I’d Rather Eat a Live Baby Chick

“Why didn’t you caution me that home buying is the most convoluted, user-unfriendly, chaotic, anxiety-inducing, experience a girl can endure? I’d rather eat a live baby chick than go through this again.”

That, dear friends, is a text I sent to Dave this week, because my eyes have finally been opened to the horrors of being a real grown-up. And I fully plan to be buried in my house, so it had better last forever… or at least until I can con a man into marrying me and handling all of the $ and paperwork on our next large purchase, because I wasn’t kidding when I told Dave I’d rather eat a live baby chick than experience this again.

Now, okay, I might feel a little differently once I’m reaping the benefits of all this anxiety, but as of yet, I’m still not in my house. In fact, it isn’t quite my house yet and won’t be until Monday or Tuesday. So my bags boxes are packed and I’m ready to go… It’s like a hilarious friend of mine once said, “There is nothing worse than getting all dressed up for a night out, then having to stop and pump gas.”

Allow me to complain a bit. During my house-buying experience…

  • I got led on for four months of short sale nonsense, only to discover that the seller’s bank actually wanted $25,000 more than their listed price.
  • I found the house I wanted and everything went perfectly until there was a freeze and the pipes burst. The seller had to put new flooring in two rooms, replace a toilet, fix some walls and dry it all out.
  • Also, (not a big deal) they found evidence of previous termites and had to treat.
  • My loan officers were crazy incompetent and couldn’t close on time in spite of the fact that they had way more than a month on the contract to begin with. So we had to get an extension.
  • I was crazy incompetent and we had to get another extension.

Everyone keeps telling me that this is completely normal and everyone goes through stuff like this, but I’m not really sure how that should make me feel any better. I’m not the type who feels better about her own suffering when she finds out she isn’t alone. In fact, I’d much rather be alone in my suffering because that would mean the real estate market isn’t as stupid as it seems.

But… let’s not forget that I’m going to have a house very soon if we can all stop being incompetent. And it is a lovely house. It has far too much space for me to fill. And it is lovely in all ways imaginable. I am looking forward to having a rip-roaring Rock Band Party every weekend and not having to worry that the neighbors go to bed at 7:00 every night; I’m looking forward to parking in the garage (because I’ve never gotten to do that on a regular basis); I’m looking forward to decorating however I want to regardless of how tacky and embarrassing my taste is; I’m looking forward to living closer to work, church, friends, and just about everything else in my life; I’m looking forward to quiet in the early morning as I eat and stare out the window; I’m looking forward to writing and exercising whenever I want without fear that I’m offending with my occasional Jackson Pollock focus that disregards everything except the task at hand; I’m looking forward to feeling settled and not having to ask people to help me move my crap once every year or two.

So, all-in-all, buying a house probably isn’t the tragedy it currently feels like as I wait for something else to go wrong and ruin everything for good, wishing there was a baby chick nearby… rather than large stacks of papers with my initials and signature faintly visible… papers I’ve already signed twice because someone made far too many copies and my John Hancock was just a bit too faint for comfort… papers I’ve signed to prove that I am, indeed, the person I claim to be – a person with an outstanding credit score, with enough $ to pay for the things I’m trying to buy, with every intent of living in the house I’m buying, and about 42 other promises I’ve had to make because someone, at some point, didn’t have to sign all of those papers and managed to screw everyone over because of it. But, this delay in gratification may have been a lovely character-building experience, and even possible sort of my sanctification as God tries to teach me patience, since it is fruit of the Spirit.

Much Love, Dear Readers, and my condolences to everyone who has lost beloved time and hair color to buying a house.


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