I love my little town. I love my apartment. I love my massive kitchen with its acres of counter and storage space and its two skylights.
What I don’t like is being an hour away from many of my friends and the associated social events. I don’t like being required to drive to San Francisco[*] because there’s no BART option.
The decision is made: I’m headed back to the East Bay. Furthermore, I’m going to cast off my rental chains and exchange them for some embossed with the word “MORTGAGE.” Yes, I’m going to buy a place of my own. This freaks me out to no small extent, I admit. But it’s a good thing (I keep repeating this to myself).
So the hunt is on. I have an agent and we’re starting to beat the bushes for all the decent cheap houses in the area. They must meet a few simple requirements:
- At least two bedrooms
- Have a garage
- Be close to the freeway that takes me to work
- Not require use of the 580/880/80 interchange, aka “The Maze”
- Priced within my meagre budget
- Be in an area where I won’t get shot
So, um, tally ho. We’ll see how this works out…
* The driving in SF isn’t such a big deal; I’m no longer traumatized by that in the least. No, it’s the parking that bugs me. Or, more specifically, paying through the nose for parking.