Once again, a bum is right.

I won't bury the lead here, or wait until the end to mention that we got the house.

And as always with me, the day I was told our final offer was accepted, I kind of already knew.

While walking my pug Thursday morning, a man on a bicycle called out to me, "Excuse me m'am."

Noticing his body was buckling under backpacks and a bed roll, I paid special attention, as homeless men and I share a kinship.

"Yes?"I asked.

"What is your name?" The man on the bicycle asked.

So I told him mine and the pug told him his.

"You're blessed today," he said. "You are beautiful and today is beautiful. Good things come to you today."

And I said, thanks. And he said, good day.

Now. Had I not mentioned this story to Joe upon immediately entering the apartment, I fear he would have outright said I was lying, when later that afternoon, after a lunch interview in Sarasota, my phone rang and Joe said, "We got the house."

And like I said, I kind of already knew, so after squealing, "WHAT? WE GOT IT?" I lowered my voice and said, "Well, I suppose the bum already knew, right?"

And Joe agreed. He's used to things like this by now. We all have guardian angels. I have bum angels and if you ask me, Joe is damn lucky to have a girlfriend with bum angels. Especially in St. Pete, where bums abound.

And so our conversation took a turn, not in the direction of bum premonitions, but in the direction of total baffled shocked. After back-and-forth negotiations this week, we never expected the homeowner to accept our final offer. We were still $18,000 apart. Sure Realtor Randy gave us hope, what with his positive percentages and all. But $18,000 is still a pretty big unflushable turd, if you know what I mean ... or at least it's a turd to be reckoned with.

Cynical journalists. We were still not convinced. Even me, the hopeful one, the dreamy one, the one with bum angels at her fingertips. Even I was not convinced.

So after work we met up with Realtor Randy at The Ale House in St. Pete, where he said he'd be sitting in full Philly Eagles regalia watching a preseason game at the bar.

When we got there we were still so unconvinced that neither one of us felt compelled to order a beer.

"C'mon! Order a round," Randy insisted.

"Nah," Joe said and I shrugged.

"You guys just bought a house. Get yourselves a beer!" He cheered, throwing his own giant stein in the air.

"We'll celebrate when we're at our kitchen table," we replied.

Randy shot Joe a look. The kind of look that said, dude I carted your ass all over St. Pete for two months looking at houses. We find one. The guy accepts your crappy offer and now we're at a bar, signing the final offer and you disrespect me, your devoted Realtor, by denying one celebratory beer?

We could not get past the fact that no one runs away with Florida real estate, not even in 2008. Begrudgingly we each ordered a brewski, and by the time the last line was signed in Randy's stack of Keller Williams paperwork, we were both feeling good and celebratory.

Later that night while grocery shopping at Publix, I noticed that Joe reached for the cheapest, smallest can of bread crumbs.

"You never buy that little can," I said.

"We're homeowners now. We're going to be poor for awhile." He said.

I smiled and clicked my heels. In my head of hopeful girly bubble thoughts, I catalogued this moment under The Most Rousing Line Of The Night and proceeded to the check-out.

--

PS. The illustration above is by New York City artist Kelly Mudge. To purchase this hauntingly excellent painting click here.

PK With a Vengeance

After two months, my sister PK got a job. She's working at a preschool during the day and an Italian restaurant at night. I never see her anymore.

She moved in with my friend/coworker Kyle in Sarasota and, as illustrated by this photo, she has her own bathroom.

She's decidedly less gung-ho in spirit than when she first moved here. See June 10.

Without further ado, here's PK Part II.

But first, a word from her roommate:

"I tell her it's like living with my mom, which is not a bad thing. It's a good thing because I love and miss my mom."

Aww.

--

How did you spend your last two months?
It varied. Sometimes I’d have an interview so I’d come back, clean the house, go to the beach, come back and cook dinner.

Was this a positive experience for you?
I loved it.

Even though you freaked out every night because you didn’t have a job?
Even though I freaked out I loved it. Despite the stress of not having a job, it made me realize that I will make the best housewife. It is my true ambition.

Have you taken any steps toward that ambition?
Um. Are you kidding me? The steps would be to try to find my Prince Charming, but obviously that’s not happening.

Why?
Because I realized I’m the oldest 22-year old on the planet.

What about that one guy who took you to the Rays game?
Asshole. He was the most immature 26-year old I ever met. I told you what he told me.

What was that?
That I’m an effing tease.

And how did you respond?
I told him, ‘I didn’t intend to lead you on. I’m sorry if I did.'

And then you hung up the phone?
Basically.

Have you heard from him since?
He tried calling me and I didn’t pick up.

You like living with Kyle?
Yes. We’re both sort of … I don’t want to say dorky. We both sort of just find stupid things funny. We make each other laugh.

And you have your own bathroom with a yellow theme?
Yes.

What do you enjoy most about your new independence?
Coming and going as you please. Not always … you know having Dad be like, where you ram-rodding to? And Mom … you know how Mom would say it: ‘You just came home and you’re already going again? It would be nice if you spent one night home.'

Do you miss mom’s cooking?
Yes certain things. But lately she was catering more to Dad’s likings than mine. I’m not one for a chuck roast. You know what I mean. ‘Oh would you like me to make you something else, because I’m making your father a chuck roast.'

How do you like my bed? Entertained any gentleman callers in it?
UGH. I don’t plan on it either I don’t have any health insurance. A man might sit on my bed because there’s no place else to sit in the house, but there hasn’t been any physical activity if that’s what you’re looking for.

Have you discovered any favorite Sarasota places?
I like the Publix that’s nearby.

The one on Ringling?
Yeah. I discovered it after work one day. I fell in love with it the minute I walked in.

People call that the ghetto Publix.
Maybe that’s why I liked it. I’ve got the ghetto ass.

You do.
And the cashier was this big mama. And she was the friendliest, nicest cashier ever.

Jon Voight squeezed here.

This pig keychain was a gift from Joe's sister, Rosey. It lights up and oinks. But its oink sounds less, "Oink" and more "Quarr." 

Quarr.

One, I love pigs.

Two, I love pugs* and they're not much different than pigs. 

Three, I want a Pigasus tattoo to mimic the way Steinbeck used to "sign" his books followed by the latin expression: "Ad astra per alia porci." (To the stars on the wings of a pig.)

I left my keys at Publix Sunday night. I'm not positive of this, but I'm pretty sure I left them in the chip aisle. (Joe and I labeled bags of Doritos with "Peabody Award Winning" labels printed off Stephen Colbert's web site on Sunday night and I can't think of any other aisle I lingered in for 10 minutes to sticker groceries.) 

So I left them at Publix and when I called the store yesterday to ask if a set of keys had been turned in the woman who answered the phone asked: "Is there anything identifiable about the keys?"

I said: "The pig?"

She said: "We got em."

One time while I was at a Rudy Giuliani  fundraiser in Sarasota (to photograph, not support the candidate) I met Jon Voight. I never actually saw Giuliani. But Voight, he shook my hand and in doing so accidentally squeezed the pig. It oinked.  Rather it quarred. He pulled back and said, "What was that?" I smirked and said, "It's my pig." And off Voight went.

Do not dismiss your goof-tastic keychains. One day you might run into Ed from "Deliverance" and wholly crap, bless your heat if you have a pig keychain and Voight thinks to himself, "Is she being cute with this thing?" And, like me, it takes months for the serendipitous-ness of the moment to sink in ... and when it does you're all-be-damned and wondering what it all means. 

Anyway, Joe's awake now. Our dog has to piss. "Merv Griffin's Crosswords" is on and I'm about ready to go samurai on the TV. Nonetheless I have work to do. (From home today.)

Hell-o Dylan and a pot of Tim Hortons! I hope you have a good Tuesday.

*See Our dog, sidebar.