T-Minus...

...16 hours until I become an official homeowner.

Gak!

Shiny and New

"Welcome to Texas," the woman behind the counter said, smiling as she slid my temporary driver's license to me. It was the first time I had heard an official welcome.

"Thanks!" I said, smiling warmly back.

It had been a day full of running around, trying to do all the things that would make me an official Texan. It was good to hear someone say they were glad to have me.

The process of becoming a Texan is quite complicated; not the typical one-stop shopping you can find in other states. No, there are specific steps in a particular order you must follow exactly.

1. Get your car inspected. I went through this when I lived in Virginia--a dual safety and emissions inspection. After locating the name of an accredited garage, I set out first thing Wednesday morning. Though the garage was small and beat-up (and appeared to cater primarily to the Latino community), they seemed glad to have my business.

I was surprised when the man behind the counter came back with my inspection form, all smiles, and promptly told me I had failed the safety part of it.

"What?!" I said. "What failed??" Apparently, the lights on my license plate were not working. He told me they could fix them, but after getting into the trunk to remove the bulbs, he realized they didn't have that size in stock.

"It'll take about a half an hour to get them here," he said.

"I'll wait," I said, wanting to get through everything that day.

So I waited. And waited. The part actually took about an hour to deliver--and then a five minute installation. An hour and a half out the door, but at least the car was ready for step 2.

2. Transfer your title and register your car in Texas. This is done not at the DMV as in most states, but at the county tax office. My realtor tipped me off to a satellite office about a fifteen minute drive from where I was staying.

When I walked into the building, I was shocked to see the lines were fairly short. Score! I thought. I approached the information desk, got all my paperwork and took a number. They called me just five minutes later.

The highly efficient staffer processed everything in about ten minutes. She told me the cost and I began to write out a check, but stopped mid-draft.

"Uhhhh...." I said.

"What's wrong?" she asked me.

"I grabbed the wrong checkbook." Right now, I have two checking accounts--my school account, that is virtually empty, and my primary account, which has the cash in it. I had stuck the school portfolio in my purse when I left.

The woman looked down at my check.

"We don't take checks from out-of-state banks anyway," she said.

Very nicely, she agreed to hold onto my tags and title application while I made the 15-minute trek back to the hotel to get the correct one. Another half hour drained.

Fortunately, when I returned, I walked right up to her and finished the transaction, walking away with a shiny pair of Texas plates.

3. Apply for your driver's license. The really weird thing about getting registered in Texas? They don't ever ask for any kind of verification that you actually live there. Oh sure, you have to furnish standard documents like an existing license, social security card and proof of insurance and Texas registration for your car. But no one ever asks for a bill with your name on it, a lease, or any of those other kinds of documentation that are typically used to prove you are, in fact, a resident.

The driver's license trip was fairly uneventful, aside from the fact that it was in the middle of BFE, hidden in a strip mall with no visible signage from the road. But I managed to find it using my crafty navigation skills. And I walked away with my temporary license (they have to mail you the real one in 4-5 weeks. Hope I don't get carded any time soon).

With my transformation to Texan complete, I figured I should take care of one other lingering car issue--a toll tag. I made my way over to the toll tag store and the car was completely outfitted.

As I drove back to my hotel, feeling smug for having completed so many major tasks in one day, I decided to stop at a couple of furniture stores to browse. First, Pier 1; second, a store full of chunky, rugged hand-made $3,000+ pieces that looked as though they belonged in a rodeo.

Feeling very out of place, I nearly ran out of the store and vaulted myself into my car. Throwing the keys into the ignition, I realized... they wouldn't GO into the ignition. In fact, they stopped halfway out.

Something similar had happened to me earlier in the fall, but with a little patience, I managed to ease them in. No such luck this time.

Remembering I had a can of WD-40 in the trunk, I popped the back and retrieved it. I sprayed just a little onto the key. After a little coaxing, the key went all the way down, but it still wouldn't turn.

I tried everything. I tried turning the wheel very hard. I tried using both hands. Jimmying it a little. Everything. But it was stuck. So after my day of victory, I did the only thing I could for my little car--I called a tow truck.

The driver (who was just a little too giddy at my misery for my taste) decided that I didn't need to go to a garage, so he dropped my car off at my hotel. After a five minute search for a locksmith's number he swore was in the truck somewhere, he gave up and told me to get the yellow pages.

It turns out, ignition switch failure is fairly common in the Focus. Fortunately, I found an all-night locksmith who came out and took the lock apart and put a new one in. Now it works like a knife through butter.

In the end, I can't really complain. Everyone I encountered was extremely nice, even when I was contemplating doing a little tire kicking on my car. And really, that makes all the difference.

It made me proud to be a brand new Texan.

Pecker

I was sitting at the computer desk in my parents' house when I heard it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It sounded almost like someone was tapping at the glass on the windows in the room. Startled, I looked around to see what it was. Nothing. But the noise persisted. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Must be a tree branch hitting one of the other windows, I thought. I got up and went into the bathroom and peered out the window. No tree was close enough to the glass, but the tapping noise was even louder. I went over one more room into my brother's old room, where the noise faded a bit. It must be hitting the bathroom wall, I thought.

Heading back into the bathroom, I put my forehead against the glass and craned my neck upward.

There he was, a tiny little woodpecker, perched on the TV antenna, hammering away at the eaves of the house.

"Hey!" I said, rapping swiftly on the glass. "Hey!" But he went on pecking, undisturbed. I banged harder. "Hey!" At one point, he looked down to see where the banging was coming from, and then resumed his pecking.

I quickly pulled on my boots and headed outside. As I came around the corner of the house, he saw me and flew away. Looking up just under the roof, I saw he had already done some work--there was a hole with a diameter of about an inch and a half.

I came back inside and sat down at the computer again, but not five minutes later, he had returned. Tap. Tap. Tap. This time, I opened the bathroom shutters and pushed the window open to shout at him.

When Dad came home just shy of an hour later, I broke the news.

"Did you know you have a woodpecker working on your house?" I said. "No!" he said. "Must be the one that used to be in the tree we cut down out front."

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the woodpecker was back, digging away for unseen insects. Dad went out to chase him away, but the sight of the newly chipped hole in the house sent him immediately out for some bird control--a BB gun.

Half an hour later, Dad was reading the directions for loading his new toy. "You'll shoot your eye out, you know," I said, laughing.

Getting the bird, however, is going to be a challenge; he's a slippery little bastard that sees you coming around the side of the house and flees immediately. So a clean shot would require approaching him from behind, which may be rather difficult.

Maybe the sight of the gun was enough to give him a fright--because he hasn't been back all afternoon.

Ah, nature. I love it!

Home, sweet home!

I can't believe it. I'm still a little in shock. But here it is--I'm about three weeks away from officially becoming a homeowner.

I've been delinquent on sharing the news mostly out of superstition; I didn't want to announce a big purchase only to have the deal crumble in front of my face. But today, I have a signed contract in hand. We still have a few hoops to jump through, but we're almost there.

I can't believe the next couple of months are going to bring so much change for me... new job, new house, new city, new people to meet... it's almost overwhelming (in the most exciting way possible, of course). Like EJG over at Orange Chair said, the fact that so many of my colleagues are facing a similar situation is comforting. Strength in numbers? I think so.

The bottom line is, this is freaking great. I'm so excited. Can't you feel it?!

Click on the picture above to see more shots of my (hopefully) new digs.

Back again!

I've fixed the domain expiration, as you can see. Sorry for the brief dark period. The good news is I have updates, and will share soon...