I don't really know the best way to say this. I've tried about twenty different sentences. Which is ridiculous. Because it's pretty simple, really. So I'm just going to say it: We just bought a house in Baltimore. Or to put it more accurately: we just reached an agreement on a house in Baltimore. There's still a few things to attend to. There are a few more initials we need to put on the offer we made yesterday. Then there are the inspections. And details on loans to work out. But that part's easy. The hard part, the negotiations, are over.

And so 'excitement' is one word you could use to describe my frame of mind right now. 'Elation' might be another. 'Relief.' There are several words, actually. And I'm plagued by a condition where I can't really decide what to do next. I tried pouring a scotch. I took a sip and then, inexplicably, I dumped it out. It didn't seem like the right occasion. Which is strange because I didn't know there could be a wrong occasion for scotch. It's amazing the things you learn in life. Sure enough, there could be. And this was it. What this called for was not scotch, but a cup of green tea. Because I wanted a bit of the mellowness to wash over me, but with just a touch of the alertness. Let me repeat that. Because it seems like a good thing to do. A bit of the mellowness. A touch of the alertness. Got it? Good.

And so, I'm sitting here, trying to remember simple things, like how to construct a sentence without using the clever turn of phrase, "Holy mother of God I can't believe it!", or how to sip from a mug without laughing and dribbling green tea - with a bit of the mellowness and an intsy bitsy touch of the alertness - all over my chest. Or how to stop bobbing my head to the music blaring dangerously loud in my headphones. Or how to stop smiling like the Cheshire Cat. Or how to pass in front of the full-length mirror on our closet door without dancing (just a little) to Aqueduct: Hardcore Days and Softcore Nights as it shuffles onto my iPod.

And right now it's 11:56 pm Thursday night and I'm waiting for C to freakin' land in Los Angeles, already, where she has gone to watch her sister graduate college. Because this is some exciting fucking news, you dig? Like big stuff. And I need to tell people, damnit. I need to tell her most of all. Or I may just explode - with a bit of the mellowness and a touch of the alertness - all over my recently-painted bedroom walls.

Which would be bad. Because this past Tuesday we signed the perfect couple to rent our apartment. And they probably wouldn't care for exploded landlord on their walls. And I really am just jazzed as hell about these people because they really love the apartment. And we really love them. Really. They are incredible. If there was a 'tenant construction kit' and somebody plopped it in front of C and me and said, "Here you go. This is all you need. All you have to do is read the instructions and you can construct the perfect tenants" - even if there was this kit. And we read the instructions from cover to cover - and then re-read them in Spanish and French, just to understand the finer meaning - and then put all the right pieces in all the right places, just like the instructions said to do. Even then. You hear me? Even then. We could not have come up with two better people to live in our apartment. They're like C and me, minus about seven years, several thousand strands of gray hair, and chronic joint pain. I like that they both develop web. And they both play music. And they just got married. Eloped, actually. And this will be their first place of their own together. Which is awesome. Because I think they're going to love it here. Because C and I loved it here. And so I'm really really happy for them. And I'm happy for our apartment - because they fit one-another.

I've been wanting to mention the tenant thing for a while, to talk about how fortuitous and incredible it was that they happened to find us right at the same time we happened to be looking. I wanted to talk about how things sometimes just seemed to work out that way. But there was still the other piece of the pie, which was the house thing. And it was sort of lingering out there. An unknown. And I didn't want to jump to conclusions about our lucky momentum. Even using the word 'lucky' right now makes me cringe a little bit, because I feel like the luck gods will smite me with a whopping load of lard on my car or something.

But it's hard to contain it now. After several volleys of offers and counter-offers throughout the day, after some good natured splitting of hairs over prices and closing dates, we seem to have reached an agreement with the owner. And all I can say is: Three big, full-throated cheers for a balanced real-estate market! Where the buyer actually has some control over the negotiations. Where the asking price is the highest price you're going to encounter along the way, not the lowest. Where nobody mentions things like 'escalation clauses.' Or waiving an inspection. As a buyer, I like this market. I could swim in these waters for a while.

And so, barring any weird things with the inspection, we're on our way to Mobtown. Where we will live in an actual house for the first time since we got married, seven years ago this month. A house. With two freakin' floors. And a basement. And a back yard, with a deck. And a stoop, Hon!

It's exciting. But also a little bit sad. Because opening a new chapter always means closing another. And the last one was pretty damn good. I will miss DC. A lot. I will miss our apartment. A lot. I'm also dreading the actual move. But I'm not thinking of that right now.

Right now, I'm just going to groove to Aqueduct one more time. And answer the phone. I think that's C calling now. I'll post this in the morning.

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