I mentioned recently that I found a great house for sale up the street. Even though it started out as just daydreaming, Dave and I decided to go ahead and see if it makes sense to try and buy it.
Here are some things I’ve learned since we started the process:
1) My bank hates me. I know this because they insist that I CALL them to speak to a loan officer. ON THE PHONE. Which, whatever, maybe they want to make sure I don’t use the phrase “I seen” or sound like I’m missing my front teeth before they throw hundreds of thousands of dollars at me. But I assume if they are giving me large amounts of money they would expect me to, I don’t know, HAVE A JOB. And while it would take me five minutes to send them an email from my desk, it’s kind of impossible for me to convince my boss that I deserve a paycheck when I’m outside the building on my cellphone listening to Olivia Newton John’s entire catalog played whimsically on the oboe while I wait for a representative to tell me I’m probably too poor to buy a house.
2) I’m probably too poor to buy a house. Even though I have excellent credit. Even though I’ve been pre-approved. Even though I have a great job where I make enough to easily pay a mortgage each month. Even though I promised the loan officer that I’d name my next dog after him (his name was Dick, so he probably sensed that was a lie). Turns out, I should have started saving for a down payment like 20 years ago. If I could, I’d go back in time and smack all those Wilson Phillips tapes right out of 12-year-old Heather’s grubby little paws and tell her to put that babysitting money in the bank. I think Dick could tell I was freaking out a little because he assured me that there are a few programs that help first time home buyers afford a down payment. This brings me to:
3) The acronyms. Sweet Lord, the acronyms. All I know is that I’m supposed to look into an FHA loan, which is part of HUD, but to use an FHA loan you have to pay MIP, which is different than PMI only I’m not sure how. WTF, Dick.
4) I don’t care where I live anymore, as long as there is a liquor cabinet with plenty of rum.
We haven’t given up yet, but I’m definitely regretting all those years in my early 20s where I didn’t think I’d ever care about ever owning a home. Have you been through the home buying process? I’d love any advice you might have to offer. Unless your advice is “drink more rum” because I’m already on top of that one.