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Issue Date: Wednesday, Apr. 05, 2006

Ok, a little update-a-roony before I get out of work early. I have been keeping secrets from ya’ll. Seeeeeeecreeeetths. (Uh, lisp much? – Shut up.) They aren’t really all that big.

Oh, wait. Yes they fucking ARE!

Mister and I bought a house.

I’ll let that sink in for a second. Especially for those of you who know that I am actually a twelve year old stuck inside a thirty-something year old body. Yes, I would still eat Ravioli’s out of a can and chocolate frosting for breakfast. Yes, the sight of Angelina’s boobies in Tomb Raider make me all starry eyed. I love me some Harry Potter. And yes, yes, Lord, yes… if I could stay up all night and watch VH1 Celebreality bullshit on Sunday nights I would… totally… except I have to go to work and all that. DAMN, this grown up stuff is for the birds, yo.

And. I just said “yo”.

Has it sunk in?

Well for those of you still stuck thinking about Angelina’s boobies… I’m with you. But catch up. We have some ground to cover.

For the past two years Mister and I have been living in this large ass house. Renting. Yes, the rent was a steal for the size, location and the partial cul-de-sac lot. But, but… it is enormous. Four large bedrooms, three full baths, a big den (living room), dining room, kitchen with breakfast nook, huge closets, two car garage and a gigantic covered patio (love the patio, want to marry the patio) with a ceiling fan. Wood burning fireplace and built in book shelves… oh, and a wet bar in the living room, complete with many shelves for all of your liquor.

Why, it sounds perfect!

Yeah, you want it? I’ll put you in touch with the landlady, she’s awesome.

Here’s the kicker. It is too big for us. There is just the two of us. Oh and Max*. So two adults who work full time and a cat that sleeps and shits full time. We do not need that much room. Seriously ya’ll.

I don’t know if you remembered or not, but when we moved previously we were coming from a one bedroom, one bath apartment. And we totally had enough furniture to fill every room of this monster house. How does that work, hmmm?

So, Mister has been all, “I want to finally put down roots, I want to have neighbors over for cook outs and take some pride in a home that we own.” And I have been all, “Stairs can bite my ass, and also cleaning three bathrooms and dusting… and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

So we started looking a few months ago [::cough:: freaking November::cough]… so yeah, we had a little time. And our lease isn’t even up until June, but whatever. Roots.

So a few months ago we found this perfect little house. Three bedrooms, two baths, two living areas and a large kitchen. We were smitten. Until we realized the three no, no’s for resale. 1) It backed up to a busy street and street noise was loud as hell. 2) It faced down an alley, and hello, no one wants to look at your freaking recycling bin Marge! And 3) It faced east. Um, just no. I prefer a Southward or Northward facing house. No, it isn’t a Mecca thing. It is a sunlight in your bedroom window thing either early in the morning making it all hot and waking your ass up, or in the evenings… uh, making it all hot. What? I live in Texas ya’ll.

So we cried. Not really, we were just very disappointed. It was precious, the space was perfect (ie. Not wasted) and it had a LARGE KITCHEN! And a porch on the front. A cute little porch with white columns. Awww.

So I told the house when I walked off of its’ cute little porch, “Cute house? You are dead to me. Why did you have to be all facing east and looking down and alley and… the road noise? I am really disappointed in you.” And then I said to Mister, “Hey!... Let’s drive around this perfect looking street with all the cute houses just to the east of the bad location house.”

And angels started singing; because we went about two blocks and found it.

THE HOUSE. (Please imagine a timpani going off in your head… really, this moment deserves it.)

There it was an ideal little one story house, perfectly colored brick with another tiny porch with white columns. I turned to Paul (and our Buyer’s Agent - Bill… who is so awesome sunshine peals from his mouth when he speaks and negotiates awesome deals for people who are his clients. Namely… Mister and myself.) and I said, “I would like to see this house please. I want to go in. This house is cute.” And then I mimicked the house repeating back to me all Rudolph-y, ”I’m Cute, I’m CUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUTE!”

Surprisingly, Bill did not run screaming but yet, quickly pulled out his phone and dialed the number listed on the realtor’s sign in the yard. We were allowed inside the house later that afternoon and we? Fell in love.

It is perfectly spaced out. Three bedrooms, two full baths, monster closets, one dining area, one living area, a nice sized kitchen and a two car garage. New carpet, two inch wood (or whatever) blinds, freshly painted…. And here is the best part. It was empty. No one in it to screw up our visualizing mojo.

Long story very short, we placed an offer on the house that day, counter offered only once and then had to wait thirty freaking days (almost) to close. We closed last Thursday. Seriously. Closed, on a house. One with my name on the mortgage papers.

Do ya’ll know how absolutely fucking awesome it feels to be buying a home? Something that I can live in and say with a bit of snootiness, “Why, yes. This fine homestead is indeed mine. And I will take that mojito now, thank you my good man.”

Living in the four (five?) homes that my parents’ owned as a child. Theirs. Living in a dorm in college. DORM. Living in an apartment later in college. Rented. Living with my ex-husband in a 1976 Redmond double-wide trailer. His. (Thank the good Lord Jesus and Bill Dance.) Moving into another apartment, and another apartment and yet another apartment and then the home we are in now? Rented, rented, rented and fucking rented.

The new house? OURS.

We bought a refrigerator (Maytag Ice2O, stainless… oh, hell to the yes), a cook top, a beautiful light for the entryway, a light assembly for over the bar and some reading lamps… as well as new leather furniture for the living room (more on the furniture later).

All? Ours.

Neither one of us have ever had our own home and getting the keys the other day and then going over to the new house and laying on the carpet was sort of awesome. Kind of like that real estate commercial where that lady is watching her kids play in the backyard of her new house and she’s all weepy and, “I never had a back yard before.” Except with more cursing, picture taking and no children.

So, for the past several weeks I have been sitting on a cactus the size of a bearded yak worried that for some reason the sale of the house wouldn’t go through. I refused to let myself get excited… but now? It’s on. It is SO on.

I will post more tomorrow about the furniture and all of the appliances and the utilities and all of the stuff that most of you have already been through, but you know what? I’m gonna tell you anyway… because I am a home owner now, dammit.

*Holy Rotisserie Christmas, have you ever seen anything so cute?


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.

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