Those of you who read this blog on a regular basis, along with those of you who got the "newsletter" Mr. Scoop composed on his last whiskey bender (or as we like to call it "Friday"), are now aware that we are deep in the throes of home purchase frenzy. It involves a lot of people in suits. Mostly lawyers. And, frankly, Mr. Scoop and I aren't sure what to do when we're on the business end of a lawyer and haven't heard the magic opening volley of "You have the right to remain silent...". It puts us right out of our depth.
While we get our shit collectively together, I take you down this little gem from memory lane, circa March 22, 2006 - the date of our last attempt to purchase property.
I recently tried to convince Mr. Scoop that leaving a nice, juicy grunt in the sink of a basement half bathroom, during a condo open house, is not actually the same as giving the realtor a down payment on the property.
He tried to argue with me, but then the cops came and we had to leave anyway.
Yeah, so? Eventually me and Mr. Scoop want to be the "in possession of 'Home Equity' types". I'm not entirely sure how we're going to finance the liver transplants otherwise.
Looking at "grown-up property" with Mr. Scoop is much like you might expect.
While I've finally convinced him that, Depends equipped or otherwise, a beer hat will not impress the realtor, this upsets Mr. Scoop. The first thing he likes to do when we visit a property is check the deck or balcony for "pee-worthiness". So, as a compromise, I've bought him a shiny new hip flask for these occasions.
The definition of "pee-worthy" is the ability of Mr. Scoop to hit a frat boy's BMW with a stream of urine from 20 paces. Fortunately, our area is college heavy and Mr. Scoop's prostate is mighty.
The first realtor didn't really care when Mr. Scoop fired off a urine volley on the brand spanky new BMW 325 from Rhode Island. The unit she was showing, although kegerator equipped, barely cleared 1000sq. ft. in space. It was no place for the majesty of Mr. Scoop's mighty DLP tv. Hell, it wouldn't have reasonably fit my 32" normal tv. Let the peeing commence!
The second realtor cared. Mostly because there was a rooftop deck involved. And the BMW was his. Whoops.
After Mr. Scoop was coaxed off the roof, we took a tour of the rest of the property.
I'd like to think he was dazzled by the property's spiral staircases, but I lost Mr. Scoop for a good 10 minutes.
It was long enough for him to do horrible, Geneva Convention defying, things to the basement half bath.
When I found him, he was trying to explain to me that he was being contacted, through the toilet, telepathically. I told him to flush if he needed air conditioning, but to save the "act" for the paying rubes. He said, "But, we're supposed to be here. God told me to leave a down payment." He looked at the toilet and shrugged.
That's when the cops came.