the internet: more like highschool every g.d. day
I've had an unusually busy weekend: yesterday was entirely taken up with a visit to the Nightshades' villa and today was a blur of sleep-church-veggies-real estate. Our agent took us around four houses in our price range, which, um ranged in quality. We looked at a quad (a self-contained quarter of a four-house block), a new-ish 3-bedroom with hedonist-size tub, a spacious older 4-bedroom missing part of the fence, and our agent's first house (coincidentally back on the market). The quad was new & clever but I would always feel like an awkward kid trying to fill someone else's shoes. The three bedroom was clearly designed for a family with wee kids, but it will go faster than I want to make an offer. The four bedroom is kind of awesome, but it's a little bigger than I wanted & will need a new furnace & appliances. Our agent's old house has been changed in one or two places but is essentially the same as she left it in 1983 (plus new smoky smell!).
We also took a detour around to the first house we tried to buy this year. It's not ready to be shown, so we tramped around in the mud and peered in the windows. The developer is doing some neat things in there: the hardwood floors have been brought back, the rooms cleaned & painted, the ceiling fixed and the kitchen gutted. We also heard that he's finishing the basement, which'll bring the resale up more than anything else. Still, the question remains: can I bring myself to pay eighty thousand more than I was willing to pay in February, even if all my renos are done for me?
I've decided to let this stew for a week. In lieu of making a conscious decision, I started work on a log cabin pillow for the new house. Knitting: the cause of and solution to all of life's problems.
Also, I joined Facebook yesterday. Nic asked, in typical Nic fashion, if we minded that a bunch of our wedding pictures were on his Facebook. "You've already put them up, haven't you?" I replied. I wanted to check it out, but you have to register. So I did.
I feel so gross. I feel almost bulimic, and despite my years of body-image problems, I've never crossed the line into unhealthy psychological syndromes. And yet, after 10 years on-line and three distinct but continuous on-line journals, it's Facebook that makes me feel so disgusting and filthy that I want to do the virtual equivalent of vomiting up everything I've posted. Except maybe 'vomit' describes the posting process.
The worst part is that, now that I've satisfied my curiosity as to which pictures my brother's posted of me (you can find them on this site, too, if you want to see), I can't bring myself to delete my profile. Ick.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*