Autumn is a much more romantic, emotional season than spring. I, for one, am falling in love all over again.
I'm re-falling in love with my coworkers. You forget how great you have it, until your secretary is looking through your vacation pics and asks, "Is that the guy you hooked up with? I mean GUYS!" Nice! (And, NO, I did not hook up with anyone during my vacay.) Or maybe when two coworkers stop by late Friday to .... blow bubbles and give real estate advice. (I keep bubbles on my desk and refer to them as my "smoke break.")
I don't think I ever took it for granted, but I'm seeing San Francisco's charm all over again. And I mean all of it. Cities have quirks, just like people. And, like our other relationships in life, you love a city for, not in spite of, its little oddities. Case in point:
maisnon: people in SF have a novel interpretation of the stop sign - it makes me smile (and drive carefully)
b: my latest theory is that living in a non-conformist culture has this downside when it comes to traffic rules and mores
maisnon: I think that people are trying to apply some kind of logic that i don't grasp yet
b: dude the four-way stop situation is a PROBLEM ++ here
maisnon: it's kind of like a video game
maisnon: like frogger or something.
Friday, post real-estate summit, I headed up to the city to meet the gang + friends of gang at Cha Cha Cha in the Mission. I taught the peeps the Spanish toast I learned in Costa Rica (Arriba, abajo, al centro - ADENTRO! Above, below, in the middle, INSIDE. Kind of.) Sangria doesn't really count as alcohol - not sure if you knew that. Or, at least, that's what the me of Friday seemed to think.
Saturday was me day. Which apparently meant sleeping in and doing pretty much shit all for the rest of the day. Perfection! I watched most of Lost: Season II. (J.J. Abrams, you're a heartbreaker (dealmaker?)) And, then, around midnight - I slipped into a Lush-inspired bubble bath and devoured the end of Never Let Me Go. I went to bed feeling feline in my self-indulgence.
Sunday, I cowboyed up and headed to the city to hit open houses. In most places (including the Peninsula), you and your realtor can visit a home with a lockbox (as long as no one is living there - if they are, you call the listing agent first.) It's great because you can go whenever, and really take your time. Not so in SF - most listing agents do not use lockboxes. Thus, your options are to hit the open house, or try and find a time that works for you, your agent, and the listing agent. Good luck on that one.
So, it's all about the open houses. And not every place has one every weekend. And all the open houses occur from 2-4 pm. Some agents improve the situation by starting at 1, or going until 5, but it's still pretty much a mad dash around the city. Walking through a home, you try to take the time needed to see (1) if it suits your needs, (2) if you could see yourself living here, (3) if there would be any re-sell issues, and (4) what you think of the pricing/whether you want to make an offer. And, at the same time, you know that you have X minutes left to get through the Y number of houses you have left on your list. Hence, the careful Friday evening plotting/ consultations.
I saw a couple of places I liked. I feel like I'm getting closer to finding the place. That doesn't make sense, of course, because the selection changes weekly. But, that's still the impression I get. I'm getting the vibe of neighborhoods. I'm bolder - I'll stop by open houses that are in the vicinity of things I'm visiting (which is how I ended up in a stunning $1 million dollar home in Bernal Heights chatting with another prospective in French.) So, even though it isn't logical, I'm a little excited - my home in the city is getting closer ever day.