Monday, September 22, 2008

Burn incense, light candles, pray, whatever...

Earlier today, my mom sent me an email saying we should be ready to convert the front bedroom to a nursery sometime in mid to late October. It's amazing how quickly I can be reduced to hitching, snotty sobs these days. In my defense, though, she's been the one insisting all along that the place will sell, that I'm being silly, that the market is just slower than it used to be. So, yeah, talking about making rooms into nurseries shows a degree of pessimism she did not have before. I commented that it seemed like most people aren't really buying anything, just riding around on their real estate agent's gas tank, looking at places for shits and giggles. She didn't disagree.

Let me interject for a second- people, this is rude behavior in a market like this. Real estate agents don't get paid unless they sell something. Gas costs nine thousand dollars a gallon. If you don't have any intention of really buying something one day in the semi-near future, get in your own car and go to open houses. Seriously. Yeah, it drives US crazy because we get our hopes up and scrub our house to a sparkle, hoping to wow you, but really, you can't treat your agent that way. Not cool.

Anyway. I've been sitting here, stewing in my own juices, all day long (work is intolerably quiet, which is not helping, as I have no distraction). I googled every combination of "how do I sell my goddamned condo" that I can think of (I mean, not that my mom doesn't know, I'm just trying to see if there is some wacky scheme that she normally wouldn't suggest but might be called for under the circumstances). Google is like, "Sorry dude, can't help you, but do you want to see ads for other condos you might want to buy?" The best we've got is HGTV, and I sort of doubt that's going to do much for us.

Turns out we have a showing tomorrow at 3pm. My mom has known the agent for years. She told him to just bring an offer, any offer, and if he sells it, she'll love him forever. He, apparently, laughed. Did he think she was kidding? She's not. Neither am I. His client wants upgrades? Let's talk upgrades. My husband is an excellent baker, do they want cookies? Every week for a year, they got 'em. Done. Fast closing? No problem. Closing in two months? You got it. (message to baby: don't come before we move.)

So seriously people, all three of you reading: channel ALL your positive energy towards this showing. Pray to your higher power of choice, set up a semi-circle of troll dolls and cast spells, stick pins in dolls, do a tribal dance, whatever you can think of. I'll be doing all of the above, but I'll also be busy scrubbing my shower with a toothbrush, so I will only have so much time for that.

2 comments:

diedendidit said...

Out come the lucky socks.

Crabby Apple Seed: said...

Well, Shnee and I wrote our messages and sent them out to the universe (I think that's what that BS thing The Secret tells you to do?), asking The Universe to get this woman to buy my house. Aaand the universe told me to go pound sand.

Oh well. it was worth a shot.