A few weeks back, I wrote about house hunting. About Finding the One.
I have now put in my fourth offer on a place and I seriously feel like I’ve hired Patty Stanger the matchmaker, as if I’m trying to find my husband.
Here’s how it goes down:
Matchmaker: I think I’ve found a few matches for you.
Me: Great! Happy to check them out. Do they meet all my criteria?
Matchmaker: Yes, a good-looking piece of property, great area of LA, has everything on your dream checklist, built in the sixties, no upgrades/work needed,-ready for you!
Me: Sounds good, let’s see ’em!
Then, I go and meet all my eligible bachelors. Some look better than they did in their picture. Some look better in person. Others are all cosemtic- but I’m worried about the foundation/structure- some have potential. Others seem too good to be true, or something is missing. Mostly, I don’t feel that energy- the connection.
But when I do… when I can see myself living with this… picturing my last name and how my dogs would get along… I make a commitment… an offer.
Then they respond.
Some downright reject me- they go for someone else with cash. Bastards. One just never called back. Hmmmpf. The nerve. I always call back.
It’s like you finally find one you think could be it… you start imaging that life… and then it’s gone.
Ok. You know I was talking about finding a place in that little story… right? Or was I….? Dun dun dun….
It’s just way too similar. Houses and dudes. Ahhhhh… I think I may need a break after awhile. This girl can only extend and retract her heart so many times!!
I know if I stick with it, the right offer will come through. That’s the way it works- right?