LIFE is a dark movie about death. Violent and inevitable death.
Oh, the joys of living on The International Space Station (ISS) with people on earth trying to micromanage your every move but, at the same time, couldn’t help you find your toothbrush. These scientists are delighted to be living on the ISS answering the questions of elementary school children about where they shit.
So it’s no secret that I’m STILL in the middle of a move (omigod this move never ends). Mr. Char and I are in the middle of trying to buy a house, which is a fun process in and of itself (and not stressful AT ALL /sarcasm). Granted, we have the greatest realtor in the history of realtors, and I know this because she puts up with me and my Type A obsessiveness without threatening to a) fire me as a client or b) stab me in the eye with an unsharpened HB pencil. (It’s a well-known fact that I’m a dorky oddball; it’s also a well-known fact that I tend to annoy people without really trying.) (Her name is Crystal, she’s with Remax, and I HIGHLY RECOMMEND her.)
However, the point of this post is not to wax poetic about my realtor, even though she is full of Teh Awesomesauce™. The point is, after looking at over a hundred houses and visiting around thirty, Mr. Char and I obviously know what we want in a house. There are certain things we look for (and our realtor will tell us which houses fit our style before we even go for showings, which is rather nice of her). Some of those things tend to be a good-size kitchen, 3 bedrooms, 2+ bathrooms, attached garage…you know, that sort of thing.
Sadly, none of those things will help me come the apocalypse. Continue reading “House hunting for the apocalypse”