Reluctant Grownup
This is a long one so you might want to go and grab your favorite beverage and come back. I'll wait.
Still waiting, no hurry.
OK, you ready? Let's go then.
I moved in with Sugar Daddy on Super Bowl Sunday of 2004. At the time, it seemed like a good deal for both of us. He got some help with his mortgage and I got to move out of my rented condo. Which was actually quite nice but in the prior year had managed to suffer major flood damage from a third floor hot water heater leak, been evacuated for a meth lab cleanup and finally flooded by my hot water heater turning into a geyser.
Everything went swimmingly at first, for the most part. I did scratch the Corian counter with my first (and only) party but I paid for it to get fixed. And paid a lot since the guy who buffed it out semi-stalked me afterwards. It wasn't too long though before the comments started...'when you have your own place...' Most of the time it was purely joking but there was an undercurrent of 'God, I hope you move out someday.'
At the beginning of this year, I decided I should start planning on buying something. Financially, it's a sound decision. Based on my personality, not so much. See, I'm a born renter. I have no desire to build equity. I'd rather spend all of my money traveling. The thought of yard work repels me. Home improvement projects are completely unappealing. Major repairs terrify me. I'd much rather be able to pick up a phone and say "Fix it, please." But, I started a savings account for my bonus checks and earmarked it for a housing purchase.
Everything really was going along (somewhat) fine until the beginning of this summer. At some point, the joking moving out comments were less of a joke and more of a strong hint. I knew it but I ignored it. Not that I was completely happy here. The daily commute was slowly killing me. The frequent criticisms as to how loud I am (the mouse pad on my laptop, typing on my laptop, talking on the phone, my poor fish and his tank...the list was long) and living in my little cell of a bedroom were a drag. On the other hand, even though he's a tyrant, Sugar Daddy provided cleaning and landscaping service, DirectTV with all of the channels, two TiVOs and access to a big screen TV where I could sneak in NASCAR occasionally. All for a very reasonable rent. And, despite appearances to the contrary, we did get along fairly well and I enjoyed having someone around the house. We did enjoy watching our TV shows together and having someone to go out to dinner with when the impulse hit and it’s nice to have someone call you from the store and offer to pick stuff up if you need it.
Finally, I'm just not meant to be solitary. It’s been well documented what a chicken I am about being home alone. Living alone would increase the odds of the axe murdering killing me to 100% from 50%. I also loathe moving. If it came down to having a root canal or moving, I'd have a mouth full of crowns and my dentist would have a new boat.
However, Sugar Daddy is meant to be solitary. If he could get paid to be a hermit, he’d do it. He finally got up the nerve to have the conversation near the end of the summer. He was hesitant about it because he didn't want to hurt my feelings, which is nice. I'll paraphrase it for you:
When you moved in, I thought it would only be for a little while but then I realized you were never going to leave. It's not you, it's me. I just need to live alone. You don't need to move right away but I need a soft date as to when you are so I have something to look forward to.
Since I like to make him look mean, I've been telling people he evicted me. He likes to make me look crazy so it's a twisted little game we have going on. I wasn't at all mad at him, though. I appreciate that I got by on so little dough as long as I did and he was somewhat right as I had no intention of moving soon. I told him I couldn't possibly do it before the end of the year and he accepted it. I never actually committed to a date which was very crafty of me and did not go unnoticed. It did, however, go unchallenged.
After Parrot Grande and once my Dad was on the road to recovery after his colon cancer surgery, I decided there was really no harm in starting to look for a place. I made the decision that if I couldn't find something I liked and could afford, I would go back to renting. That thought was actually quite appealing but I decided to give the home purchase idea a chance.
I told SD and he was quietly pleased and immediately jumped into the process of helping me find a place. He scoured the MLS and found a couple of places before I even called a real estate agent.
My criteria weren't too complicated. Clearly, a house with any upkeep was out of the question. And, with this market, any decent house was out of my price range anyway. So, the search was limited to condos and townhouses. I decided I needed to be closer to work and my parents (the latter became very apparent with Shorty’s hospital stay) so that left parts of Phoenix, Scottsdale, Tempe and Mesa as the possible locations. I also wouldn't consider any place that didn't have a washer/dryer hookup.
While SD was doing online searches, I was fretting about the whole agent thing. Like most people in Arizona, I know several real estate agents. Some of them are longstanding friends. How do you pick among your friends? And, do you really want your friends to know all about your finances? I stressed for quite a while then decided to call a former co-worker who had done some work for another co-worker and who had his own loan company set up so I could make it a one stop shopping deal (though he didn't try to force me into using his loan company at all). I hope my agent friends understand but you gotta do what makes you feel comfortable.
I hemmed and hawed for a week or so before I called him. I knew once I made that contact, things could happen in a hurry and I still wasn't 100% sure I wanted to buy.
Once I made the phone call things did happen fast. He worked on pre-qualifying me for my loan. Now, I had something new to worry about. Intellectually, I knew they’d qualify me for way over what I was willing to pay but at the same time there were these feelings of insecurity that made me wonder if I’d pass muster at all. Crazy, I know. Sure enough, they came back with a value that was insane. If I’d spent as much as they offered me, over half of my net income would be going to housing. I’m sure for folks making big bucks that’s not an issue. For me it would mean no more travel, no more concerts, no more new clothes which I would really need since I wouldn’t be able to afford food and would lose a lot of weight…just wasn’t happening.
I gave him my price limit and he sent me a list of properties for my review. Some of the places looked like really good deals. There were a couple in Mesa that looked really cute and were reasonably priced. I consulted with Eric the Cheap Bastard since he’s a Mesa boy and he gave me a thumbs down on the neighborhoods. That explained the low prices. It was a moot point, though, as there were 10 offers on the one I liked (in just a few days) and I wasn’t interested in a bidding war.
We (SD, my agent and one of his partners) headed off to look at the whittled down list. First up was a place I had found that was literally five minutes from work. It’s a townhouse in the Mid-Western style where they’re all in a row but each one has a different façade. Two things went against it. First, it faced 44th St which is a busy road with lots of transient traffic and second, it hadn’t been updated in over 20 years. You could call it a place with potential but for someone like me, it wasn’t a good fit.
Next, we headed to Mesa to look at two different properties. The neighborhoods were so-so in both cases. Someone was living in the first place and she’d crammed it full of furniture so it was hard to get a good feel for it. It was OK, though. Two story, 2 BR and 2 BA and a fireplace. The second place felt bigger but the rooms were oddly sized and laid out. It would have been OK, too.
We headed back towards the office and stopped at a place in Tempe. When we walked in the door, something about the place just felt right. It could have been the décor (dead animal heads, cowboy posters and antique beer paraphernalia) but I think it was the patio. When you came in the front door, you had a clear view through the dining area and living room to glass doors that opened on to the patio. It was bright and sunny and reminded me of Norene’s place. That was kind of funny because I had told her I wanted something like she had. This was smaller than her place but it had the same sort of feel to me. There were some other pluses. It was one story so there wasn’t wasted space with stairs and there was a fireplace but only one bathroom. Since it’s only me, I didn’t fret too much over that. The other plus was that it looked like it would only take a coat of paint to make it ready to move in. Oh, and there was a doggie door which immediately made me want to go out and find George the dog to move in with me.
SD and I talked about it and he said even he would be happy living there. Since he’s way picker than I, I thought that was a good thing. I decided to make an offer.
Another new source for stress. How much to offer? I didn’t want to pay too much, I didn’t want to lowball the guy and tick him off. I just didn’t know. After talking it over with my agent, I felt like we came up with a reasonable offer so we submitted it.
Oy, the waiting. I was a bundle of nerves. Fortunately, I didn’t have long to wait. The seller countered the next day. I countered back that same day and he waited a day to accept. Someone else was looking at it during the same time and I stressed about getting into a possible bidding war.
I swear, if there are 100 outcomes of which 99 are positive, I will zero in on and obsess over the 1 negative. That makes me a good project manager but it’s also going to drive me crazy at some point.
We settled on a closing date that was a week after I got back from Florida and things were going well. But wait, we hadn’t done the inspection yet. More to worry about – what if they found something horrible? What if the seller wouldn’t fix the stuff they found? Why did I worry when I don’t even know anything about this stuff? The worst thing they found were some termites outside and the seller paid for an exterminator. There were a few other things I asked him to fix and a few minor things that I didn’t bother with.
Inspection process done, I now had to stress the appraisal. Pretty much, it needed to come in at my offering price or above since I didn’t have excess cash lying around to make up the difference. I wasn’t sure that I would want to make up the difference anyway. A couple of sleepless nights later, the appraisal came in at $1,000 over my price. Yay!
Now, there was really nothing more to worry about. Did that stop me? No, I had periodic episodes of stressing over nothing and I’m sure SD was ready to throttle me quite often. The only thing that saved me was that he knew he would soon be alone.
All of this personal drama was packed into a little more than one week. I looked at the place on 10/4 and it was a done deal (through appraisal) on 10/15. During that time, I was afraid to talk about it too much for fear of jinxing the deal. I also didn’t want to have to explain why it didn’t go through if that had been the outcome.
I signed all of the papers last Wednesday. That was such a treat getting to read all of the legalese and signing and signing and signing. My favorite form was the one I had to sign twice that said that was my official signature. Huh?
We did the walk-through yesterday and the owner was there. He filled me in on the neighbors, the HOA, the mailbox and whatever else he could think of. Nice guy but seemed to be of the nervous type.
Today is closing day and I should get my keys. The plan is to paint this week and move over Thanksgiving weekend…assuming my back holds up and I can pack. SD is insistent that somehow or the other, I (and my stuff) will be out.
Well, if you made it to the end of this massive post, thanks for reading. The house related posts will be much shorter going forward but I’m sure there will be a lot of them.
Still waiting, no hurry.
OK, you ready? Let's go then.
I moved in with Sugar Daddy on Super Bowl Sunday of 2004. At the time, it seemed like a good deal for both of us. He got some help with his mortgage and I got to move out of my rented condo. Which was actually quite nice but in the prior year had managed to suffer major flood damage from a third floor hot water heater leak, been evacuated for a meth lab cleanup and finally flooded by my hot water heater turning into a geyser.
Everything went swimmingly at first, for the most part. I did scratch the Corian counter with my first (and only) party but I paid for it to get fixed. And paid a lot since the guy who buffed it out semi-stalked me afterwards. It wasn't too long though before the comments started...'when you have your own place...' Most of the time it was purely joking but there was an undercurrent of 'God, I hope you move out someday.'
At the beginning of this year, I decided I should start planning on buying something. Financially, it's a sound decision. Based on my personality, not so much. See, I'm a born renter. I have no desire to build equity. I'd rather spend all of my money traveling. The thought of yard work repels me. Home improvement projects are completely unappealing. Major repairs terrify me. I'd much rather be able to pick up a phone and say "Fix it, please." But, I started a savings account for my bonus checks and earmarked it for a housing purchase.
Everything really was going along (somewhat) fine until the beginning of this summer. At some point, the joking moving out comments were less of a joke and more of a strong hint. I knew it but I ignored it. Not that I was completely happy here. The daily commute was slowly killing me. The frequent criticisms as to how loud I am (the mouse pad on my laptop, typing on my laptop, talking on the phone, my poor fish and his tank...the list was long) and living in my little cell of a bedroom were a drag. On the other hand, even though he's a tyrant, Sugar Daddy provided cleaning and landscaping service, DirectTV with all of the channels, two TiVOs and access to a big screen TV where I could sneak in NASCAR occasionally. All for a very reasonable rent. And, despite appearances to the contrary, we did get along fairly well and I enjoyed having someone around the house. We did enjoy watching our TV shows together and having someone to go out to dinner with when the impulse hit and it’s nice to have someone call you from the store and offer to pick stuff up if you need it.
Finally, I'm just not meant to be solitary. It’s been well documented what a chicken I am about being home alone. Living alone would increase the odds of the axe murdering killing me to 100% from 50%. I also loathe moving. If it came down to having a root canal or moving, I'd have a mouth full of crowns and my dentist would have a new boat.
However, Sugar Daddy is meant to be solitary. If he could get paid to be a hermit, he’d do it. He finally got up the nerve to have the conversation near the end of the summer. He was hesitant about it because he didn't want to hurt my feelings, which is nice. I'll paraphrase it for you:
When you moved in, I thought it would only be for a little while but then I realized you were never going to leave. It's not you, it's me. I just need to live alone. You don't need to move right away but I need a soft date as to when you are so I have something to look forward to.
Since I like to make him look mean, I've been telling people he evicted me. He likes to make me look crazy so it's a twisted little game we have going on. I wasn't at all mad at him, though. I appreciate that I got by on so little dough as long as I did and he was somewhat right as I had no intention of moving soon. I told him I couldn't possibly do it before the end of the year and he accepted it. I never actually committed to a date which was very crafty of me and did not go unnoticed. It did, however, go unchallenged.
After Parrot Grande and once my Dad was on the road to recovery after his colon cancer surgery, I decided there was really no harm in starting to look for a place. I made the decision that if I couldn't find something I liked and could afford, I would go back to renting. That thought was actually quite appealing but I decided to give the home purchase idea a chance.
I told SD and he was quietly pleased and immediately jumped into the process of helping me find a place. He scoured the MLS and found a couple of places before I even called a real estate agent.
My criteria weren't too complicated. Clearly, a house with any upkeep was out of the question. And, with this market, any decent house was out of my price range anyway. So, the search was limited to condos and townhouses. I decided I needed to be closer to work and my parents (the latter became very apparent with Shorty’s hospital stay) so that left parts of Phoenix, Scottsdale, Tempe and Mesa as the possible locations. I also wouldn't consider any place that didn't have a washer/dryer hookup.
While SD was doing online searches, I was fretting about the whole agent thing. Like most people in Arizona, I know several real estate agents. Some of them are longstanding friends. How do you pick among your friends? And, do you really want your friends to know all about your finances? I stressed for quite a while then decided to call a former co-worker who had done some work for another co-worker and who had his own loan company set up so I could make it a one stop shopping deal (though he didn't try to force me into using his loan company at all). I hope my agent friends understand but you gotta do what makes you feel comfortable.
I hemmed and hawed for a week or so before I called him. I knew once I made that contact, things could happen in a hurry and I still wasn't 100% sure I wanted to buy.
Once I made the phone call things did happen fast. He worked on pre-qualifying me for my loan. Now, I had something new to worry about. Intellectually, I knew they’d qualify me for way over what I was willing to pay but at the same time there were these feelings of insecurity that made me wonder if I’d pass muster at all. Crazy, I know. Sure enough, they came back with a value that was insane. If I’d spent as much as they offered me, over half of my net income would be going to housing. I’m sure for folks making big bucks that’s not an issue. For me it would mean no more travel, no more concerts, no more new clothes which I would really need since I wouldn’t be able to afford food and would lose a lot of weight…just wasn’t happening.
I gave him my price limit and he sent me a list of properties for my review. Some of the places looked like really good deals. There were a couple in Mesa that looked really cute and were reasonably priced. I consulted with Eric the Cheap Bastard since he’s a Mesa boy and he gave me a thumbs down on the neighborhoods. That explained the low prices. It was a moot point, though, as there were 10 offers on the one I liked (in just a few days) and I wasn’t interested in a bidding war.
We (SD, my agent and one of his partners) headed off to look at the whittled down list. First up was a place I had found that was literally five minutes from work. It’s a townhouse in the Mid-Western style where they’re all in a row but each one has a different façade. Two things went against it. First, it faced 44th St which is a busy road with lots of transient traffic and second, it hadn’t been updated in over 20 years. You could call it a place with potential but for someone like me, it wasn’t a good fit.
Next, we headed to Mesa to look at two different properties. The neighborhoods were so-so in both cases. Someone was living in the first place and she’d crammed it full of furniture so it was hard to get a good feel for it. It was OK, though. Two story, 2 BR and 2 BA and a fireplace. The second place felt bigger but the rooms were oddly sized and laid out. It would have been OK, too.
We headed back towards the office and stopped at a place in Tempe. When we walked in the door, something about the place just felt right. It could have been the décor (dead animal heads, cowboy posters and antique beer paraphernalia) but I think it was the patio. When you came in the front door, you had a clear view through the dining area and living room to glass doors that opened on to the patio. It was bright and sunny and reminded me of Norene’s place. That was kind of funny because I had told her I wanted something like she had. This was smaller than her place but it had the same sort of feel to me. There were some other pluses. It was one story so there wasn’t wasted space with stairs and there was a fireplace but only one bathroom. Since it’s only me, I didn’t fret too much over that. The other plus was that it looked like it would only take a coat of paint to make it ready to move in. Oh, and there was a doggie door which immediately made me want to go out and find George the dog to move in with me.
SD and I talked about it and he said even he would be happy living there. Since he’s way picker than I, I thought that was a good thing. I decided to make an offer.
Another new source for stress. How much to offer? I didn’t want to pay too much, I didn’t want to lowball the guy and tick him off. I just didn’t know. After talking it over with my agent, I felt like we came up with a reasonable offer so we submitted it.
Oy, the waiting. I was a bundle of nerves. Fortunately, I didn’t have long to wait. The seller countered the next day. I countered back that same day and he waited a day to accept. Someone else was looking at it during the same time and I stressed about getting into a possible bidding war.
I swear, if there are 100 outcomes of which 99 are positive, I will zero in on and obsess over the 1 negative. That makes me a good project manager but it’s also going to drive me crazy at some point.
We settled on a closing date that was a week after I got back from Florida and things were going well. But wait, we hadn’t done the inspection yet. More to worry about – what if they found something horrible? What if the seller wouldn’t fix the stuff they found? Why did I worry when I don’t even know anything about this stuff? The worst thing they found were some termites outside and the seller paid for an exterminator. There were a few other things I asked him to fix and a few minor things that I didn’t bother with.
Inspection process done, I now had to stress the appraisal. Pretty much, it needed to come in at my offering price or above since I didn’t have excess cash lying around to make up the difference. I wasn’t sure that I would want to make up the difference anyway. A couple of sleepless nights later, the appraisal came in at $1,000 over my price. Yay!
Now, there was really nothing more to worry about. Did that stop me? No, I had periodic episodes of stressing over nothing and I’m sure SD was ready to throttle me quite often. The only thing that saved me was that he knew he would soon be alone.
All of this personal drama was packed into a little more than one week. I looked at the place on 10/4 and it was a done deal (through appraisal) on 10/15. During that time, I was afraid to talk about it too much for fear of jinxing the deal. I also didn’t want to have to explain why it didn’t go through if that had been the outcome.
I signed all of the papers last Wednesday. That was such a treat getting to read all of the legalese and signing and signing and signing. My favorite form was the one I had to sign twice that said that was my official signature. Huh?
We did the walk-through yesterday and the owner was there. He filled me in on the neighbors, the HOA, the mailbox and whatever else he could think of. Nice guy but seemed to be of the nervous type.
Today is closing day and I should get my keys. The plan is to paint this week and move over Thanksgiving weekend…assuming my back holds up and I can pack. SD is insistent that somehow or the other, I (and my stuff) will be out.
Well, if you made it to the end of this massive post, thanks for reading. The house related posts will be much shorter going forward but I’m sure there will be a lot of them.
