That's My Bix!

When we first moved to Las Vegas, we lived in a very $$$ new area of the greater metro area. It is called Mountain’s Edge because it was literally smushed up against the edge of the valley. We lived in a gated community that, judging by the sheer number of Latter-Day Saints temples within walking distance, was predominately Mormon. They went all out for decorating their homes during the colder holidays (You’ve heard of decorating for Christmas, and even for Halloween but you know who also put out Thanksgiving and Easter lights and inflatables? These people) and frequently alerted the HOA when so much as two blades of grass dared spring forth along our xeriscaped front area (you can’t really call it a yard if it would snap your ankle just by wandering across it, right?)

Then the housing market lit up and our landlord said “Hey, if you move asap so I can sell this house, I’ll make it worth your while, otherwise we’re just not going to renew the lease, but you’ll move on your own dime then” so we had to rush to find a new house. Because Las Vegas is a soulless corporate housing wasteland (you’ve read Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch, yes? I live in that neighborhood, ten years later), we found the identical floorplan for rent just three miles down the road, in an older less cool neighborhood. It wasn’t gated, was even CLOSER to the raw desert (instead of being 1000 feet from scorpion country, now we’re about 150 feet from the raw desert) and had the downside of being about 15% more rent. But it was an easy move and the neighborhood seemed more relaxed.

Boy howdy it is.

The cool side? Our neighborhood is far more diverse. There are fewer families with tiny kids, which reduces my constant fear that one will walk off their 20 foot deep front area and in front of my car. There are fewer people with dogs — and they don’t leave them locked out of the house in the backyards while they go out of town (like the people directly behind our last house, who had three pitbulls who would bark-howl every seven seconds (not making that up) until someone came home, literally for eight or more hours sometimes. Also, for reasons I don’t understand, almost no adorable tiny lizards but also we have only seen one single scorpion this entire year (and that scorpion was dead and immediately after the move so it’s entirely possible we brought it with us from the last house).

The downside? The people next door — we called them the Drug Dealers. Why? Because they were literally drug dealers, complete with neck tattoos and Hell’s Angels visitors who would drop by and leave ten minutes later on a regular basis. And apparently when we moved in, they were already in the process of being foreclosed upon, so they never bothered to pick up garbage nor weeds or, you know, be good neighbors in general. Case in point: there was a tiny bottle of discarded vodka in their front yard for seven months. Did I pick it up? I did not — partially because it wouldn’t help the house look any less trashy as it was so small, it was barely visible from the road. It was like an Easter egg for me and me alone. Also, it was a helpful time marker for me to see how/when someone was going to make any effort to care for the house.

I have no fear of turning into Gladys Kravitz because that ship sailed long ago. Abner!

They got kicked out, eventually, moving in an interestingly hyper 2 day moving marathon during which time they filled two gigantic Dumpsters with seemingly still fine furniture and household items and then were gone in the night, motorcycles, neck tattoos and oddly-pimped out* cars all at once. Then someone tried breaking back in at some point. Then the bank came and turned off all the utilities and there it sat, weeds getting weedier, a window falling off the second floor and smashing to the backyard, exploding broken glass everywhere, the front balcony door open to a windstorm. Basically a welcome mat to squatters and kids who swore they heard groaning coming from the house at dusk. Basically, it was a welcome mat for future squatters and ghosts.

However, now? Lockdown be damned — there are workmen literally refurbishing the entire house, top to bottom. They have been chipping out tile, playing music 12 hours a day, sawing, hammering, painting, more sawing, more music, just basically everything happening all at once, seven days a week, even Easter.

I think I preferred the haunted vibe. The dogs didn’t consistently bark at the ghosts.

I suspect with the Shelter In Place, the housing market is going to kick up big time as soon as it’s lifted, so I suppose that’s the reason for the rush. I just wish they were more quiet about it.

*For the record, I enjoy a good pimping out of a car, particularly one that embraces the rhinestone oeuvre. However, I didn’t understand the decisions they made, particularly on font choices for some of their customizations. I mean, come on, classics are classics for a reason — but if you’re going for the custom flames, then maybe customize your saying with something other than a font that also might have adorned the last Enya album?)

Despite countering for more than asking price, we didn’t get the riverfront property in Freezington. Back to the drawing board — or the constant watching of Realtor.com for new listings.

Back to Swedish Death Cleaning/Packing to Move At Some Point!

I have begun to consolidate the master bedroom closet and despite making a concerted effort to clean out purses when I am done using them, I still ended up removing detritus from six purses and bags yesterday that resulted in a full kitchen-size garbage bag full of random crap. The worst part is that this is partially purse archaeology, and I know at least one of those purses came, fully loaded with leftover crap, from Green Bay three years ago because it contained several spare oral syringes that we used to give our dog Zuzu, who has been deceased now almost three years.

In a pique of self-loathing, I also went through my phone contact list and removed people I haven’t worked with in at least six years, at least four people who are now dead, and some six businesses that have shuttered years ago. I also removed three listings that I used to call all the time when I had to work from Schaumburg, something I literally haven’t needed to do since the end of 2010.

So. Fine. I need to work on my mental and physical secret caches of clutter.

The comments want to know: What’s the most useless or out of date thing or person saved in your phone’s contact list?