Part One is here, and Part Two is here.

I didn’t think much of the unscheduled stop, I felt like the agent was grasping at straws trying to keep us engaged. He had already shown us eight properties that fell under the, “What in the Hell were you thinking, dude?” category.

He didn’t have the listing information with him on this particular house and he managed to lowball the owner’s asking price which was still more than we planned on investing.

The home looked rather inconspicuous from the street. It was on a slopped double lot, and looked to be on the smallish side. It was deceptive in its quaintness. We were surprised to discover the house had cathedral ceilings with skylights in some rooms. The living areas were spacious, the floor plan flowed, most of the living space was on a single level,the master bath had been remodeled, and there was a sun room which I immediately declared as studio space…

The Mister and the agent were both surprised I had a new first choice. My new favorite gradually became the Mister’s favorite. Our favorite turned out to be a real problem… the misestimated asking price, was already beyond our budget. The Mister asked what I thought, and I told him I thought our agent was an asshole. Not intentionally, just thoughtlessly. The house was a unique property for the area, and had not attracted much interest. For the Mister and me it would be a good fit.

Refusing to jeopardize our financial stability,we made an insulting offer on our new favorite. We knew our limit, and agreed to walk away when necessary. We had three prospective properties and were willing to pursue the others. After our initial offer, I turned my attention to our second and third choices. The first choice seemed out of reach and I didn’t want to spend too much time dwelling on it.

After several days of negotiations, offers and counter offers, we were shocked when they accepted our last counter offer. Neither the Mister, the realtor, nor myself considered the prospect of a successful negotiation. We were playing the game on the off chance something would happen, not anticipating that it might.

We close on the property next month. Our house is officially on the market, Friday. We will move next month, even if our current hasn’t sold yet. I think this is really going to happen this time.

An Aside: I really intended to make this a two parter, but my FIL was having trouble with his remaining eye. The staff at the care facility thought he might have cancer in his good eye, because his vision has been so poor recently. We (Mister Hombre & me) didn’t think it was cancer, (and we have SOOOOO many medical credentials in this house), but we wanted word from a board certified physician, instead of Web MD. I wanted to be reasonably certain our plans were firm before making any announcements, hence the nail biter as I waited for the eye exam results

Thanks for sticking with me!

Part One can be found here

It’s difficult when partners pull in opposite directions. What constitutes compromise? When two views are diametrically opposed, compromise evolves into concession. When you concede once, do you lose your negotiating power for the next altercation, or is your bargaining position stronger? There is also the consideration, if I get my way, can I live with forcing a big decision on my partner?

I have wanted this for a long time. The more time that passed, the more desperate the desire. In spite of my longing, it was important to me, that the Mister come to this conclusion on his own without me nagging or issuing a ultimatum (not my style).

Moving was a joint goal when the Mister and I met. His divorce wasn’t final (a three year production), and he wanted to remain here until his youngest graduated high school… Then we tried to plan our move around my having employment secured in the new location… After 9/11, the bottom fell out of the job market… and later there was a honeymoon period in the middle of our marriage when we bought a house. His job was going well, and mine presented the illusion of having a future…. Then we waited for the youngest to finish college… when my job went to hell in a hand basket and I was ready to call a real estate agent.

Our goal was ostensibly the same, but the timing…

SInce the Mister’s decision, I’ve been busy making preparations to sell the house. Packing up clutter for storage, re-grouting the shower, scrubbing baseboards, pressure washing, cleaning windows….yadda, yadda, yadda. It’s a level of cleaning women seldom attempt unless they fear being judged by a mother-in-law or a real estate agent.

I suggested we take another trip to the prospective moving destination to make sure we felt the same way about it. We looked at property online an made arrangements to look at several places with an agent. I thought would spend a few days with the agent and then have a few days to explore…

We spent five hours a day for four fucking days with the agent. A wise friend nailed it best, “Realtors stick to you like shit on a sandal.” Yup.

Before we left on our fact finding mission, the Mister and I were both leaning toward the same property. We visited that property three different times. The first time, we were captivated, the second time we were observant, the third time, we were skeptical. That part kinda sucked, because this was like our safety house….

Total, we saw 13-15 properties. Three were possibilities we could make work. Then the realtor pulled a rabbit out of his ass and made an unscheduled stop…

It happened in January.

We were driving home from the Mister’s parent’s (the One Eyes) home. His parents are still in assisted living, but renovations are underway. The One Eye’s want to return home. The Mister and two brothers are opposed, but rather than seizing control of the situation they are placating the One Eyes with stall tactics which could backfire.

***************

I don’t believe it is proper to tease people, especially when they are unable to make responsible decisions regarding their well-being. I think it is cruel and disrespectful to offer a person the promise of hope when you don’t plan to follow through. However, I didn’t grow up in their family. Maybe for them this acceptable. I clearly don’t understand it, so perhaps I shouldn’t judge.

I watched the Mister and his brother walk through the One Eyes’ home discussing which aspects of the renovation their mother would not approve. The guys were getting completely wrapped around the axle about minor things like how a piece of molding fit, or an aesthetic blemish, but ignoring larger issues like climbing steps to enter the home. Obsessing over appliances and ignoring the 800 lb. gorilla in the room.

It is difficult to witness two grown men reduced to nit picking inconsequential details and refusing to discuss the real issue, what happens after the One Eyes return home? I walked outside. This was a moment of communication between brothers. Some men complain about women reading into situations and speaking in code. Sorry guys, we aren’t alone, we’re just more vocal.

I wanted them to experience the gravity of the moment unclouded by the presence of a woman who disapproved of their inertia. I’ve run out of things to say about the situation and seldom offer opinions about it anymore. Mostly I sit quietly, listen, and try to learn from their experience. I have a mother too, and could easily find myself in a similar situation. I don’t expect it to be any easier, but I’d rather make new mistakes than old ones.

***************
The drive home was quiet. He adjusted the radio while I watched the world pass. He broke the silence, “I’m ready to put our house on the market”. I paused for thought. I wasn’t sure if my brain was processing his message. My heart said believe, but my mouth uttered, “do you really mean it?”

“Yes, I kept waiting for the right time, but there’s always one more thing…There’s always going to be one more thing.”

***************

For relevant posts to the moving saga, read here and here.

Encased in the clarity of an erotic dream, I slept soundly into the late hours of morning. East coast time minutes before noon, but body time moments before sunrise. Our flight had arrived two hours behind schedule. Bad weather. After closing down a local bar, we crawled into bed around 6AM Eastern, 1AM island time.

Dreams are often signified by the presence of someone from my past. Deb was there. We went to college together. She once stitched the pee hole closed on her boyfriend’s briefs for an April fool’s gag. She waited for a response for three days…and nuthin’. That taught us a lot about the limited functionality of male undergarments, and the absence of male patience. Uh, anywho Deb was there, but her capacity was limited to ordering pizza. There were three pepperoni, three supreme, three cheese, and one with anchovies. There was a group of us sharing a dinner meeting in what I suppose was someone’s living room. I don’t recall the details, only that the context shifted and suddenly Deb, the others, and all the pizza were gone.

I was stretched out against the Mister on the sofa. I like laying on my side with the pillows at my back and my head against his chest. He usually watches television, while I doze lightly to the sound of his heartbeat. Drowsily, I moved closer to lean against his shoulder. We stare at the TV at an inappropriate commercial for erectile dysfunction. We laugh at the absurdity of it and I move against him to nuzzle his neck, and I could fill the softness of his shirt against my exposed tummy. The touch felt real and tingly. There was a tactile sensitivity seldom present in my dreams. As we kissed, he touched my exposed flesh with his warm hand and I felt breathless until….my temple shattered as if someone had struck me with a wooden mallet.

Mister Hombre’s fucking, or should I say fuckless, cell phone, ruined the moment with the abruptness of a car wreck. He quickly left the bed in search of the offending device. I sat up with a throbbing temple verbally bashing the cabinet contractor who I assumed was calling two hours earlier than requested. I’m pretty certain I didn’t use words as respectable as, cabinet ,or contractor, at the time. I might have called him that goddamn son-of-a bitch. Sorry, Randy!

Now I begin processing the Mister’s voice. He’s definitely not talking to the cabinet man. In my left-hanging, six hours of sleep stupor, I can’t process that the entire world is not completely cognizant of my time zone. The bastards! How can the world not know it’s 6:45 in the morning here. After all, it’s always all about me when I too sleepy to conjugate verbs (a.k.a. as before morning coffee).

I hear the Mister’s voice say,”No you didn’t wake me” at which point a part of me wants to yell, “Liar!”. Next, I hear him say,”yes, she was asleep”. After that, I hear a distinct laugh from the other end of the line. Yes, of course. The Second String Cat Sitter is having trouble getting into the house. I wander into the bathroom, while the Mister clears up a miscommunication.

When the I return to the bed, the Mister notices my disgruntled expression, and asks if I’m feeling okay. I explain the inconsiderate timing of the phone call, and clarify that I am not suffering adverse side effects from consumption. He laughs about the dream, and calls Cat Sitter 2.0 to see if the situation has been resolved. Then he enlightens her that sleep was not only thing she interrupted. She gloats in a manner that only a woman without needs can gloat… I gloat knowing the day stretches ahead of me, and I will not be confined to an office, though I would be late for breakfast.

Majority rule only works if you’re also considering individual rights. Because you can’t have five wolves and one sheep voting on what to have for supper.
~Larry Flynt

When I met Marsha*, she asked my political affiliation. It wasn’t one of those rude, “well certainly we all believe the same things, so let me hear you say it out loud” questions. It was an innocent inquiry from a member of a political minority seeking volunteers for the next fundraising/campaigning season. My answer, “Anarchist”.

************

Government is cumbersome. It doesn’t adequately protect individual rights or reflect the will of the masses. I don’t understand why officials waste tax revenue passing non-binding resolutions, or why we need so many laws. Is it so difficult to do the right thing that it requires legislation? And why are the citizens who pay the taxes deprived of social services while their dollars are exported?

The lawlessness that descended upon New Orleans following Hurricane Katrina is enough to make ALMOST anyone reconsider the notion that anarchy is anything more than a fight for survival. Obviously, society needs order, but do laws really deter bad behavior? I’m skeptical about the effectiveness of legislating morality.

***********

Three weeks ago, Marsha* called.

“Ms Chica, have you ever wondered what it would be like to work at the polls?”

Long pause.

“Marsha*, I can honestly say the thought has never crossed my mind.”

I agreed to clerk on Super Tuesday. Yes, I’m still an anarchist, but a passive and pragmatic one. I pay taxes, observe traffic laws, and return my shopping cart to the buggy corral. I may not believe in the effectiveness of government, but I have benefitted from some of its efforts.

When I told the Mister, he almost fell off the couch laughing. “Do they know about your, uh political leanings, or that you’re not registered to vote?”

So there you have it. I might be the first person to clerk at the polls who wasn’t a registered voter.

************

Our Board of Elections liaison told us to expect 100 - 120 voters, and we served 230. The goal was to try and vote everyone who showed up. The exception being, voters who arrive at the wrong precinct. Those individuals we were given directions and instructed to go to their assigned precincts. Voters without proper identification or whose registration was not able to be verified either via database or the Board of Elections are allowed to vote provisional ballots. Provisional ballots allow 48 hours for discrepancies to be rectified before they are counted.

We assisted one couple who had not voted in thirty years, and a woman who was voting for the first time at age forty-five. When I consider the reasons they chose to cast their ballots now, I wonder if too will change my mind one day.

I know why I should vote. You forfeit the right to complain when you don’t participate in the process (when has that ever deterred anyone?). As an eligible citizen, I have one voice and the right to one vote. One vote that counts the same as everyone else’s. With the electoral college still in place, and the politics behind super delegates and unpledged delegates, I feel like my voice has laryngitis.

It’s unlikely I will change my mind soon. The last twelve years have been littered with candidates I wanted to vote against, not for. An exceptional candidate or a constitutional amendment might rouse me from my stupor, but not today. For now, I am willing to work the polls. I might not have much hope for my voice, or finding a candidate I agree with more than 20%, but many people still believe and I think they should be heard.

It’s a paradox, but I don’t feel torn about it. I’m glad everyone doesn’t share my opinion. Diversity makes this country a better place. I don’t need government to dictate what is acceptable societal behavior and what is not. I understand it is up to the individual to accept responsibility for his or her actions and see that groups unable to stand up for themselves are not trampled on by society. Some need those parameters so we have government.

It has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all others that have been tried.
~Winston Churchill