adventure in real estate by more-or-less proxy

My ex is terribly excited by what she says is the only house on the market right now, mainly because it's exactly where she wants to move. I mapped the transit and sent it to her: take a 50 or walk twelvish blocks to Columbia City station, hop on the train, go wherever*. The purchase price of the house is well within her budget because...

...it's a "fixer". It looks like somebody old and maybe poor lived there for a long time. Even the repairs shouldn't present a money problem given Ex's budget, but that's going to be a fair amount of time & hassle, and ugly in the meantime. It bears close inspection. As long as she doesn't screw our son, though, I don't care where she moves.

The big question in my mind is, how likely is a nebbishy-looking teenage white boy to get jumped on that stretch of Genessee St.? Not very, I hope. I suppose I could ask the same question of a middle-aged transgender white woman, but that wasn't what occurred to me first.



*The train goes to the Hill and the UW starting on the 19th. EEEEEE!

I miss Dag.

It's on nights like this, when I have nothing planned, that I used to hit dagard up and see if he was up for drinks or eetz on Broadway. At least as often as not, he was. I'd regale him with tales about my dating or my son. He was full of advice that I usually felt free to disregard.

God damn it, man. You were more than six years younger than I am, for fuck's sake.