You may have heard about this alarming housing slump the country is in. Apparently interest rates are super low because the fed is panicking that nobody is buying, and home values are falling through the roof! Can you imagine? Yeah, well, we can't. Because apparently Seattle was the only city in the union who didn't get the frickin memo.
We didn't really think things through when we moved here. Naturally we knew it would be more expensive, as most of the more interesting places are, but we didn't really think about the whole water thing. Seattle is surrounded by water, and therefore expansion is extremely limited. Nearly halted, in fact. The city is so short on space that they are dividing lots, and then dividing THOSE lots, until they have disproved the theory that you can split something in half only down to the atom. In Seattle, even half an atom is prime real estate.
Since space is at such a premium, the fate of the real estate market is pretty much unrelated to that of the rest of the country. As Tom and I enter our second month of bone-weary house-hunting, our spirits have been broken down considerably. Things that formerly were on the must-have list have become far less important, such as indoor plumbing. Because when you live in a city that ran out of space about 75 years ago, you find that pretty much all of the houses are at least that old.
Here's what I've learned about Seattle history. In olden times, people didn't feel the need to be able to stand upright in all the levels of their homes. They seemed to be big on that point only on the main floor. On the top floor or in the basement you can just stoop.
Bathrooms were nearly superfluous and certainly a luxury. Two bathrooms in one house was simply foolishness. You were lucky you didn't have to go in the yard. Two bathrooms. Please!
Dining rooms were the center of the universe (on this point, at least, my forefathers and I can agree: dining is the most important expenditure of one's time). Therefore, the dining rooms are the size of football stadiums while living rooms are just slightly larger than the luxurious indoor toilet room. This is because there was no television, so the only thing they used the living room for was, well, whatever they did before television - knitting maybe? Must be. Knitting doesn't take up much room.
What I've learned about the present is this: if it sounds to good to be true, it costs a million dollars. If it sounds good enough, it causes cancer. For once I am not exaggerating. I fell madly in love with a renovated Victorian that was oozing so much charm I'm surprised it let me in its front door. I nearly wept with joy when I saw it, because it was in our price range. I should have known. Turns out it was near a major industrial wasteland, the kind that makes up Erin Brokovich's wet dreams, and the ground water was so contaminated that it was causing cancer in the local wildlife. This is why we could afford that particular house.
I was a wreck when we discovered this. I actually thought for a minute, would cancer be THAT bad, really? That's how difficult this search has been. I am so tired of falling in love and getting my heart broken every single weekend. It's like dating but so much worse. When you're dating, you meet a guy that seems like a viable candidate, what, once every few months MAYBE? And then you get all excited and your heart pounds and you tell all your friends and you gush a bit and then he turns out to be a cokehead or a mamma's boy or he spells "a lot" as one word and then your world is shattered for a few days and you drink too many appletinis and then you start the process over again. Now try speeding it up so that you go through this cycle on a WEEKLY basis. Is it any wonder that my face is broken out like a sixteen year old's and that I daily eat my body weight in chocolate?
There's also the added stress of apartment living to deal with - another comparison with the youth I am no longer. I am too old for apartment living with these kids playing their loud music day and night. And as grown ups we have furniture that needs to go somewhere. We were already fairly tightly wedged in to begin with but since we've been here I've added a purple velvet chaise (it was free, and what rational, normal human being would pass up a free purple velvet chaise?) and a treadmill that I am not allowed to use because the people who live below us threatened the poor apartment manager within an inch of her life because they thought their ceiling was going to fall on their heads when I used it. So I can't work off all the chocolate. All of this just adds to the aggravation and puts even more pressure on us to achieve the impossible.
After a few weeks it dawned on us, clever college graduates that we are, that perhaps we need to manage our expectations a bit better. So what if we don't get a house in the top school district, or that is within walking distance to shops? Pre-wired surround sound, two full baths, a roof... we don't really need those things. But even as we incrementally lower our standards and raise our budget ("the house will be so nice we won't want to go to the movies ever again anyway" is our reasoning) we STILL can't find anything I'd call liveable. Like with all its walls and maybe a hook-up for a washer and dryer. Is that so much to ask?
I'm starting to envy the homeless couple I pass sometimes on my way to work, who have souped up an old warehouse's entryway. They've got some nice digs there, and I bet they paid under 300 grand for it too. I think tomorrow I'll ask them about the school district.
