Rio

It’s been a busy last few days. My real estate agent and I went looking for condos in my price range Saturday morning. I have to say, there is a lot of C-R-A-P out there. Like oh-my-god-how-did-someone-live-here crap. The first place wasn’t so bad. The second wasn’t awful but it wasn’t good, either, and it wasn’t worth the price. The third place? Also terrible.

And then there was the place on Rio. It’s funny — I’ve driven past that street countless times. And when I looked for a condo back in 2005, I even checked out a place in a different development there. But this place was in a different building tucked away in the back. The whole time we walked through the lobby, I kept thinking about how much I would love to show it to my parents.

When we walked into the condo, I felt like I was home. I thought, This is the feeling other people have told me about — that when you find the right one, you know almost as soon as you walk in the door. And when I thought about it, I realized that it’s true: When I moved up here, I felt that way about my first apartment. Ditto with my current apartment, despite all its bumps and bruises.

But the condo? When I walked in, my knees actually got weak. I walked through the place in a daze. How could it be? All this space, all these closets, this perfect kitchen, a huge balcony? In my price range? OK, granted it was in the high end of my price range, but still. When I looked for a place five years ago, back when the market was wiggin’ out, there were a couple places that were this price and weren’t in great shape. I even considered them before being priced out.

But this place … this place felt like home the second I walked in. It hurt to leave.

After seeing yet one more awful place, my agent dropped me off. For the next two hours I couldn’t think straight. I would try to put dishes away only to put things in the wrong place. I couldn’t focus on anything — couldn’t watch TV, couldn’t read. Kept pacing. Finally, I e-mailed my agent to tell her that maybe we should put together an offer. So that’s what we did Sunday morning.

And then came the wait.

She called me Monday morning with the news. There had been an open house on Sunday and someone else made an offer. We went back and forth on a few things and finally settled on things to sweeten my offer. She called me five hours later with the good news: The owner accepted my offer. I firmly believe there was divine intervention. (Is it a coincidence that it was built the year I was born?)

After I hung up, I went into the ladies room and jumped up and down like a child on Christmas morning.

Today was the home inspection. (With the exception of a few minor things, the inspector declared it to be in “excellent condition” and said I had bought myself a great place.) Going through the apartment I fell in love all over again. I love the immaculate red kitchen with its deep cupboards, original and pristine cooktop, and original wall oven with its uber-cool retro late-1960s lettering. I love the delicacy of the pale yellow walls in the second bedroom. I love the serene blues of the master bedroom.

I love the two — two! — walk-in closets. I love the pale pink walls of the main bathroom and retro shower doors. (This amazes me, as I usually hate shower doors. But this one? Love.) I love the blues of the half bath — a half bath!

I love that each main room has its own climate control system. I love that you have to be buzzed in — and that you can check the security cameras outside through your TV. I love that I’m on the second floor — far enough from the ground to be safe but low enough that I can get out in a hurry if there’s an emergency (or if the elevator is out). I love that our family dog can visit.

I love that under the carpet, which is in excellent condition, is a parquet wood floor. I love the enormous balcony, where I will go to unwind … whenever I want. I love that under my balcony is an enormous forsythia bush. It was the thought of that balcony — of coming home and relaxing out there after work — that I carried in my heart all weekend. That thought was so clear to me that it felt like a memory.

When I looked for a place in 2005 and then considered looking for a place this time around, I just wanted a place that I could live with for a while. But this place? This place is home.

I close at the end of May. I’ll be a bundle of nerves until I actually have the keys in my hands, but that’s the process. It still doesn’t seem real. I keep looking at this binder that the inspector gave me this morning to remind myself that it is indeed real. (And I’m sure that it’ll feel very real when I start paying my mortgage and condo fee.)

All I’ve been saying for the last 36 hours is thank you.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

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