“Carol!? Caaarool!!? Yooohooo?”
Damn. What the hell was the Landlady doing standing outside the cottage hollering at me? It’s 9 pm. I’ve just started the Lesley Anne Warren Serial Killer Movie in the On Demand Mode.
Shit.
What if the landlady found out I was accessing the On Demand Movie without her permission?
Better turn off Lesley Anne before I open the door.
“Carroool?” Monica’s calling is closer now, right outside the fence.
“Yes,” I answer after shutting down the TV situation.
“Hi, Carol,” she smiles, even though it’s dark, I know she is. She’s actually the NICEST landlord I’ve ever had. Not that that’s saying much, but seriously, she’s a sweetheart and tonight proved no different.
“You left your lights on on your car,” she holds the gate open for me as I emerge out of the cottage patio area.
“Oh, wow! Thanks!” I swear under my breath. Goddamn Oil Changers. Made me turn on my lights to check them and then I forgot to turn them back off since it was 7 and still light.
Actually, goddamn me. It’s my fault. Oil Changer Man was just doing his job.
I follow Monica out to the front of the house where her husband, Mathew greets me. “And here’s your mail.” He hands it to me, grinning.
“Oh, great, thanks. Wow, you guys are the best,” I manage.
“Yeah, well, we just don’t want you to leave,” Mathew continues.
Monica eyes me seriously. “You hear anything new on your house?”
I laugh. “Oh, you guys will appreciate this. You just went through all of this a year ago. You know 'bout the underwriter for the appraisal?” They both nod. Knowingly. “Well, he said that I had to install handrails on the back porch in order to fulfill the conditions of the loan or some such thing. It seems so petty and stupid.”
They both nod, still very serious. “Yeah, well, I remember when we were trying to buy this place the underwriter told us that we had to get a licensed contractor to tear down the Night Jasmine growing on the side of the house.”
“Really?”
“Go turn off your lights. Go go....” Monica urges.
I do.
“And so what happened?” I ask, returning to the spot in the dark driveway where they both are standing waiting for me.
“I asked them if I could just tear down the jasmine myself. Do I have to get a licensed contractor?" Mathew continues, warming to the narrative.
“Mathew, we should let her go,” Monica interrupts. Nervous?
Was I asking for Secret House Buying Information? Was Mathew about to divulge a tidbit that would definitely put me into the Successful Homebuyer’s Zone?
“Okay, well, thanks again for letting me know about the lights,” I add before turning to head back to Lesley Anne.
I can tell that Mathew wanted to finish the story, but then I wasn’t about to get in the middle of a wife’s bossiness power dynamic.
Back in the cottage, I rev up On Demand again and remember back to the reason why I started this whole home buying venture anyway.
The Pricklord.
Remember, Carol? He’s the reason that you started looking over a year ago. When he had the Illegal Audacity to walk into the cottage with barely a knock, letting himself in, saying he’d sent me an email (Sunday eve at 5 pm-- –what kind of 24 hour notice is that at 1 pm. the next day? It wasn’t. )
And so a HUGE Horrid Landlord Hell had ensued. The long and short of it being that I did prevail about his not letting himself into my place without 24 hour notice, but it got very nasty for several days with threatening emails from him saying he was going to evict me and my having to come back with citing California Civil Codes about giving tenants 24 hour written notice before entering their dwellings.
It was ugly.
So, yes, I do adore Monica and Mathew. They are so sweet and so considerate. (I know they would never come into the cottage without giving me advance notice) Still, they are landlords and as such have power over me.
And while I do enjoy the On Demand Cable TV and Free Pet Care, I still do know that what I’m trying to do with buying this house is the right thing in the long run.
It just feels like that Long Run will never arrive.
Thank goodness for Lesley Anne Warren’s chain smoking Feminist Poet character.
With this sort of diversion, I can make it through the next 10 days when supposedly the ‘closing’ happens. Whatever the hell that is.
Shit. I really should be doing some researches on Google about all this down to the wire house buying rigmarole.
But Lesley Anne calls to me.
I can’t resist her tough but vulnerable kick ass self.
Oh, Lesley Anne!
Why can’t you come and help me with the homebuyer’s final days? I know you’d know what to do!
Or at least you’d know how to fake it.
Something I’m no good at, but I’m working on it.
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