My name is Michelle, and I have house fever. It’s all I can talk or think about. If you’re not familiar with the term, it’s because I coined it, (or at least that’s what I’m going with, because this is my blog and I make the rules). It’s like baby fever, minus the baby, with a heaping helping of the American Dream.
At first, D was elated that it wasn’t baby fever. I’ve had my bouts recently; as evolved as I’d like to think I am, I definitely agree with that whole biological clock. It’s a ticking time bomb. And I don’t want any more babies, really. I like my sleep. I just want to borrow one for an extended period of time.
But this house thing? I think it’s here to stay. It could be that I’m tired of sucky landlords either being all up in our business, or the other (and possibly) worse extreme; total slum lord status. It could be that suddenly, all my friends are getting married and buying homes. Or it could be that the housing market is definitely changing in the south bay, and I’m feeling our tiny window of opportunity slipping away. Whatever it is, it is. And D is definitely getting tired of me whining about it.
I’m going to make a confession. It reached a fever pitch of ridiculousness last weekend. D and I are super dorks, and we love the Sunday morning news show. That one that starts before the sun comes up and lasts for two hours that your grandparents watch. So we were sitting with our coffee and our bed head, and a feature came on about raising Alpacas. The woman being interviewed made her living raising these animals on this huuuuuge expanse of land in Colorado. She had a huge kool aid grin and looked very chic in her northface garb. It looked fabulous.
We had a “Eureka!” moment. We needed to be raising Alpacas, in Colorado, stat. Because apparently, it paid well, you looked good doing it, lived somewhat off the grid, and were gifted with a ginormous house. Why in the world had we not thought of this before?!?!
I am not proud to confess that I instantly started researching the price of Alpacas and the price of land in Colorado. This, from the girl who was born and raised in Redondo Beach, and once back after a four year hiatus in Arizona, firmly planted my feet on CA ground and stated, “from my cold, dead hands…”. Or something equally as dramatic.
I’ve recovered from the Alpaca madness. I’ve just learned how to walk in heels and have started using a curling iron more than I’d care to admit. I don’t think there’s any room in the Alpaca lifestyle for that silliness.
But this house thing though? I’d like a remedy for it. Or for someone to buy me one. Until then, I’ll just continue my stalking on Zillow. I think it’s definitely an improvement over the facebook thing. So at least I’ve got that going for me.