We bid on Door No. 2, a perfectly acceptable house that is, as a very serious plus, far less costly than the one we really lusted for. Alas, it was not to be. We crunched the numbers until they lay in a panting heap at our feet, and ended up with: We could do it, but it will take every dime we have. I’ve always tried to make the required things in adult life — job, house, parental responsibilities — fit the more fun parts of adult life — being able to freely curse in one’s office, taking your kid to a bar, and having a house that we own, rather than vice versa.
Thanks for all your support. Until this morning, I thought we could swing it. Then the Realtor called with his best estimate of the annual property taxes on the perfect place; they would be, almost to the penny, precisely what we pay in a year for our principle, interest, taxes and insurance on the house we live in now. Just for the taxes. Urp. That finished it off.
The runner-up is in the same school district. The house is lovely, and looks just like the one I grew up in. It’ll do fine.
And now I’m sick of the whole topic. I think we kissed 24 frogs in two days, and got two princes. I’m sick of the smell of paint and hearing, “It wouldn’t be a bad place, if you redid the kitchen.” Bleah. Offer’s being made as we speak. I’ll keep you posted.
My senator is on NPR as we speak, too. He’s taking the brave, radical stand that the war in Iraq is going badly (although he was an early supporter). He keeps calling the interviewer by name — pronouncing it the way she does, “Mee-shell” — something that always gives me the creeps. It’s so Dale Carnegie, although one of my best friends does it all the time, and for him, I think it’s a memory trick he uses. However, my senator was once brilliantly described by one of his (losing) opponents something like this: “You get the idea if you peeled off his face you’d find wires underneath.” Dead on.
Oh, but it was a good day. I think any day in a week where we get to watch yet another meltdown of a family-values conservative is a good one. I’m speaking, of course, of Bernie Kerik and, to a lesser extent, his ex-girlfriend, Judith Regan.
One of these days, you think, there’ll stop being such a good living in family-values hypocrisy, but not likely soon.
Speaking of which, I liked this Salon piece on the latest O’Reilly crusade, saving Christmas. You’ll have to watch an ad to read it, but it’s worth it:
William Donahue of the arch-conservative Catholic League insisted, “Hollywood is controlled by secular Jews who hate Christianity in general and Catholicism in particular. It’s not a secret, OK? Hollywood likes anal sex. They like to see the public square without nativity scenes.”
No wonder he’s always yelling. What a tool. But Salon is correct: It’s like there was a vast right-wing conspiracy memo on the subject. Last month: Alfred Kinsey was a sick, sick pervert. This month: Christmas is being crushed by anal sex-lovin’, Catholic-hatin’ JEWSJEWSJEWS.