Sucktastic #2
Today we got an offer from new people. They saw our house yesterday for the first time and put in an offer more pathetic than the first sucktastic offer of a few weeks ago. On top of the low offer, they’re requesting seller’s assist. They want us out of here in like 30 days, and they didn’t even give us any hand money, saying instead that they’ll give it after we accept their agreement. They also elected every possible contingency with the opt out option checked instead of the negotiate one. Yeah, that’s a good strong offer.
Not.
Because I think my realtor sensed I was on the edge, he came for a visit this afternoon. With comps in hand, he showed me that we are priced right, that three intelligent people can’t be wrong, and that we have had the unfortunate luck of being given not one, but two crappy offers for absolutely no sensible reason. I was wearing my "Life is Good" shirt when he arrived. I’m not completely sure this whole shirt/attitude thing is working for me.
We countered quickly and with this: full price and we’ll consider moving out sometime this summer and inconveniencing ourselves. Or, give us our settlement when we want it and we’ll maybe consider giving some seller’s assist with a full price offer. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.
Our realtor encouraged me (and himself because I think his little pep-talk was for both of us) to move on and focus on what comes next. These people aren’t doing us any good. Focusing on their sucky offer won’t do us any good either.
I’ll tell you something that will though. I was stirring it up as my realtor arrived. . . sangria.
Dear Prospective Home Buyers. . .
I won’t go into the details. I’ll just say that yesterday I was absolutely convinced I was having a heart attack as we finished cleaning up the house for a showing. I had terrible chest pain, and it killed to take a deep breath. When we arrived at my Mom’s house for my grandmother’s 91st birthday party, I told her that I thought I might be dying. She gave me some Maalox, and soon I felt better. Stress-related heartburn, not heart failure. Relief. Having your house on the market when you have two young children is one of the most stressful things you can do.
We have a big open house coming up. Over 200 invitations have been sent out to apartment renters. Door prizes will be given, the mortgage man and realtor will be on site, and if someone buys my house, they’ll get a flat screen HDTV. Because of recent events, I’m considering leaving a note on the counter that reads like this:
Dear Prospective Home Buyers,
If you’re looking for something cheap, you’re at the wrong location. You should probably go visit the Dollar Store and stop wasting my time.
Sincerely,
The Home Sellers
I’ve had it with certain buyers saying we’re "overpriced" when we’re at least $20K beneath the comparable homes right up the street that have 500 square feet less than us and virtually no upgrades to speak of. I’m tired of cleaning and getting my hopes up, and I’m not sure how to deal with it.
Do I approach things with a positive attitude every time someone expresses interest in my home and think that this could be it? Or should I prepare myself for the absolute worst and figure that nothing will come of it to spare myself the intense disappointment?
Anyone have advice? Positive thoughts? A sales agreement for me with a full price offer perhaps?
Life is Good
I took the girls to the grocery store to stock up after vacation. Big I was thrilled to see one of the nuns from her school there. As we passed her in the aisle, I realized I was wearing my new t-shirt that I bought on vacation that says, "Girls Just Wanna Have Rum." No wonder I got a slightly disgusted look from her. I’m guessing nuns don’t drink or approve of rum-related activities? Oh well.
Upon returning home, you’ll never guess who was parked in front of my house! The low-ball offer people! They were just leaving as I was pulling in. They had to drive directly past me. I know it was them because my neighbor (who also spies when we have showings) was outside at the time and saw them sitting in front of my house, staring longingly at it for quite some time. Guess who now has hand? Uh-huh, that’s right. We do.
I asked my realtor and apparently if I get an insulting offer twice from the same people, I am fully entitled to some retribution in the form of a good swift kick to their shins or perhaps spitting on their offer. Sweet.
I was also informed tonight that we did have a showing this week. It was a third showing and the couple has narrowed it down to our house and one other, with ours looking better at this point. You know what this means, faithful readers. It is time to assume the position, as in the crossing of the legs, arms, fingers, toes and eyes. I’m remaining calm and quietly optimistic that this will work out. If not, our realtor and mortgage guy have planned an open house extravaganza (my idea) complete with give-aways (that they are providing) for the end of the month. Here’s hoping we won’t need it at all.
I also got a call from my physical therapist today. I’ll be getting my karate brace on Wednesday. Apparently my insurance company has agreed that I need a third insanely expensive knee brace. This doesn’t mean I’ll be using it for a while. Getting radar detection, metal spikes, and ear-piercing alarms installed on those braces takes time.
This t-shirt attitude adjustment thing is really working, even when I’m wearing my rum shirt. Life is good.
One is the Lonliest Number
Despite the fact that we had a ton of street traffic all morning long before the Open House, we had only one taker actually show up at the scheduled time. The good news is that she stayed here for quite some time, sat at our kitchen table and talked about how she loves our house. The funny thing about it, is that she currently lives in the neighborhood where we’ll be building. She and her husband are looking to downsize, and we’re looking to super-size.
Although my realtor tends to almost always play down the interest level of potential buyers, he seemed very positive about this potential one and said he was going to speak with her agent. He mentioned something to me about possibly arranging a switch, as in she gets my house and I get hers.
My realtor was telling us yesterday about some calls he has fielded on our home recently. One of the interested callers kept him on the phone for 45 minutes telling him about how he’s currently renting but the rent is killing him. He then said, "What’s a guy to do when he’s on disability and has no job? How’s a guy like me supposed to pay rent like that?" Well, news flash, it’s probably easier to pay rent than it would be to buy my house without any income or livelihood.
One thing is for sure-my house seems to bring out the crazies. People who won’t make an offer until their elderly mother dies. People who think we’re giving away our house as part of charity, and then refuse to play the house buying game the right way. Eerie men who show up expecting me to personally escort them through my house.
I’ve said it before but it warrants saying one more time. I’ll be so glad when this is all over.
Sabotage
Tomorrow is Open House number four. I swore I wouldn’t do another one, yet here we are, Open House Eve yet again.
This song pretty much sums up what’s been happening with my inconsiderate neighbor:
Yesterday, the local Britney Spears decided it was a fine time to clean out her large kitchen garbage can. Since cleaning is super hard, she thought she’d do it the natural way and just leave it sit out on the pavement our two homes share to collect rain water. Last time, she naturally cleaned her litter box, now her trash can.
Mr. BBM moved it closer to her door so it didn’t appear to be our trash can. Later, he moved it directly in front of her door so that she would have to move it in order to get in or out. He’s pretty good at this trash can business considering he once pulled that trash can full of water in an elevator prank when he was in college.
Despite his careful trash can placement, she moved the can out of her way three times without doing anything about it yesterday. It’s not like she doesn’t have a back yard complete with a patio and deck where she could do her natural trash can cleaning. No, it must be on the pavement in front of the house on an Open House weekend. I guess the trash can cleaning gods only work in front of the house and only when your neighbor is expecting guests.
Today, we left for Big I’s t-ball game and the trash can was still sitting at her door. I said, "If that trash can is still out there when we can back, I’m going to kill her."
Big I must have thought I was serious because when we pulled back in and the trash can was still there, she gasped with horror and said, "Mommy, are you really going to go kill her now? How are you going to do it?"
I was about to tell her how when Mr. BBM said, "I’ll take care of it."
He went outside to pull some weeds, and then he took the trash can and moved it to her back patio without me having to say another word.
Just a few moments ago, I saw her go out onto her deck. She was wearing flannel penguin pajamas and a surgical face mask. She was flapping her comforter in the breeze off the deck along with another blanket. When she was finished, she threw the comforter across a chair and did the same with the blanket.
I’m not sure what happened in her house that requires a face mask, but I’m wondering if she’s going to pretend like there’s a SARS epidemic in our neighborhood tomorrow or something. I’m also guessing that the comforter and blanket will stay there, strewn across the deck that is right smack against mine because they probably have squirrel poop on them or something from that time months ago when a squirrel got in her house after she had left the door open (probably all night long).
For your listening pleasure. The chorus is my new theme song. . .
I gotta find a way to get outta here. . .
***I know I have a lot of homeschooling readers. You might find this of interest.
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