Tweet
For the past couple of weeks, I've been exploring a new and exciting circle of hell -- the one reserved for people who are looking for a new home. Perhaps you've been there. Looking for a new place to live is the sort of ordeal that has the power to make you want to cling ferociously to the place you currently call home, no matter if it's infested with roaches the size of telephone books and you have to carry a switchblade at all times lest the black mold attempt to attack when you're unawares. Anything so as not to have to go look at another apartment, search through craigslist yet again, ask friends of friends of friends if there's anything in their neighborhood and even if there isn't, could they please let you know should they see something tomorrow or next week.
The reason we're doing this, of course, is because the apartment complex where we currently live is raising the rent again. It's something they do on a yearly basis, sometimes by a little and sometimes by a lot. It's just one of their little games. And when we saw what they were going to raise it to this year, we decided that if the rent on this crummy place was going to rise on its own to what you'd pay at a luxury complex, we might as well go out and try to find a little luxury. If we're going to be paying for it, after all, we might as well actually have it.
Ha.
We've been looking mainly at rental houses and duplexes because it turns out that you can snag an apartment here for a very reasonable price during the summer months, but come September and October -- when our lease is up -- all the apartment rents go up by about $300 a pop. That's why we couldn't get the 2 bedroom, 2 bath apartment with the fireplace, the balcony, and garden space in the complex with the Olympic pool and fitness center-quality workout room. It went up from $790 to about $1100.
So that leaves us houses and duplexes, whose rents tend to stay a little more static. Unfortunately we've found out why:
The Condo -- An older neighborhood next to the hospital, within walking distance of downtown. That's the pro. The cons were the bizarre layout with its labyrinthine hallways, the wee narrow living room that was not large enough to contain our sofa and which was much smaller than the enormous master bedroom -- which could not be reached without traversing two hallways. The bathroom off the master bedroom also contained the only bathtub in the place, meaning that if you have company or if someone is living in the second bedroom, they have to go through your bedroom in order to take a bath. The bathtub in the second bathroom had been removed to put in a washer and dryer, but you have to sit on the toilet to use the washing machine because there's no room to stand what with all that in there. To top it off, the place had a weird smell and ugly carpet.
The Duplex -- The first clue was that of the two back doors, one was covered by an enormous spider web studded with dead mosquitoes. The other back door consisted of a pair of French doors and you could see through them that the blinds were torn to shreds. Inside, there were holes in the walls, holes in the ceiling, cigarette burns in the carpet, mysterious stains and gouges, and there was heaped garbage and construction mess in the backyard. The leasing agent was terribly apologetic and explained that her company represented an absentee landlord who lived in Spain. She would get back to me to tell me what kind of repairs had been budgeted and if we could get discounted rent by doing any of them ourselves. The pros were that the light fixtures that had not been stolen were quite nice and it was located in Oakley, a nice strolling neighborhood with a library and park within walking distance.
The House -- The house was located in West Asheville, within walking distance of all the shopping, dining, and nightlife on Haywood Road and as such had drawn a crowd. We arrived as another interested party was leaving and another interested party arrived as we were leaving. When a house like this comes open, it goes fast. While my boyfriend filled out an application, I chatted with the landlord and we discussed how some of these older houses sure do have a lot of character.
"You can tell that houses like this were loved," I said. "Some of them were loved to death!"
Such as this one. The one we're standing in right now. This one that's such a bargain, and now I can see why. The one that has had God only knows how many ill-thought-out homeowner repairs and projects inflicted on it. The big white one that looks so nice from the street, but which on the inside features a drop ceiling with fluorescent lighting throughout, the random mirrored medicine cabinet in the hallway wall, the nice big living room that was carved in half by shelving -- with shutters on top to block any errant light that might penetrate the gloom of the leftover space that is not wide enough to accommodate any sofa let alone our monster (which I have begun to affectionately call 'Death Couch for Cutie'). The one with the bathroom off the master bedroom that features lights over the toilet, in both linen closets, and in the shower stall, in which all the fixtures are bright blue, and where with all that light there is no place to lounge in the tub and read. And where, in the aforementioned shower stall there is a bench and a soap dish, both shaped like seashells, jutting out in a strangely organic, Disney-esque fashion like something out of The Little Mermaid.
I get the feeling with all that light that perhaps the last person to live there was a little old lady losing her eyesight and that all of these hideous projects -- which collectively give off enough light to sear an eyeball at twenty paces (except in the living room where the shelves block it all out) were done out of love. I like to think that whenever the residents of West Asheville saw a sudden glow appear on the horizon they thought, "Well, Mrs. Beasley opened her door again. She's probably going to the store. Let's wave if she goes by."
I like to think so. I told my boyfriend that now I finally understood why people name their houses, and that if we get this house I'm naming it.
I'm going to call it the White Elephant.
I could go on. There was, for example, another duplex that was nice and even featured a screened-in porch -- but in which they had installed indoor carpet for a nice, even mildewed stench. However, I have a headache and I don't feel like it. Now it is your turn.
Any house-hunting horror stories?
The reason we're doing this, of course, is because the apartment complex where we currently live is raising the rent again. It's something they do on a yearly basis, sometimes by a little and sometimes by a lot. It's just one of their little games. And when we saw what they were going to raise it to this year, we decided that if the rent on this crummy place was going to rise on its own to what you'd pay at a luxury complex, we might as well go out and try to find a little luxury. If we're going to be paying for it, after all, we might as well actually have it.
Ha.
We've been looking mainly at rental houses and duplexes because it turns out that you can snag an apartment here for a very reasonable price during the summer months, but come September and October -- when our lease is up -- all the apartment rents go up by about $300 a pop. That's why we couldn't get the 2 bedroom, 2 bath apartment with the fireplace, the balcony, and garden space in the complex with the Olympic pool and fitness center-quality workout room. It went up from $790 to about $1100.
So that leaves us houses and duplexes, whose rents tend to stay a little more static. Unfortunately we've found out why:
The Condo -- An older neighborhood next to the hospital, within walking distance of downtown. That's the pro. The cons were the bizarre layout with its labyrinthine hallways, the wee narrow living room that was not large enough to contain our sofa and which was much smaller than the enormous master bedroom -- which could not be reached without traversing two hallways. The bathroom off the master bedroom also contained the only bathtub in the place, meaning that if you have company or if someone is living in the second bedroom, they have to go through your bedroom in order to take a bath. The bathtub in the second bathroom had been removed to put in a washer and dryer, but you have to sit on the toilet to use the washing machine because there's no room to stand what with all that in there. To top it off, the place had a weird smell and ugly carpet.
The Duplex -- The first clue was that of the two back doors, one was covered by an enormous spider web studded with dead mosquitoes. The other back door consisted of a pair of French doors and you could see through them that the blinds were torn to shreds. Inside, there were holes in the walls, holes in the ceiling, cigarette burns in the carpet, mysterious stains and gouges, and there was heaped garbage and construction mess in the backyard. The leasing agent was terribly apologetic and explained that her company represented an absentee landlord who lived in Spain. She would get back to me to tell me what kind of repairs had been budgeted and if we could get discounted rent by doing any of them ourselves. The pros were that the light fixtures that had not been stolen were quite nice and it was located in Oakley, a nice strolling neighborhood with a library and park within walking distance.
The House -- The house was located in West Asheville, within walking distance of all the shopping, dining, and nightlife on Haywood Road and as such had drawn a crowd. We arrived as another interested party was leaving and another interested party arrived as we were leaving. When a house like this comes open, it goes fast. While my boyfriend filled out an application, I chatted with the landlord and we discussed how some of these older houses sure do have a lot of character.
"You can tell that houses like this were loved," I said. "Some of them were loved to death!"
Such as this one. The one we're standing in right now. This one that's such a bargain, and now I can see why. The one that has had God only knows how many ill-thought-out homeowner repairs and projects inflicted on it. The big white one that looks so nice from the street, but which on the inside features a drop ceiling with fluorescent lighting throughout, the random mirrored medicine cabinet in the hallway wall, the nice big living room that was carved in half by shelving -- with shutters on top to block any errant light that might penetrate the gloom of the leftover space that is not wide enough to accommodate any sofa let alone our monster (which I have begun to affectionately call 'Death Couch for Cutie'). The one with the bathroom off the master bedroom that features lights over the toilet, in both linen closets, and in the shower stall, in which all the fixtures are bright blue, and where with all that light there is no place to lounge in the tub and read. And where, in the aforementioned shower stall there is a bench and a soap dish, both shaped like seashells, jutting out in a strangely organic, Disney-esque fashion like something out of The Little Mermaid.
I get the feeling with all that light that perhaps the last person to live there was a little old lady losing her eyesight and that all of these hideous projects -- which collectively give off enough light to sear an eyeball at twenty paces (except in the living room where the shelves block it all out) were done out of love. I like to think that whenever the residents of West Asheville saw a sudden glow appear on the horizon they thought, "Well, Mrs. Beasley opened her door again. She's probably going to the store. Let's wave if she goes by."
I like to think so. I told my boyfriend that now I finally understood why people name their houses, and that if we get this house I'm naming it.
I'm going to call it the White Elephant.
I could go on. There was, for example, another duplex that was nice and even featured a screened-in porch -- but in which they had installed indoor carpet for a nice, even mildewed stench. However, I have a headache and I don't feel like it. Now it is your turn.
Any house-hunting horror stories?
So instead of three normal-sized bedrooms, there were now six extremely narrow bedrooms that would've been better suited as walk in closets!
Pass.
Oh, and we'd go thru her, we'd probably never get to meet her son - he had too many felony warrants out on him to come back to the state. 
Comment