Off the topic of remodeling and terror, check out what I just saw. There's a new seafood restaurant opening in East Austin. Lovely timing. I have my qualms about Gulf Coast seafood (if you have crossed that bridge you take to get to Port Aransas, maybe you understand why), but I was under the impression that my only options within a mile of home were Long John Silver's or McCormick and Schmick. This place sounds kind of rad.
I hope they actually have clams. And langoustines. And crawdaddies.
Incidentally, I like the pizza on the Eastside a lot better, too.
Jul 27, 2009
spark of hope
After feeling all doom & gloom most of the weekend due to some reactions to the home inspector's photos (which it was possibly unwise to share in the first place), I got some good news today. An electrician from Duhon Electric came out for an estimate and it turns out that the "drop" to my house is just peachy. It's not mammoth by any stretch, but it'll give me at least 100 amps, which should be good enough, especially considering that I need to use less electricity anyway.
The electrician said that, contrary to what the home inspection indicated, the house had no immediate or dangerous issues, and that the voltage should be just fine for powering the tools that'll go into renovating. He gave me a ballpark of about $1,800 to replace the panel, which is old and not labeled. It's also not grounded and has a lot of open slots which are not useful for much except an expedient suicide. Then, as I stood inside relaying the good news to my boyfriend, we decided to take a look inside the mystery box the previous owners had left us on the kitchen counter. Contents: one spankin' new, totally modern electrical panel.
I'm getting a second estimate from my real estate agent's electrician on Thursday, but it's going to be a tough sell at this point. The electrician I talked to today was what I hope every contractor I work with will be like. He was friendly, earnest, smart, and didn't talk down to me. (You have enough people refuse to explain things to you - presumably - because of your gender, you get kind of sensitive about it.) Moreover, he made a clear delineation between what building codes required and actual safety hazards. Though he agreed that the electrical for the whole house should be updated, he seemed to be on board with my proposal that the house go up and down before replacing the panel, and then we go room by room, modernizing the wiring as walls came out.
I would love to think all of the house's needed repairs are going to be this smooth to plan, but I kind of doubt it. I've been rereading Gutted: Down to the Studs in My House, My Marriage, My Entire Life to make myself feel better about my comparably simple remodeling job. It's also good for short little factoids that are at least giving me a basis for further research into construction and stuff. (That and HGTV, which is actually probably doing me more harm than good.) One of the pieces of wisdom it contains is that electrical is the last thing you do because you can put it anywhere. So I can get the panel installed, but any serious rewiring is going to have to wait until I get a plumber to return my phones calls and plan out the central air and heating.
Still, knowing there are good contractors out there who I will get to work with if I can just get the foundation and everything else finished gives me hope.
The electrician said that, contrary to what the home inspection indicated, the house had no immediate or dangerous issues, and that the voltage should be just fine for powering the tools that'll go into renovating. He gave me a ballpark of about $1,800 to replace the panel, which is old and not labeled. It's also not grounded and has a lot of open slots which are not useful for much except an expedient suicide. Then, as I stood inside relaying the good news to my boyfriend, we decided to take a look inside the mystery box the previous owners had left us on the kitchen counter. Contents: one spankin' new, totally modern electrical panel.
I'm getting a second estimate from my real estate agent's electrician on Thursday, but it's going to be a tough sell at this point. The electrician I talked to today was what I hope every contractor I work with will be like. He was friendly, earnest, smart, and didn't talk down to me. (You have enough people refuse to explain things to you - presumably - because of your gender, you get kind of sensitive about it.) Moreover, he made a clear delineation between what building codes required and actual safety hazards. Though he agreed that the electrical for the whole house should be updated, he seemed to be on board with my proposal that the house go up and down before replacing the panel, and then we go room by room, modernizing the wiring as walls came out.
I would love to think all of the house's needed repairs are going to be this smooth to plan, but I kind of doubt it. I've been rereading Gutted: Down to the Studs in My House, My Marriage, My Entire Life to make myself feel better about my comparably simple remodeling job. It's also good for short little factoids that are at least giving me a basis for further research into construction and stuff. (That and HGTV, which is actually probably doing me more harm than good.) One of the pieces of wisdom it contains is that electrical is the last thing you do because you can put it anywhere. So I can get the panel installed, but any serious rewiring is going to have to wait until I get a plumber to return my phones calls and plan out the central air and heating.
Still, knowing there are good contractors out there who I will get to work with if I can just get the foundation and everything else finished gives me hope.
Jul 25, 2009
dig here
One of the big questions I had in buying this house was what was under the floors. The inspector's pictures of the underside of the house showed oak floors, seemingly in decent shape. I've been really looking forward to getting in and taking up the carpet/linoleum/laminate to reveal that..This is what we found we we pulled up a corner of one of the bedrooms:
If you've seen Beetlejuice, maybe you get the reference in the title. If not, suffice it to say there's a scene in the movie where the Maitlands have to dig through several layers of flooring and padding that look very much like what our short investigation today revealed. Except that I didn't notice any unidentifiable rotted black substance in the movie. I'm freaked to think what the stuff beneath the carpet, pad, and two layers of linoleum may be. All I know is that it ain't oak.
The second bedroom was different but equally nasty. The linoleum in the corner there had disintegrated into a white, plaster-like paste. I had to pull the carpet back about two feet to discover that it used to be vinyl with a fancy fleur de lis pattern.
The plan was to remove the carpet and stuff to determine whether the floors were even worth trying to save or whether, in the process of leveling the foundation, it was irrelevant if some were cracked. Looks like the answer will be the latter, but we're still going to try. I have this fear, though, that it's only going to get worse as we keep going.
Jul 24, 2009
a glass of champagne and a phantom limb
It's been an intense week. I've been going to bed with certainty and waking up to uncertainty. But I sit here now with a glass of champagne in one hand and several sets of keys in the other (you know, figuratively). As of about 4pm today, I own the house.
Yesterday, I was dubious this would happen. I met with my real estate agent to talk about contingency plans, plans we were both pretty sure we'd be forced to choose among. We talked about proceeding, accepting the sketchy property lines as-is, and deferring the question of property rights until the neighbor decided to sell. We talked about buying the four feet, but later that morning my real estate agent went to see the city and discovered that to partition the lots that way would make both illegal. It seemed that the best course of action was to have the sellers ask their neighbor for a permanent easement, allowing the fence and roof of my house to sit on his land.
Late in the day, though - after countless phone calls between my agent, my mortgage broker, and I - we got the new survey. It had a big bold line drawn right around the fence. The surveyor had gone back to the monument, the neighborhood's point of origination, and determined that the center itself was incorrectly located. By about four feet.
I went this morning to get a cashier's check and, at noon, handed it over after signing a huge pile of paperwork (which I now own both hard and digital copies of). In addition to my many sheets of paper and a good quality pen, I got a laminated copy of the triumphant survey that pretty much saved my ass. I got several other copies, as well. I think maybe I should tea-dye one of them and frame it.
Now my boyfriend and I are taking our dogs over to check out their new home. I'm wishing I had some graphing paper and could start mapping out walls and cavities where things like new bathroom fixtures will need to go. For now, though, I'm satisfied that I'll be able to walk across the threshold of a home that - philosophically - I've been pursuing since February knowing that I can write my name on a wall, or paint it silver, or knock it down if I want to.
Truthfully, I may not even need a map. I remember crazy details about the floorplan and can recall them instantly. I'm sure I'm not the first to say it, but it feels like I've acquired a phantom limb. A 2,000 square foot, 109-year-old limb that is going to ache until I attach myself to it. I don't know if I'll be able to wait to get the foundation frozen.
I have a hell of a lot of Angie's List recommendations to write. Tomorrow, the planning begins.
Yesterday, I was dubious this would happen. I met with my real estate agent to talk about contingency plans, plans we were both pretty sure we'd be forced to choose among. We talked about proceeding, accepting the sketchy property lines as-is, and deferring the question of property rights until the neighbor decided to sell. We talked about buying the four feet, but later that morning my real estate agent went to see the city and discovered that to partition the lots that way would make both illegal. It seemed that the best course of action was to have the sellers ask their neighbor for a permanent easement, allowing the fence and roof of my house to sit on his land.
Late in the day, though - after countless phone calls between my agent, my mortgage broker, and I - we got the new survey. It had a big bold line drawn right around the fence. The surveyor had gone back to the monument, the neighborhood's point of origination, and determined that the center itself was incorrectly located. By about four feet.
I went this morning to get a cashier's check and, at noon, handed it over after signing a huge pile of paperwork (which I now own both hard and digital copies of). In addition to my many sheets of paper and a good quality pen, I got a laminated copy of the triumphant survey that pretty much saved my ass. I got several other copies, as well. I think maybe I should tea-dye one of them and frame it.
Now my boyfriend and I are taking our dogs over to check out their new home. I'm wishing I had some graphing paper and could start mapping out walls and cavities where things like new bathroom fixtures will need to go. For now, though, I'm satisfied that I'll be able to walk across the threshold of a home that - philosophically - I've been pursuing since February knowing that I can write my name on a wall, or paint it silver, or knock it down if I want to.
Truthfully, I may not even need a map. I remember crazy details about the floorplan and can recall them instantly. I'm sure I'm not the first to say it, but it feels like I've acquired a phantom limb. A 2,000 square foot, 109-year-old limb that is going to ache until I attach myself to it. I don't know if I'll be able to wait to get the foundation frozen.
I have a hell of a lot of Angie's List recommendations to write. Tomorrow, the planning begins.
Jul 22, 2009
four feet of grey area
The plan was to close today. Papers had been drawn up and everything was all set until yesterday morning, when we finally got the survey back from the title company. The size is right, exactly what was described going as far back as the MLS listing. However, the eastern edge of the property - turns out - is four feet inside the east fence. The footprint of the house is within the actual property line, but part of the roof overhangs it by about a foot.
In Texas, something called adverse possession means that because the four feet have been used and assumed to be part of the lot I'm buying for over 25 years, it's owned by the sellers. It's basically squatter's rights. Which is all well and good, but I know a little something about the difference between how things are under the law and how they play out in reality. Some dude owes me two grand, for example, but the law's agreement that he owes it to me hasn't gotten me any closer to collecting it. And while involving the law when a client rips you off is expected and just about the only thing you can do, going to court with your neighbor to settle property issues is far from desirable.
We have a new closing appointment scheduled for Friday, and a second survey due that day, as well. The second survey will start at the establishing point of the neighborhood to determine whether the rest of the neighborhood is also off by four feet. Given the age of many of the homes, it certainly seems possible that eighty years ago some dude doing measurements with a piece of knotted rope or something measured incorrectly. It's probably too much to hope for, though.
Given the situation, I'm wary of going through with closing if the survey comes back the same. I'm meeting my real estate agent tomorrow to talk about strategies and timelines. I'm inclined to put my foot down, however. I've asked for no repairs, despite the condition of the house, and didn't push back at all on price after getting the inspection or the appraisal. It seems reasonable to me, then, that the sellers should purchase this strip of land from the seller prior to closing and include it in the price I'm paying them. I guess we'll find out soon enough whether they agree..
In Texas, something called adverse possession means that because the four feet have been used and assumed to be part of the lot I'm buying for over 25 years, it's owned by the sellers. It's basically squatter's rights. Which is all well and good, but I know a little something about the difference between how things are under the law and how they play out in reality. Some dude owes me two grand, for example, but the law's agreement that he owes it to me hasn't gotten me any closer to collecting it. And while involving the law when a client rips you off is expected and just about the only thing you can do, going to court with your neighbor to settle property issues is far from desirable.
We have a new closing appointment scheduled for Friday, and a second survey due that day, as well. The second survey will start at the establishing point of the neighborhood to determine whether the rest of the neighborhood is also off by four feet. Given the age of many of the homes, it certainly seems possible that eighty years ago some dude doing measurements with a piece of knotted rope or something measured incorrectly. It's probably too much to hope for, though.
Given the situation, I'm wary of going through with closing if the survey comes back the same. I'm meeting my real estate agent tomorrow to talk about strategies and timelines. I'm inclined to put my foot down, however. I've asked for no repairs, despite the condition of the house, and didn't push back at all on price after getting the inspection or the appraisal. It seems reasonable to me, then, that the sellers should purchase this strip of land from the seller prior to closing and include it in the price I'm paying them. I guess we'll find out soon enough whether they agree..
Jul 9, 2009
unattributed quotes
I had a pretty good homeowner's insurance quote from my normal insurance company, which I assumed meant the policy was mine. It turns out it doesn't work like that. When I tried to firm up the purchase of the policy, I found out that because Texas law prevents the insurance company from making stipulations about things getting fixed (such as the fusebox and roof), for their purposes my house-to-be is uninsurable. Why a national company can't do this but a local one can remains a mystery to me.
For the FHA loan, I have to pay a year's insurance in advance, which means I need to have a policy and a premium. The agent at the local insurance company I called after my normal insurer turned me down expressed surprise I was getting a loan at all, having been denied non-contingent insurance. This worries me. Maybe I'm not, in fact, getting a loan.
Photo by drspam
It seems upside down that fixer-upper homes should be out of reach to anyone but the very wealthy, people who can buy a home outright instead of needing a mortgage, or those who can easily put down 20% for a down payment. You'd think FHA loans would encourage rolling up your sleeves and building sweat equity, rather than paying extra for nonsense like granite, bamboo, and travertine. Not to get all sentimental, but what does allowing only the wealthy or lucky to get their hands on old homes do to the character of a neighborhood? I see very little chance that someone accustomed to the good life is going to move into a home in disrepair - hopefully they'll restore, but I bet it's more common for the homes to be leveled and turned over as investments once their character-less granite et al has been installed.
It seems like a shame to me. If you're willing to put in the labor to save a home, it seems like someone should be helping you instead of everyone involved trying to bar your path.
For the FHA loan, I have to pay a year's insurance in advance, which means I need to have a policy and a premium. The agent at the local insurance company I called after my normal insurer turned me down expressed surprise I was getting a loan at all, having been denied non-contingent insurance. This worries me. Maybe I'm not, in fact, getting a loan.
Photo by drspam
It seems upside down that fixer-upper homes should be out of reach to anyone but the very wealthy, people who can buy a home outright instead of needing a mortgage, or those who can easily put down 20% for a down payment. You'd think FHA loans would encourage rolling up your sleeves and building sweat equity, rather than paying extra for nonsense like granite, bamboo, and travertine. Not to get all sentimental, but what does allowing only the wealthy or lucky to get their hands on old homes do to the character of a neighborhood? I see very little chance that someone accustomed to the good life is going to move into a home in disrepair - hopefully they'll restore, but I bet it's more common for the homes to be leveled and turned over as investments once their character-less granite et al has been installed.
It seems like a shame to me. If you're willing to put in the labor to save a home, it seems like someone should be helping you instead of everyone involved trying to bar your path.
Jul 8, 2009
inspections and appraisals
The house was inspected last Monday and appraised this Monday, and we're still moving forward. Every category in the inspection was scored "Deficient," but this wasn't really a shock. Despite the house's obvious problems, the inspector still walked us around and detailed everything he'd found and how to fix it (instead of just writing it off as a tear-down). He had a couple of good surprises, for instance that some of the plumbing had already been replaced and the roof can probably make it another year.
I didn't know anyone in the area, so I found my inspector on Angie's List. That worked out really well for me as sort of a test run for using the service. I was able to comparison shop between inspectors with good reputations and saved about $100 off of what the other companies wanted. I got another $50 off the estimated price for agreeing that he could send me his photos of the home separately, instead of embedding them in the report PDF.
The appraisal I had no control over. The appraiser called me up when he was done and asked for $400, which was the first time I'd heard of him. Sadly, his appraisal wasn't the same figure as what I'd been told the house appraised for in April. This appraisal is about $20K less, so I feel less as though I'm getting a good deal. However, the price is still below the appraised value, so the loan should go through.
I didn't know anyone in the area, so I found my inspector on Angie's List. That worked out really well for me as sort of a test run for using the service. I was able to comparison shop between inspectors with good reputations and saved about $100 off of what the other companies wanted. I got another $50 off the estimated price for agreeing that he could send me his photos of the home separately, instead of embedding them in the report PDF.
The appraisal I had no control over. The appraiser called me up when he was done and asked for $400, which was the first time I'd heard of him. Sadly, his appraisal wasn't the same figure as what I'd been told the house appraised for in April. This appraisal is about $20K less, so I feel less as though I'm getting a good deal. However, the price is still below the appraised value, so the loan should go through.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
