The time has finally come.
And I feel as if I may never… ever… EVER… get out of debt ever again. Perhaps when I’m 90. But by then, I’ll be so nutty that I doubt I’ll really notice (or care).
But as an American in a committed relationship and with the strong desire to reproduce little versions of myself (or breed football players, as my boyfriend would insist that his and my family genes combined would do) and have a dog of medium size (heated debates have come to this compromise) and perhaps a hamster because surely one of the little versions of myself will beg and beg and beg until we finally cave and get one that will eventually get out of its cage and die in a box in a corner somewhere, we decided we probably need a house. Because nothing says “living the dream” like more debt and pets of a fuzzy nature.
I feel like I went off on a tangent there, didn’t I? The real reason is that we really didn’t fit so well in the boyfriend’s condo with the smallest kitchen of all time and the public laundry room and my asking him to lift the bed so I can slide my storage bin of gift wrap out every time there’s a holiday/birthday (THIS IS IMPORTANT, GUYS). We wanted to upgrade, but since this seems to be a permanent thing we’ve got going on, why not invest in something that will last us for a while?
Once we both finally admitted that we had been separately scouring the interwebz for listings of our dream homes, we joined forces, found a real estate agent, and realized the following things:
1. For a nice starter home in the Chicago suburbs, you can build an estate in Arkansas. Perhaps with a horse or two. And a swimming pool. I’m only half kidding.
2. Boys seem to think houses only need one bathroom. Boys are so silly.
3. Boys also think they’re going to use the garage as their “man cave” if the house doesn’t come with a basement. Again… aren’t they just so cute?
4. I almost considered selling my kidney for an attached garage.
5. I WILL have to sell my kidney for decent closet space.
6. People will sometimes forget to put away bedroom toys and we could have been mature about it and look away, or act like children by pointing and snickering. I’ll let you guess what category my better half and I fell into.
7. If entire walls are crumbling due to faulty plumbing or weather damage, and I’m going to get vertigo just by walking up the sidewalk, your house probably isn’t worth what you think it is.
8. If little ‘ol me cannot make a full rotation in a bathroom, it should not be labeled as such and you should probably turn it back into the pantry that it originally was.
9. Calling a 10×10 area that is a half flight of stairs down from the main level should not be labeled as a “full basement” as it nearly rivals my office cubicle in size. Don’t try to fool me. I know things.
10. The wood paneling. OMG the wood paneling. 90% of the houses we saw had at least one room completely decked out. An awful lot of trees had to die in the name of poor interior design. If it wasn’t on the walls, it was on the ceiling. And not in the cute ski lodge kind of way. The house we ended up with has a wood-paneled bathroom. We figured this was the lesser of the evils.
So yes. After 21 houses of ever different style (I now know the differences between Georgians, Cape Cods, Split-levels, Ranches, Raised Ranches and everything in between) and experiencing all the different colors, hideous décor, and smells (it was often “essence of old person”), we found the one.
Which is good, because renting out a space at Public Storage and moving in with a generator and a sleeping bag was starting to look extremely appealing.
At least then there would be minimal wood paneling.
We were only really out and about looking for about 5 weeks, but you would not believe the time commitment involved. Every free moment was spent looking at houses online or in real life. Research. Comparisons. Showings. Arguments. Showings while arguing. Bidding. Being outbid. Sulking after being outbid. Drinking while sulking after being outbid. Irrationally proclaiming to significant other that we will be renters forever while drinking while sulking after being outbid. Finally trying again. Getting excited. WINNING.
So now my free time is spent getting all required documents to the correct personnel, perusing Pinterest and Houzz for ideas we will never be able to afford to recreate, browsing furniture we will barely be able to afford, and watching all my hard-earned savings dwindle away as I dream of refinished hardwood floors and spending time with my new bestie, Benjamin Moore.
So that’s where I’ve been. It’s not an excuse, it just is what it is. Hopefully I’ll talk to you again soon.
In the meantime, please enjoy this picture that clearly demonstrates that I am totally ready for domestication and all that comes with it:
I’m totally OWNING the process of ironing.