If I Don’t Cut Myself Short, I’ll Ramble for Hours…

The short version of the story is that we got the house.

The slightly longer version of the story is that ​we signed the paperwork in the zero hour. I got a call on Friday at 5:15 that I needed to hustle out to the west side of town to sign paperwork and transfer title. I fought Friday rush hour gridlock (it’s called 480 because it’s mean FOR me to DRIVE 80). I had to wire the down payment on Monday morning.

​But it’s ours. We own this thing, this strange piece of real property. It’s the most expensive thing I’ve ever owned, and the loan is more than what Charlie and I took out for 8 years of combined undergrad, plus 4 years of his master’s degree.

The next month and a half before we move (since Charlie cannot leave his lease until June) is going to be full of hole-patching, wall-painting, appliance-installing, and bathroom cleaning. At some point, I do need to get serious about packing my things and thinking about hiring a moving company. If I can at all avoid it, I’m going to rent a mid-sized UHaul to take all of my boxes (that don’t get moved on weekend trips) and then have professional movers move all of my big furniture. You can kiss my grits if you think I’m moving a queen-sized sleigh bed.​