A House is Not a Home

It's Valentine's Day. I still haven't recovered from the initial shock and thrill of receiving a bouquet of pink roses, and seeing the almost incredulous looks on my female colleagues' faces after discovering who the delivery man was looking for. It took me about thirty two minutes (yes, that long) to wipe the silly grin off my face and the--uh-uh, yeah--"almost incredulous look" on MY face. I never knew this day was going to be, uhm, special. To my mind, I was just going to work, download mp3s (mind you, as I *simultaneously* work..heh..heh..), do my PowerPoints, answer my LotusNotes mails, watch Desperate Housewives DivX in my PC as I take my lunch on my desk, and then run to Greenbelt 1 for my customary I'm-bored-to-tears-I-need-to-get-out-of-the-office-even-for-15-minutes stroll. No vision of roses or Iloveyou cards or colleagues gossiping about my flowers whatsoever there.

At the mall, I found myself stalling my post-lunch stroll at Ace Hardware. Come to think about it, the hardware is the only other place I could prolly achieve multiple orgasms just by looking at the merchandise (an electronics shop and a furnitures shop being the other two). On a normal day, I would just go past Ace on a whim, looking for any knicknack that I could (or would) purchase on a whim, and then run off to Fresh Bar for my daily Spirulina-infused vitamin fruit-and-yoghurt shake. But on this particular day, I stayed longer. Wait a minute, not just this day, but also the day before, and the day before that, and the day before the day before that... The reason being I am barely four days shy of moving into our new 3-bedroom condominium which we got from an old chatty real estate broker on Saint Paul Road in San Antonio Village. Finally, a house to actually call my own...or at least my "semi-own", considering the owner refuses to give me a lease-to-own deal unless I cough up one million freakin' pesosesoses. Yeah. Like I have a million bucks. Hell. I don't even have minus two zeroes of that! *#@@*#&@&$!!


Finally. No more waking up (rather startled) beside an almost naked, not-so-palatable émigré in the wee hours of the morning (just because I was conveniently uninformed of a sudden change in his supposedly interminable night shifts); no unsightly swimming trunks or underwear floating around; no more having to stay at the first floor or the roof deck to pass time because him and his lover are doing their birds-and-the-bees session upstairs...on my fucking bed; no more having to run to a 7-11 because he didn't have the water gallon refilled; no more having to wash soiled and icky plates and pans...that I didn't even eat or cooked on! No more waking up with no water...or showering with water that smells like the sewers. No more buying food for myself that I don't get to eat because they "mysteriously" disappear. No more schedulings of MY dates because he stays home for his day offs. No more missing boxers shorts only to be seen being worn by the roommate. Argh. No more miseries. Can I get a hallelujah?!

Oh. And no more appliances, too. Coming from a fully-furnished (down to the refrigerator, stove, table, bed, armoire, and TV) condo and moving into a studio condo, I had to start from scratch: no more gimmicks and fancy, expensive toys for me...or I won't be able to afford my furnitures. *Sigh*

Thanks to my "icons" HGTV (Home and Garden TV cable channel), Martha Stewart, DIY TV, and even Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, we were able to whip up a handful of handsome furnitures and fixtures for one half to 3/4 the price. The Japanese style queen-sized bed frame cost only about P5k pesos, compared to a similar item in home and furnishing shops that costs P9-12k. Add to that, got a deal with a burglar-proof side table, as well as two pieces of bar stools for barely one third the price of store counterparts. A unique Zen-inspired coffee/center table for the living area also didn't cost an arm and a leg, but a mere half of it (uhm, 1/2 arm and 1/2 leg?? *j/k*). The secret? A REALLY crafty and imaginative (and may I say "cheap" [in terms of professional fee, that is]) carpenter slash handyman slash deliveryman slash consultant as a partner in all the home improvements...and you're good to go. Oh, and let me not forget a lot of quick drying enamel and thinner, as well as loads and loads of creativity, patience...and of course, moolah.

The next hurdle was the screening of tenants. 'Cause when you think about it, three bedrooms is a REALLY big condo unit for two people. So the ads had been placed, emailed CV's and references were reviewed (yes, I needed to know if they're liquid enough to pay, you know...), and a multitude of phone calls and text messages answered. Finally, two nice tenants that would otherwise make living in the condo more bearable...or at least the burden of paying the entire rent and utilities, as well as the deranging silence of the 69.9 square meters unit.


Can't wait to enjoy the free aroma of freshly ground coffee beans (yes, we happen to be about two blocks away from the factory of Cafe Puro); wake up in the morning beside Pink on immaculate sheets on our new bed; make unique shakes in our blender; deodorize the kitchen through the makeshift exhaust fan whose pipes traverse through the guest lavatory; take a shower in the jet-strong water in the toilet; have a couple of wine and frozen mixed drinks at the bar; share a few laughs with the tenants slash friends; listen to the soothing sound of the water fountain; and watch the sunset as I sit wearing nothing but boxer shorts in the veranda of the fifth floor.

Now where the hell is that moss green toilet seat cover again...?