Yeah, so I rode the album covers wave for a week or two. I thoroughly enjoyed my brush with fame through internet on the coattails of the more talented. However, when you add an ingredient called “reality”, you realize that it amounts to precisely zero. One interesting thing I noticed was that when the hit counter goes into the tens of thousands per day for a couple of weeks, a few random assholes are bound to stumble retardedly by and espouse their opinions.

Thanks to them, I now know that I am not funny.

I had a sneaking suspicion about that.

I actually have something in common with these people, though. Well, sort of. I have delusions of adequacy, and they have delusions of relevance. Here’s a test to see if you suffer a similar affliction-

Raise your hand if you have ever read something that you didn’t think was funny.

Now keep your hand raised if you took the time to write a note to the author because you were so convinced that you are the only one who knows the true definition of funny.

If your hand is still raised, you are an asshole. You should be using your mystical comedy writing abilities to write something that is truly funny so we can all enjoy it. Now run along.

Aside from having a good thing going on the blog front, I have been very busy with my actual life. The life where I’m not typing to amuse myself. Living the single life again has been fun. For those of you who don’t know, every available woman in Atlanta has recently read, “The DaVinci Code”, teaches school, and has grand aspirations to spend her life “sitting by the pool drinking margaritas”. Yes, that was an exaggeration. Not EVERY available woman does those things. Some prefer Pina Coladas.

Here’s a sentence I am tired of hearing- “I’m not religious, but I am spiritual.”

Oh yeah? Well, I’m not honest, but you’re interesting.

Give me a break. Saying “not religious, but spiritual” is the same as saying “I’m politically moderate” it translates roughly to “I haven’t bothered to educate myself enough to form a set of core beliefs or even an opinion. Even if I did, I wouldn’t have the integrity to live that way.”

Another one I can’t stand- “money isn’t everything” or “money can’t buy happiness”. Those are just things said by people who consider themselves “the little guy”, and play financial victim all the time when they could be improving their situation. If you think money can’t buy happiness, you aren’t spending it right. Send it to me and I’ll show you how. The system is a beautiful thing once you learn to play nicely with it.

Dating only keeps me busy when I want it to. That may sound selfish, but it is. My main focus right now is to live through the process of buying my first house. This process has also drained my happiness account pretty substantially, so taking a girl somewhere nicer than Captain D’s is out of the question. No, you can’t have hush puppies with that.

Here’s how it has gone so far-

I spent a few months reading books about the home buying process, talking to friends and family, researching areas of town, socking away money for the impending financial hemorrhage, and so on. After looking at possibly every condominium available in the midtown/downtown/highlands area, I narrowed it down to two that I liked. One was small and expensive and had all of that metropolitan loft charm and absolutely the best location in the universe, and the other was big and open and nice and cheaper, not a mile from the first one. The frosted side of me wanted the place where I would feel happier and be all warm and fuzzy when I came home every day. That was the bigger one. The shredded wheat side of me liked the smaller one because it will be a great rental property (additional source of income) when I move out in a few years and get something bigger. My real estate agent is a bright guy, and has made large numbers of dollars doing this, so I asked him which one he would go with from an investment standpoint (even though I already knew the answer). I’m getting the smaller one.

From there, it has gone like this-

“Okay, let’s write an offer”

“Right. I’ve never done this before. I’m guessing $15,000 less than list?”

“Sure, we’ll do that”

“Okay”

“I need a check for $1000. The earnest money.”

(Trying to act like I write thousand dollar checks every week) “Okay. Here ya’ go, champaroonie.”

Next day-

“Hey, Dusty, they weren’t too excited about the offer.”

“Tell them I’ll throw in an autographed 8×10 glossy photo of me riding a horse. If that doesn’t excite them, they need an excitement gland transplant.”

“You’re a beautiful male specimen, but I think they would be even less excited about that”

“Oh. Okay”

“They knocked $2000 off their asking price, and that’s their counter”

(Trying to act like I negotiate six figure sales prices every day, which included pensively stroking my chin and looking thoughtfully at the ceiling) “You sure you don’t want to at least ask them about the 8×10 glossy?”

“No one wants a picture of you riding a horse, Dusty”

“It’s autographed”

“Still…”

“Well, two can play at this game. Offer them $2000 more than my original offer”

“Fine. Now leave my office before I call security”

The price changes about six times in $2000 increments over the next four days, and then we have agreed on a sales price.

“They accepted the last offer, Dusty. Congratulations”

“Whoa. This is all happening pretty fast. I’m more of a methodical thinker through of things than this…”

Seriously. The speed with which this all happens barely gives you time to get nervous. I think it was designed that way for people like me who might chicken out and run away.

“Yeah. Whatever. The offer was accepted contingent on another $1200 earnest money, so I’ll need that check now.”

(Trying to act like I write more than one $1000 check every week) “Damn, dude. This is getting spendy. Don’t cash that one until May of 2007.”

“Shut up, Dusty. More money than that comes out when I fart.”

“Well, you’re the 29 year-old millionaire that we all want to be, and I’m not, so that makes sense”

“Let’s schedule an inspection so we can get the disclosure statement and CC&R book”

(Trying to act like I know what any of that means) “Right. We need the RRCC thing inspected STAT.”

“Stop it Dusty”

“But I…”

“Stop”

“Okay”

Yesterday-

“Hey Dusty, the inspector will be at the property at 3 pm. Can you make it?”

“I guess I’ll find a way to be there. How much is this part going to cost me?” (I’ve gotten used to asking that)

“It depends on how it goes. Usually around $300.”

“Jeeeezus”

“What?”

“Err…Cool. See you then.”

The inspection only took an hour, and went very well. It is a high quality piece of real estate. Having some knowledge of how to build things, I was impressed that everything seemed to have been done correctly, and with quality materials. After having lived in rental garbage apartments for several years, the most impressive part to me was how clean the cabinets were under the sinks. I’m used to seeing a piece of rotting plywood covered with roach shit and a pipe going through a hole that looks like it was punched out with a shotgun. These were all beautiful gleaming PVC, new seals, mechanical vents, and not a drop of water anywhere it shouldn’t be.

Friggin’ sweet.

Now I shall tantalize you with a few interior shots of the future chez Dusty. Unless I run out of money. Or the ceiling caves in. Or I don’t like the regulations in the RRCC thing.

I’ll be having a party, but the place is small, so I’ll have to schedule guests in shifts. I hope that isn’t a problem.

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