angels singing.

I took note of the gleaming hardwood floors in the dining and living rooms (you can't find floors like these at the Cheesecake Factory), at the French doors leading to the living room, and at the bay window in the kitchen that leads out to the low maintenance Timbertech deck with retractable awning.

I assessed the home's pristine condition and mentally replaced the decor with something a little more current.

I mentally mapped the distance from the house to the community park and swimming pool, noting that it could easily be accessed by bike using side streets alone by a slightly older J-dog and V-meister.

I observed the sidewalks and bounty of older, shade giving trees that were hard to come by in the other neighborhoods where we had looked, and I realized that I had, in fact, hit pay dirt with the house on W street.

The only drawbacks were that the house was slightly smaller than what we had hoped to find, and the owners were asking $50* for what was clearly a $35* home.

That, and the fact that we hadn't sold our hut yet.

But we decided to put in a bid at about seven percent below the list price and asked for a 90 day close.

The seller, who is in no hurry to move, gave us a counter-offer that was only about 25 cents* off of their asking price.

(Insert knife through heart here.)

Disappointed, we came back with our final offer, which was a substantial increase from our initial one, but nowhere close to what the seller had asked for. (Blah, blah, blah, boring, boring, boring.)

We left our "firm" offer open through the end of this weekend, hoping that they would mull it over, find a place they love, realize that they have been presented with a mighty fine deal, and accept.

(Yeah, I almost just fell asleep, too, typing out that last paragraph.)

While all of this was happening, my mother was doing a fair amount of silent and secretive hand-wringing. Feeling that as a parent, it is her duty to intervene in the major life decisions of her approaching middle-age children, she could bite her tongue no longer and called me up at dinnertime with her two twenty five cents.

Do you know what a phone call of the, "I know you hate it when I give you advice, but I need to tell you how I really feel are you sure you aren't making a mistake can't you find a nice $20 house somewhere around here you don't need to try to keep up with the Jones' what happens if P-Dawg suddenly kicks the bucket I can't help but feel a sense of foreboding and doom over this choice you have made" variety does to the psyche of a devoted daughter whose emotional state is already akin to that of a frayed rubber band that has been stretched to it's maximum length?

Yeah.

Also, not to give Catholics a worse rep than we already have, but I sent the P-Dawg outside yesterday with a Saint Joseph statuette and a shovel.

My MIL and the Internet told me that burying a Saint Joseph (patron Saint of families and, er, carpentry) statue upside down in your yard, like, totally helps sell your house. She also told me to throw a rosary over my shoulder into a bush to prevent rain on my wedding day (I didn't do this), but what can I say, I am getting desperate, Internets.

(Disclaimer: Catholics don't pray to or worship statues, but they do ask saints, whom they believe to be in really good standing with God, to intercede on their behalf in prayer. Kind of like if you really needed to use the car on Saturday night but you haven't exactly done all of your chores that week and your grades for the semester are a bit low, so you ask your goody two shoes sister who has done no wrong, ever, to ask your dad about borrowing the car for you.)

Now, I'm not sure if this means that your sister has to come along with you on your hot date, but that's a chance I'm willing to take.

Incidentally, I know that the whole burying of the statue is just freaky-deeky superstition and, if anything, it's the prayer that does the trick, but, well, it can't hurt, right? Right? And I'm not praying specifically that we sell our house or get the one that we bid on, but rather that things turn out best for the well-being of our family. (Dear Saint Joseph, tell God I totally want that house and please to let somebody buy my hut soon Amen.)

(And this is neither here nor there, but I've had about 95% success with the old, "Tony, Tony, come around, what is lost must be found" prayer for lost items.)

So, anyone have any experience with Saint Joe and real estate?

P.S. No one is getting off the island today. That was a total gimmick mwa haha.

*Actual monetary values have been changed.