If anybody ever tells you buying a house is “fun”, slap them in the mouth for lying. Buying a house is a fucking nightmare. Buying a house is something I would not wish on my worst enemy. Living in a house is great. I think. Still getting used to it. But buying the damned thing sucked.
First, there is the seemingly never ending “looking at houses” phase. Where you spend god only knows how many hours trawling various websites. And driving past places to get a better feel for the houses you like. Then calling/emailing your agent to get them to set up a viewing. Then you walk through and either fall in love with a place or hate it. If you hate it, you move on to the next. If you love it, you find out there is something wrong and have to move on to the next. I swear there is a cosmic quota or something. “Thou shalt have to look at X number of houses before you find one that fits all of your criteria. No matter how reasonable those criteria may be.”
Then comes the part where we start talking money. Offers, counter offers, etc. We didn’t even meet the sellers until 3 days before we got the keys. And we will get back to that bundle of joy. Fuck banks. Fuck underwriters. Fuck the whole fucking process. So much red tape and extraneous bullshit. Preapproval, title searches, appraisals, inspections, GAAAAHHHHH!!!! Just let me plonk down my fucking down payment and sign the paperwork. Shit, just signing the paperwork took an hour and a half. From the time we sat down in the conference room at the title company to the time we walked out with keys in hand… 90 damn minutes.
Our sellers were a piece of fucking work too. Doing our “final walkthrough” to make sure they hadn’t fucked anything up was…. Entertaining. “Well you can paint these walls if you don’t love the color.” Shit like that. Bitch, I fucking know I can paint the fucking walls. I’m buying it, not renting it. Then the morning of the Signing Of The Papers they had the audacity to leave shit in the dryer and dishwasher. And leave their RV in my driveway hooked up to my power and water. And they drug their feet about leaving. Just get the fuck out and take your “Live, Laugh, Love” yard flag with you.
You better believe the first thing I did was change every lock on the property.
So, we’ve got the keys. Everything should be good now. Right? Right? Wrong. Everything was most assuredly not good. Closed on Friday. Sunday morning, taking miscellaneous crap over… What is that funny smell? A gas leak. Sonofoabitch. Thankfully, I have a friend who is retired from the plumbing trade that was able to help me get it fixed without a massive outlay of money. But give me a damn break.
A week later, it is “truck day”. Out of like 8 people who told me they would come help, 1 showed up. But we still knocked it out of the park. I was returning the truck at noon. Then began the long drawn out process of finding new places for old shit.
As of right now, we’re about 99% unpacked. Well, my wife’s craft room is still a clusterfuck. And I’m going to need a team of archeologists to help me get the garage in order. But we’re pretty well settled in.
Hopefully, now that the move is done, I can get back to writing on a regular basis.