Also, real estate agents suck

Today I had to deal first with a random cold-call from a mortgage broker, whose "mate" (a real estate agent who showed us a place last week) told him we might be in the market for a "good deal on a mortgage". I don't recall telling the agent he could pass on our phone numbers to his mates so that they could advertise at us, but thanks anyway.

Then I had the following call:

"Hi, it's [random agent] from [generic agency]."
"Yes?"
"I'm calling about [address]."
"Yes?"
"You emailed me about it last week, so I'm just returning that call."
"I'm sorry, I've sent a lot of queries to real estate agents lately: can you remind me what I asked you?"
"I don't know. I'm just getting back to you."
"But I sent you an email. Don't you have it there?"
"No, sorry."
"Could you perhaps find it and reply to it by email?"
"I'll call you back."

The way to my heart is apparently secret rooms and bay windows

We've now looked at 20+ places, and have identified four that we might actually be interested in. To put this in some perspective, there are currently 94 properties for sale in our price-range in the region we would consider buying in. The problem is, each of the four we like has a serious flaw. Do we hold out for perfection?

On the one hand, you might argue that we should definitely hold out longer, because if four out of the 100-ish on the market right now are great, then given the speed of turnover in this city (properties are usually on the market for less than three weeks), more great ones should pop up soon. On the other hand, these four have all been on the market since we first started looking, i.e. nearly four months now. Nothing approaching the awesomeness of these has shown up in that time. (On the third hand, why the hell are the properties that rate so high on our scale of awesomeness precisely the ones that aren't selling???)

Anyway, here's a sneak preview, should you happen to care, along with pros and cons.

Three-bedroom ancient monstrosity, oh my:

This place is 4.5 km (2.8 miles) from university, has the biggest lounge and kitchen of any of the houses we've seen, and has a beautiful garden with a whole lot of weird little outbuildings that have been used as chicken houses, greenhouses and an artist studio. According to the building report, there is absolutely nothing wrong with it at all, despite it being over 50 years old. On the other hand, it has no heating (yet), no cooling, and yeah, that picture in the top right is the kitchen. (Oh dear.) It also has no plumbing for hooking up a washing machine (WTF). Geekman doesn't like the exposed brick "feature wall" in the lounge (top left), and both of us worry that that room would feel like a school hall, and be impossible to keep warm.

Three-bedroom-in-a-park, and yes it's mainly about the windows:

This place is much smaller than the one above, and really the bedrooms are kind of ridiculously sized. But potentially we could knock out the wall between two of them and make a large one. It has the most amazing bay windows in the dining room (pictured) and one of the bedrooms. The garden is gorgeous and has mature fruit trees. It backs onto a national park. On the other hand it's about twice as far from university as the one above. But on the third hand (or whatever I'm up to now), the route is on bicycle paths through parkland all the way. The biggest problem with this place is that the building report lists a LOT of small issues that would each cost no more than a few hundred or a thousand dollars to deal with, but that together add up to about $20,000 of work, not to mention being annoying to have to deal with.

Two-bedroom plus secret office, but the body corporate fees of DOOOM:

This place is perfect except that it has the world's tiniest kitchen (it looks big in this photo, but that space is doubling as the lounge too. Oh, and the body corporate fees are twice what any other townhouse I've seen charges. (The two properties above are free-standing houses, but this one and the next are not, which is nice because we wouldn't have to do our own external maintenance, plus townhouses have better energy ratings, but sucks because of lack of control over anything much, and because of the fees.) It also has three bathrooms for some inexplicable reason, despite only having two bedrooms.

But! It has a secret room! And the bedrooms are reasonably sized, the whole place has heating and air-conditioning, lots of storage space, and a little private garden/courtyard as well as access to a communal herb garden and outdoor areas. It's only 2km from university (1.2 miles).

I am so in love with this next place I want to marry it but it doesn't like my hypothetical cat:

This is the most awesome place ever. It is a similar distance from university to the previous one, but the route is entirely on bike paths through parkland. It is huge and funky and I have frankly never seen anything like it before in my life. I WANT. It also has a secret criminal mastermind lair! The kitchen is a tiny bit smaller than we would like, but the three bedrooms and lounge are enormous. There is even room on the landing to have a desk and bookshelf and pretend it's an office. The only flaw is, perhaps, a fatal one: it is not possible to have cats in this building. And one of the main reasons we are considering buying a place is to get a cat. Gah!

The lowest asking price of the four places (the no-cat place) is 25% lower than the highest one (the bay-window parkland place). Ancient Monstrosity is part of a deceased estate, so perhaps they are more likely to accept a low offer. Body-Corporate-Fees-of-Doom is kind of weird, as it went on the market last year at a stupid-high price, then was withdrawn, and now it is back on the market for auction, and the lower end of what the real estate agent tells us is really quite reasonable (and puts it lower than any of the others in this list.) As for No-Cat-Ville, we happen to know about an offer the seller accepted (which then fell through), so we have a fair idea that they would take a bit under asking price as well, making THAT one the cheapest.

Advise me, O internets! How do we make this sort of decision! Or do we keep waiting?

Today is full of cunning traps

Me, to real estate agent: Have you had a lot of interest in this property? How many people came through on Saturday?
Real estate agent: Oh yeah, yeah, you know how it is. Yeah, there were a few. Some people came through.

[...]

Real estate agent: So how much do you think you would pay for a place like this?
Me: "Yeah. Yeah, you know how it is. Yeah, I'd pay a bit. I'd pay some money for it."

Christmas greetings and wotnot. Also: eep!

Greetings from "Oh my god what are we doing holy fuck we are buying a house" land. Yes, it is said all in one string without any punctuation, just like that. Well, maybe there is punctuation of the sort that doesn't have an appropriate symbol other than *%&?!

Yesterday we got pre-pre-approved for a mortgage. This seems to consist of a verbal "She'll be right, mate" from a guy named Matto. (Oh, Australia, I do like you quite a lot actually.)

We haven't found the perfect place yet, but we have now seen a lot of imperfects, and have a very clear idea of what perfect will look like. It will not, for instance, be lacking any sort of heating system, insulation, and functioning ceilings. It will also not smell like Old People. I am currently in love with something completely impractical, but I think that's pretty standard practice when one is house shopping, and I'm sure I'll get over it.

In other exciting news, I made the world's best sourdough bread tonight, and recipe therefore will be posted here forthwith. (Hurrah for two pretentious adverbs in a single sentence! I should win some sort of prize. Perhaps my prize will be another piece of sourdough bread, and a glass of the quite remarkable krupnik from the recipe found here.)

Life after the technological apocalypse

A typical evening in our house lately:

6 pm: Arrive home, collapse in front of the computer to catch up on blogs and news. Oh wait, that's right: we don't have internet at home right now.

6:30 pm: Time to cook dinner. Open cupboards, find bag of lentils, half a carrot, and a whole heap of tomatoes. Think to self, I bet there are some Indian dishes I could make with these ingredients; I'll just go check out some Indian sites on—oh wait. No internet.

7:25 pm: Debate with Geekman about the purpose of human nose hair. Neither of us can handle the open-endedness of a discussion that can't be resolved by Wikipedia.

7:30 pm: I wonder what's on TV? Go to look up TV times online. Oh wait...

8:30 pm: Decide to do some knitting. Except, I've just got to the tricky bit in my pattern... which is online.

8:35 pm: Try to use dishwasher for the first time in this new apartment. Totally baffled by the dials and rinse aid holder. If only I had a copy of the manual. I bet it's available online.

8:40 pm: Still wondering about nose hair.

8:45 pm: Decide to call a friend. Except that her phone number, like most other important numbers, is stored in my email.

9 pm: I would really really like to read blogs, play scrabble, read the news, or aimlessly surf the web right now. Since these aren't options, I reluctantly settle down to do some work.

9:01 pm: Realise I left some important files on my university computer. Not a problem—I can ftp them. Oh, wait.

9:15 pm: Filled with a burning desire to know how closely arachnids are related to crustaceans. Curse my lack of Wikipedia access.

9:30 pm: Geekman suggests baking some muffins. But no! Our favourite muffin recipe is on the internet, and we've never printed it out, because we'll always have the internet, surely.

10 pm: Give up and go to bed. Lie awake wondering about nose hair and arachnids.

Okay, maybe one more post

To give you an example of how arduous this whole moving thing is: we now have to spend the rest of the evening drinking, so as not to have to take bunches of half-empty liquor bottles with us tomorrow.

Pity us.

Not homeless

We found an apartment. It's about $30 a week more than we were hoping to pay, but on the upside, it appears to be waterproof. Also quiet, and sunny, and a five minute walk from Borders, which are all the important things.

Given that all the other places at this end of the price-and-niceness scale rejected us, we suspect our application for this one was aided by the fact that the real estate company's fax number was wrong on their website, which may have delayed or doomed anyone not willing to wait around for half an hour to see if their fax really did go through.

I have to say, though, I'm not looking forward to dealing with a real estate company with this level of competence:

"Hi, I'm calling because I'm trying to fax you an application, and it isn't going through."
"Yes, our fax number on those forms is wrong."
"But we checked on your website, and the same number is there too."
"Yes, that's also wrong."
"???"
"We are planning to get someone in to update it at some point. But for now, let me give you the correct number."

More freaking houses

Places we have viewed since then.*

1. Extremely elegant building that simultaneously managed to be right in the centre of the city, and surrounded by a leafy heaven that dripped serenity. Wrought iron and stained glass everything. Extensive gardens with peaceful places to sit. Apartment on the top floor with a beautiful view, peeling paintwork, sagging, mouldy ceiling, and cat-pee flavoured carpets. $370 per week. Approximately 10 people at the showing.

2. Brand new apartment building a block and a half north of our current location. Two bedrooms, middle floor (so neither security problems nor leaking are likely), slightly larger than our current place, lovely balcony, brand new appliances, central heating and air conditioning. Swimming pool and underground parking. Nothing to dislike. Two apartments available: $360 and $380 a week respectively. 15-20 people at the showing.

3. Older apartment in a large complex, a bit further north, but still within cycling distance to university. A little smaller than our current place, but acceptable. No air conditioning and some windows face the busiest street in the city. This could make sleeping difficult in summer. $320 a week. 12 or so people at the showing, but most of them seemed to belong to the one family. Not sure what was up with that.

4. Gorgeous, extremely modern, brand new building just around the corner from us. Very large two-bedroom with all the pros of #2, except that it was on the ground floor, and had evidence of water damage. (Already! The builders haven't even quite finished yet and the freaking place is leaking!) The rent was listed as "negotiable", which is apparently illegal in this state. People at the showing: 3, presumably because they were confused by lack of rent prices. Other places in the same building are all over $420 a week, though.

5. Tiny ground floor two bedroom in a large complex opposite the shops two suburbs north of here. Security bars on windows and doors. Reasonable condition. Kitchen and bathroom are nice. Lots of storage space. No heating or air conditioning. $315 a week. Only one other couple at the showing.

We've applied for 1, 2a and b, and 3. We really want 2a, so we aren't quite sure what we'll do if the agent for 3 calls us before we've heard about 2. Or if we get offered 2b but not a. We would almost certainly turn down 1, but when we put in the application for that one we hadn't seen anything else yet that was even vaguely suitable and were getting nervous. If we don't hear from any of them by Tuesday, we'll put in an application for 5 as well.

We are a little bit frightened by the fact that a guy we spoke to at the showing for #3 said he and his partner had been looking for more than three months. But we suspect there may be discrimination at play there, since they were a gay couple and clearly not Australian in origin (maybe Indian?). It would suck to know that you might be rejected on either count.

Our applications for #1 and #2 look good on paper, although I couldn't provide proof of income. The application for #3 is a bit dodgier, since they required phone numbers for all our landlords going back ten years, and we couldn't remember most of them. (Plus half of them are overseas.) The form said forebodingly: "If full details are not given in this section, including phone numbers for EVERY landlord, we will not process this form."

_________

*I realise this may not be the most scintillating of blog posts, but as much as anything, it is for my own benefit so that I have a record of the places we've been looking at.

Places we have looked at, or, I wonder what being homeless feels like?

1. A lovely two-bedroom central city apartment. Sunny, perfect condition, a little bigger than we have here. Rent = $370 a week (for comparison's sake, we are currently paying $320). Number of people at the showing: 20+. Many of them filled out applications on the spot.

2. A two-bedroom apartment three blocks north of our current place. Horrible horrible horrible. Big mould stains on the ceiling. Tiny and ugly and sunless. No bicycle rack or space. Swarming with cats (actually, I think this was a redeeming feature). Rent = $380 a week. Number of people at the showing: four.

3. A two-bedroom apartment in our current building. Slightly bigger than our current one. Windows in both bedrooms (we only have a skylight in one). Signs of water damage. Rent = $395 a week. Private showing.

4. A two-bedroom house about 20 minutes drive from university. Beautiful, sunny rooms. Lovely garden. Huge French doors in every room. Good condition apart from some roof tiles needing replacing, termite shields needing installation (WTF are termite shields?) and some garden work. Sale price = $330,000+. Offer would have needed to be made immediately. If it wasn't for the location (we'd need a new car) and for the fact it was the first place for sale we've viewed, I'd have made an offer.

5. A three-bedroom house around 20 minutes cycle ride (uphill) from university. Big garden with fruit trees. House in average condition, nice enough. Looks like it would be cold in winter, though (windows don't seal properly, minimal heating). Rent = $360 a week. Number of people at the showing: 30-ish? (And that was 10 minutes before the showing officially began: we were out of there by the time it really started).

What we are looking for:

(a) Two-bedrooms, easy cycling distance to university, no obvious water damage, rent preferably under $350 (although we are starting to realise that might be unrealistic). Long lease.

Alternatively:

(b) Two bedroom separate title house or townhouse, within a radius that means we could cycle to university if we absolutely had to (i.e. within 45 minutes or so), good condition, $350,000 or under. Quick sale.

Why is this so impossible? We currently live in an example of (a), and I've seen plenty of (b) on the market in the past.

Gah!

Crap.

I saw this coming, but I don't know if that helps much.

We have to be out by the 1st of February. Which means 19th January, since we'll be going overseas for three weeks then. Which means before Christmas, since at the beginning of the year the housing market is flooded with students arriving for the new academic year.

Well fuck it.

Our property manager just called to say our landlady is selling our house.

Does anyone have a cupboard we can come and live in?

For once, everything is going right

• My mother just inherited a whole heap of money. This should put an end to this sort of thing. And I can stop helping her out financially. Until she blows it all on living the good life, of course. (She is already planning three overseas trips.)
• Geekman's boss has promised him renewed funding until the end of 2010! That's three and a half more years of not feeling like this!
• We enrolled in Medicare! Now we can get injured all we like.
• Teaching is going well.
• Free pizza! Every week!
• The carpets are coming. (That sounds vaguely sinister, doesn't it? I bet Poe wished he'd written a story about carpets.)
• Our landlady gave us a super-expensive bottle of French champagne for being awesome tenants who put up with crap like this. Although I feel rather guilty about drinking anything that costs that much per mouthful. I might save it for my graduation.
• I am getting a month of free online personal training from the awesome Lymphopo (formerly of Granny gets a Vibrator fame). I am so excited about this that it's slightly embarrassing.
  

More storm: now with extra supercell

The local newspaper's story on the storm is here. The photo they printed (and that I then blithely stole to repost here) was from just after the storm, unlike my photos yesterday which had been taken 12 hours later.


I just can't believe that this could happen in the middle of summer.

In other news, we were woken this morning by an unscheduled visit from Tony the Renaissance Man, who is pioneering mind-reading as a tool for identifying the location of roof leaks. The last three times he has been around to "repair" our roof (and I use that word with intentional irony), the conversation we have had with him has gone something like this:

Tony: "So yous had a bit of a problem in the rain the other night?" (Like that's new and unexpected).

Geekman: "Yes, and I went up into the crawlspace under the roof while it was raining, so if you come up there with me now, I can show you exactly where the water was coming in."

Tony: "Na, 's all right. I'll jis' go up on the roof an' take a look."

[clamber clamber]

Tony, yelling from up on the roof: "Oh yeah, s'bloody obvious, mate! Yous've got some big holes up here. I'll just plug them up."

Geekman to me: "So if it's so bloody obvious (mate), why didn't he spot them when he was here THREE DAYS AGO?"

Tony, coming down: "Yeah, she's right now, mate. All fixed."

Geekman: "Are you sure? Because the place the water was coming in from was actually more over the other side. Just come up to the crawlspace and let me point it out."

Tony: "Nah, it'll be fine. Yous won't have any more problems now."


And we don't. Until, you know, the next time it rains. At which point you'd think he might actually let Geekman show him where the problem is. But I think we got away pretty lightly this time, considering people without our ongoing roof leak problems also had flooding and damage. And our good, kind, assertive (and Geekman says to add here 'and really hot') landlady is coming by in the weekend to discuss battle strategies, which will hopefully involve disposing of Tony the Renaissance Man altogether.

It's raining, it's pouring!

And that is big excitement all by itself, as you can probably imagine if you look at the colour of the "grass" in the last few photos I've posted.

But more importantly, for the first time ever since we moved in here two and a half years ago, our apartment is behaving like something waterproof. Hooray!

This is fantastic news, since it not only means we won't have to deal with people like these anymore, but we can also stop worrying about whether we should move. Much as I have totally fallen in love with this house and want want want it, it was never going to happen, so we might as well just stay put.

I'm back! (And having a nervous breakdown)

There is a repairman sulking on our balcony.

We got home just after midnight last night, after 16 hours of traveling that involved seven different stages (car to Masterton bus depot, bus to Palmerston North, taxi to Palmerston North airport, plane to Sydney, train to Sydney Central, bus to our town, taxi to our house). We arrived at our front door feeling like this multiplied about a million times, and I couldn't wait to get into my own room, close the door and curl up in bed. I congratulated myself on the fact we had spring-cleaned before we left so that our apartment would feel all serene and welcoming when we came in.

We came in.

It was a disaster area. A muddy tarpaulin covered much of the lounge and pieces of bark and mud were scattered around on the floor. All our furniture had been shifted around to make room for the table and chairs from the balcony which were plonked in the middle of the lounge, leaving no room to move around or even put our bags down. The air-conditioning unit (the size of a small whale) took up all the floor space in the bathroom, and there were muddy footprints in the bath and dirt all over the sink. A tap in the bathroom was gushing water and wouldn't turn off.

After a brief nervous breakdown (and a doomed attempt to fix the tap) we said fuckit and went to bed.

This morning there was a heated discussion with the property manager and Tony the Renaissance Man during which they explained that they had taken advantage of our absence to pull up the entire flooring of the balcony and replace it, since the latest theory on why our place keeps leaking is that the water is seeping in through the balcony tiles and under the walls. There was also emphatic denial that any of Tony's 'boys' would have been in our bathroom at all (to which the presence of the air-conditioning unit on the bathroom floor was a pretty strong counter-argument) and assurance that the broken tap must have happened on its own.

Now usually I'm over-generous when dealing with these sorts of situations, but this time I was really mad. I might even have come out with a firm, "That's perfectly okay, please don't worry about it, but would you mind fixing the tap anyway please?", if fate (disguised as Telecom) hadn't intervened.

"Well, StyleyGeek, I'm pretty busy right now, but we might be able to send someone around tomorrow afternoon to get your air-conditioning set up again, and—" [crackle crackle crackle]
"Sorry, could you repeat that last bit? I can't hear you properly."
[crackle crackle crackle] "—well, you know—" [crackle crackle crackle]
"Your phone is breaking up."
[crackle crackle crackle] "—so, you see—" [crackle crackle crackle]
"Tony, can you hear me?"
[crackle crackle crackle] "—you have to understand—" [crackle crackle crackle]
"I didn't catch any of that."
"Are you there? StyleyGeek?" [crackle crackle crackle]
"I'm here, but I don't think you can hear me, and all I can hear is static."
"Fine. Look, I'm really sorry. I'll send the boys around right away to clear the place up."

I think from his end the conversation must have sounded like him trying to justify the situation, and me replying with stony silence. So he eventually talked himself into a place where he admitted responsibility and agreed to put it right. Yay for phone trouble!

And he did indeed come round with 'his boys' around right away. As I stood at the top of the stairs to open the door to them, I overheard him say to one of them, "Just bloody apologise, okay?" Which they didn't, despite another heated whispered exchange among them all out on the balcony. But Tony the Renaissance Man fixed the tap and left one of the repairmen behind to tidy things up, who, after a good ten minutes of scrubbing the carpet on his hands and knees and shooting me aggrieved looks, has now retreated to the balcony to sulk.

And now I feel all awkward and bad and evil, even though I'm pretty sure I'm the innocent party here. I just don't like playing the difficult customer, even when I have a right to it. I just hope they get the air-conditioning sorted soon, because after New Zealand, the temperatures here are a bit of a shock.

Swimming with the fishes

I have been putting off blogging about this because even thinking about it makes me angry, and I didn't want to write a long, boring rant. So instead I thought I'd post about it obliquely, by reporting conversations I had yesterday.

***

"Aren't you coming to lunch, Styley?"
"Must go home. Put buckets. Let person in."
"Are you okay?"
"Three hours sleep. On sofa. Must go. Roof repairman coming."
"You always have roof repairmen coming!"
"Because our roof always fucking leaks. Every time it rains."

***

Roof guy: "I've fixed the problem, mate. For now. But yous have to understand that all it'll take is another big storm. This building is a bloody nightmare."

Me: "But we can't live in a place that's going to leave our bed underwater whenever it rains!"

Roof guy: "Well I can't do nothing."

Me: "No, you can't just do nothing. You have to fix it! Oh... that wasn't you agreeing with me, was it? That was Grammar."

***

"Hi, this is StyleyGeek. I'm calling because your repairman left an hour ago claiming to have fixed our roof.

[...]

"Well, it would have been 'lucky he got finished before this next storm broke', if his 'repairs' had actually solved the problem... Uh-huh, the same place. Water pouring from the light fitting above the bed. The new plaster is also developing a damp spot again.

[...]

"Yes, I do understand that you can't go up on the roof during a storm. But when can you come back and fix things? Monday? Right. You'll find us sleeping on the sofa in the lounge."

***

Weekend_Viking: "I know some people in the Queensland Mafia.* I could arrange for a concrete overcoat for your landlord."

Me: "Our landlord isn't the problem here. It's the person who designed the building who needs a concrete overcoat. Or maybe the roof repair guy..."

Geekman: "Or maybe your friends could give the roof a concrete overcoat and solve our problem."

Weekend_Viking: "Hee hee. Just say the word and your house could be swimming with the fishes."

Geekman: "It already is swimming with the fishes. It's fucking underwater! Even the possums in the attic are evolving gills."

***

Finally, a conversation with two people who have been pushing us to move house ever since this saga began (two years ago).

Me: "So even though it makes me cry just thinking about it, we've started looking for a new apartment."

Friend #1: "You know, sometimes you have to make sacrifices if you want to live in a good location. You won't find anything else as close to the university as you are now."

Friend #2: "The rental market's pretty bad, anyway. You're lucky to have the place you do. You'd better be prepared to pay way more than you do right now."**

Friend #1: "Yeah, or move out to the suburbs. And the roof in the new place will probably leak too."

Friend #2: "He's right. I don't know anyone whose roof doesn't leak. But it's only a problem when it rains. Can't you just put up with it?"

***

_________

* Queensland has a mafia?

** I should note that we already pay well above the average rent for a two bedroom place in this city.

Crappy bullets of random

• Today was haircut day and as a counterpoint to last time's swanky salon I decided to try slumming it at the local polytech's training facility, where I booked myself in for a $12 haircut and $30 colour.*
• Hairdressing students do the "tragic accident with a bunch of chemicals" look really well. I didn't spot a single hairdresser-to-be who didn't have the results of ten or so different experimental hair-styles plastered all over her head.
• Hairdressing students don't have the Bad Hairdresser Attitude that has made all my other haircut experiences so traumatic. They actually listen to what you want, and tell you what they are doing. And more often than not, the two things coincide!
• That place has such a unprofessional casual and relaxing atmosphere. I love it. The students try out the various products on themselves and each other (stealth hair attacks) while working.
• Although the haircut I ended up with wasn't 100% perfect, it was way better than the less-than-ideal haircuts I have had at places that charge five times more.
• $12 haircuts! In fact, mine was $10 because the receptionist didn't have change. And I discovered they do $15 facials, $15 manicures and $18 pedicures, too ($28 for the manicure/pedicure combination). I might finally be able to afford myself some pampering!
• Getting a haircut involves a lot of opportunity to stare at your own face in the mirror, which led me to the realisation that without my glasses on I look like a total vampire right now. All big hollow dark eye-holes in face that has taken on a nice died-last-Tuesday pallor. Maybe I'll pretend I'm practising my Hallowe'en costume. Or start biting people.
• When did hairdressers start including head massages as part of the service? Or is this an Australian thing? I don't remember ever gettting one at a hairdresser's before I came here, but every Aussie haircut I have had has included a 5 or 10 minute head massage. (Not that I am complaining.)
• When getting a head massage from a total stranger, what level of appreciation is it appropriate to express? Presumably moaning with pleasure and writhing in the seat is frowned upon, but sitting silently and pretending it isn't happening is kind of weird too. And do the rules change depending on whether it is an opposite sex or same sex person bringing your hair follicles to orgasm?
• Looks like I'm not so good at bullets of random, since these all ended up themed. So here's a totally irrelevant point to help balance things out: The plasterer (who after thorough prodding by our landlady finally plastered the hole in the ceiling about a month ago but still has to put a second coat on it) cancelled today for the fifth time. This time his (unasked for) excuse was that he was "helping children with leukemia". Is it just me, or is that the most bogus sounding excuse ever? "Hmmm... how can I come up with a reason for cancelling that the tenants can't possibly complain about without sounding like hard-hearted arseholes? I know, I'm helping sick people. Or... even better! Helping sick children! Yes, children dying of a fatal disease! Poor, poor innocent children."
• Even if he was off doing good deeds for sick children, what exactly was he doing that was so helpful? Plastering them?

_______

* Australian dollars. That's $9 and $22 for you Americans!

I think I'm in love with our landlady

My phone call this morning with the body corporate in charge of our apartment block:

"Hi, my name is StyleyGeek. Could I please speak with X?"

"What should I tell him that this is about?"

"There is a problem with the hot water at our apartment block."

[Pause. Whispers go back and forth between the person I am speaking to and someone else.]

"You say your name is... StyleyGeek? Are you an owner?"

"No, but the owner of the apartment we rent gave us your phone number and suggested we talk to X."

[Pause. More whispers go back and forth.]

"So you are the tenant? Did you contact the property manager?"

"No. We are dealing directly with the landlady for now, since she fired the property manager."

[Pause. More whispers.]

"And the landlady gave you this phone number?"

"Yes. Look, this might be easier if I could just speak to X, please. She said that's who I should deal with." (Actually she said that I shouldn't settle for speaking to anyone else because apart from X they were all incompetent morons. But I decided not to pass on that part of the message.)

[More whispering.]

"I'm sorry, X isn't here right now." (Yeah, right. And the whispering is just between you and the space aliens.)

"When should I call back?"

[Whisper whisper.]

"I don't think you should call back. We know about the problem you are trying to report, and are dealing with it. Goodbye." [Click.]

********

To: [landlady]
Subj: the hot water problem

I just tried to call the body corporate, but I don't think they were very happy that I contacted them directly. They say they are dealing with the problem, though.

*********

To: StyleyGeek
Subj: Re: the hot water problem

I don't really care whether they are happy or not because I'm not at all happy with any of them. Anyway, I'll work it out for you :)

*********

I bet her conversation with them is going to be more dramatic than mine was.

Grace rocks and we should have taken her advice* ages ago

The landlord came around to repair our doorknob today and we took the opportunity to give him a private tour of the water damage to the apartment. He was appropriately horrified and left muttering various obscene references to the property manager under his breath.

Within an hour I had an apologetic and groveling email from the property manager, a phone call from a roof repair company and a plasterer, and appointments for them to repair the roof and ceiling respectively by the end of this week.

I'd say somebody got their arse kicked and it just might have been INDEPENDENT PROPERTY GROUP :)

_______

* Grace suggested going over the head of the property manager and contacting the landlord directly.

Google *knows*

This morning I was reading back through the emails we have exchanged with Independent Property about our leaking roof. Now, when a Gmail account is searched for a particular term or phrase, it returns all the emails relating to that, with a few lines of each email to give you an idea of what it's all about. Kind of like what you get on the Google search page.

The line Gmail used to summarise the leaky roof email exchange from back in June made me laugh so hard I fell off the couch: