Mortgage Mumbling

So, it's 1am and I'm sitting in a bar.

A couple firetrucks zip by, full lights & sirens.

The handful of folks at the bar meet eyes and silently acknowledge "that's a bit weird."

We all go back to our drinks.

A few minutes later, a guy walks in and sits next to me. I greet him politely, but he's a bit grumpy. Apparently his apartment building is on fire. Naturally curious, I ask which one. Turns out he lives in the building I used to live in, on the floor I used to live on, two doors down from my old apartment.

Well, it's fuckin' one in the morning and I'm lubricated, so this turns into a whole nostalgia conversation.

We chat about how garbage the management is, about the changes I've seen, and all that dumb stuff.

Turns out he's saving up to buy a house - oh shit, I know something about that!

He makes a comment about how "once I've saved up enough for a down payment, the amount needed for a down payment has gone up."

I'm like "you only need to put down 5%; 3.5% if you sit through a homebuying course."

It was more of a conversation than this, of course. The conversation, however, gets him agitated. Apparently I'm mansplaining how to buy a house. Maybe I am - I'm actively closing a bar and he's here sober, apartment on fire.

The conversation still nibbles at my brain all these months later. You see, his complaint was about reaching the brass ring - something always slightly out of reach. My contention was that it was well within reach. He wanted to put 20% down and make minimum monthly payments. As mentioned, every time he hit 20% on a place (over several years) he was priced out. The solution is to put down a lower amount and then - crazy idea - he owns a house. Once you have it you can refinance with equity counting toward the mortgage (after a few years). Or you can pay extra on the principal. Or you can pocket the difference between rent and mortgage and just fuckin' fly to Fiji.

I thought it was a no-brainer. If the complaint is "I don't own a house" then the solution is "buy a house" - especially if you already have enough saved up for a lower percentage down payment! What do I know though?

I don't know what happened with the guy. I do know the apartment building didn't burn down. Maybe he's still paying rent on a shitty apartment instead of paying a mortgage on a shitty house.

I'll be here doling out drunk advice all the same.

Tinkerbell

(or: How I watched a girl go from the reading room to the cafe four times in fifteen minutes)

Turkey or Peacock?

Tinkerbell, sweet Tinkerbell
You've gone and put me in your spell
Come sit with me

An opened door, a little smile
Whisk me to your magic isle
Come sit with me

I've watched you walk to and fro
I beg you please do not go
Come sit with me

I know I'm just some odd stranger
Likely imbued with some male danger
I understand...
but...

I promise I'm just a harmless flirt
I'll just compliment your olive skirt
Come sit with me

Insignificant

I am a mote. A speck. An organelle.

I aspire to be a statistic.

I am forgettable, immediately and evolutionarily.

This is my struggle. This is the struggle of sentience. This is the absurd.

And I have been acting quite absurd lately.

Options

"What kyna roast?" the barista stated.

I stared, unprepared for the question. A pause and a look ensued.

"Dark, medium, light. What kyna roast?"

"Oh, uh, dark?"

"Great. NEXT!"

The Holiday Special, Please

During my time in college there was a little coffee shop that I would frequent almost daily. A cozy little place, it served your normal range of beverages, plus sandwiches, soups, and other treats. It had a range of furniture, from normal four-tops to a massive 8-10 person raw-wood table, from cheap Ikea chairs to cushy recliners. Once you add in the friendly staff, it was a place I could go at any time, for any reason. And I did, a lot.

The Steam Lady

Miss Martha woke up to her small dog scratching away at her door, like most mornings.

"Pssshp!" she hissed at the dog. It stopped for a moment before resuming its assault. Sighing, Miss Martha pushed herself out of bed and let the high-strung runt into her room.

Meeting People, Moving On

A few weeks ago I set up a nice evening tea with a female friend. Not a date, but an intimate conversation between two friends. I didn't expect anything to happen, but there was a bit of hope there, of course (please see earlier posts on how I feel about hope). I've been a wreck ever since.

Pap.

Pap.

Not “Pappy”, not “Paps” - Pap.

Listenings, 4-13

I do enjoy listening to people. Here's an hour of my life:

G's seventy. Loves baseball. Knows more about it than anyone else in here, except maybe MK (according to him). He's not a huge fan of the Phillies though, which was surprising. He likely comes in every Saturday and gets the same sandwich: a cheesesteak with horseradish on the side. He's pretty happy it's a nice day out, if only because the next bar on his route won't be so smokey (they'll have the doors open). He's friends with everyone there and bought D a drink. He said that he'd have to try the hot turkey sandwich I was eating, but I suspect he'll never get around to it. I'm not sure if he was legitimately curious or was 'repping' the bar when he asked whether or not the potatoes were "real" or not (they were).

A Bar-tending Story

First off, no this isn't about me bar-tending, rather it's about a bar-tender (female) I met yesterday afternoon.

Let me put you in my frame of mind: I started going to lunch and decided that I wanted to do something different than my normal food cart or Dunkin' Donuts routine. I ended up at a near-by 'tavern' which I knew had good burgers. When I walked in, I was the only customer there.