5.29.2007

Tap tap tap. Hello.

Oy and hello. I am still here, still doing my thing. Lately I have been sort of extra-busy, because on top of classes and waitressing, E and I are buying a condo! Which is really like another part-time job in itself.

We’ve been discussing buying a place together for a few months now, sort of informally just driving around and talking about the types of places we like, and then about a month ago we just…REALLY started doing it. We have a realtor! And estimates from banks and mortgage lenders! Even my one married friend, whose wedding was almost five years ago when we were twenty-three(!), still rents her apartment. So I feel like, amongst my group of friends, I am a sort of pioneer in this specific aspect of Adultville.

We have recently found a place we love love love. I, personally, love it so much I desire to take my clothes off and have relations of the intimate sort with it, but E feels a more cerebral love. Which is fine. It is, of course, the one at the very top of our budget, but is also the largest, so we should be able to stay in it for a good five years without going crazy, which makes up for the price tag I feel.

It is a 2 bedroom, 2 bathroom (huzzah!) condo in an updated Victorian house, which means that it looks really old and special (French doors, hexagonal living room, perfect wooden floors), but has modern acoutrements (granite countertops, new air system). If we get the one we want, it is the upper level one, which means a balcony and tons of windows.

At first, we were looking at a building a few minutes outside of downtown - an elementary school converted into lofts. This place was really cool, with the original tile hallways and short water fountains, with the added cache of having been the school where E’s mom and aunt went when they were kids, but we can only afford the 1 bedroom, 1 bathroom, and I think that for two people, that would feel small pretty quickly.

There is another place that I really like and E hates, because it is a 2-story condo with a windy, spiral staircase, which I think is very cool. However E is is super tall (did I ever mention that? He is a full foot taller than I), and would have to remember to duck when going up the stairs, which he refuses to do. I see his point, but I keep countering that this place is on JONES STREET, which is literally the fanciest, richest, ritziest street in Savannah, and it is a complete accident of the earth that we can afford anything on it.


This is Jones Street.

I MEAN. Of course, none of these buildings are the one we can afford, but this is a representation of the street in general.

So, right now we’re focusing on the 2 bedroom Victorian one. We are waiting on final loan approval from what seems to be the best mortgage lender, and then we’ll be ready to make an offer. Apparently this building has been on the market for a few months, so it would be awesome to be able to get a deal for under the asking price. I like our realtor. She seems like a hard-driving dealmaker, and I enjoy that in a woman.

I hope you all are doing well lately! Thanks for all the nice comments about the poor deceased deer.

supine @ 10.47 pm |

5.10.2007

Um, okay, it is time to post

I have got a crazy story for you all! Ready? Okay. So, I am in this Museum Studies class, in which we learn principles and tenets of museuming. We usually do one class a week of lecture, and the other is a field trip in which we visit one of the many, many fine cultural institutions in the greater Savannah area.

Recently we were on our way to a Civil War fort outside the city, in a marshy area. I was on the windy little woodland road, following another girl in my class. I went around a sharp turn and saw her suddenly pulled over on the side of the road, out of her car and standing at the edge of the woods. I pulled over to see what was going on and she was freaking out that she had just hit a deer. Dun dun dun!!!

We looked just inside where the woods began, and I saw it. It was lying down quietly, wheezing. An adult female deer. The girl told me that there had been a bunch of them, including a fawn (!) (Bambi situation!), and all the rest had run off into the woods. I peered at the deer, and it was alive and just lying there. I wanted to go to it, or at least to get it put out of its misery.

I told the other girl, “Okay, why don’t you drive ahead to the fort and get one of the guys to come out and, like, kill it. They must have a gun, right? It’s the middle of the woods. You’re wearing shorts and I have jeans, so I’ll stay here with it.” She agreed, but told me not to go and touch it. I said I wouldn’t, but I knew that I would.

I am a big animal lover, and have been since I was little, so I felt very strongly that 1, someone needed to kill the deer quickly, and 2, it shouldn’t have to lie there alone and scared while it died.

So she drove away to the fort, and I stepped down the incline into the woods. It got nervous as I got closer, so I sang it a little song, which was basically, “Deer, deer, deer! It’s okay, deer! Here I come, deer!” and held my hand out like you do to a dog. I crouched down right next to its head. It was wheezing painfully, with blood coming out of its mouth. There was blood on the forest floor near its head, and it was the reddest blood I have ever seen. On its body there didn’t seem to be any damage or carnage, but maybe that was on its other side, the one it was lying on.

I stroked its head, in the same places you do on a horse (I used to ride horses). I stroked its ears. It was the closest I have been to a deer before. It quieted down and was still breathing heavily, but very calm. I petted it for what felt like a long time. Every so often it would struggle to lift its head, to look at its body, but I held its head down gently, to quiet it. It was dusk, and I am a notorious mosquito attractor. Where I was crouched over and my shirt went up in the back, I later found that I had dozens of bites and welts just above my pants line. The deer, too, had mosquitos swarming around it. I tried to maintain patting it with one hand, while swooshing the air just above its fur with the other hand, to keep the bugs from landing.

Minutes went by, and its breathing was the same, and obviously not going to stop anytime soon. Its little white tail twitched every so often. After an eternity, but really only five minutes or so, a truck pulled up. Three guys from the fort had arrived, and I stood up to talk to them. I never really got a last look at the deer, or said anything to it at the end.

The guys wanted to just leave it there to die, but I made an impassioned plea which relied heavily on skills I learned during 10th grade Debate class. Finally one agreed to kill it. I will spare you the details of the killing, because this post is pretty damn long already, but we will just say that they refused to “discharge their firearm,” and so the deer I’m sure had a much painful end than it needed to have, but at least it was quicker than if we’d just left it there on the side of the road. It was the first time I had ever seen anything die before.

I got back into my car, drove to the fort, washed my hands, and joined my class for the talk. The girl who had actually hit the deer had never come back to the scene. She was just standing there with our classmates, waiting for the talk to begin. I guess not everybody is an animal lover.

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