The right house.

We've been searching for a house. We didn't start out knowing what we wanted, but we definitely knew what we didn't want. In fact we looked at so many places, and left so many disappointed realtors in our wake, we renamed ourselves "Mr Negative" (because I would immediately point out any faults I found), and "Mrs Hard Faced Bitch" (because my wife does not tolerate fake people and keeps her opinions to herself until we get back in the car). We imagined some of the realtors reactions, after they'd seen us a few times. We would arrive early, rip up their carefully rehearsed bullshit, and be gone. "Oh God, here comes that negative bloke and his unimpressable wife."

We hunted houses for 3 months, and in that time very quickly put together the computer programs, research skills and psychological ploys that helped us evaluate and negotiate each house we were interested in. From several comments from the realtors, it appears the average buyer does not usually equip themselves in this way.

We, on the other hand, came forth armed with the current market price of the house - (immediately lets you work out if the vendor has unrealistic expectations), land value - (to subtract from the asking price and work out if the house is over-priced or under-priced), how much the owners paid for it and when, (enabling us to calculate their monthly repayments and approximate age group).

Why most buyers don't do this is beyond me. I was able to talk several realtors down by over $100,000 just by knowing what the market was paying for that area, and how much of a hole the vendor was in.

Now fully streamlined, with pre-approved finance and research material covering every aspect, we soon realised that we had completely rejected every house in the areas we liked - price range we found acceptable and configuration that would suit us. That was pretty depressing and made us question how realistic we were being. But it's not as if we'd been unwilling to compromise. We'd almost made an offer on several houses, but their faults were just too large, too expensive to fix or too unforgivable to live with everyday.

Then, one weekend, we went shopping instead of house hunting. But we always carry a list of "maybes" and decided to drive-by several unappealing prospects on the way home. It was a steep area and we couldn't see much of one that might be of interest, so we drove around to a back street to see if we could get a look at its rear end.

By coincidence we came across a realtor was pulling up at a driveway with no sign, and not on our list, to start an open house inspection. It was a fairly expensive part of the suburb but I immediately forgot about the other house, slammed on the brakes and invited ourselves in. I asked the price before entering, as I didn't want to waste our time looking through a million dollar house that we couldn't afford. I was shocked at the answer. Pleasantly shocked for a change. And the house was near-on perfect for us. It met almost every criteria we desired and could be easily modified to create the aspects that were missing. It was an exciting find and I couldn't be bothered keeping a poker-face. I smiled even wider when the realtor takes my enthusiasm for stupidity and asks us to sign a contract then and there. And if she thinks my positive reactions have anything to do with the way I negotiate, then she was going to be disappointed.

As it turned out, after I got home and did the research, the house was underpriced, and the vendor was in a hurry to get out. In the interest of fair play, good will and a balanced Karma we offered them the list price. I have NEVER done that before. Not even on a cheap computer monitor. I NEVER pay retail on principle. But it felt right and saved a lot of bad feeling and delays.

Our offer has now been accepted and the fun begins. The Agent is learning not to stick her nose into our business and is slightly upset that we don't require her input. So long as our inspectors and solicitor are satisfied we will be in our new house a day before Xmas.

Snobbery at its Finest

We are currently looking at houses, with an aim to purchase, which our bank was very keen to assist us with by offering us large amounts of money. Commendably we have resisted utilizing this amount to the last dollar, leaving us in the mid range listings for the areas we are interested in.

During our interactions with RE Agents we are inevitably shown structures that are well outside our "absolute top dollar" price range as they predictably try to find out where our "real" ceiling is.

I believe we have fairly simple tastes. We like value for money and aren't particularly interested in, what I term as, "look at me" houses. I'm just as happy in a large, older shed with three different extensions in multi-coloured zincalume as I would be in a barn sized air-conditioned garage. Especially if my old dunga shed has 74 power-points, a 2 post hoist, TV, beer fridge and pool table inside. I'm not out to impress anyone. Being comfortable is what we are all about.

So anyway, I am looking through the listings and find a fancy, architecturally designed mansion by accident and do some cursory searches on its value. I see that it has been dropped a shitload in price. More searching uncovers a possible drainage problem at the back. As it is a very beautiful home, and because I can't help buying something worth 1 million dollars at half price I ring the agent.

Let's call her Miss Upherself Hard-faced Bitch shall we?

Ring, ring.

Miss Upherself Hard-faced Bitch: Hello, this is (says the name of the previous agent who she possibly killed to get this listing's) phone. How may I help you?

Me: I was looking at (address of hideously expensive mansion) and noticed it has a possible flooding problem at the back.

Miss Upherself Hard-faced Bitch: Well I'm absolutely certain that is wrong. (Blah blah, city council, irresponsible mapping data etc). May I ask what price range you are interested in.

Me: (Inadequate number for this agent to consider).

Miss Upherself Hard-faced Bitch: The front door alone is worth $3000.00.

Me: Click. Beeep... beeep.. beeep...

Living in Loser Yobboville

I have recently had the misfortune to intermingle with a sub-class I am embarrassed to recognise as Australians. Before I begin my rant I would like to identify myself as an average, working-class Aussie. Sure, I am one steeped in cynicism with sociopaths tendencies (mainly due to being let down many times during life's lessons), but at least I have retained a measure of self-respect and common decency.

We recently changed address, and for various reasons we were forced to lease a small townhouse in a fairly new sub-division. It presented very well in the real estate ad. Talk about looks can be deceiving.

We thought we'd leased a 3 bedroom, 5 car garaging, nice private little place that we could live in comfortably while looking for a house over the next year.

What we got is a cheaply built, 2 and a half bedroom, 1 full size car and 1 micro car parking space in a "lower socio-economic" area. We had to sell our ute so we could buy a smaller car to fit into the shoebox garage. This was necessary to protect it from the gangs of kids that flood the streets nightly. I have now taken extended leave from my job and am desperately searching for another house.

So far we've had to tolerate graffiti on the fence; burnouts at all hours (from absolute shitbox cars, not even V8's!); strange, random screams from a disturbed young man who wanders the street without a shirt or shoes on, kicking his football into backyards so he can have a look around; constant, loud, very personal conversations unavoidably heard since our neighbours are 2 meters from our back verandah and bedroom windows, a serial pisser who favours urinating in letterboxes and other peoples' fuel tanks; condoms, beer bottles and other rubbish thrown into our back yard, an abandoned car parked in front of our house, dropping large amounts of oil. These are but a few of many other anti-social activities.

Our rather coarse neighbours ,who live in the battle axe block that wraps around our plot, are the epitome of the urbane lower class, dole bludging losers. The parents are in their 30's and their kids are late teens who have a 3 year old and a 5 year old. They all live in a similar sized house to us, using their garage as several bedrooms, each contributing $160 a week in rent. (I told you they talk loud).

They all, including the "adults", communicate like a bunch moronic 16 year old air-headed high-school dropouts, listen to commercial radio very loud and use the word "fuck" in every sentence. For instance, "Down the fuckin' shops" is a natural and non-aggressive response to an inquiry of "Where ya fuckin' goin'." On the week-ends the use of the expletive increase with the amount of cheap beer they have managed to buy with their child-assistance cheque. While spray painting their soon to be abandoned wreck of a car, drunk, outside my office window, for two days, I heard this gem. "Hey Dad, this fucking spray can is fucking fucked."

And there is NOTHING I can do about it. These self-absorbed, small-minded, short-tempered rejects are totally oblivious to the people around them. Reasoning with them would be pointless. Any discussion would only expose their inability to comprehend what is fair and right. Explaining these terms to them would inevitably degenerate into physical retaliation as their feelings of inadequacy demanded to be defended in the only way they know how.

I hate and fear these people. They have nothing to lose. No focus, no morals, no direction. They live day to day, reacting to obstacles that they have let fall in their way with anger and violence.

On the up side, I will eventually leave this place. And I take with me from this urbane hide, a valuable insight into the minds of the barely literate, irresponsibly procreating, unimaginative dregs of our society. May they all get exactly what is coming to them.

Pollyanna meets the Cynic.

I recently replied to my sister's Blog post in my usual knee-jerk, flippant manner. Someone replied to my viewpoint with an interesting come-back that set off a few brain cells.

I’d agree that I can come across as an overly negative bastard. It’s a defensive mechanism brought on by years of adversity. (Now I sound hard-done-by but really I’m just being honest. I admit that I struggle to find a balance between the fullness of the glass and the perceived wastefulness of all that air in there.)

Having said that, I examined the OP once again and came up with these thoughts. Negative people are naturally defensive. They seem to think it makes them appear more intelligent to find fault than to accept a non-confrontational situation at face value.

The pseudo-intelligent pessimist seeks to cloud our sunshine moments because they are envious and seek to bring us down to their level. If they can’t be happy, why should anyone else be? Yes, cynicism is my mainstay but let's examine this scenario: how many people are truly happy when someone they know wins the lottery?

I very much believe in Karma which is my Great Mental Balancer. When I accidentally dump a portion of my depression on someone I feel obligated to pay forward the attention I am favoured with and listen to someone else's negativity for a time. Now I even try to listen with a certain educated person's mantra: “sometimes people don’t want you to fix anything. They just want someone to listen.” A common problem is the tendency for people to feed off each other's misery. A soul-deadening process often encountered in long-term workplace employees.

On the flip side, surrounding yourself with positive people and attitudes is a great concept. But, how does a Pollyanna disposition balance you for the inevitable down-turns? I think I’d LOVE never to be unhappy ever again, but I don’t think I’d like to be happy all the time. Sounds unnatural and psychotic to me.

Happy thoughts, people; just make sure to top them with a healthy amount of cynical sprinkles.

Digging ditches

I've been helping my brother dig ditches and lay pipe on and off for the last week or so. Probably the hardest I've had to work since the Great Pack Up and Move and has helped me drop several more kilo's.

We did all the work by hand to cut costs, digging through clay, shale and a million tree roots, and so what if I could barely move the next day after each session. I'm sure Jules can tune out the groaning.

The job was only necessary to drain a much bigger project underneath the house. Oh yeah, we all know how much I love crawling around under houses. Next task is to remove another 5 cubic metres of dirt before the block layer and concreters turn up. I can barely wait for the next weight training exercise.

Comfort Zone or Stagnation

In the past I have always found a certain level of uncertainty in my life acceptable. I've never seen the point in planning out a career path, with goals highlighted along the way. I usually get itchy feet in the 2nd or 3rd year of residing in one place, even if we break it up with holidays away.

Therefore the long stay in SmokeTown has effected me profoundly. I accumulated stuff that I found difficult to let go of. I got comfortable in a niche that had enough positives that they outweighed the many negatives of the place. And the "remote" location disconnected me from society and robbed me of my ability to learn and take chances.

I am going to change this trait if I can. I don't want to be cutting edge, but I most certainly don't want to be left behind.

Blog rediscovered and reopened with a self inspection ..

I don't know if you're still with me...Luckily I don't mind talking to myself, and I definitely need the brain space as the past few weeks have been extreme.

Jules and I been through several large life changes in the part 13 years so we have the tools to help us where other people have to make do or rely on others to help them.

Our latest change involved leaving a stagnating life in a town full of small minds and large ignorance's. If that makes me sound arrogant or superior then so be it. I want to be superior to some of these people, and arrogance can be healthy if it serves to keep your head above the prejudiced dregs you must swim in.

Already I'm discovering plenty of garden variety wankers here too, but I am anonymous again and that makes a huge difference. I am blissfully unaware of my neighbours deepest secrets, distressing tales of woe and details of their illnesses and family crisis's. I walk through the super malls and do not have to scan for faces to turn away from.

Now that we have landed I will attempt to give myself a good panel beating and a new coat of paint. At least the inevitable scratches and dings that are to come may be lessened by past experience. Repeating mistakes is quite unforgivable. Making new ones is just Life's way of training us not to be stupid.

Shedding that town from my psyche is probably going to be difficult as I'm contracted to go back every now and then. I guess dipping a toe into the waters where you were once mauled is doable if not entirely sensible.

It was interesting to watch myself stress and fume during the move, (perhaps not fascinating to Julie who bore my aggressiveness with her usual calm). I felt totally overloaded with responsibilities and continually checked for cracks indicating an inability to cope. I'm happy to report I must still be within my safety margins. As the situation worsened I worked hard to stay focused on fixing the problem and not dwelling on the cause, yet I have no desire to run another pressure test at the next level.

Being able to throw money at the worst of these problems was extremely useful. Money's ability to smooth a path is incredible. I found myself wondering several times how low-income people get ahead. The answer is; most don't. Those that do are an exception, with brains and drive and are soon rich. But that's a different rant.

When I was younger I would deliberately push myself to find my physical limits. I would work to collapse, and when recovered, I'd see if I could better the record. However a mental collapse would be far harder to recover from. A broken mind would not heal the way a bone would. I fear this type of damage more than losing a limb.

I know a mind is tempered by adversary, and it is a good thing to be stress-tested on occasion, especially if the rewards outweigh the angst. We all like to laugh about our most trying times. Those of us who don't are doomed to sob over our failures in secret, in the dark. These types of failures I'm yet to experience. With the right mindset I sincerely hope never to hoard a memory of this nature.

I am calmer now. If I remain unsure of my future at least I am confident that I have one.