I decided to post my blog address on my Facebook profile for a few days to see how much the traffic jumped. So far, I'm getting about a dozen new visits per day. However, I'll soon put a stop to this influx, because this levee can only hold so many refugees from the Facebook (yes, there were many many mixed metaphors in that sentence).
Tonight I learned that bargain-hunting is fun when you already know that you're going to spend a ridiculous sum of money on an expensive, non-essential product: in this case, The Simpsons: Season Six. Thomas and I went to several North Point area retailers before we found the DVD for $34.99 at Circuit City, which is absolutely identical to the store depicted in The 40 Year-Old Virgin. I saved seven whole dollars while burning twenty-three dollars in gas on my sister's Land Rover rambling from store to store.
So when you're selling your house, you have to keep it immaculately clean at all times, on the off-chance that a realtor with client in tow will drop by at the last minute to view the house. Paradoxically, having the house in a state of vacuumed and dusted perfection all the time actually makes you become attached to the house all over again. You might even want to take it off the market and keep it for yourself, especially given the unpleasantness of dealing with realtors. The period when your house is being shown to strangers is an uncomfortable, intrusive time. To underline our sudden loss of privacy, our own realtor has gone through the house taping informational notecards to "points of interest." On our spice drawer, a card reads "Spice Drawer." On our cupboard, a card reads "Vertical Storage." However, these cards aren't merely descriptive; they also provide commentary.
"Look at all this pantry space!" reads the card on our pantry door.
"Don't forget the ice maker!" says the card on the ice-maker.
I think they should make cards for our family that say things like, "This could be you!" or "Will be gone soon!" Mine would probably read, "Responsible for mildew in upstairs Jack & Jill bath."
Tonight I learned that bargain-hunting is fun when you already know that you're going to spend a ridiculous sum of money on an expensive, non-essential product: in this case, The Simpsons: Season Six. Thomas and I went to several North Point area retailers before we found the DVD for $34.99 at Circuit City, which is absolutely identical to the store depicted in The 40 Year-Old Virgin. I saved seven whole dollars while burning twenty-three dollars in gas on my sister's Land Rover rambling from store to store.
So when you're selling your house, you have to keep it immaculately clean at all times, on the off-chance that a realtor with client in tow will drop by at the last minute to view the house. Paradoxically, having the house in a state of vacuumed and dusted perfection all the time actually makes you become attached to the house all over again. You might even want to take it off the market and keep it for yourself, especially given the unpleasantness of dealing with realtors. The period when your house is being shown to strangers is an uncomfortable, intrusive time. To underline our sudden loss of privacy, our own realtor has gone through the house taping informational notecards to "points of interest." On our spice drawer, a card reads "Spice Drawer." On our cupboard, a card reads "Vertical Storage." However, these cards aren't merely descriptive; they also provide commentary.
"Look at all this pantry space!" reads the card on our pantry door.
"Don't forget the ice maker!" says the card on the ice-maker.
I think they should make cards for our family that say things like, "This could be you!" or "Will be gone soon!" Mine would probably read, "Responsible for mildew in upstairs Jack & Jill bath."
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