Non-Negotiable

oHMYGOD YOU GUYS LOOK AT THIS LOOK AT THIS THING THIS THING IS MINE

Do you see that??? That is A MANTEL. IN OUR HOUSE. OUR HOUSE HAS A MANTEL.

One of the first things our fabulous agent Patti* had us do during our house-hunting preparation was to make a list of amenities and features we wanted in a house, and then decide which ones were deal-breakers - which ones we couldn't live without - and which ones were negotiable. Jesse and I decided early on that the most non-negotiable was location, which, when combined with the fierce competition and our laughable budget, meant that everything else we wanted would just be a bonus. 

Our original list:

Non-negotiables:

- Inner SE Portland

- Max price $275k

- Updated mechanicals (pipes, electrical, etc)

- Wood floors

- Good light

- Fireplace

- Yard

Wants:

- 1920s bungalow

- Clawfoot tub

- Needs cosmetic updating but nothing severe

- Within walking distance to shops and restaurants

- Quiet street

Our budget alone nixed most of our non-negotiable items. The average home price in Portland has hovered around $330,000 for the better part of a year, and the market is extremely competitive. The first house we offered on had eleven other offers - and it didn't even have drywall. Houses under $250k sell in days - I can't even count the number of times I watched a house get posted online, only to be marked "Pending" a few hours later. Luckily, I'd been obsessively following the market for a year and half before we actually applied for a loan - nothing cures the malaise of seemingly endless degree program like knowing you can't afford the house of your dreams until you get your butt in gear and graduate. Once I finally landed my current job and we'd saved enough for a down payment, we were well-informed and ready to hit the ground running.

Our house was on the market about six months before we actually looked at it, and during that time, there were long stretches when it was literally the only house in our price range available in the entire city. I would scrutinize the listing, staring at the pictures and mentally trying to remodel it into something palatable, but it just didn't happen. It had carpet, and there was no mention of wood floors underneath. It didn't have a fireplace. The rooms looked small and dark, the yard was an empty square of grass, and there was absolutely nothing about the house that made me want to go see it. It was a weird beige box that looked like it has been the subject of an uninspired renovation, and it was utterly boring. 

Is there a swan inside this ugly duckling? I wasn't convinced. 

It was, coincidentally, right next door to the house Jesse and a bunch of his friends lived in during college, although we didn't find out about that until it had been on the market a few months. Jesse really wanted to check it out, but I was resistant - it was boring. I was holding out for the cute, centrally-located Sears bungalow with original woodwork that I was sure was just minutes away from being posted online.

It turns out, unlike most real estate listings, the house was actually better than the pictures. While it definitely needed some love, air and a good scrubbing, it was light and bright (check!), in a fantastic neighborhood (check!), had updated mechanicals (check!), wood floors under the carpet (double check!) and despite being huge was very attractively priced. So...we bought it. It's a boring beige box in desperate need of character, but we're working on that. As our friends keep pointing out, if it has no character at all, that makes it a perfect blank slate.  

You'll notice I did not mention a fireplace. That's because it doesn't have one. Our apartment doesn't have one either. We have a large gas wall heater that is a giant ugly box, and for the last five years, every time I've looked at it I've hated it and wished it was a fireplace. I grew up with a wood stove, and not having actual flame crushes my soul a little. Since the house is already plumbed for gas, as soon as our offer was accepted, I started scouring the internet for a cool mantel that would serve as a placeholder until we could scrape the pennies together for an actual fireplace of our own. 

It turns out mantels are stupidly expensive. A bottom-shelf, boring MDF mantel surround from Home Depot is at least $250. A cool, old one from an architectural salvage store? Try $1800-$14,000. Since my ultimate goal is to bring this house back to its 1923 roots, I wanted something that would fit with its age, and as I searched, it started looking less like a random-Craigslist find and more of a sell-a-liver-and-possibly-both-kidneys type of purchase. 

Sigh. 

So when I saw a listing yesterday afternoon for a solid mahogany mantel at a local vintage mall for less than $200, I couldn't get there fast enough. I almost never drive to work, but since we were going to the house afterwards, and I needed to pick up some canned beast for my pet carnivores, I had my truck. And then I had my mantel. 

And now it's IN MY HOUSE. 

Seriously, it's huge and perfect and it was super cheap and ASLDKFJALSKFJD;ALKSJDF.

Also, we got the tile done, so tonight we're sleeping. And vacuuming, because our landlord needed to come in for something on Tuesday and I swear to god I almost died of embarrassment. I'm still half-expecting a TV crew from Hoarders to show up any minute. 

_ _ _ _

* Patti Schnur has cultlike status among our friends, and deservedly so. Almost every single person we've talked to about real estate has bought a house with her help, and if we hadn't gone with her, I think we might have been ostracized. She is truly amazing. She is frighteningly persistent with paperwork, and emailed us about a million times a day to give us updates, even if the update was to say, "Nope, nothing yet!" She's not afraid to say that a particular house isn't a good fit, and she knows enough about the market and houses in general to say if something is more work than it's worth. The entire housebuying process was SO MUCH EASIER than we expected it to be, and I'm sure it's in large part due to her extreme competence.

Day 0: Here we go!

So, this was Wednesday:

Beloved Husband standing by our sign. SALE STILL PENDING.

And this was yesterday:

MUCH SIGNING. SO PAPER. SUCH LEGAL.

And (drumroll please) THIS IS TODAY:

KEYS OPEN DOORS

I may have run shrieking around the house. THIS IS OUR HOUSE. THIS HOUSE IS OURS. The stairs are ours! The kitchen is ours! THIS IS THE KEY AND THE KEY IS OURS AND THE HOUSE IS OURS AND AAAAAAAAAAAAA. I'm sure our new neighbors think we either have a small excitable dog, or several loud children. Nope, just me!

My goal upon receiving the key from our fairy godmother agent Patti was always to rip up the horrible carpet (horrible horrible horrible carpet). Let the demolition commence!

 

 Jesse starts in on the living room carpet.

SO MUCH FUN. 

Living room, mostly demolished. 

I knew going in it was going to be gross - the carpet was easily 15 years old and had reached that sort of threadbare, creepily moist stage of decomposition - but yikes, it was bad. Evidence strongly pointed to an incontinent feline tenant somewhere in the past, and where the carpet padding wasn't mysteriously and strongly adhered to the floorboards beneath, there was a thick coating of dust. (My guess was ground up cat litter, cheerios and sawdust, although my bestie Victoria helpfully pointed out later that statistically speaking, it was probably mostly skin cells. THANKS FOR THAT. I'LL BE OVER HERE, SWIMMING IN BLEACH.)

BUT despite the grossness, we got all of the carpet and most of the padding up, and into the garage, where it awaits a trip to the dump later this weekend. (As soon as we locate a dump.)

    

Looking into the den (left) and the living room (right).

I was really afraid that the wood under the carpet would be heavily damaged, but despite the cat smell (yecccch) it looks like we may be able to salvage it. I ripped up the laminate in front of the front door, and the original Douglas fir planks underneath are barely touched. It's absolutely gorgeous, and exactly what I was hoping to find. Hopefully the rest will be just as beautiful when it's stripped and refinished. 

And now, we're sore and exhausted. BUT WE'RE HOMEOWNERS. Even after being in the house awhile and getting its dust all over us, it's hard to believe after all this waiting, it's actually ours. It doesn't seem real yet. And coming back to our apartment - much as I love it, it's filled with boxes right now, and even tighter than usual - was anticlimatic. Home is still the apartment, but hopefully, once we get the house in a more livable condition, it'll start to feel more solid.

THE ADVENTURE WILL CONTINUE.

Teetering on the edge of homeownership...

WE ARE SO STINKING CLOSE TO HAVING A HOUSE I CAN'T EVEN STAND IT. For weeks we've been edging closer and closer, and we're ALMOST THERE.

What's standing between us and closing? A 2'x2' piece of plywood and a broken window. The underwriter won't sign off on our loan until the cracked kitchen window is replaced, and the hole above the stairs is fixed. (Never mind that we asked for the hole to be cut, so our inspector could make sure the bathrooms weren't being vented into the attic. Nope. The way the appraiser made it sound, the hole is a sign that the house is in imminent danger of collapse.) Both of these things were supposed to be fixed Monday, but they weren't - although the roofers finally installed the missing skylight, so that's a bonus. Last night, we got a call from Patti saying that the window installers finally came...and proceeded to break the glass during installation. Conveniently, it's a giant 5x8 panel that needs to be special ordered. They might have the order in by Friday, which was the end date of our extension. We're hoping the underwriter is fine accepting a paid receipt for the work, so we can get our keys and get in. I have carpets to rip up! Our living room is full of boxes! Houuuuuuse.

Breathing. Breathing is good. God, I'm developing a twitch, and the damn thing isn't even OURS yet.