House-ing (jamais deux sans trois...quatre...cinq)
(I'm going to spoil the punch from the start and tell you that this blurb has no determined end, because, well, the end is to be determined.)
I feel it's time to inventory recent house-hunting developments, beit because we are on the cusp of saga no.5 (is it even the cusp? what is the cusp when the apexes are multiplied), or just because at this point, adventure borders on ridiculous, and plain bad luck or bad judgment has made it as such that we are where we are now. Don't understand? Let's rehash:
September 2009
Joy, bf and I start actually looking to buy something more impressive than 400$ worth of food at Costco! We start looking online, MLS, and realize quickly enough that Montréal is an island limited in size, surrounded by water and bound by crumbling bridges, and that living on said island involves funds we do not have. Proximate Suburbia becomes our utopia and the South-Shore our new MECca.
A few Googles and discussions with home-owning pals later, and we have an appointment at the bank in order to litter the conference table with all the rolls of pennies we have, including the odd dime we found between the sofa cushions that morning. We dress to impress, try and look rich and professional, but mostly try and follow what the quick-talking bank man is saying. We dream of mansions, and he offers to open his coffers... hmm, but of course. In our minds, his money is already ours and we are having drinks in our hot tub.
Taking initiative, we charter the unchartered shore with a couple of visits. We quickly discover that shopping in an area you don't know leads to nasty surprises. We start getting cosy with Google maps in order to attempt to avoid disaster. Or at least cement factories as neighbors.
We also quickly realize that once listing are public, the good ones are already spoken for and all that is left for grabs are the dented cans at the supermarket everyone is a bit iffy about (15 cents cheaper... the can is dented.... but it's 15 cents cheaper... yeah, but the can is dented... hmmm *ponder*). We hear of a fabled land called 'Matrix'. I push to get an agent, any agent... we need the inside scoop, 2-3 days before, this Matrix thing they describe, it seems incredible, we need an agent, any agent. Point in case, we get any agent. Let's call her Angie (her real name).
Angie is younger than us, has bad taste in cars, her coat never closes, and she has as many kids as we have computers in our household. Oy. What training does an agent have to follow again? Didn't Sally Struthers used to sell correspondence courses for this on tv (a choice among many in the esteemed professions scrolling up your tv screen that were just a phone call and a bulky envelope away)?
OFFER no.1 : South Shore, drafted in an office with no printer, 45 minutes late
Without going into third-party situations, nor the details of "The Night The Offer Was Drafted and Angie Went Home To Her Husband in Tears", our first offer was very reasonable. Probably the most reasonable first offer we ever made. The seller came back, insulted (?), with a 'FIRM' selling price very little under his list price, eliminating all possibility of negotiation which is, um, inherent to a sale of the likes, no? We decided to refuse Hitler's counter at a Starbucks on Taschereau. KAPLUNK
We never called Angie back. She still emails me to this day.
October 2009
Our new referred agent, let's call her X, kicks ass. I have seen and explored the fabled Matrix. What they say is true, and moreso! I am one with the Matrix. Mr. Anderson, your ass is grass. Grass of a nice 5000 sf lot on a decent street with a decent house that needs a bit of loving, but for that price, hell, I've got loads to give. We discover Google Street View... the world is mine, mouhahaha!!!! POUNCE. First visit ever for the listing. Ya baby.
OFFER no.2: South Shore, drafted over a chicken leg at St-Hubert
Without going into third-party situations, we found ourselves refusing the counter in our very own living room, intentionally seated a seat apart, while X was strategically on a bathroom break. KAPLUNK
November 2009
I think it is obvious, yet important to mention that the sequential stages of grief apply to a tee to a purchase offer that has fallen through. Exponentially so when, like ET, you can point a lit finger at the 'why' and say 'No Home'.
I think it is also ironic to mention that, frustrated, and surely still distraught by grief, I chose to suggest we explore other lands, ie: other shores. This was against my better-half's will. I was therefore punished by God almost instantly, through the intermediary of a torn ligament (which is still to this day healing). It was our one and only trip to Laval. We returned immediately to mecca.
OFFER no. 3: South Shore, drafted over 6 inches at Subway
Without going into third-party situations (you will find me redundant), X marked the spot, peed on it, and went gaga like a cat with an olive. We learned what pressure tactic were. We were two, normal, insignificant humans, against a band of three 'agents'. We got a financial approval on a civic holiday. We thus learned that the people who end up working that day are incompetent losers.
We decided to withdraw during the inspection, our first inspection. We subsequently, and quickly, learned what a bailiff does, how much he costs, where the only public photocopier is in Old Montréal, and I put l'ACAIQ (pronounced 'AH-KA-IK', like an aboriginal complaint chant of sorts) on my speed dial. KAPLUNK
Bf fired X twice. I was expulsed from the Matrix faster than a phone can ring in a subway station. My grief was exponential, as my addiction, fed over a month, had grown beyond proportion.
December 2009
Ah, yes, as encouraging as it was to find 'something' once a month, it was an odd pattern, and scary to say the least. Sans agent, I pounced via MLS, a poor-woman's Matrix, and what seemed to finally, after so much rotten luck, go smoothly and exemplify a typical home-buying transaction. This turned into...
OFFER no.4: Montréal, drafted on a kitchen table in a ground floor condo.
We learned that not having an agent has advantages, despite my Matrix withdrawal shakes, in the form of a more cut-to-the-chase negotiation process. We cut to the chase, had placed the furniture and were choosing paint colors...hurray, finally! I dared Facebook about it. Without going into third-party situations, Fate or sheer coincidence saved our ass. We were flabbergasted by the absurdity of a home that is knowingly and literally falling apart. We discovered we better withdraw in the basement of the house itself, 3 and a half feet away from a 45 foot brick wall threatening to fall.
We met the co-owner a few days later, with a cyborg in lieu of the agent, and in an incredible tour-de-force, I ended up cheering like Meg Ryan in her striped shirt in Nice but on Sherbrooke street that night. Budgets, research, hair-pulling and number crunching later, we nonetheless countered a very low number. We then received the joke counter-offer on boxing day. We decided to pack it in while he was pacing in the hallway and I was lying on the bed. KAPLUNK
January 2010
We always learned from our experiences and I firmly believe this trajectory has it's course to run, and that I should not attempt to understand it. Offer no.4 showed us that we really do want to live on this darn island. Maybe we should think bigger. Or smaller. Or density. We could be landlords (me a landlady, ha!). Funny thing is, when you are a landlord in the city, you rarely have land.
I figure we have visited over 60 houses, condos, duplexes and triplexes within a 35km radius. And through all these previous experiences (and I spared many a detail, including the man in the wheelchair with a parrot on his shoulder and his legs in the closet), we always learned what would prepare us for the next experience. Two 'home-buyer' scenarios had not been experienced.
This is where the saga becomes To Be Continued. Sorry.
I feel it's time to inventory recent house-hunting developments, beit because we are on the cusp of saga no.5 (is it even the cusp? what is the cusp when the apexes are multiplied), or just because at this point, adventure borders on ridiculous, and plain bad luck or bad judgment has made it as such that we are where we are now. Don't understand? Let's rehash:
September 2009
Joy, bf and I start actually looking to buy something more impressive than 400$ worth of food at Costco! We start looking online, MLS, and realize quickly enough that Montréal is an island limited in size, surrounded by water and bound by crumbling bridges, and that living on said island involves funds we do not have. Proximate Suburbia becomes our utopia and the South-Shore our new MECca.
A few Googles and discussions with home-owning pals later, and we have an appointment at the bank in order to litter the conference table with all the rolls of pennies we have, including the odd dime we found between the sofa cushions that morning. We dress to impress, try and look rich and professional, but mostly try and follow what the quick-talking bank man is saying. We dream of mansions, and he offers to open his coffers... hmm, but of course. In our minds, his money is already ours and we are having drinks in our hot tub.
Taking initiative, we charter the unchartered shore with a couple of visits. We quickly discover that shopping in an area you don't know leads to nasty surprises. We start getting cosy with Google maps in order to attempt to avoid disaster. Or at least cement factories as neighbors.
We also quickly realize that once listing are public, the good ones are already spoken for and all that is left for grabs are the dented cans at the supermarket everyone is a bit iffy about (15 cents cheaper... the can is dented.... but it's 15 cents cheaper... yeah, but the can is dented... hmmm *ponder*). We hear of a fabled land called 'Matrix'. I push to get an agent, any agent... we need the inside scoop, 2-3 days before, this Matrix thing they describe, it seems incredible, we need an agent, any agent. Point in case, we get any agent. Let's call her Angie (her real name).
Angie is younger than us, has bad taste in cars, her coat never closes, and she has as many kids as we have computers in our household. Oy. What training does an agent have to follow again? Didn't Sally Struthers used to sell correspondence courses for this on tv (a choice among many in the esteemed professions scrolling up your tv screen that were just a phone call and a bulky envelope away)?
OFFER no.1 : South Shore, drafted in an office with no printer, 45 minutes late
Without going into third-party situations, nor the details of "The Night The Offer Was Drafted and Angie Went Home To Her Husband in Tears", our first offer was very reasonable. Probably the most reasonable first offer we ever made. The seller came back, insulted (?), with a 'FIRM' selling price very little under his list price, eliminating all possibility of negotiation which is, um, inherent to a sale of the likes, no? We decided to refuse Hitler's counter at a Starbucks on Taschereau. KAPLUNK
We never called Angie back. She still emails me to this day.
October 2009
Our new referred agent, let's call her X, kicks ass. I have seen and explored the fabled Matrix. What they say is true, and moreso! I am one with the Matrix. Mr. Anderson, your ass is grass. Grass of a nice 5000 sf lot on a decent street with a decent house that needs a bit of loving, but for that price, hell, I've got loads to give. We discover Google Street View... the world is mine, mouhahaha!!!! POUNCE. First visit ever for the listing. Ya baby.
OFFER no.2: South Shore, drafted over a chicken leg at St-Hubert
Without going into third-party situations, we found ourselves refusing the counter in our very own living room, intentionally seated a seat apart, while X was strategically on a bathroom break. KAPLUNK
November 2009
I think it is obvious, yet important to mention that the sequential stages of grief apply to a tee to a purchase offer that has fallen through. Exponentially so when, like ET, you can point a lit finger at the 'why' and say 'No Home'.
I think it is also ironic to mention that, frustrated, and surely still distraught by grief, I chose to suggest we explore other lands, ie: other shores. This was against my better-half's will. I was therefore punished by God almost instantly, through the intermediary of a torn ligament (which is still to this day healing). It was our one and only trip to Laval. We returned immediately to mecca.
OFFER no. 3: South Shore, drafted over 6 inches at Subway
Without going into third-party situations (you will find me redundant), X marked the spot, peed on it, and went gaga like a cat with an olive. We learned what pressure tactic were. We were two, normal, insignificant humans, against a band of three 'agents'. We got a financial approval on a civic holiday. We thus learned that the people who end up working that day are incompetent losers.
We decided to withdraw during the inspection, our first inspection. We subsequently, and quickly, learned what a bailiff does, how much he costs, where the only public photocopier is in Old Montréal, and I put l'ACAIQ (pronounced 'AH-KA-IK', like an aboriginal complaint chant of sorts) on my speed dial. KAPLUNK
Bf fired X twice. I was expulsed from the Matrix faster than a phone can ring in a subway station. My grief was exponential, as my addiction, fed over a month, had grown beyond proportion.
December 2009
Ah, yes, as encouraging as it was to find 'something' once a month, it was an odd pattern, and scary to say the least. Sans agent, I pounced via MLS, a poor-woman's Matrix, and what seemed to finally, after so much rotten luck, go smoothly and exemplify a typical home-buying transaction. This turned into...
OFFER no.4: Montréal, drafted on a kitchen table in a ground floor condo.
We learned that not having an agent has advantages, despite my Matrix withdrawal shakes, in the form of a more cut-to-the-chase negotiation process. We cut to the chase, had placed the furniture and were choosing paint colors...hurray, finally! I dared Facebook about it. Without going into third-party situations, Fate or sheer coincidence saved our ass. We were flabbergasted by the absurdity of a home that is knowingly and literally falling apart. We discovered we better withdraw in the basement of the house itself, 3 and a half feet away from a 45 foot brick wall threatening to fall.
We met the co-owner a few days later, with a cyborg in lieu of the agent, and in an incredible tour-de-force, I ended up cheering like Meg Ryan in her striped shirt in Nice but on Sherbrooke street that night. Budgets, research, hair-pulling and number crunching later, we nonetheless countered a very low number. We then received the joke counter-offer on boxing day. We decided to pack it in while he was pacing in the hallway and I was lying on the bed. KAPLUNK
January 2010
We always learned from our experiences and I firmly believe this trajectory has it's course to run, and that I should not attempt to understand it. Offer no.4 showed us that we really do want to live on this darn island. Maybe we should think bigger. Or smaller. Or density. We could be landlords (me a landlady, ha!). Funny thing is, when you are a landlord in the city, you rarely have land.
I figure we have visited over 60 houses, condos, duplexes and triplexes within a 35km radius. And through all these previous experiences (and I spared many a detail, including the man in the wheelchair with a parrot on his shoulder and his legs in the closet), we always learned what would prepare us for the next experience. Two 'home-buyer' scenarios had not been experienced.
This is where the saga becomes To Be Continued. Sorry.
posted by isabellenecessary at 11:12 PM
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