I have been searching for a place to live in Seattle. This used to never be a problem. You could get a place with no effort at all, landlords would beg you to move in, often offering you money off on your first month’s rent or even free rent.
But since I’ve been away, a housing shortage has occurred. Part of the reason for this was the big real estate bust when projects were shelved and left to rot while the economy slogged its way through recovery. Also to blame is the fact that everyone seems to want to live in the Seattle area, and really I can’t find any fault with that.
Since I’ve been back, I have been on the hunt. Now, to be fair, there are lots of apartments around and that has always been a good fall back plan. But when you’re leaving a gorgeous condo with a view of the Atlantic, it’s a little hard to step back into a giant apartment complex with neighbors next door rocking out to Ted Nugent and another deep frying fish every night, filling your home with smelly fish smells (and yes, that is a true story).
The Janmeister really wanted to have a home this time, not a condo or an apartment. She could go with a townhouse, but that was as close as she really wanted to get to communal living.
Again, this would not necessarily be a problem, except for Dulce, the dog. Even though Seattle brags about how pet friendly it is, it’s only friendly to those who own their home and can shove as many slovenly, ill tempered and poorly kept animals in it as possible. If you’re renting, cats are often welcome, but dogs are not.
I can understand this for the most part, but believe me, Dulce is far less damaging than any cat I’ve owned. She doesn’t do much of anything, frankly. Over the course of a day, you’re lucky to see her move from one place to another. And she will never shred your curtains or spray the walls.
The search was getting pretty wiki-whacky-woo. Some of the places we looked at looked like festering toilets that should have been flushed with a wrecking ball. Others, well, got snatched up in the land grab that is called the Seattle housing market.
We had our eye on one gorgeous townhome in West Seattle. Everyone told us not to live in West Seattle, but it was the place I was most familiar with. It was a really nice home, though looking back, I profess that climbing two flights of stairs every time I wanted to get something from the bedroom when I was down in the office would have really begun to suck fast.
We thought we had a good shot at it. The owner was a test pilot for Boeing, his wife, well, looked like she used to be a flight attendant. And their three year old moppet was your typical out of control little girl who really believes she is a princess and her parents treat her like she is one.
We made nice, pretending that their nipping dog was no problem, that the little girl’s tantrums were sweet and that the odd choices of colors of the home were something we would have done ourselves.
We got aced out by another couple. I can only guess that wifey didn’t like the cut of my jib, perhaps because she caught a glimpse of my pirate ring or the fact that we had a 14 year old son, who I assume she thought was just like her crazed daughter and would spend the brief summer he is with us tagging her flat.
Back to the drawing board. I have to say that things like Padmapper and Craigslist has certainly changed the playing field. Rather than comb the newspaper ads and making calls blindly to places you don’t have the faintest idea of what they look like, you can see photos and long descriptions, and often even links to websites showing the property. Very cool.
Unfortunately, everyone is using the same tool to hunt for a place to live. It’s like posting the GPS location of all the wild animals in Nigeria so all the hunters on safari can come down on them all at once. Crazy!
I even gave odd thoughts to living farther out, like back in Renton. By now I was going a bit nuts in my quest not to be homeless May 1. I have to say I liked the poetry of the idea. The house was 2116 NE 27th St. I grew up one street over, 2116 NE 28th St. It was an intriguing idea, but way too close to the inbreds I used to call family. Better that I leave my past behind.
To make a long story short, we found a place. A cavernous home in Shoreline with four bedrooms on a quiet cul-de-sac that has lots of shops around it that we can walk to for coffee or a bite to eat. The Janmeister is taking my word for it that it’s a lovely house. She won’t get here until this week to see it.
We’ll see how well I did. If I see her on Kayak looking for a one way flight back to Florida I will know that I failed in my quest to find her a home she liked. And me, well, I guess I can figure out what to do with the four bedrooms. Perhaps start a Retirement Home for Pirates or something. Hey, now there’s an idea!
In the Emerald City, one the move as always it seems,
– Robb