Tag Archives: Selling a House

Apparently the blond doesn’t come entirely from a box.

31 May

I will tell you now that this is 100% true. And it’s horribly, horribly embarrassing. Especially for someone who prides herself on competence and logic. So here goes…

I’m selling my place tomorrow (knock wood). The buyer is slated to do her walk-through inspection at 2pm and then meet me at the settlement table near the end of the day. Everything needs to be in normal working order, and the repairs I agreed to during the home inspection (all minor) need to be complete.

So imagine my consternation today when – on my way out the door to hit a yoga class – I attempted to run a load in the dishwasher and nothing happened. I fooled with it for a bit and realized that the latch was somehow broken, because it wouldn’t catch and seal the door properly.

I ran to yoga, the whole time thinking, damndamndamn. That dishwasher has been great for ten years. Wouldn’t you know that it would crap out NOW, 24 hours before I’m supposed to sell this place?

During my downward-facing dogs, I kept chewing on the problem. It’s just the latch, I told myself, I’ll take a crack at fixing it.

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This might cross a line. Or bite me in the ass.

22 Apr

I wasn’t raised Catholic, but having been in real estate, I’m all too familiar with St. Joseph.

If you don’t know who he is then you’re either a) not Catholic or b) haven’t tried to sell a home.

Based on my sources, I understand he’s the patron saint of families and homes. And he has developed one awesome cottage industry for himself and the Church.

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Mystery Solved: The case of the creepy owner

21 Apr

So it looks like I’m one signature away from having my condo under contract. Woo-hoo! Let’s keep those fingers crossed.

This entire process has reminded me of my days as a realtor in DC, days that – previously – I had tried hard to forget. There’s no joy in remembering the 11pm phone calls from panicked clients, the conversations with shady agents, or the contentious settlements where people heatedly called the other party derogatory names.

However, in the midst of all these ugly stories, one bizarre anecdote re-surfaced that – at the time – I dubbed, “The Curious Case of the Missing Bathroom.” If you enjoy Sherlock Holmes mysteries (or better yet, an Encyclopedia Brown story), you’ll get a kick out of this…

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Let me test my hypothesis…

17 Apr

Today has been a hellish day in the world of a home seller. I had insomnia last night and wanted to do little more than writhe around in my bed and nap intermittently today. But NO. Agents were slated to show my place from 11am – 3:30pm, so I had to make myself scarce.

I busied myself with yoga, grocery shopping and people-watching in the Circle, counting the minutes until 3:30 when I could get home, crawl in bed and take a fat nap. Just as I walked through my door at 3:45, my phone rang. It was an agent asking to show my place between 4-6pm.

Trying to NOT be bitchy, I asked if she could be a BIT more specific because I really would like to take a nap. Alas, she could not, so I gave her a nod to come by between 4-6pm.

The thing is, it’s now 6:30pm and she STILL hasn’t been here. Now I’m triple pissed because I could’ve taken not only a nap, but also a bath. And Murphy’s Law dictates that if I were to try to slip into the tub now, I would almost immediately hear a key in my door.

Let’s give it a shot. We’ll see if a tub filled with hot water conjures an agent like a ouiji board conjures spirits.

This 1968 ouiji board ad clearly sports a trick question. A model or a fashion designer? Well, let's see - you're already appearing in an advertisement, so what do YOU think the answer is? Oh, but can you tell me if that realtor will ever show up?

Why I suck at selling my place…

31 Mar

In my case, this would read "awkward."

Yesterday I was told an agent would stop by my place between 6-7 pm. I lost track of time working and glanced at the clock at 6:55. “Well, obviously they’re a no show,” I thought to myself. I decided to run across the street to Safeway to pick up a baguette for dinner since I had awesome wedges of brie and manchego in the fridge.

Ten minutes later, I bounced off the elevator, key-in-hand as I approached my door, only to see that it was open. Hmmm. Did I leave that door cracked? (It’s possible – sometimes when I leave in a hurry, I’ll slam it and it bounces. If I don’t do the deadbolt, then…) I listened: VOICES inside my place.

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