It all started in September of last year.
I was moving out of the first apartment I’d paid the rent for solely with the money I’d earned all by myself for the entire fourteen months I’d lived there. It had been an expensive place and I’d lived with a roommate and it was close to work and that was great. But once those fourteen months were up I moved across town to a new apartment, a one bedroom I was living in all by myself; just me and the dog.
Somehow, in all my careful planning, I managed to overlook the fact that this apartment was a piece of crap in an even crappier neighborhood. How could I have let his happen?! Within the first week SWAT descended upon my neighborhood because some nut held his kids hostage. Lovely, right? This spurred my parents into a discussion about how they would be more than happy to gift me a twenty-percent downpayment on a home of my choice.
“Great,” I’d said, “thanks for letting me know after I signed the thirteen month lease.”
You need to get pre-approved for a mortgage, Jessica. You need to figure out an exact budget, Jessica. Have you even checked your credit score, Jessica? No, not that house, Jessica. What is it going to cost you to break your lease, Jessica? I know it’s nothing like what you want at all but let’s look at this house, Jessica. Do you even know what the closing time-line on a HUD home is, Jessica? You should think about getting a Realtor, Jessica. Did you call the bank like I told you to, Jessica? No! Don’t get a Realtor, Jessica, you don’t need one yet!
It was the beginning of hell. I spent months pouring over websites like Realtor.com, zillow.com, trulia.com, even hudhomestore.com… all the ones that anyone going through my current brand of self-inflicted torture knows about. I scoured these sites with my parents to find that house that would be the happy balance between something I didn’t hate and something they were willing to invest in. Unfortunately we’d reached a sort of stalemate because nothing was quite right. Nothing had that BUY ME!! vibe to it.
Which is only natural for me because nothing in my life has gone the way I thought it was supposed to yet, why should this be any different? I’ll be twenty-four next month and I am nothing like what twelve-year-old me expected I would be. At all. I work in insurance for starters, something twelve-year-old me or even twenty-year-old me would have beaten the crap out of me for.
But I digress.
I decided to go against my parents’ wishes (or with… it depended on which parent I was talking to which week) and involve a Realtor; my friend Matt. Matt is a part-time Real Estate agent and an absolute doll. I met him when we both worked in the call center for Nationwide and it makes chatting about properties and such simple thanks to inter-office instant messaging (something I’m sure the company never intended it be used for). And he knows me and stuff so there’s no awkward trying to be polite nonsense.
But even taking up a Realtor has not been like I thought it would be. I guess I thought I’d ask for Matt’s help, he’d dig up this amazing property that is somehow invisible to anyone else in my price range and I’d take one look at it and just know and then we’d make an offer, it’d be accepted, then BAM! I’d be a homeowner. WRONG.
Everyone tells me to be patient and that the right home is out there for me and trust me, I know that surely as I know the right man is out there somewhere. I’m just also not prepared to invest the same six years into finding the right house as I’ve already sunk into finding Mr. Right.
I’m not asking for a proposal or anything…
…just a thirty-year fixed rate mortgage with a five percent interest rate and no PMI.