Life on the Wrong Side of the Tracks

Matt and I bought our house a year ago.  Our home is 7 miles further south and 20 years newer than we would prefer.  With Austin's current growth rate (welcome, Californians!) we had 2 choices in our price range:  buy a newer house further away than we would like or buy the vintage fixer-uper of our dreams just east of downtown in a less than, ahem, stellar neighborhood.   We chose the former.   Last week The New York Times ran a profile on a few families who took option B.  It was awesome and I will rehash it here, with commentary.  Get out your popcorn!

Meet your neighbors.  This graffiti covered storage shed / possible meth lab is neighbor to the first home we'll be visiting today.  Don't get me wrong, I'm fine with a customized padlocked shed every now and then, but really, these graphics are less than sub-par.

The outside of our home on tour:  once a shoe manufacturing plant, this 16,000 square foot (yes you read that right) building was built in the 1800s.  Before the Ms. Griffith moved in, it was home to pigeons and a colony of bats.  Ms. Griffith admits to falling asleep to the sound of gunshots every so often.

But, in trade, she gets this:

and this

oh, and did I mention this:

Ms. Griffith has put over $400,000 into the home knowing full well that the conditions may never improve enough for her to see a return on her investment.  Aside from the gunshots, this home is in San Antonio, which, according to me, is problem #1.  (Sorry readers in San Antonio, I still love you, just not the Riverwalk or Eva Longoria Parker)

Next we are shown the exterior of the Hulser home, built in Connecticut (much better than San Antonio) in 1839.  Apparently the train is not the worst thing about this residence as we are not shown the inside.  

These lovely antique dealers saved 35% off of their home's estimated value just for agreeing to put up with this:

Who doesn't want an abandoned gas station (haunted adventures!) and a trailer park (party!) as neighbors?  I say it's A-OK when you get to rock like this:

And just a little OK when you rock like this:

You'd think all that money they saved on the house would have allowed them a larger curtain budget. 

That was mean.  Your house is lovely, boys.  Moving on

This fancy couple said I Do to the occasional transient junky in exchange for life in this renovated church.  Because of it's proximity to a nearby community center they often have unexpected sleep over parties on their yard.  Hey, who doesn't like a party?  You?  No?  Well, what if I told you that the inside of the home looks like this:

Are we singing different songs, yet?  The couple bought the home for just over $1,000,000 in Santa Monica where comparable homes usually sell for double the price.

This 10 room Federal style house is neighbor to boarded up buildings and empty lots.  The $350,000 home in the Bronx is in one of the cities most unsafe areas according to police reports.  

The Diaz's, who purchased the home in 2004, have doubled the purchase price by hauling off trash, setting up surveillance cameras and making the old joint look like this:

ho-hum, but that's not the point.  Where do you all stand?  Would you be willing to put up with trains, gunshots, fire stations or trailer parks if it meant that the home of your dreams was within your reach?

What if it also meant that you may never have the hope of reselling your home?  Or that you could only resell at a loss?  That your home is no longer an investment, just the satisfaction of your dream-home-desires?  

I'm very torn on this issue and often wonder, despite how much I like my home, if I did the right thing.  I'd love to hear what you all think.

Alright alright, I'll finally read this thing I paid for

I know that the June issues of our shelter mags are old news by now but apparently I've been too busy eating bon bons and watching episodes of Ninja Warrior to notice.  My monthly subscriptions arrived weeks ago but I hadn't even cracked them open until Erin and Ben came over on Saturday night.  Our husbands decided they could best socialize by diving head-first into somecrappyx-boxgame, leaving Erin and I with a stack of design magazines and a bottle of wine.  Since Erin is knocked up, I had the unfortunate task of getting rid of the booze. Ok, where is this all going?  The bottom line is that we saw this house in Met home and it knocked our socks off.  You've probably seen it all by now but, because of the bon bons and ninja warrior, it was new to me (and Erin).  Enjoy:

I love everything except the small dorky painting over the fireplace.  Erin and I have also decided that it's in my best interest to replicate that little cactus garden in my bay window.

Ok, this picture wasn't in the magazine, and for good reason, I say.  That big ole rock is good, the 2 smaller pieces of art are ok, but the rest is too craft-corner-kitsch.  

Erin and I decided to divvy up the furniture in this room: she got, what she refers to as the giant tooth, while I took the wood tulip table.  I really wanted the tooth, but she did such a good job naming it I really couldn't argue.  Neither of us took Marilyn.  Sorry Marilyn.

Erin immediately claimed these lovely green chairs and I have since ordered the pieces necessary to knock off that wicked ball chain lamp.  Do you see how it's touching the table?  Do you?! 

What I find most lovely about this patio is that the homeowners are probably able to spend time on it.  Right now my UNCOVERED patio is reaching daytime temperatures of what feels like a million bazillion degrees (ok, today was like 100).  With few trees in sight, my porch is currently off limits.  Oh, and the blue and pink here are nice, too.

A pool and an umbrella could quickly shift my backyard from uninhabitable to party-town-usa.  Yes, I would like fringe on my umbrella, too.

We have seen this image before on The Daily Bed, loved it then, love it now, love love love.

Ok, I'm gonna level with ya:  I'm not really sure what's goin on here but, no matter, I love it.   While the wall looks like it's covered in magazine clippings I don't remember my high school bedroom looking nearly as cool when I tried the same budget wallpaper stunt.  

oh goodness, you had me at gold poufs.  

Have I ever told you guys how much I like those colorful plastic outdoor rugs?  Well, I really do.

Our Protagonist, artist Doug Meyer in front of the yellow entry way he whipped up.  

GUESS WHAT Y'ALL?!?  I was just trying to find a link to Doug's design site when I found a NYT hometour slideshow from 2006.  

Chairs: same.  Deck: now turquoise, no fringy umbrella out by the sun chairs

I don't even know what this space is now but holy ick, I'm glad he changed it.

Also, you may now visit that knoll sofa in photo #1, it has been recovered in green.

Ok, This room looks like it is now the room in photo #1, the one on the far side of the partition.  Erin, overt your eyes from the chrome ball lamp.  Look!  That chair has now been recovered and it found a friend (see photo #1).  The lamp in the corner is now in the bedroom (see photo #7) The table is in the Marilyn room.  The painting is in the dining room.  They all look so much better in their new homes.

For some reason this reveal feels very juicy gossipy to me.  This is the decor equivalent of Brittany's car-exit stunts.

One last pic for the road:

The jade green Ondine console ($5,900) and wall piece ($3,900), are part of the Doug & Gene collection.  So, let's see $9,800.  Yep, seems about right.

Let's get this straight:  I really do like the house as shown in Met Home, I didn't mean for this to become a bitchy design-coverup-exposed expose, it was a last minute addition.  Doug, A+ on the home redo, it was much needed.  Can I come swim in your pool?

Get Gladstoned

The seventh level of hell must include many poor souls who decided to off themselves while in the midst of home renovations. Now, don't get trigger happy and call 911 yet -- I'm not really that desperate. But I'm close. Just look at what a long weekend's worth of work hath wrought:

erin's house

Dontcha wish your household was hot like mine? Dontcha... dontcha?

I really thought we had turned a corner in our kitchen renovations, but I was sadly mistaken. Even my normally temperate darling Hunny Bunny is pitching a 10 alarm hissy fit because every single thing that can go wrong has. Last night we went to bed after one am and when I awoke, I hoped to find that this mess was just a dream. But, alas -- hell no. It's a waking nightmare.

I think I'm going to head over to Toronto's Gladstone Hotel to get grounded. Its homey atmosphere just might cut my melodramatic crap and whip me into shape. Maybe.

gladstone hotel

On my first night there, I plan to stay in the Teen Queen Room, where I will bust out my Swatch phone, call Karly and whine about my kitchen. Then I will make moonpie eyes at my posters of Simon LeBon and Corey Hart. Please do not tell me if you are too young to know who these people are. I probably won't like you anymore.

gladstone hotel

On night two I shall to visit the Skygazer Room, where I will ponder the mysteries of the know universe, chief among them being: how can Louise Nevelson still make artwork when she's been dead for 20 years?

gladstone hotel

Night three: I will restore my faith in humanity while relaxing in the comforting grandmaesque Faux Naturelle Room. Only one catch -- apparently I will also enjoy "a jumb-o-tron view of a bevy of husky wood nymphs frolicking in a forest glade via a giant erotic fun fur canyon scene covering the largest wall in the room." Oh. I see.

gladstone hotel

On the fourth night of my vacation, I will chillax in the Snapshot Room while drinking in the photographic scenery of Toronto in fall. I find that trees always diminish the night terrors, don't you?

gladstone hotel

Night Five will find me in the Canadiana Room, where I will pray to god that the antlers don't eat me while I'm sleeping. If I'm lucky, I will be visited in my dreams by those guys from Strange Brew -- you know, the ones who had to drink themselves out of a tank of beer. Now that sounds like a vacation, eh?

gladstone hotel

On my last night I will stay here, in the, uh, Blue Line Room. Well, let's just call a spade a spade, shall we? This is the sex room. I can think of 800 hilarious things to say here, but I'm just going to let this one go for fear of somehow incriminating myself. Anyone care to say what I won't?

Well, friends, it's back to work I go. No real rest for the weary!