Home sweat home

I got a quick course in real estate today:

A "full basement" does NOT mean finished.

A 30x100 lot is not big. In fact, it's a scrap of a yard.

Taxes... are a bitch. They can change from one block to the next and from year to year.

Quesadillas are still edible but overcooked at 350 for 10 minutes. (Oh wait, that's an unrelated lesson from today.)

Bigger is not better. Heating a bigger home could cost upward of $600 a month during winter.

Look up.

"As is" or "motivated seller" really mean "stay away all single-mom first-time homebuyers."

Friends are priceless.


Aimee navigates both the Pittsburgh map book and my haphazard pile of property listings.


My real estate agent refuses to offer opinions about school districts, but she's more than forthcoming about her sales tactics: "I think you need three bedrooms. It will be easier for me to sell three when you come back to me as a seller."

I'm not sold, but here's my newest favorite:

Don't worry, be happy

"The world's a roller coaster,
And I am not strapped in.
Maybe I should hold with care,
But my hands are busy in the air,
Saying:
I wish you were here."

-- Wish You Were Here, Incubus



A co-worker asked me in passing today if I was getting used to Pittsburgh.

It was the first time I was able to respond with a resounding YES.

It was sunny today, spring is right around the corner, I had a scenic drive in to work, my project went to print today and I have Friday off.

The workload is lightening up, and I am feeling at home. Part of me is fearful that my trip to Florida in April will mess up my efforts at acclimation. Or have me -- GASP -- missing things in Pittsburgh.

But for now I'll stick with feeling that things aren't as complicated as they sometimes seem. Because they're really not. This is Pittsburgh. Nothing complicated about it.

In other matters, I have some sad news. Today, February whatever-it-is, the Chia pet officially died.



As you can see, it died happy.

Tonight I was on the phone with Zoe's dad, wandering around the house, when Zoe accosted me with my digital camera: "Shit, Mom, this won't work."

WHA, WHAAAAAAT?????????

"It won't work."

"The batteries are dead. WHAT WORD DID YOU JUST USE?"

"Shit."

Well, it was appropriate for the situation for sure: dead batteries when you want to snap a few. I had a stern talk with her then hid around the corner and chuckled with Bob about it. What else can you do? Shiiiiit.

Gimme shelter

"I don't really need you
And I won't care when we're through...

The water will fall
And wash away my doubts,
Wash away my resolve..."

--Shelter, The Affordable Floors



I prequalified for a mortgage today. I got my first round of listings.

Holy freakin' *^@(# *#J*& and *JHJ#@^$^. Why didn't someone tell me it would start off this easy? I imagined a pile of paperwork, but I was on the road moments later without ever seeing the people I'm dealing with.

I took Friday afternoon off and Aimee and I are hitting the bricks, doing drive-bys. My favorite so far:
http://www.northwood.com/property/property.asp?PRM_MLSNumber=575946&PRM_MlsName=Westpenn

If you can get over the mulchy crap (I imagine wildflowers; oooh, lawn guy) and the steps (oooooh, snow-shoveler guy) then it's not so hard to imagine that the house is a little unusual in architecture for the Burgh.

Or why it reminds me of Florida.

Tons to see though... I'm off and running.



My new guy....

I'm gritting my teeth as I type this: I'm starting to wonder if starting something up right now is a sound idea.

So many changes, so many charged feelings. Many differences, but too much feeling like I'm right at home.

'That's HUGE!'

Some common lines heard during the Olympics:

"She gets back into form..."

"You can see the disappointment on his face..."

"He wants this so bad..."

"...A chance to make history..."

"Uh-oh, that will cost her..."

My fave: "That's HUGE! OH MY!"



Why do they talk over figure skating? It takes away from everything it's supposed to be.

Spread the love

"It's been a long, long lonely winter."

Here Comes the Sun, The Beatles



A few days ago I had something in the oven (dinner, people, dinner!) and when the timer went off I went to get potholders. When I got back to the oven, Zoe was holding it open. I threw a holy fit.

After calming down, I sat her down and explained that she could lose a hand to a huge boo-boo, did she want to grow up with only one hand, whatever I could think of to convince a 4-year-old that it wasn't a great idea to be opening up a hot oven without scaring her off cooking in general. "When you're a big girl, you can open the oven, but only when a grown-up is around."

This morning, Zoe was sitting with me in the bathroom procrastinating about getting dressed. I was in a good mood (the snow has mostly melted!), so I played along, but nothing was working. Finally, I barked a little. "Zoe, you're a big girl, go put your shoes on."

She looked up at me. "But Mommy, if I'm a big girl, can I open the oven?"

If you, what you, huh??

It's the day after Valentine's Day, but I woke up with hearts everywhere. There was a heart sticker on my pillow, on my sheet. I went into the bathroom and there were hearts all over my face. How did I sleep through that?

All through the day I found heart stickers from Zoe: On my cell phone, on my shoes. They were on the steps going upstairs when I went to bed. I left them there; Dad will surely bitch tomorrow.

I can't wait to get my own house! Those stickers would stay on the steps until they wore off.



I got roses for V-Day, complete with silly balloon and teddy bear. Even after my apparently bitter, single self philosophized briefly to my "date" (the quotes indicate I didn't know it was a date at the time of said philosophizing) about what a corny Hallmark holiday Valentine's Day is.

I thoroughly enjoyed the flowers. I still am.

And Zoe thought I was the shit for bringing her home a balloon.



I am practicing the Pittsburgh accent. Here's one I learned today:
Announcement
Ah-NAHS-min (long emphasis on the middle syllable; you could probably leave off the first syllable and still be understood, especially if you have an "an" before it, as in "Der's gunna be an nahsmin taday baht da Stillers coachiss...")

Blue moon

"I found the simple life
Ain't so simple."

Running With the Devil, Van Halen



Zoe's dad came for the weekend, and we didn't argue, not even once. We took a long walk in the woods near my house, visited with family, played in the snow. He had a great time with Zoe.

The winter storm that was supposed to hit us didn't. We got some inches but passed the worst of it on to New York, where flights were canceled and some commuters resorted to cross-country skiing.

And I had a date that I wasn't sure was a date until it was actually... well, a date.

It was a busy weekend.

I was running around tonight trying to get my kid clean and laundry laundered and watering my diminishing collection of plants I brought from Florida and fielding a couple calls from girlfriends who knew I had a date, apparently before I did, when I looked outside an upstairs window and stopped in my tracks.

There was fresh snow on the ground, a clear sky, a bright moon... in the back yard was the bare tree I had grown up climbing, and its deep, stark shadow... all awash in blue.

It was just breathtaking.

I don't know how long I stood there before I began wondering in which unpacked box my SLR was; I needed a long exposure and a point-and-shoot digital wasn't going to cut it... and I rifled through some boxes long enough to realize I had too many boxes, too much crap in too many places. Toys and clothes and files and junk. And probably no film.

The sky clouded over and the moon and the shadow disappeared.




Back to laundry!

Steeler festivities

I bolted over to the parade that was supposed to start at 11, but nothing happened for at least an hour. I held out as long as I could.

It was madness though. I spent an hour out in the cold that included a round-trip jaunt over a rather breezy bridge. My chapped face is now peeling off, but it was worth it, to bask in that fan glow for a while. At one point I looked around and wondered how we would make it back to the office.

When I did make it back to the office, a couple of coworkers gathered watching the parade on TV took a look at me: "Been on the bridge, eh?"

Busted. Wild flyaway hair, runny nose, tearing eyes, red ears, numb extremities. You'll find no evidence of that in these photos.


The parade is over there. Somewhere.



A Channel 11 reporter interviews fans.



People climbed fire exits, found their way to rooftops, crowded windows... whatever they could to get a glimpse.



Gateway Center, from a nearby parking garage.



From Game Day:


Look out, it's the TERRIBLE HOUSE.



The babushka mama and her cohort.



Zoe and me, ready to fear the crazy streets and head home.

Toothdown!

My, uh, wisdom tooth has arrived.

I was eating spinach dip yesterday at the Super Bowl party and I was all -- how do Pittsburghers say it -- jacked up that I had something stuck in the back of my mouth.

Upon further investigation and clarification, I do indeed have a new tooth that has punctured the surface.

Me: "Dad, guess what? One of my wisdom teeth is coming in!"

Dad: "Give it to me. I need some."

Me: "What, teeth? Or wisdom?"

Dad: "Ahhhhhhh.............."


You'd think it would hurt with all the complaining Zoe did with her teething. I had an unexplained headache for a few days that I still don't know is explained. And I have a solid three weeks before I can fit in a dentist appointment.

How does this happen in your 30s???

Ben Roethlisberger was so cute on Letterman tonight. I'm glad I stayed up to watch it, despite the fact that I might have to work 20 hours tomorrow and not see my kid. I confess, a small portion of those hours will be spent trekking to the parade to get a glimpse of my Steelers.

I sure hope it's not cold. In the middle of February. Along those breezy rivers. In the windy valley. On that exposed bridge.

Done.

"Sometimes the light's all shinin' on me;
Other times I can barely see.
Lately it occurs to me
What a long, strange trip it's been."

--Truckin', Grateful Dead



After a lengthy, five-minute debate with myself, I decided that if they hadn't called me, work could live without me. I bet I was right.

WOOOOO HOOOOOO

I chose the Aimee option and had a blast. And I got to test my developing skills of driving home in snow with one variation: this time it was on ice.

I am beyond happy that the Steelers won the Super Bowl. I wish I had tomorrow off, but I don't know why. I'd just sit around the house and think, "I'm glad we won the Super Bowl." And maybe I'd get some laundry done.

What a weird few months for me. Nothing was normal when I left Florida, and nothing has been normal here.

But it ain't about me. GO STEELERS!!!!!!!!!!!

Aimee says she hadn't washed her Bettis jersey since the playoffs began. That's obviously why we won. I have a huge responsibility now with my Roethlisberger tee.


Zoe and I are ready for the game.

Decisions....

I don't know what I'm supposed to do today.

And no, it's not a decision about what to wear under my new Big Ben jersey.

I don't know if I'm expected to work. I was, then I wasn't, then I was, then I wasn't. On my way out the door Friday, a coworker chirped, "See ya Sunday!"

I called my boss yesterday to find out, and he didn't call back. Now that it's Sunday...

Among my options are going to Aimee's annual SB party, which I've never been able to attend. I really want to go, since by her accounts they've been great spectacles in the past. One caveat: driving home. I am fearful of being among Pittsburgh drivers traveling after the game, whether we win or lose. Apparently in West Virginia, there is a tradition of burning couches after big games (what big games they have in West Virginny, I don't know), and that trend has apparently spread here. I envision myself dodging drunken drivers and flaming furniture in an effort to get my kid and me home safely.

My brother's house is much closer, and it would be the usual suspects.

Or, I could stay home with my dad, who will otherwise be home alone. He refuses to go anywhere to watch a game without his LaZBoy, and since that chair is a bitch to move, that means he spends game day at home.

Or I could get called in to work.

Or I could ignore my cell phone if it rings.

Or I could go experience a big defining, history-making moment with my colleagues who will record every nuance while eating great food and enjoying the camaraderie and networking during what is sure to be the most charged night my newsroom has ever had in its young existence.

Or I could ignore my cell phone if it rings.


I don't know what I'm supposed to do today.

What if....

"It's just a shot away,
It's just a shot away."

-- Gimme Shelter, The Rolling Stones



Steelers everywhere.

I can't just leave the TV dark to avoid the bombardment of Steelers. Terrible Towels and black-and-gold hang on homes like Christmas decorations. Everywhere I go, people are decked out in the garb. Even bank tellers and Giant Eagle managers. Cars have stickers and magnets and flags and painted messages on the windows.

Pittsburghers are not fairweather fans. They haven't just busted out the hype for the Super Bowl. But this sort of display of loyalty is normally limited to game days in the regular season. Now, it's been two solid weeks of it.

Am I sick of it? Toward the end of week one, I was. Now, I'm rather fascinated with it. It didn't plateau, it didn't just go away, it just spread to Detroit and grew and grew and grew, and it kinda grew on me.

My dad bought me an official Roethlisberger jersey, and I was tickled. I've been humming every Steelers fight song I grew up with and every one I've learned since I moved back. Zoe is quick to tell everyone that Number 7 is her favorite. It's really hard to not get caught up in it.

But I'm still relatively reserved about it. I still haven't signed up for my new Pittsburgh identity. I still feel like that outsider, like I've been in a coma for the past 10 years.

I seem to be the only one who's asking: "What if the Seahawks win?"

For the sake of the spirit in this town, I hope that doesn't happen.

And for the sake of my former coworker with whom I have a cookie bet, I REALLY hope that doesn't happen.

Choo-choo-ah-choooo

"Sometimes it feels like
I don't really know what's going on.
Time and time again it seems
Like everything is wrong in here."

-- Last Train Home, Lost Prophets



I had one of those a-ha moments the other day.

My boss' office is directly in front of me. I can see through the windows into his office, and through the windows beyond into the great outdoors. My view all day long: trains. And nothing but.

Trains mesmerize me, and always have. I have never lived far from a rail, and I never have gotten through a night in my own bed without hearing the faint sound of a whistle. I have been known to stop my car and get out to feel the breeze of a passing train. Or to go sit on idle tracks to write. I've even done photo shoots centered on train tracks. And when I was in eighth grade I convinced my best friend Cindy to run away with me, along the tracks. (We packed hobo sticks and ran out of goodies before dark and headed back.) In high school I convinced best friend Aimee to sneak out in the middle of the night to hike along the tracks in the dead of winter to break into and photograph an abandoned steel mill. (We almost made it, took a cab back.)

The other day at work, rather than being interrupted by the sound of an approaching train to watch it at least start to go by, or pausing to clue in on why a train was stopped outside, or getting a little distracted by -- gasp -- two traveling in opposite directions at the same time, it was the other way around.

I realized I had been so engrossed in my work that I didn't notice all the action happening on the rails until I came out of that work-induced haze. A-ha.

I found dedication again. In work, not trains.

Hot stuff

I had a little thermal lesson when I first got here. It was pushing 20 degrees outside a couple of months ago, and I was watching TV in the kitchen, one of the coldest rooms in the house (it faces the uphill breeze), so I turned on the oven to heat up the space. Dad came in and told me that by heating up the kitchen, I was raising the temperature around the thermostat, just around the corner on the first floor, thus turning off the heat to the upstairs.

"Yous makin' da radyaters up der cold 'en'at 'cuz day tink is worm dahn 'ere."

Hmmm, it blew my personal "heat rises" theory out of the water. While heat does, indeed, rise, it likely does not rise at a rate fast enough to replenish the warmth I had cut off to the entire second floor.

I remembered that lesson tonight. It was cold upstairs when I put Zoe to bed, but it was a good 50 degrees outside. I opened the kitchen door to let in the cool breeze. And -- get this, a blonde CAN do a little logic -- I lowered the temp around the thermostat. It's now all toasty upstairs, where I have retreated to blog on my trusty Mac. Dad is afraid some horrible virus will consume his c'puter after midnight.

HOLY $#!%

I'm in the middle of organizing the biggest project I have ever tackled, and my boss, from his office, starts screaming.

No one else moves, but I sit up from slumping over my printouts all over the floor. He comes running out of the office holding his head. Still, no one looks up.

"Are you OK???" I ask.

"He just broke his neck!!!" Boss yells. He's got his arm wrapped around his head.

I just stared at him... I didn't know how to respond to that.

He unwrapped himself and faced me. "The hockey player. It happened yesterday. He went through four hours of surgery today, but this is the first time I saw the clip on TV of him getting slammed into the glass."

"Oh." Glad they found something other than the Steelers to put on TV.

"You haven't been here long enough to know this: I'm good at letting people know what's on TV at any given moment."

I might have looked at him sideways. I like something about this new boss. I have no idea exactly what it is.