I started this process simply wanting to rent a different apartment. A nice one bedroom. Maybe a tad bigger than the 560 square feet of the current one. But within a few tours of other apartments, it became all too clear that if I had any sense at all, I’d buy a place. I’m no mathematician but even I knew that a mortgage was cheaper than rent.
We had just started discussing the idea of buying a multi-family on the off chance that our current condo interest didn’t pan out. It’d be a great way to create more work for ourselves. And maybe even capitalize on the Boston rental market.
The first time we saw the place, it was on a whim. The big house happened to be open that day, and while Lou had said that “I probably wouldn’t like it,” we went anyhow.
I remember walking in and being conflicted. On one hand, it was amazing. It had a great layout, lots of windows, high ceilings, original wood floors, a porch, and good bones. On the other hand, it was scary. Old, dark wood, yellowed linoleum, dim halls, peeling, stained wallpaper, more grab bars than I have fingers, staircases that led to other floors and probably to other decades, forgotten personal items, like a crocheted doll, an old (luckily empty) trunk, and a TV born before me. I could see the potential in between flashes of fear. I could also see another young couple looking at it with great interest. Oh hell no.
Two days passed. Our condo fell through. And that same evening, after running a few numbers and realizing the bank would in fact lend us more money if we had rental income, we made an offer on a grand, old multi-family fixer.
Deep Eaves & Empty Pockets 