So, one simple day after getting the good news about my appraisal I hear a story on NPR. Allegedly some mortgage lenders are colluding with some appraisal companies. Of course, it is neither of the companies I am working with, but it still gives one pause.

Meanwhile, I come home to see a square cut out of the garage ceiling. To some this is a terrible turn of events but to me this is the start of something beautiful. There's been a problem with a leak in the over-garage condo for some time, and I'm sure I've documented it here before. The cut-out shows signs of progress! Signs of change in the wind! The landlord of the over-garage condo is apparently a lawyer and a bit of an ass; he has made it known to other neightbors that he only intends to do the minimum required by law and doesn't really care that his tenants are loud, arguing, late night partying, drug dealing idiots (allegedly).

Good things are ahead in the Acres. Good things.

Labels: divorcee acres, homestead

Ok, not entirely, but sort of. The process of refinancing a condo (or house, or any form of real estate) involves an appraisal. Mr Appraisal came by yesterday and was nice enough (after spending a few minutes with the dogs at my suggestion--once you become their friend they will forget you exist and let you be). My condo was clean for the first time in ages, and he poked around here and there. My condo does have issues; there's the laundry room ceiling, the carpet near the door (thanks, Denny!) and my garage (though that is not my fault, but the fault of the jackass neighbors).

Today I get my appraisal back: 20% appreciation in 5 years. My condo's not even one of the nice ones in the neighborhood--it needs work, which is why I'm refinancing.

I'm not bragging, but I have to share. This is not the sort of thing that happens to me! This happens to friends, or friends of friends. Not me. I keep thinking that he's going to come back and take a closer look at something and take it down several grand.

Woo.

Labels: divorcee acres, homestead

Yesterday was a lovely day so I decided to spend most of it indoors and cleaning my house. I have a house guest coming for a night and don't want to give the impression i live in total squalor (partial squalor is ok). Actually, this is the sort of friend who I've known for a long time and understands my disdain of housework, but still, I want it to look nice for her visit. This means cleaning off the dining room table (I think the last time anyone actually dined on it was probably her last visit several years ago), moving things where they should go, and vacuuming. Oh man. Vacuuming. i don't mind vacuuming really, it's picking up things I don't like. It's the notion of cleaning top to bottom so I don't have to vacuum more than once per cleaning spell. I decide it's time to vacuum, look around at all the pre-vacuuming cleaning I need to do, give up. Repeat.

Right now the word vacuum probably has no meaning, you're questioning if it's even a real word. don't you hate when your brain does that?

But yesterday, oh man, I don't know what came over me. I even cleaned the window where Denny sits. It's a futile effort to be sure--I know that as soon as I windex the dog drool he'll just redroolify it. Still, it looks nice right now and that's what's important. I haven't really cleaned the kitchen or the upstairs yet but getting the living room done is a gigantic step.

So I'm feeling accomplished and the weather's warm so I decide it's high time to sleep with the window open, one of my favorites. Oh, sure, I haven't done this in a while because of my loud neighbors but that's ok, they seem to be out or calm or both tonight.

so around 3:30 in the AM I am proven wrong, that crazy doesn't have a "quiet time." i tried hard to hear the arguement (shut up, you know you would too) but couldn't really discern any specific words, except for the four letter one that starts with f. Then he sets the car alarm and it goes off. Denny is downstairs and lets loose a single bark (may have been bad dreams). All that lacked was some terrible rap or country music blaring and police sirens for it to be the best night of my life.

Labels: homestead, neighbors