Rude awakening

Next time I hit Big Chicks, I need to remember that the reason I'm drinking shandy is because beer doesn't really agree with me and not drink three. This morning, I was lounging listlessly in bed until the 7 o'clock news came on. The announcer said something about the demise of a Chicago institution and then spoke the words "Paulina Meat Market". I was BOLT UPRIGHT. To my boundless relief, she meant the demise of the founder of Paulina Meat Market, not the store itself. Whew! Today was not a day when I wanted to dress all in black crepe.

(Particularly since the Express went...express again for the third time in six days of commuting. What this means is that it hits the stop just south of mine and then doesn't halt again for over a half mile, which leaves me with a jolly stroll through the centre of town. I particularly loved yesterday's, since the "delayed Purple line train" wasn't originating in the Loop but 100 feet south of the station. Only the CTA could get off schedule with so little lead distance.)

Her middle name is "Frank"

When my place finally sells and a fat chunk of the meagre "profit" (in nominal terms only, I assure you) goes into the pocket of my realtor I won't resent it and the reason is moments like this: After the second viewing of "Pachysandra" (which in retrospect should've been "Birch", but there is it) where we were dogged in our steps by two overeager seller agents, just about the first words out of her mouth once we were back in the car were "Omigod she needed to shut the fuck up!" Lord knows we were all thinking it, but she deserves full credit for knowing her clients well enough to realise she could get away with saying it.

(Incredibly, the agent even said up front, "I know you've been here before so I'll just keep quiet and stay out of your way," and then utterly failed to do that. monshu and I were forced to use German to shut her and her excitable trainee out so we could actually discuss the features without them jumping in with ready rationalisations. Oh, and this is before the jaw-droppingly blatant FHA violation that we'd rather not have been party to.)

I'm sure that five years added maturity has much to do with why I'm less freaked out by the whole business than I was when made my first house purchase, but she deserves a hunk of credit for her expert hand-holding. She hinted at the conclusion of our first day out that Pachy/Birch was her lead choice, but she sat back and let us discover that for ourselves after mulling it for a week and a half and totting up plusses and minusses on paper. She now has our blessing to unfurl her feelers and see about taking this further.

What about the mystery house? you may ask. Complete bust--in fact, I wish we could sue the sleazy seller for false advertising. Turns out the pics posted were from over five years ago when he still lived there--before it had been rented out. The current denizens are three varsity meatheads and holy cats does it show. Sure, great views and all, but we will not be bothered to redo the floors and finish installing a bathroom. Move-in condition, kthnx? Hopefully, Mystery House #2 (a.k.a. "the Crate and Barrel showroom") will fare better, but the scrumptious price already has us waiting for the other shoe. Maybe I should scan the pictures for calendars and magazine covers?