Selling my soul — err I mean — Buying a house

Have you ever bought a house?

(Of course you have, because you’re my only reader. Hi mom!)

Buying a house is one of those things most people just assume they’ll do at some point or another. Once you hit “can’t wait to be an adult” age, you start thinking about your career and your mansion and your fifteen dogs and 2.5 children. The house you imagined at 19 probably has a pool and a theater room, but you’re convinced you’ll be able to make that kind of money early on in your career because you’re 19 and as such you’re a moron. But nonetheless, it’s a milestone many of us Americans (and maybe Canadians? You’re North American too but I don’t know your story) expect to reach.

Speaking of Canadians, I guess it’s a little different for people that live in those towns where all those HGTV Jonathan & Drew shows are filmed (or the awful Love it or List it), because those places are stupid expensive and I just imagine that the majority of the population that lives there plans to rent for the rest of their lives but will buy a house when they win the lottery or become CEO or some shit.

Oh or my parents just moved to one of the most expensive areas in the country and you can pay like two million dollars for a studio shanty if that’s your thing.

So yea, if you don’t live in one of those places, you’ve probably thought about buying a house at one point or another. God only knows why, since rentals come with someone to fix the washer and dryer when it breaks for the second time (#notmyfault), but we keep holding onto that American Dream of a 30 year commitment and hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt.

And now it’s our turn. We’re buying a house. To be honest, it’s earlier than we planned to buy a house but apparently New Hampshire completely hates dogs so we had to make adjustments. Finding a three bedroom rental that also allows dogs is basically like finding the Holy Grail. I can have two cats, even though my dog is smaller than two cats and doesn’t shit indoors, but I can’t have a dog. Because…? Yea I don’t know why. Maybe to fend off a dog fighting ring? It’s pretty obnoxious, considering we live in the “Live Free or Die” state, that we can’t JUST HAVE A DAMN DOG, but I guess you can only Live Free or Die on your own property. I dunno, that’s probably fair. But our dog is pretty awesome, and quiet unless there’s a squirrel involved, and he doesn’t pee inside. He just sleeps. HE’S THE BEST. SCREW YOU GUYS FOR NOT LETTING MY DOG IN YOUR STUPID RENTAL.

I don’t know when this post become a tangent about my dog, but most of my life is a tangent about my dog.

Annnnywho, we’re buying a house! It makes more sense for us financially, gives us some stability, and allows me to become a goddamn dog hoarder if I so choose (okay probably not, there’s probably laws about that).

buying-a-houseThe thing about buying a house that no one will tell you, is that it’s an absolute pain in the ass, you have to sign paperwork until your fingers fall off, you can’t spend any substantial amount of money between the offer and closing, and you need to provide every piece of documentation about your finances from your conception.

Okay fine, literally everyone will tell you all of that about buying a house. BUT LISTENING IS HARD.

And now here I am, my life dedicate to paperwork and searching for paperwork and scanning paperwork. Then I wait for strangers to tell me things like “Yes, you actually can definitely have this house that we told you that you could probably have before.” I am almost certain that once upon a time, I had a busy life that didn’t revolve around buying a house or moving.

And so what if my busy life was really just me watching Gilmore Girls and Once Upon a Time while I told my dog how cute he is? I don’t have to justify my life to you. Rude.

I keep thinking I’m going to get an email that says “LOLOL JKJK YOU’RE NOT AN ADULT. NO HO– USE FOR YOU, LOSER.” That’s probably not going to happen because my loan processor is a very nice woman who also happens to be articulate and not a toddler, but whatever, I’m sure she could surprise me at any moment.

I was the kid in school that turned beet red if a teacher asked if someone stole the chalk or put gum in Emily’s hair. It wasn’t me. It was never me. But I always felt like someone could think it was me. And then I would try to think about what a person that was innocent would look like (even though I was innocent) and I would try to act like an innocent person and my face would turn red and I would get sweaty because I worried that I didn’t look innocent enough and then the teacher would call on me because I looked so guilty and then I would get even more red and sweaty, which just looks totally suspicious because if I didn’t do it WHY WAS I SO NERVOUS SO OBVIOUSLY IT WAS MY FAULT.

Seriously, if I’m ever a suspect in a murder, I’m so screwed.

12So I’m convinced they’re going to discover some secret account in the Cayman Islands (that I don’t have) or unpaid bail money (that never existed because I never went to jail), or another husband on the side (that I’m pretty sure I don’t have either). And I can’t do anything until they get back to me. I just sit here and wait and hope they actually give me the money and let me buy the house. Because if they don’t, I might cry.

Not because I’m super emotionally attached to the house, but because buying a house means shelling out a lot of cash before your loan company ever even gives you the green light to buy the house. Appraisal, inspection, escrow. Every check takes another piece of my soul. And all of this check writing and paper scanning and waiting on emails takes every speck of excitement out of the home buying process.

Right now I feel like I’m pretty sure at some point I wanted this house. I mean, I had to have, right? I think I did. I think I like this house. I can’t remember. All I can focus on is how stressful this is. And everyone is like “Weeee aren’t you so excited?!” and I’m like “WHEN DO I SIGN THE BLOOD OATH FFS?!”

We even went to pick out paint colors in an effort to boost my excitement back up past my stress level again, but then I lost the paint color tag thingies in the massive pile of home loan paperwork. COOL.

I’m so grateful that our realtor and our loan team have actually been wonderful and amazing. If we worked with awful people, I probably would’ve completely lost it by now. I’d be running naked through the streets with a box on my head screaming “LOOK AT MY PRETTY HO– USE!”

I’m sure I’ll be excited after we close. Until then, I’ll be convinced that everything that could possibly go wrong is going to go wrong.

If anyone needs me between now and closing, I’ll just be over here drinking excessively and weeping into a pile of paperwork.

Your period product slogan is useless to me

Recently, I realized I have quite a few tweets and blog posts about my period. Aunt Flo. The Red Witch. At first I thought “Hey, that’s strange” and then I remembered Bleedy McVagina Bleedytime happens approximately every 35 days. Just under a dozen times each year. And it’s been happening in that fashion for 17 years. THAT’S A LOT OF YEARS. And at best guess, I’ve got another 17 or so to go. So whatever, I’m going to talk about it. All the time. Basically it’s what I talk about now. I’m just going to write a book about all the shit that I do or don’t do during my period. Chapter 1: Why is it so Damn Hot in This Room?

In recent period news, my feminine hygieneproduct container made me scoff this week. I don’t understand why Always touts the ability to “wear what you want” thanks to the new design of their products. That’s really not anything impressive or exciting.

It’s my period. You know what I want to wear? Sweatpants. And also pajama pants. But mostly sweatpants.

For 5 days every 35, my ability to dress like a respectable human goes out the window. It’s all elastic waistbands and loose cotton. And it’s super cozy.

I am not concerned with whether or not a pad or a tampon or pantiliner is discrete.

Things I’m concerned with:
1. Where did all of the dark chocolate go?
2. Should I try that new pizza place or just order from the usual?
3. Is this a double cheeseburger or single cheeseburger kind of day?
4. Why is everything on the news so sad?
5. I should adopt another dog.
6. My friends are so special and I just love them so much.
7. Where did I put the ibuprofen?
8. Why is sleeping through the night impossible?
9. Is it like, 100 degrees in this apartment or is that just me?
10. I should eat healthier. Tomorrow.
11. Are my favorite sweatpants clean?
12. Will my neighbors notice I’ve been wearing the same sweatpants for days?
13. I should take a nap on my lunch break.
14. How can I convince my husband to make dinner?
15. Can I just lay in this bed for the next five days?

Things I’m NOT concerned with:
1. Wearing anything tight enough for a stranger to know I’m on my period. Actually, I’m not going to do that regardless of whether or not I’m on my period. I mean shit, how tight are your pants that people can tell you’re wearing a pad or pantiliner anyway?
2. Whether or not people know if I have my period. Is me having my period uncomfortable for you? That’s unfortunate. You know what else is uncomfortable? A PLASTIC APPLICATOR INSIDE YOUR VAGINA. YEA. I SAID IT.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to pause my bitching long enough to go eat all the chocolate in the house. Come to me, sugary goodness. I will shelter you in my belly and you will sing lullabies to my uterus.


/rant My marriage is younger than, not less than

I get that you’ve been married longer than me, and in some cases you’ve been married longer than I’ve been alive, but please stop insinuating that my five year old relationship will not be considered strong or viable until we’ve reached some sort of “been through some shit and some years” milestone.

This isn’t me in my youth, convinced I have done and will do everything right, or convinced I know everything I need to know. This is me asking you to consider how much you appreciated patronizing messages when you were younger.

You’ve seen things and been through things that we haven’t experienced but will, things we hope to never experience, and in many cases things we can’t even fathom. I respect what you’ve been through but it is not my story.

usMy marriage will go through hard times. I understand that. I am not naive. I do not think we will live in a rainbow land of warm fuzzy feelings for the rest of forever. I am aware that my marriage is still young but that does not mean that our story is one without struggle or turmoil. I promise you, in just five years, we too have been through some shit. Publicly and privately. In our personal lives, our professional lives, and even in our relationship.

Maybe you don’t mean it as patronizing but it comes off that way.

Don’t laugh and tell me to get back to you in 20 years. Don’t tell me my opinions on marriage are invalid because of how relatively new it still is. Don’t compare your marriage to mine and belittle the relationship we have built and continue to build.

Just tell me you wish the best for my marriage. Tell me you have advice for certain things if I ever want it. Tell me things you might’ve done differently. Tell me that you will support us through any tough times ahead and tell me that you would love to share in our joy when things are good.

I love my husband. I love my imperfect relationship. And I work really really hard to make my marriage work. Don’t invalidate that.

Be the wise, experienced, and supportive married person you wish you had when you were in my shoes.

Stop belittling us, and start lifting us up.

>cue Josh Groban<