I know, I know. It’s been an entire week since my last blog post. I can say only this: I am sorry. And I promise to make it up to you with several very juicy bits later this week but in the meantime, let’s talk about home buying, shall we?
It has been simultaneously the most exhilarating and infuriating experience of my life. I love my realtor, and I love looking at houses, but after 60-some properties, I am (and have been for some time now) ready to be done.
Remember my dream house? The one in Fishtown-that-is-actually-Kensington? The one that appraised for nearly half of what I was planning to pay for it? Well, it has fallen through. And what a slow and painful death it was. My realtor was out of the country, then my loan officer was out of town, then there were several weeks of dramatic emails and desperate pleas and my mother offering to “storm the office and not leave until we have some answers.”
In the end though, I simply punched the wall of the non-existent kitchen a few times, kicked it for good measure and finally told myself, “Self, stop kicking the wall of a house that was not to be. You are a dancer and you are performing next weekend.”
Everyone kept telling me that there would be another house—a better house—waiting just around the corner. I didn’t believe them though, and after another day of dismal foreclosure properties, grotesque bathrooms and nasty tenants, I was getting seriously punchy.
Our second to final stop of the day had not just popcorn ceiling but popcorn walls. And not just popcorn walls but glitter popcorn walls. I didn’t even know such a thing was possible, let alone legal.
“This is great!” I told my realtor. “When I’m getting ready to go out on the weekend, I can just roll across the wall to get all glittered up. I’ll look like a stripper. It will be AWESOME!”
Less awesome was the fact that the only outdoor space was a miniscule deck that connected to the neighbor’s kitchen.
But then we found it.
My dream house.
It was not, I’ll admit, my dream house right away. But it grew on me, so much so that I am practically salivating at this point. It has all of the five things I wanted (an outdoor space, parking, room for office and a roommate, an open floor plan, and somewhere to store all of my dance company paraphernalia and even hold the occasional small rehearsal) plus a few extras I didn’t think I’d actually manage to find: a subway line just a few blocks away, a huge park nearby, actual TREES on the block and lovely little raised flower beds on the front stoop.
The only downside is that the seller can’t close until September 4th… which means another month of sanding furniture, grinding my teeth and obsessing over paint samples. But it will be worth it in end. And hopefully it will actually end this time—third time’s a charm, right?