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.
WHAT!!??? That's fucking crazy. That's insanity. I don't even believe it. How can this be?
After some preliminary conversations with several real-estate agents, Hal and I made an appointment to meet with our preferred dude tomorrow, to help us put a plan in place and figure out all the logistics of how the hell we can make this happen, without rushing or pushing or overwhelming ourselves. Of course, I'll leave the questions and note-taking and everything else up to Hal because me? I'll likely spend the entire meeting banging my head against the table saying, "Omg. I'm an adult. OMG. I'm an adult" over and over until the meeting ends because for some reason, it took looking into home-buying for me to finally see myself as such.
In the meantime? I'm sitting here in my pajamas banging my head against the couch saying, "OMG, I'm an adult. OMG, I'm an adult. OMG..." Because OMG, I really am an adult.
I'm an adult.
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