“Every morning in Florida smells like vacation.” Me.
Yesterday.
We are adapting to the new norm that is life in Florida.
Every day is beautiful. The sun is out 98% of the time. Dresses or long pants
are for interviews or date nights (the dresses—Dan only wears long pants for
work or interviews.) But while we are still on Lake Limbo, we can see the
shore, and it’s looking pretty good.
As Dan predicted, after weeks of sending out resumes and
listening to the sound of crickets in reply, as soon as I had my foot
surgically altered and encased in an awkward boot, the phone started to ring
with requests for in-person interviews. Lots of good stuff pending; more to
follow on that. Dan is also in the running for a few positions in which he is
genuinely interested. Keep those fingers crossed.
But prior to that, we stuck with the plan we had before we
left Wisconsin. We Will Not Look For A House Until We Have Jobs. Period. But
with nothing else to do, we started looking at houses 36 hours after we got
here. We walked away from the termite mound on 8th Ave in Safety Harbor
and then fell in love with a place on 11th.
Great location, a separate guest space that could have added
AirBnb income, a lovely patio and pool with a nice yard. It was priced pretty
high, and based on the comparable sales in the area we came in with a very
reasonable cash offer. Like so many of the properties we’ve looked at, this one
was investor owned. The counter offer came back $40,000 higher than our offer
and just $4,000 lower than list price. Reasonable? No. We countered again;
having decided it was worth the extra if we could meet halfway.
Confession here—I don’t like our realtor. He’s a young guy
who is on the phone 80% of the time we are with him. He assumes but asks no
questions. Dan thinks he’s OK, but at times I slip into Bitch Mode without
realizing it.
Our realtor showed us one property that I dismissed—rather
loudly—out of hand. Doors in the wrong places, living room much too small,
hated the porch, who’d call that a yard, etc. We got in the car and Dan turned
to me. “You sound like those people on the crappy TV shows who are looking at
houses and can’t find one nice thing to say. Someone just did that to my house
in Wisconsin and it tore the heart out of me. When we go to the next house
could you PLEASE just put on a happy face?” I got the message.
The next house was a bank-owned property going up for
auction “soon”. As we gave the house a cursory look we asked for more specifics
on the auction – he didn’t know – would
have to get to a computer – will call you later when I follow-up on your
pending counter offer for 11th. With a smile plastered on my face I looked
around. The house had the most hideous floor I have ever seen—black and white
12” ceramic tiles in every room and closet. Dan loved it. No problem if you
don’t mind decorating with life-size checkers or going for that mid-50s diner
look.
The cabinets in the kitchen were…plastic…wait, coated in
plastic…a bright, shiny white plastic (that Dan loved). The corners of my mouth
ached. And look, the stovetop has a matching checkerboard pattern contact paper!
And a final realization that the kitchen had no space for a refrigerator?
Awesome. With the perfect house still a possibility we drove home.
Fast forward to 8pm that night and the realtor calls to tell
us the investor/owner countered again with no additional drop in price but an
offer to “loan us the difference at 6%.” As previously instructed by us, the
realtor had declined on our behalf (actually told them to pound sand, an apt metaphor
here in Florida.) Oh, and by the way, the auction house closes tonight at 10pm;
do you want to put in a bid?
Dan and I stared at each other over the rims of our (repeatedly
filled) wine glasses. My brain frantically tried to remember the details of the
house – neighborhood and location nice, no garage, ugly ceramic tile floor
throughout, kitchen remodel needed, bedrooms and bathrooms were OK, yard seemed
nice. Dan’s brain clicked away as well – neighborhood seemed friendly, location
perfect, no garage, three bedrooms, two baths, and GREAT looking tile floor
with a kitchen that needs nothing, nice yard.
We suggested an amount that would top the lowest bid, was
under asking but was hopefully enough to scare away investor flips. We grabbed
a refill, then we waited for 10pm.
At 10, the phone rang. We had the house.
The next morning I woke, staring at the ceiling and heard
Dan say, “Did we buy a house last night?” Yes, I said, I believe we did. We
waited 13 years to buy the house on Kavanaugh. This one took 10 minutes. I
wasn’t paying close attention to house details the first time, so I really needed
to see it again. We made arrangements to meet the realtor.
It did, in fact, have the ugliest floor ever, that Dan
absolutely loved. Tears were shed and harsh words were exchanged. We reached a
compromise. Most of the tile is going.
It’s a great house overall and the alterations needed are
minor compared to projects we’ve tackled in the past. We’ll be moving a
doorway, taking out some half walls, redoing the cabinets, painting throughout and putting down a laminate
floor to cover the tile that Dan now despises. The backyard has room for a pool
and we are two-blocks away from Old Tampa Bay. And when the house is finished
(we close in July, give us a few months) and you come to visit, we’ll take a
short .4-mile walk into Safety Harbor to enjoy great food, sightseeing and
wonderful shopping.
