NoFo No Mo’

As of about 3:30 today, I am no longer a taxpaying resident of the NoFo corridor. (I don’t know exactly where the NoFo corridor is either; I made up the NoFo name when I found out all the other blog names I wanted to use were taken, and I added “corridor” for the sake of this post because it sounded kind of official. In any case, I am now living in temporary digs south of Foster until my Two-Bathroomed Barbie Dream Condo—which is also south of Foster—is ready for me to move in.) I will not be changing the NoFo name, though, because 1) I like it, 2) it sounds kind of naughty, 3) which means I like it even more, 4) changing a blog name is more trouble than it’s worth, and 5) the fall TV season is upon us, so I have more important things to do.

But the closing on my condo today went off without a hitch (except for the part where the buyer’s very hunky Realtor didn’t show up in a Speedo and a cowboy hat), and I am officially now in a weird limbo between homes. All of which means, of course, that I am unemployed AND homeless. Chicks dig that.

I do want to get one thing off my chest here: I sold my house on the first showing. In case you missed that, let me say it again: I sold my house on the first showing. In a buyers’ market, no less. And I got damn near my asking price. I didn’t want to write about it here until the deal was closed, though, for fear of jinxing everything. But now that I have the check safely in my bank account, I want to mention once again that I sold my house on the first showing.

That weird limbo between homes
I have some wonderful friends. And some wonderful luck … unemployment notwithstanding. This weekend, amid tornadoes and drenching rain, my friends and I loaded damn near everything I own into a POD, which was soon trucked away for safekeeping. In exchange for their backbreaking labor, I fed my friends brownies and sodas and promised them pizza, which they all refused, saving me a good thirty bucks. And then I moved into the lovely and spacious home of two other friends, who have promised me their guest room and their cooking and their company for as long as I need until my Two-Bathroomed Barbie Dream Condo is ready. If I time the offer right—like maybe right after a huge meal—maybe I can get them to refuse my pizza as well, and I’ll be a whopping sixty bucks ahead. And through this whole adventure, every weird scheduling glitch ended up becoming a stroke of good timing, and every unexpected expense turned out to be pretty nominal. (For instance, did you know you can rent dollies from U-Haul for a mere seven dollars a day? SEVEN DOLLARS for an afternoon of back-friendly labor. The only way it could be easier is if you were watching a movie about movers—though you’d actually end up paying more.)

Romantic Date Guy No Mo’
Amid all this chaos and change, Romantic Date Guy sadly stopped being my Romantic Date Guy. Because somewhere along the way, he officially became my BOYFRIEND. (Sorry for toying with your emotions there—unemployment sometimes makes me sadistic.) And if I didn’t love him more than shoes and ice cream before he came home from his freakishly long business trip, the way he so cheerfully commandeered my weekend packing and storing and moving adventure from the moment he got off the plane pushed me way over the edge. So pardon me while I get all fizzy and funny and fine here just by blogging about him. And pardon me while I quote someone other than Sondheim when I declare what a catch I have caught. You haven’t heard the last of Jake and The Boyfriend. And you haven’t even begun to retch in nausea over our preternatural happiness.

In other news,
I realized as I was unpacking my power bars and energy gels at my temporary digs this weekend that oh yeah, I’m training for a marathon. It’s been two weeks since my last run, and this weekend we’re pounding out a whopping 26 miles. I grabbed five miles today and felt fine, so I think I’ll be OK.

Which means all the pieces are falling into place: The closing happened right on schedule. I just got a signed contract for my new Two-Bathroomed Barbie Dream Condo, complete with all the changes I’d requested. My interim housing is lovely and wonderful and, quite frankly, more than a fellow could ask for. Marathon training is going well. And the boyfriend makes my heart flutter and jump and leap damn near out my chest every time I see his smile or feel his hand in mine or even see his name in my inbox. All that’s missing is the damn job. And I have a very good feeling about my prospects. Stay tuned.

So start saving up for: housewarming gifts, new-job gifts, marathon-completion gifts and gay-wedding gifts. The reader who gives me the most loot gets the nicest thank-you card.