Hey, Saturday afternoon I was getting off the 215 at the Green Valley Ranch exit and I pulled up at the red light right next to a good looking guy about my age in a black Mercedes convertible. So I give him a side glance and flirty smile and then realize, LINDA, YOU'RE SITTING IN A 14-YEAR-OLD SATURN WITH A DENT IN THE ROOF.
Sometimes I forget.
Goddamn it I have so much to do--all good stuff so I can't complain--but I'm behind on my blog reading and I'm way behind on my Albany TimesUnion.com obituary reading. Obituaries--the Irish sports page, right? I always know somebody in there, an old neighbor from Lincoln Avenue or a former classmate's father or, now at this age, my former classmates themselves. God knows what I'm missing.
So in the middle of all this busy-ness, what did I do yesterday but make an offer on a condo. I feel this sense of obligation to get in on the $8000 tax credit, plus I know, I know, it's crazy to spend so much on rent. But I love, love, love my apartment and I'm not horribly motivated to move. Look at the view out my kitchen window. That's the Strip in the background. It's kind of hard to see, but it's there.
And this is from my balcony.
This is how it looks in the morning when I get up to go to friggin' work
Okay, the condo has a view, too. Of the Strip, and it's a lot closer. It's actually very nice--it's in a nice section of town, it's a nice complex. It's just what I wanted: an upstairs unit with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a balcony with a view, right near the pool... and all night I've been praying that my offer is refused.
Why? There aren't as many windows as my apartment has, the view isn't as expansive, it doesn't come with appliances so I'd have to go buy a fridge and washer and dryer, and yeah, I guess a stove since everyone seems to have one. (This is stuff I can't get at Ross, you know? Did I ever tell you I hate shopping?) It's in Seven Hills, which is not as convenient to the highways like where I am now... blah, blah, blah.
I don't know what's wrong with me. Well, yes, I do--I'm full of fear. I'm afraid I won't like it and wish I were back in my apartment. I'm afraid I'll feel stuck, life I have to live there forever. Did I ever tell you about my fear of commitment? Why do you think I prefer contract and consulting jobs to "permanent" employment? I can't even commit to a shopping cart in the grocery store! Why do you think a good looking gal like me is single? (Don't answer that.)
On top of being nutzo, I'm a Libra. I can't make a friggin' decision. Paper or plastic? I don't know--is one better than the other? How do I know what I'm gonna like next week?
When I walked in the condo yesterday, I said, "This is perfect!" and now I'm like ready to cry. I imagine the universe is throwing its hands up in frustration, going "Linda! WTF??? I'm giving you everything you've asked for--you're makin' me crazy!"
But the universe unfolds in divine order, as you've heard me say ad nauseum. So we'll see. If it's meant to be, it's meant to be.
But what if I have a neighbor who plays rap music?
Please tell me you get mental sometimes, too. Huh?