Virginia!

So, dear demented followers, I’m here in Virginia.  Why, you ask?  Simple: I’m looking for a place to fucking live.  Hopefully I’ll find one soon, I only have a few days left before my free Army Hall Pass for this adventure runs out.  No shit, dudes and dudettes.  That’s how this stuff runs.  First time for everything, you know. I’m rocking it in board shorts and tee shirts, Cali Style… with flip-flops, too.  And an unauthorized scruffy beard!

The problem set is simple: find a house for me and Mama Rants, and a few others of Great Significance (yes, SHE of Great Significance! And among others – kids who rock!).  Said abode must be commensurate with my current 4000+ square footage merely to handle all the stuff… all the shit… that we collectively own.  Yeah, wow.  I know, basement and garage space is important.

The challenge: Find this place within a rental price that I can afford.  I’m well into four digits now, by the way.  Apparently that’s standard for the National Capitol Region, as we Army dudes call it.  Holy shit.  My next job after the Army is going to be Beltway real estate speculation and rental management.  See if I’m lying.  Go ahead.  Dare you.

Anyway, after a pleasant flight into Reagan (hallowed be His Name) National, I quickly broke into a flop sweat out of a combination of humidity and nervousness.  I’ve had five potential houses taken out from under me simply because the market is so fucking fluid.  This was before I boarded the flight.  Number six happened while I flew.  Yeah, no shit.

No matter, I had five pending houses with dates to view lined up.  All so far look good, and all of them I’m competing with others for.  Lucky for me, there’s no bidding war on rent amounts, or I’d be hosed.  Right now, I have a landlord who seems to like me (no, not that way) and my potential Significant Family situation.  By the way, he’s an older gentleman who teaches middle school.  Looking good so far, update later.

I can’t say I understand this process.  I’m used to driving to my next assignment at an Army garrison, pulling up to said garrison’s housing office, and asking for a house to live in.  After that, I get a house.  Until  now, that’s worked…  until now, it’s gone very well.  In the area of the Pentagon, though, 22+ years and the rank that goes with it (Lieutenant Colonel) means I get to hunt and peck for rentals outside the safety of the military gates.  Apparently, inside The Building, my job will probably involve buying coffee for one- and two-star generals who were told by three- and four-star generals to get coffee – for coat-and-tie civilians who outrank them (WTF ??).  Yeah, fuck me and my sorry existence.

Sigh.  Perfect way to end my service career.

 

At least the company next to me has made all this fun and wonderful.  🙂 Talk about a great woman… holy shit…