Last week we fell in love with a house. We’d been looking for several weeks, even months – close to a year of scanning and scoping, searching and book-marking, touring and open-house(ing) — taking our time — waiting and hoping that eventually the time would be right – the space would be right – the school district would be right – and we could take the next step as a family: house rentership.
And right now? It’s ALL right. The timing. The house. The everything. As much as it can be, that is. And so? I have become obsessed. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t stop decorating the living room in my head. Staring at photos of the house’s Spanish-tiled kitchen, online, its french-doored office – its … omgomgomg BACKYARD! (ED: I haven’t had a backyard since I lived at home 10+ years ago. This has been a DREAM of mine since always, especially since becoming a parent.)
Every day for the last two weeks I’ve driven by the house. Parked against the curb to gaze at its FOR RENT sigh, imagining what life would be like coming home to a home. A house. With three-bedrooms and a garage to convert into a studio. With lemon trees and elevated boxes to plant vegetables with the kids. With an actual office space to store my computer and hundreds of books. Whoa.
Frankly, the last two weeks have made it hard to think of much else.
In High School I used to fall in love quite on the often side. Mainly from afar, I’ll admit. I once stalked a boy for close to two years. He played guitar at a coffee shop my friends and I used to flock to and even though he never knew my name – my love for him knew no bounds. I’d drive by the coffee shop, even when he wasn’t performing, even if I had a boyfriend at the time. He was, decidedly my soulmate, and I KNEW that one day he’d love me back and we’d live happily ever after, him playing his guitar, with his long surf-streaked hair and rain rock in a rustic cafe, and me writing poetry about the way the wind combed his hair… la la swear… la la beware… la la wooden chair… (Ed: Years later, the same boy would become a local L.A. newscaster. A far cry from the bohemian cafe-guitarist I fell quietly in love with. Still way cute, though.)
This house? Is kind of the equivalent of THAT boy – except it hasn’t been two years, it’s been two weeks – and yet? It feels like… an eteeeeeeeernittyyyyyyyyyyyyy… with our withooooooooout you… please don’t go… don’t gooooooooooo … don’t goooo awaaaaay…
And right now? I’m totally freaking the eff out. Because tomorrow? We find out if we get the house. If the landlord chooses us out of all the many people who want to rent the property. (Apparently, Los Angeles didn’t get the recession memo because it’s COMPETITIVE as all hell out there, sheesh.) Because, in typical Hollywood fashion, we must wait in the lobby for our call-back.
In the meantime? We make plans to attend open-houses over the weekend. And I write this post to keep myself from stalking the property like a crazy sixteen-year-old.
And if tomorrow, our name isn’t called? I’ll bow out gracefully. Sad, yes. But with the knowledge that our perfect-for-us house is out there. That, whatever which way this works out – We’ll be able to stargaze in our very own backyard soon enough.
… at the three visible stars up in the sky. La la la I will not cry. La la la, we’re
doing ten drive-bys a day standing by...
*We got the house, you guys. WE. GOT. THE. HOUSE. Moving in May 1st. More to come! MORE TO COME! Thank you so much for your good vibes and well wishes and kindness. We are so grateful!