We were surprisingly lucky to sell our old South City house a couple of years back with minimal fuss and for right about what we asked for it. The same day it went online through a realtor, we had a buyer. It was a nice little house for where it was, so I wasn’t totally shocked, but the market did sort of suck at the time (and still does, no doubt).
It helped, of course, that President Obama was giving money away to first time home-buyers and this particular house was perfect for first timers. Selling a house, well, I guess selling an older house, at least, is much more of a pain in the ass than I had anticipated it would be. Aside from having to clean the place up to take pictures, we had to be ready to leave whenever somebody wanted to come look at the place and there was always something that needed to be fixed or rigged to look as though it were fixed. I bought it from a retired City firefighter who spent five decades trying to save every dime he had, in part, by doing repairs he clearly didn’t know how to take on, all by himself. There was a whole lotta duct tape and spackle in that house that I’m sure was far from code-worthy. That’s partly why we were eager to sell it to the first person who came to look at it.
Nobody in this little cat and mouse game between buyer and seller quite knew the other sides’ position. We were pretty desperate to sell, but I don’t think they knew how desperate we were, because we’d have taken far less than we did for the house. They apparently liked our house and didn’t want to lose it to another buyer, but we didn’t know how much they wanted it either.
Part of our offer to “sweeten the deal” for this young couple was that we threw in all of the appliances, including the upright freezer in the basement. It would all stay with the house. While the offer sounded good to a young couple without funds to purchase appliances for their new house, the reality was that the appliances weren’t anything great (they weren’t terrible either) and the freezer in the basement was never going anywhere by my doing because I had promised the Angel of Death that he could take my life had he ever caught me even thinking about removing that thing from the basement.
The wife and I have seriously considered divorce one time in our lives (that I’m aware), and that was the night that we crammed that brand new, upright freezer down our narrow stairway into the basement. Never have the words “mother fucker” or “cocksucker” been uttered so often by otherwise sane human beings.
We combined all of our knowledge of physics, geometry, religion, logic and brute force to get that cocksucker down those stairs! At one point it was elevated off the ground, wedged between the walls with wife at the top of the stairs and me at the bottom, both looking at this thing like “now what the fuck do we do?”
I just knew at that point a fire was going to somehow spontaneously break out in the basement with me trapped at the bottom of the stairs blocked from the only exits upstairs by this God forsaken freezer box. In my head I could hear the wife sprinting away and screaming she loved me behind her uttering “fuck this shit, I’m outta here!” to herself. That may have been while she was pregnant and pretty far along so with Ace, so that didn’t help anybody’s mood for sure.
Anyway, we managed to vaseline that thing down the stairs somehow and that freezer and those other appliances stayed in South City when we moved. That left us stuck needing at least a fridge for the kitchen in the new house, and of course, a beer fridge for the garage. As we are not descendents of the Rockefellers, and our new house purchase was destined to make us even more miserable financially than we already were, I left it up to the wife to find us a deal.
One of her most valuable wifely assets is her ability to find deals on most everything. Well, everything except that minivan she bought while I was at work one day. I think she’d agree that she got it in the rear end on that one!
She found our fridges by doing what has become a favorite undertaking of ours – searching wealthy areas around St. Louis on Craigslist! Holy poop the nice stuff people are willing to get rid of! The fridge we have in the kitchen of our new house came from a doctor’s house. He didn’t like his perfectly fine $1500 stainless looking fridge so he bought a gigantic walk in number for his ridiculously huge kitchen and this one was just sitting in his four car garage doing nothing. We scored it for $300. It wasn’t quite 2 years old at the time for God’s sake. The other one came from a couple in Cottleville who didn’t feel like taking their fancy garage fridge to Colorado with them. They bought 60 acres or some nonsense like that near Fort Collins (it’s a bonus when strangers tell you about their lives while you’re dragging their crap into your pickup truck) and wanted to take as little as possible with them. This fridge was in their stand alone garage, which was nearly as big as our former house! At least they had it plugged in and were using it. I think they let the maids keep their lunches in it or something.
We also recently bought one of those expensive wooden playground contraptions from a hoity toity family in Ladue (old money). Moving that thing was a colossal clusterfuck, but the deal was too good to pass up, said the wife!
While we were there trying to figure out how to move this thing because the dumbass homeowner wouldn’t let us onto his newly asphalted driveway with our truck and trailer, Sally Moneybags was kind enough to put her glass of wine down for a minute and ask my wife about our daughter, Ace. It turns out that she had sent a shitload of clothes to her sister in California because her sister has some kids a little younger than hers. Well, apparently her sister is a cooky bitch because she proceeded to send all the clothes back with a note indicating which styles of clothing were acceptable (I never heard of Dior or knew there was a Jr. Armani brand) for her to send in the future, were she so inclined. Geez, you’re welcome, bitch!
Who does that? You live on the other side of the country; just keep the fucking clothes and burn them or give them to Goodwill, if you hate them that much. Sending them back to her sister was a real punch in the cooter, as far as I’m concerned.
We, on the other hand could give two shits if our children walk around looking like little homeless people. The kids don’t care either at this point so we were happy to take her clothes off her hands. In fact, we gave her our number and told her to feel free to call us if she found herself needing to unload anymore of her daughter’s hardly worn clothing in the future!
I’m sure that Ace has worn quite a few new items of clothing in her 9 years, but she’s also worn (oblivious) clothes that have come from perfect strangers her whole life too. The boys even more so since they’re boys and nobody buys them pretty things to wear like they did for Ace. Little G$ may never wear a new item of clothing in his life outside of the sweet clearance jacket we scored at Target from Santa!
A coat from Santa. Were he not 1, I’m sure he’d say THAT’S a real punch in the cooter, right there!