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winnars and losers
Apr. 20th, 2012 03:22 amAfter a truly awesome weekend and the now-routine-and-even-more-boring three-day drive, we are back in Tampa where there is paperwork to do and dogs to be cuddled. I need to deal with immigration and run all the numbers on what is the best way to get people+car+dogs+stuff up here. We keep wavering over ditching some/all of the furniture - it's all stuff we acquired for free or very little, but even if we do dispose of it we still have too much other crap (boxes of stuff, appliances, futon mattress etc) to fit in a trailer rather than a truck, and I don't know if replacing it would be any less expensive than transporting it.
While we were still up there we drove past our new home a few times, waved our arms around all happylike and wandered around the back talking about where to put fake doggy turf, etc. I am really optimistic about living there at this point, but at the same time, there's this odd feeling that rather than choosing it like rational flathunters, we were herded there by the total lack of other options. During this whole elongated attempt at moving we've found only three places that were even willing to entertain the idea of renting to people who had a big dog and a small dog; the other two were overpriced and tiny, and this one seems pretty great inside but it's not like we had any other reasonable options here?
But. I talked to someone else who was viewing this place at the same time we were; M was talking to the broker while she and I were exploring its further corners. I asked my fellow flathunter if she'd been having as much bullshit from failbrokers as we had; yes, yes she had. She is losing her current home at the end of the month (didn't say why) and needs to find a new place for herself, two children and three dogs, two of which are miniature pitbulls. She thought this place might be okay, but needed to see if Section 8 would approve it.
Pitbulls scream 'bad life decision' especially when you're renting (D.M. has one), and the ad for this place had said of pets 'No pits or rotties' (screw you, rottweilers are delightful), and that's pretty much the most liberal pet policy I saw the whole time we were looking, hence why I gave it a shot - but yes, a lot of people in Boston have fewer options than me and do not possess the totally unearned means to write mortifyingly large cheques on the spot. musical fucking chairs and it is not okay.
I had to call on D.M. yesterday for paperwork reasons; Ms Cheerful was also there, and I snagged a hug, but unlike her employer she was actually working so we didn't get to talk all that much. So I got talked at by D.M. for a while; she's quit smoking and so has Mr Q (my congratulations were genuine; forty-ish years of heavy smoking and then eight weeks on electric cigs, and her skin already looked a lot better - one may as well sate her need for attention in ways that encourage her good health); she likes her new home; she gave away one of her two dogs (not the pitbull) for unspecified reasons. There was a holstered handgun lying on top of her desk. I didn't draw any attention to it, as it was clearly too freaking bizarre.
While we were still up there we drove past our new home a few times, waved our arms around all happylike and wandered around the back talking about where to put fake doggy turf, etc. I am really optimistic about living there at this point, but at the same time, there's this odd feeling that rather than choosing it like rational flathunters, we were herded there by the total lack of other options. During this whole elongated attempt at moving we've found only three places that were even willing to entertain the idea of renting to people who had a big dog and a small dog; the other two were overpriced and tiny, and this one seems pretty great inside but it's not like we had any other reasonable options here?
But. I talked to someone else who was viewing this place at the same time we were; M was talking to the broker while she and I were exploring its further corners. I asked my fellow flathunter if she'd been having as much bullshit from failbrokers as we had; yes, yes she had. She is losing her current home at the end of the month (didn't say why) and needs to find a new place for herself, two children and three dogs, two of which are miniature pitbulls. She thought this place might be okay, but needed to see if Section 8 would approve it.
Pitbulls scream 'bad life decision' especially when you're renting (D.M. has one), and the ad for this place had said of pets 'No pits or rotties' (screw you, rottweilers are delightful), and that's pretty much the most liberal pet policy I saw the whole time we were looking, hence why I gave it a shot - but yes, a lot of people in Boston have fewer options than me and do not possess the totally unearned means to write mortifyingly large cheques on the spot. musical fucking chairs and it is not okay.
I had to call on D.M. yesterday for paperwork reasons; Ms Cheerful was also there, and I snagged a hug, but unlike her employer she was actually working so we didn't get to talk all that much. So I got talked at by D.M. for a while; she's quit smoking and so has Mr Q (my congratulations were genuine; forty-ish years of heavy smoking and then eight weeks on electric cigs, and her skin already looked a lot better - one may as well sate her need for attention in ways that encourage her good health); she likes her new home; she gave away one of her two dogs (not the pitbull) for unspecified reasons. There was a holstered handgun lying on top of her desk. I didn't draw any attention to it, as it was clearly too freaking bizarre.