Decisions. I would like to point out that I've been working at the same place since May '07. I just found out today that the work day ends at noon on Fridays during the summer. Let me repeat. I've been putting in 3 extra hours each week throughout the summer since I started. I believe I'm owed some overtime pay. Am I that detached from the ins and outs of my workplace or am I so ingrained already that it's just assumed that I know crap like this? Either way, it worked out nicely because I was planning on cutting out early today to go house hunting (or cavorting for condos???) with my fiancee and future mother-in-law.
Our journey took us from Springfield to Montclair and back. Rather than conduct our tour of Essex and northern Union County in a gas guzzling caravan of two or three, the three of us were chauffeured around by our real estate agent in her Prius. Not bad, even though my back sweat was sticking to her leather interior. Being the DFH that I am, I appreciated our agent's generous offer to take us around herself.
Two units we saw were in Springfield. They were hopelessly and, in my opinion, uselessly far from any public transportation, much less any semblance of a town center. I am a DFH. This means, among other things, that I judge all towns and cities according to how consistent they are with the Gospel of Jane Jacobs. I also believe in Peak Oil Theory. A home is only as good as how optional driving is in the area. If we're talking about buying a home as an investment, the forward-thinking approach for me is to make sure you won't require a car do to any little thing besides go for a lap around the block. The more centrally located, well connected areas will become most desirable, while the farther removed suburbs and exurbs will become the new slums.
We saw two units in Montclair, a very hip, desirable town. One was feet away from the train station, and the supersonic train whistles would never let you forget it. Not to mention it was laid out in a way that made it completely useless as a full time residence. The second unit in Montclair was in a beautiful 1920's converted apartment building. We knew there would be trouble, though, when we could hear a cat whining behind the door before we even walked in. I didn't clock us, but we made it in and out of that crap hole in record time. The twenty-something cat lady living there turned the place into a filth den that rivals Buffalo Bill's basement of horrors. Ironically, Bill was a dog lover. Thank God we didn't stumble upon Ted Levine dancing around with a man-gina. (The 2:30 mark). Which reminds me, hooray for new seasons of Monk and Psych starting tonight.
We saw two other units in Springfield that were on a central road and less than a mile from the Short Hills train station. There is a jitney stop nearby, as well as plenty of NJTransit bus stops. One unit was particularly well suited to our needs, and since we were already together in the agent's office at the end of the day, my fiancee and I put together a preliminary offer sheet. Despite losing a condo in South Orange less than a month ago just when we were ready to close, we figured there's no sense in sitting around and waiting for the right place to pass us by just because we're still licking our wounds. The thought of starting this whole process all over again is already quite draining, though.
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