You know those friends of yours who are shacking up, and they keep saying they’re going to get married, but they have to do this insurance thing first, or renew their lease, or get divorced or whatever, and they’re all like, we really want to be married, but, you know… (disclaimer: I don’t know anybody in this exact situation right now, and this is definitely not aimed at you and your shack-up hunny. it’s just a general example. But you should get married)
That’s kind of how it’s been with our house. We started trying to buy it last year, I think. It seems like a long time ago. We’ve been living here for 2.5 years, and we like it, plus we don’t want to move, so when it went up for sale with us in it, we decided to try to buy it. Maybe you’re all like “Do… or do not, there is no try.” Back off, Yoda, it’s our first home purchase.
So we were all like, “Okay, house. You’re ‘the one’ and we’re ready to commit to massive debt and one city and sure, you need a little nip and tuck, but okay. Let’s do this.” And then the ladies at Bank of America, Les Incompetents Department, were all like, “OMG my coworker is such a COW and she lost your paperwork and I need you to write it 50 more times and did you see what she was wearing? BTW, your loan will be denied in 24 hours because you didn’t sign that document I never sent you LOL.” After a few months of that, we fired them and went with another company, and they got it done, so now we’re here at the altar, ready to change our Facebook stati to “Homeowned”, and I’m a little nervous.
Yesterday was the long-awaited closing date, and we rolled up to Chicago Title in our minivan full of short people and sticky Sonic cups. We took turns, one going in and signing stuff while the other one stayed in the van and made vague threats about “inside voices” and “loss of life”.
And I did it, I signed the papers, and now we’re waiting for a phone call, because they still have to send your documents around so everyone can laugh at your “salary” and draw mustaches on your driver’s license. After it makes the rounds, they call and say “Congratulations! You are now 6 figures in debt and contractually obligated to live in this house until you are dead!”
So, homeowners. Homebuyers. Next time my garbage disposal shocks me, I’m going to look it right in the exposed wire and say sternly, “Knock that off. I OWN you.”