Tomorrow afternoon we meet for the first time with our agent. Our real-estate agent which is as unbelievable to write as it is to say it aloud. Real-estate agent. Real Estate. Estate. Realtor. Home. Oh. Ner. Ship. What. The. Effing. Hell.
If
you would have told me last year, as we scraped together pennies so I
could afford to go on a partial book tour, that we would even for
two-seconds think about buying a house in 2010, I would have punched
you in the face and then kissed you and then punched you in the face
again. In fact, until last month the notion of buying a house had never
even crossed my mind. It was what adults did. And hello! I'm not an adult, I just play one on my blog(s).
I
was never interested in owning a home. I would quickly toss the
real-estate section of the newspaper in the recycle bin without a
second glance, preferring to scan craigslist for rentals, daydreaming
of the $75,000 a month mansion in the hills because for some reason
even THAT seemed more attainable than owning a home. Crazy, I know.
It all started last month. Hal and I had been discussing wanting to move in the next year. Into something with central air-conditioning.
A three-bedroom rental home with a potential office area out back, a
little yard for Archer to play with his Jr. Golf set. We looked into a
few rental properties, did a few drive-bys, emailed one another links
to houses and even duplexes and came to the conclusion very quickly
that to rent a house in our neighborhood (we don't particularly want
to live elsewhere as we have become attached to everything about our
location) is to pay the same amount for a mortgage in our neighborhood
and with tax-breaks and other such incentives for first-time
home-buyers with perfect credit (I guess I am more responsible than I
give myself credit for. OH! SNAP!) we're actually kind of
qualified and totally eligible-ish to possibly, maybe even in the next
year, buy our first home...
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