This morning we burst out of bed ready to face our day with the realtor, Susan. I gobbled three eggs for my diet, but they menaced my stomach all morning. It was my job to orient Egor on the way to the realtor’s office, but I became completely lost and confused within minutes. We still made it there on time. I noted the traffic and shuddered.
Susan was mid fifty-ish and tastefully dressed. I did not regret the trouble I took to pick out the perfect outfit. We started off in the more affordable neighborhoods ($650K) and then she whisked us off to the $1 million dollar homes. I have to ask myself, what is she thinking? the company sent her to us and we told her what we could afford. The houses in Torrance were uninspiring, pasteboard looking creations, clumped closely together and barrio looking. The expensive homes in Palos Verdes offered an exquisite view of the ocean, and darling courtyards. Sadly the homes themselves had a palpable 1964 vibe, older but not old enough to be quaint. Location, indeed.
Rentals in the neighborhoods we likes were about $500 more than we could afford unless we wanted to share a bedroom with Tyoma. I despised the cramped townhouses with tiny thumbprints for backyards. I need to re-evaluate raising Tyoma somewhere he could not run free or have a backyard.
We broke for lunch at a wonderful restaurant named Marmalade’s. My diet has gone to hell. I had chicken a la orange and it was superb. Rice! Yum! E noshed on the most scrumptious fettuccine with real wild mushrooms. We looked at more homes during the afternoon. Prices were $650-$800 range.
I confess on the outings we saw some of the ugliest interiors ever. I guess when location is so valuable, folks feel, they can do any damn thing they please. Big bold wallpaper patterns, matching upholstery and smug owners who wanted us to experience their home were not uncommon. I cherish weird, smile at tacky, and contemplate the odd. Pretentiousness leaves me cold. I don’t want the snooty wallpaper to keep me up at night with its specious observations.
One rental home was painted bright lemon yellow. The yellow prevailed inside the house on all the walls. the only things non yellow were the lilac door and the uncoordinating cherry floors. Another odd thing. Many homes were about 1300 feet or less and had very dark flooring which made all of the rooms look cramped. Anyway, the landlord of the Lemon House greeted us at the door with a bossiness that was jarring. she was impatient and domineering and kept after us about the rental particulars, no smoking, no shoes on in the house, when rent due, and so on. she was almost hysterical and I wondered if she was on drugs. She seemed to be going through the worst PMS ever after drinking 40 cups of coffee. I watched her eyes, she did not seem stoned, she seemed, mad–old fashioned mad. Gripped by the sort or irritability and rushing speech that I bipolar person might experience.
In the evening we dragged ourselves in at 4:30. It was time to unwind for the big meeting tomorrow. I counter the minutes until the free snack bar opened and loaded up on South Beach friendly fare. I longed for a glass of wine, but at $12.50 a glass, I drank tap water and vending machine ice.
We wound up ordering room service. I don’t think my poor brain could handle giving E the wrong directions one more time today. We conked out at 9:30.