Wednesday, April 3, 2013

the house hunt is over but the zombie hunt is just beginning, y'all

I don't even know how I got here, readers. I know March and the end of February were utterly consumed with house-hunting. I know I spent every waking hour scouring Craigslist, realtor sites, and apartment search engines. I know I wrote more emails in 30 days than I had in six months. I also know that I dealt with more absolute idiots in those 30 days than I had in my entire lifetime. And 90% of those idiots were realtors.

Hi, my name is Nicki, and I'm looking for rentals with private yards and private entrances, preferably single families. I have two dogs, both about 70 lbs. each....

Ten minutes later:

Hi Nikki, here is a downtown studio apartment let me know what you think please...


Hi Nick, here is a townhouse, small dogs only, can you see it today?


Hi Niki, dog-friendly rentals are hard to find in the city, is there someone else who can take them?

Yes, city-dwellers, I know the fastest way to go certifiably insane is to deal with a realtor. Especially a Boston realtor, where apartments are snapped up faster than you can say granite countertops. But we were looking for a yard--and preferably a house--so we found ourselves in a lion's den. 
A lion's den of grammatically challenged young males with snappy names and several restraining orders.

And then there were the dogs. My God, I love them, but finding housing for two 70-lb. dogs in a city notorious for being one of the least pet-friendly cities in the country is a little like trying to shove a bloated elephant through a pinhole. Add the fact that one is a German Shepherd and it becomes like trying to shove a registered sex offender elephant through a pinhole in a daycare center. As in: it wasn't happening. 
We found ourselves scheduling meetings, running the dogs like mad beforehand, parading our dogs before landlords as if to say: See? They aren't dangerous, child-eating killers! They play fetch! They can sit! They can shake! For God's sake, they just want their belly scratched!

It was exhausting. And every day I'd send out twenty emails, and every day I'd get twenty nos. Or, more accurately, I'd get five nos, two I'll call the landlord and never get back to yous, twelve no-but-here-are-twenty-other-apartments-that-don't-meet-your-search-criteria-at-all, and one sure that got my hopes wildly up before turning into yet another no the next day.

One day, after having our house-hunting hopes and dreams crushed yet again, we spotted a perfect little house with a perfect little Home For Rent sign out front. A perfect little house about five minutes away from where we currently live. A perfect little house that, thank God, was not posted on Craigslist or in the grubby clutches of a realtor.

So we did what any reasonable house-hunter in the modern age does: we stalked the crap out of that house on Google Maps. And saw that had a backyard for days. And that the backyard was all woods. And that there were no houses nearby. And that it was about five minutes from our current house. And it was across from a cemetery, so hey, quiet neighbors. (Cymbal crash.)

And so Derrick called. And who should answer...but the cemetery.

And lo and behold, the cemetery had no problem with dogs. Even large dogs. Even German Shepherd dogs.

And so we found ourselves renting a darling little house from...a cemetery.

And so we find ourselves moving in to a darling little house across from...a cemetery.

Which sounds pretty sweet in itself-- the cemetery landscapers cut our yard and remove our snow, non-nosy neighbors, quiet nights, no chance of having the cops called if we have a party--until Derrick pointed out that we will be royally screwed when the zombie apocalypse starts.

So we're moving in. We're covering the hardwoods to protect them from our dogs' wrath. And we're stocking up on ammunition.

Because the way I see it, when the zombie apocalypse happens, we can all hole up and get trapped in our homes, Night of the Living Dead-style, or we can all arm ourselves with instruments of destruction and head to the Winchester, Shaun of the Dead-style. The choice is yours. But I know my choice is going to be the one with beer in it.

(Pictures coming soon.)


  1. Why do I have absolutely no problem with your new home being across from a cemetery? All I can think is how pretty it could be and how much space you'll have to go for walks in. I probably also assume that your German shepherd is a trained zombie-killer and not a baby-killer.


    I don't know if I could walk out my front door and look at a cemetery (bad fung shui) but YOU FOUND A NEW HOUSE!!!!!!

    As for the ZA (I think ZA sounds cooler, plus, I'm lazy) just pull the Walking Dead move. Trap them in a pit, break of their arms and jaws and use them as "pets" to keep other zombies away.

    I need to see this glorious new stomping ground of yours!

  3. Ummm...that won't be scary at all. Of course none of your friends will come by after dark, but heck, who needs friends. After all, dog's are man's best friend right?

  4. AWE-SOME!!! You found the perfect house for you! Well, I think so anyway. You frikkin love zombies man! Ha ha. You could make movies, you and Derrick? Awesome setting and an excuse to dress up and act like a zombie! No? Just me? I'm late to this post now so I'll move on to the next for an update on the new house. I am SO with you at The Winchester.

  5. OMG I'M SO JEALOUS!! Imagine the target practice that you will get! And all of the bones for Holly and Apollo to chew!


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