Give me back my breath, please.

Yesterday I biked to and from work, as usual, still trying to fight off the cold with exercise. Weather's getting cooler, so headwind season is upon us, and that, combined with my lower energy level, made for a longer ride home. Although on the way I passed a saxophonist playing "I'm In The Mood For Love."

Today so tired and congested (still dry) that I overslept by 90 minutes and took the train in, exhausted. Doctor's appointment tomorrow, a well-timed annual physical. Next week, a wedding back East. I have visions of me in my new discount dress hacking into a hankie.

Renfaire

So went to the Bristol Renaissance Faire in Kenosha last Saturday with a friend of mine. Judging by the getups, the term "Renaissance" seems to be interpreted very broadly to encompass Medieval, Goth, Punk, Pirate, Lord of the Rings, and "It was either this or ComiCon."  My friend bought a bodice at a Ladies Shoppe, and there we were instructed on what to look for in a good corset (never plastic boning; always metal).

I waited while she was fitted into her garb, amused at being called "milady" by another salesgirl wanting to know whether I needed any help. I was not in the market for a $90 corset, so I demurred and watched my friend be laced into hers. My friend is....well, she has quite the rack, so her bodice overflowethed.

"What do you think?" she asked me, modeling he corset, her now-useless bra in her purse, her bosoms exploding from the top of her shirt.

"Very wenchy," I asked. "You look like your name should have 'saucy' before it, and you should be carrying flagons to yon masters."

"Great; I'll take it," she said to the sales girl.

As we wandered, I noticed that men were giving themselves whiplash checking her out.

"So all you really do have to do is flash some boob," she mused.

"Apparently it really is that easy," I replied.

Highlights of the day included being grabbed by a man in a kilt (never joke with strangers about needing a good pillaging), trying on a chain-mail belt, almost tripping over a faerie sitting on the ground against a tree (and almost screaming because I thought she was dead),  drinking sasparilla and eating cheese fritters, and watching a Mud Show, a master of flaming bullwhips,  and a man get pelted with tomatoes as he hurled insults at the throwers.

At one point, one of the paid costumed wanderers came up to us and engaged us in conversation.

"Ginger with a beard!" my friend murmured to me (I'd told her I was particularly fond of gingers with beards). Alas, I was a tad shy and tongue-tied (I suck at flirting), so nothing came of it.

As I stood by the jousting arena, a small inner voice said, "You are standing in a Renaissance fair in Kenosha, Wisconsin. This is your life right now."

"Shut up shut up shut up," I replied. "I'm having fun. Right now I'm having fun."

The people were all very nice, it was a lovely nerdfest, and I bought a rune necklace and some incense just to get into the spirit.

FHA-off

Ok, so it used to be that if you qualified for an FHA loan and wanted to buy a condo, the lender performed a "spot check" on the condo, meaning they looked only at the unit: market value, any outstanding assessments, etc.

This year (February, in fact), faced with so many condo associations facing serious financial crisis, the FHA decided that it would now require entire condo associations to be FHA approved in order for anyone to buy a unit therein with an FHA loan. The approval process looked at the financial stability of the association: as well as factors the lend itself to a stable association, it capped the percentage of rentals allowable under approval, and the percentage of ownership allowable for any one individual.

These rules make a lot of sense; in effect, the FHA is recognizing that an individual condo unit is affected by the entire association's financial stability and ownership practices, and I frankly wonder why they didn't do this sooner. My condo association is in the process of signing a contract with a new property manager, who will help us get this approval. Mot lenders follow FHA guidelines.

However.

I also own half of a condo in Boston. About ten years ago, a friend and I bought a triple-decker and converted it to condos: she owned one unit, I another, and we owned the third jointly, and rented it out. the rental has no mortgage.  I sold my unit when I moved to Chicago. Given the amount of upkeep required of a 100-year -old house (we've had to deal with a leaky basement to the tune of $7K, and just last month had to replace the roof to $12K - thank God we were prudent and put away reserves aggressively), it's not what you'd call a money maker. Concerned that my recession-imperiled financial state would make it impossible for me to absorb another large repair, I asked my friend about buying me out. She agreed.

We agreed on the price, on terms. She researched the transaction fee, and it was all going smoothly. Then she approached lenders, and we came up against our dilemma: With her unit and half of this one, she owns 50% of the association. If she buys me out, she owns 2/3 of the association. FHA has exceptions for small associations like ours, but it does not permit this much ownership by one person even in this circumstance.

So lenders won't let her take out cash to refinance and buy me out. Again, she will only leverage 50% of the place's value, so it's not like she's getting a loan against most of the place. But no. She's looking into lenders that manage their own portfolios (rather than sell them), but it's slow going and it doesn't look good. So the upshot is that while I sit here drowning in an under-paying job and racking up credit-card debt on veterinary bills, I have about $80K worth of asset that I can't liquidate.  How crazy is that?

Bard of the Card

So today the department was going out to dinner to celebrate the department head's 30 years with the company. A card was being circulated, and I was the second person to get it. I looked at the blank expanse, trying to think of something to write. Something appropriate to the occasion, yet with a personal touch. It's not like this woman and I were chummy, and as my supervisor had admonished me, it is a very conservative company. Oh, the dilemma.

Then inspiration hit like a bolt from the blue. I sensed what The Bard must have felt as he penned his sonnets and soliloquies, what William Carlos Williams experienced upon contemplating that red wheel barrow, that icebox of delicious, cold plums.

I took my pen, and began my inscription in large letters:

"WOO WOO!!!!!"

Birthday by the Lake!

Holding my Tardis cake!

This year I decided to capitalize on the fact that my condo has a lakefront yard, grills, and picnic tables, and my birthday is in summer. So I had a bunch of people over to celebrate. Being a broke vegetarian, I made it BYOM (bring your own meat), and asked people to bring food to share.

It was a blast, and people were so wonderful. I took pictures, and at one point had a picture take of me with my cop neighbor.

"Oh, I know - here; let's make it look like I'm assuming the position!" I said, putting my hands behind my back and leaning over as though to be pushed into a squad car.

"Yeah. I NEVER hear that joke," came the deadpan response behind me.

Fellow Dr. Who fan C--  made me a Tardis cake complete with BAD WOLF graffiti, and I was over the moon. She, another neighbor, and I exchanged observations on the series, and agreed there would be a marathon when the weather turned cold. 

My friend M-- stopped by with her elderly parents on the way to visit her 98-year-old aunt. M-- is the woman with the land in Michigan. I'd met her parents in their huge house in Oak Park (Ernest Hemingway's house is nearby), and find them delightful. Her father is 82, and told me that the record for the oldest man is 156. 

"You thinking of breaking the record?" I asked.

"Yes, I'm thinking 'why not?'" he replied.

I contemplated the fact that if he succeeded, I'd most likely be dead at that point. 

I asked M. about her recent stint as an extra in the latest Vince Vaughn movie, and about her land in Michigan. I asked about her neighbors there, the woman with the two sons, only one of which I'd met at my last visit last summer. The son, R--- had been beautiful but, assuming he was in high school, and not wanting to do time in prison, I'd not acted on the mild attraction I'd sensed between us. 

"R-- has gone into the army" M-- said.

"The ARMY?"

"Yeah; he was laid off and then hired back, but hated his job and wanted to learn how to work on trucks, so the army's training him as a diesel mechanic."

"Well," I said, "It's not like there are all kinds of job opportunities where he was living, so it sounds like he took a good option. But isn't he a little young?"

M-- made a can-you-believe-this face. "He's THIRTY-FIVE."

"WHAT?!??!? I thought he was in high school!"

"I thought he was 25," said M. "But he's --well, he's now 36."

We looked at each other, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing: DAMN.

"He comes back in September for a couple weeks of leave," she said.

"You know," I said innocently, "I haven't seen your place in a year, and I've been wondering how it's coming along. We should have an end-of-summer party to celebrate, and you could invite him and his mom and brother to come over. I liked his mother." (It's true; I really did.)

M-- thought this was a great idea, and we decided she'd talk to the mother about a good date for a party. I know we were thinking the same thing, though: Welcome home, soldier boy.

The Very Nerve!

Yesterday I was sitting at my desk when I heard one of the attorneys in Legal next to us yell "WOO HOO!" I went to stand by Colin's chair, a few feet away.

"Did you HEAR that?" I asked, my voice dripping with disapproval.

Colin looked up and shook his head. "Disgusting."

"Don't they know this is a very conservative company?" I asked, outraged.

"I don't know how they expect us to work under these conditions."

"There is a time and place for everything, and anyone with any sense of decency would know that there is absolutely no room for happiness in the office. "

It was about this time we lost our composure and burst into hysterical laughter. My supervisor looked over at us, puzzled.

Whoops. Too much happiness!

Nice things are simple.

Felt the need for a walk yesterday evening-- decided to head north on Sheridan to where it curves around to the lakeshore in Evanston, and walk that way. On the way out, checked my mail and found a birthday note form my great-aunt with $20 inside. I walked my walk, loving the beautiful blues and pinks and yellows of the evening sky above the lake, the loose clouds, the warm summer air.

In Evanston I used my birthday money to buy an ice-cream cone, then walked back. Migrating Canada geese were lined along the shoreline, resting in silhouette against silver water. I watched them, and thought about how I was right here, so close to all this beauty, how it was peaceful and free. How much our lifestyles keep us from remembering that this is what is real. I envied the geese. They didnt' have to go to work in the morning.

I need to figure out how to not go to work in the morning.