What Part of "Squalor" Don't You Understand?

I would ask that you not get me started on this whole housing crisis thing, except that I've already decided to get started without you. Come with me in the Wayback Machine to 2005, when gas was still less than three bucks a gallon but a 2000 square foot home was pushing $450K, in the country's fastest-growing, least desirable suburb: Elk Grove, California. Ask anyone from the Sacramento area who changes their underwear every day, if they had their druthers, would they live in Elk Grove? Who wants to put "Elk Grove" in the real estate search box when the nation's headlines about the poor city lead with "Squalor"?

And I don't want to hear, "Well it used to be nice." "Used to be" doesn't let you sleep at night. "Used to be" doesn't keep you from getting shot while pulling out of Chili's. "Used to be" doesn't stop the house from across the street, and another one around the corner from becoming pot farms.

We held out as long as we could. Our tight-knit neighborly little court began to disperse, saying the neighborhood was going downhill. Plus, in 2004 and 2005, they were panic-buying like everyone else, buying bigger McMansions before they were priced out of the market. Of course they exacerbated the blight of the street by abandoning us, moving out so fast that all we could make out were elbows and assholes in the dust. And everyone who moved in after them were loud, rude, obnoxious, wouldn't speak to us, etc... Eventually our annoyance and fear won over our laziness and we moved.

Now, by "going downhill", do not mistake for a minute that I mean anything racial. In fact, when we were a happy little party-having group, I was the only white girl. Well, actually there were two of us, but the other one high-tailed it out of there because she saw the writing on the wall long before we did.

No, I'm talking about class. I'm talking about behavior. I'm talking about moving two or three families into one house and parking your 12 cars all over the court leaving no room whatsoever for our own guests. I'm talking about letting your yard go. I'm talking about leaving your front door open all day long while your unsupervised children run around half naked and barefoot in the middle of the street, screaming until well after midnight.

So, late to the party, we finally gave in and sold our house. Here is a picture of it just before it sold in November 2005. Please note the green and well-maintained lawn.



A few months after that we began to hear rumors of our old house going into foreclosure. More than once.

Last week, my niece happened to ride by it and snapped a picture from her phone. It's the one on the left...



What is that, a "For Sale, Sort Of" sign?

This is the backyard when we moved out in 2005...



I'm too chicken to climb the fence to see what it looks like now.

When we left, we bought a bigger McMansion. In Elk Grove. But that's another long story.

One year later, we moved again, out of Elk Grove and into Sacramento, which is another long story, one that involves bending WAY over.

Wishful thinkers, manipulative speculators, and real estate talking heads are now going to be calling the bottom of the Sacramento market every week for the next 2-3 years. We'll just be calling it "rent".

* * * W H A T     E L S E * * *

My book review of Driving With Dead People by Monica Holloway is up at Curled Up With a Good Book. You can click on the links in the previous sentence or right here if you wish to read it.

Nanny Goats in Panties wishes to thank Wendy over at wining and ironing for adding NGIP to her blog roll. Wendy joins our global network as she hails from South Africa and is "not your average desperate housewife".



Some of you may recall last week's post about the new Hands Free cell phone law. Have you seen this parody?




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