* Please be advised that this posting insults the following: children, old people, mortgage insurers, women with children and a ridiculous sense of entitlement because a kid popped out of their va-jays, old people again, strata councils, well-meaning friends, crown corporations, wall paper, basic human rights and people in comas. If you feel you may be offended by any of this, please stop reading right now.*
My first mistake in real estate was comparing the process to dating. At some point I must have made that statement out loud, and the universe overheard. You start looking. You meet some undesirables. You meet more undesirables. And then twice more, with feeling.
Finally, you meet your match. You want to linger longer. You ask more questions and like what you hear. You can picture your underwear on the floor, and you feel like you've found home. Then you discover very quickly that your new love interest does not share your affection, and may in fact hate you.
I've been shopping for a condo for three months now. I've had three building inspections, two accepted offers and I'm still without a home. The first place I fell for had approximately 1.2 million in hidden remediation costs identified by my home inspector. I ran from that purchase like I was fleeing an abusive boyfriend.
I fell in love a second time with a brand new ultra-urban "space" in the heart of the antique district. Hardwood, cherry wood, granite and stainless steel - the space had likely decimated at least one small section of rainforest to make it pretty, but killing so many exotic trees for me to drop my clothes upon, store my blender in and place my toaster was well worth the environmental crisis.
I loved how cool it all looked. I loved how cool I would be just by association. Despite the price being higher than I'd every planned on paying, I wanted my name on that land title...right up until I discovered how they compensated for killing so many trees. There was no parking in the building. There was no parking on the street. The closest parking space I could use was four blocks away for a special rate of only $300 a month more.
Suddenly my visions of becoming the type of girl who went to yoga every day across the street and carried her dog around in her handbag to the Parisian bakery next door were replaced by visions of me lugging my Costco toilet paper bundle four blocks in the rain. The time we spent together was fun, but it was just a fling. I walked away.
Finally, I fell in a different kind of love with a spacious two bedroom fixer-upper. The little old lady selling the place had two hobbies in the 30+ years she lived in the suite: smoking cigarettes and wall papering. She was better at smoking than papering, but she did not let lack of taste or ability to line the wall paper up properly dampen her enthusiasm. I didn't care. I loved this place unconditionally and I imagined the life we would have together.
My new sun room would be the perfect place to try my hand at painting, despite not having any discernable artistic ability and poor deph perception. An easel and canvas would add a lovely bohemian quality to the space. I would have parties and not be able to see all of my guests at the same time, by spinning in a circle.
The suite was so large, I could actually take guests on tours instead of relying on hand gestures. I knew what colors I would paint every room and what order I would place my shoes in the special built-in shelves within the walk-in closet. I was in love, and nothing could stop us from being together.
Except mortgage insurers. Those fuckers could stop the sun shining and flowers blooming with a single glance. For Harry Potter fans, mortgage insurers are Dementors. They suck your happiness and your soul right out of you.
My new found love was located in an age-restricted building. Tenants had to be 18 years or older. This was fine by me, seeing as how it fit my own personal standards for dating (most of the time, unless he's extremely hot and very mature for his age) and that I hate children with a singular passion. Not having to listen to babies crying or tripping over tricycles in the hallways were selling features to me.
The Canada Mortgage and Housing Corporation feels differently. Despite age-restricted buildings not being illegal, the CMHC feels these restrictions discriminate against young families trying to get into housing. In order to end this senseless discrimination against screaming, whining children by people who just don't want to hear it, the CMHC will end the discrimination by...discriminating against qualified buyers who want to buy into these buildings and sellers who want to sell.
The mandate of the CMHC is to help young families find housing. If you are a young family of one, or a couple choosing not to have a family, your housing needs don't matter. The CMHC refused to insure my mortgage based on the age restriction set forth by the building's strata council, even though I can count at least five people I know personally off the top of my head who have bought into 18+ buildings in the last three years, with CMHC insured mortgages.
According to the CMHC, these mortgages must have all slipped through the cracks. Every one of them was a mistake, including the CMHC backed mortgages provided to tenants in my chosen building, just last year. The CMHC has had this rule on their books for eight or nine years and there is no truth at all to the rumour that they've only started enforcing the rule this summer, following a recent case in which a woman, knowing she was pregnant at the time, bought into an 18+ building, and then expressed outrage when tenants complained and wanted her out following the blessed event and the incessant screaming of the resulting miracle.
She took her case to the Canadian Human Rights Commission, along with what I can only imagine would be an SUV Assault Stroller large enough to clear an entire sidewalk of fellow pedestrians, disregard for her neighbors concern matched only by her disregard towards the instructions included with her birth control prescription, and a sense of entitlement so great it threatens to change how all property is bought and sold in Canada.
This is all just coincidence though. The CMHC refused to insure my mortgage because my beloved prefers grown-ups. Not a deal-breaking concern, because there was one other mortgage insurer in Canada. Only one more option for those buying condos, but surely, in a recession, the bank would want my business and so would a mortgage insurer called Genworth.
My love interest is 39 years old. When anything reaches 39 years old, there's a bit of maintenance that should take place. Regular check-ups - just to make sure things keep working properly. The property had such a check-up, and as a result the strata council decided to replace some wood siding that was a little bit worn.
The siding was not leaking, it was just getting older and could be replaced with new material that would ensure the building would never leak at all. Half of the work had been done, and since the work is not vital, the remainder of the work would be done in 2013. I would have to pay some money towards it, but it was a small price to pay for all the love I had in my heart. As readers of this blog know, I've done crazier things in pursuit of love. I've done crazier things in pursuit of cake for crying out loud.
Genworth denied my application. They flagged the work being done on the building as full-blown remediation. While it's true that leaky condos facing remediation are almost guaranteed to bankrupt their poor owners, this was not a leaky condo. Genworth claimed the information provided in the two years worth of strata minutes was not clear, but after begging and pleading through my mortgage broker they agreed to take a second look at my case.
I pushed the strata council president to provide clearer amendments to the strata minutes and he did so. The work was so minor that the strata council did not have to pursue a costly engineer's report, but I included a letter from the Building Inspector of Victoria explaining why there was no engineers report, why he was sufficiently qualified to provide comment, and stating the work was solid, as was the building.
I attached my first inspection report provided by my building inspector in which he declared the building in the best shape he's seen in a condo of that age. I included a second inspection report from the same inspector looking specifically at the walls, roof, siding and foundation reporting no moisture. I included a report from the building company who had done the work, and was set to do the remaining work, explaining what they were doing and why, and that the work was relatively minor maintenance.
Genworth denied my appeal, and then I cried.
Had Hooked on Phonics not worked for Genworth staff? Were they illiterate? Were they evil? Why did they hate me so much?
My broker could not get an answer, other than they worried "construction" costs could double in three years time and that I, deadbeat that I surely must be, would default. Despite replacing some wood siding not really qualifying as "construction," there was little room for further argument.
My broker received an email stating that after much discussion, Genworth had "flagged" the building, and would NEVER insure it - their capitalization, not mine.
I cried some more.
Then I began doing what I do best - making a complete and absolute nuisance and pain in the ass out of myself. I insisted the seller's realtor call the strata council president and ask him to call an emergency meeting to change the language in the by-law. I had my realtor call the vice-president on the strata council to encourage her to do the same thing.
Both refused. Essentially, the building they live in is not insurable. If any tenant there wanted to sell right now, their only hope of finding a buyer would be if the buyer had more than 20% for a down-payment. It's the only way around mortgage insurance.
How many people buying into a condo have that much money to put down? And if they do...are they single? Male? Attractive? They should totally call me.
If I was wanting or needing to sell a property, I would hope the pool of potential buyers would be a lot deeper than that. I actually thought I was providing these people with a useful warning. I was the canary in the cold mine, and I'd had my throat cut -- they need to take some action to protect their investment.
Both said there was no way they would change a by-law to help a prospective buyer out. The vice-president actually said she would prefer that if they change it at all, she'd want it changed to 55+, as she is a proud senior citizen.
I would be proud too, if I could achieve that level of ignorance without my state being routinely described as both "persistent" and "vegetative." While I'm assuming she doesn't have to take nourishment through a feeding tube, I do question her ability to consider implications greater than just doing me a favor.
Without any other choice, I'm signing the release forms today. I don't want to. This feels like a divorce that I'm actively contesting, but there's no hope left.
While it's true there may be many fish in the sea (or so people keep telling me whenever another relationship goes awry, and frankly I wish those people would find another cliche because where I live, the only available fish are served with beer batter and tartar sauce) there are not many homes available for me, and certainly no others with the same qualities I fell so hard for, or even room enough for my shoes.
By comparing real estate to dating I've some how managed to prove I'm not lucky in any kind of love. I'm scheduled to look at two properties tonight, and competition is fierce. I was scheduled to see a third, but there's already an accepted offer and like the two other properties on my list, it came on the market today.
One of the remaining two I'll see tonight is an older 18+ building. I can't let myself get attached. The other property has no age restrictions at all, and I was actually made arrangements this morning to take some time off work this afternoon to be one of the first to see it, but the seller refused.
She has two young kids, and leaving the house with only several hours notice would be too inconvenient. Buyers need to be more considerate of her needs don't we know? Yeah, we sure do.
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