Once again, I’m just overwhelmed and astounded. You like me, YOU REALLY LIKE ME. Thus ends the tongue in cheek wiseass remark. Thing is, I’m just so awkward sometimes, that I don’t really know what to say. Thank you. I can’t believe it. But… I’ll just say thank you.
I don’t want to just blow off what happened, because it was a big damn deal. And I won’t ever forget that. I still have some horribly anxious days, but none where I feel like, I want to die. While yes, sometimes that seems like the easy way, the ironic thing is that, I’m so god damned afraid of dying. It’s a large part of my anxiety. That saying: death and taxes? Well, really, only one of those is true, because there are people who have managed to avoid paying taxes their entire lives. They can probably get away with it too, but death is pretty much inevitable. And really, not that I’d want to live forever, either. Especially if the forever part, meant that a good portion of your life you were old and your hips would give out, or you’d be pissing yourself frequently.
But, I’m not going to sit here and depress you, because then we’d all be sitting around bummerville. Bummerville kind of sucks. I live around the corner from there.
Let’s talk about happy shit. Like houses. Dream houses. I’m sure everyone here has their dream house. And I’m not talking mansions or the “if money were no object” house. After living in a decent sized home, I never want a mansion. Ever. I don’t want that much space, because that’s just more shit for me (or the maid) to clean. More stuff I would have to accumulate to furnish rooms that we’ll never sit in. It makes me want to chew on some ativan just thinking about it.
This house is not my dream house. Our house is pretty nice. It’s a roof over our head. But it’s a typical cookie cutter subdivision home. We have a great yard, with cows out back, and our neighbors aren’t right on top of us. Everyone keeps to themselves for the most part. But it’s a very undesirable layout, and it has never really felt like home. The Feng Shui is all off.
When we first moved here, one of my old co-workers lived in the borough, within walking distance from my house. When I first went to visit her, I saw it. IT. My.dream.house. An older colonial type home. I fell in love with this house, and have lovingly gazed at it whenever I would drive by. And then one day. The for sale sign was up. I felt like it was a sign (well, it was a sign. A real estate sign, badum bum!) I wrote about the house over on my poorly neglected DIY blog.
When it first went on the market, it was overpriced. But given that it’s one of the few decent sized older homes and the fact that in the borough, it sits on over an acre of land, it had mad interest. Most people were just nosy. It pissed the owner off, which I find really laughable, because in this economy, you should be grateful for any sort of interest at all. Anyway, this was not long after my surgery, and very close to the start date of LG’s bedroom addition. We looked at the house, but the Meester, while he liked the house, looked at it like this:
For awhile, I’ve been going back and forth: stay here, and rearrange the layout (a money suck), or bite the bullet and move? I’ve been checking out homes in the area, with a more desirable layout.
And this house, you guys, I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s far from perfect in terms of things being dated. The kitchen (livable at least, with enough counter space). The bathrooms: powder blue tile and lavender tile, respectively. My favorite (no really) 50′s poodle wallpaper in the actually decent sized closets. The floors are original, the bedrooms are a decent size. Most of all, I just love this house. Love conquers all, right? The things that were a must have prior to buying this house, are no longer a must have. Finsished basement? Hate it. Sits largely unused, except for the Meester’s office space. Oversized master bedroom? How much room do you need to sleep? Granted, I don’t want to be shimmying around my bed, but I’m ok with less space. Our bedroom isn’t overly large, in comparison to the other newer homes around here, which tout these grand master suites. What the hell are you doing in there that you need an apartment sized bedroom within your home? Do you know what ends up in my room most of the time? TOYS. I sleep with matchbox cars and children’s books.
If we were to even consider this house, it would basically be a lateral move. We are a newly five bedroom house, new appliances, freshly painted. This house is a good price for what it offers. The Meester is just afraid that it has secret problems, which could cost more money in the long run.
Anyone ever just bite the bullet and go for their dream house?