So there have been big changes afoot at Casa Saintcrow. I’ve been hinting at them, fit to drive everyone mad, for, let’s see, four months now? And my blogging has sadly fallen off. It’s not entirely my fault, though.
Because at the hoary old age of thirty-six, finally, despite my ex-husband and the raging impossibility of everything, as well as the fact that I’m basically a freelancer…
…I bought a house.
I bought my very first house. The Casa is now Chez Saintcrow, all-new and improved.
This all started months ago when I went in to see a mortgage broker (and a very fine one, too) and said, “Can I afford to own a house? Do I have any chance of getting a mortgage? I WANT TO MOAN ABOUT MY DRIVEWAY AND ROOF AND I WANT TO LAY AWAKE AT NIGHT THINKING ABOUT HOW MUCH I OWE A BANK. HELP ME.”
After he dosed me with chamomile tea and laughed at me (very gently) we started crunching numbers. I’ve been working my ass off for this goal for years. And when the divorce was done and the dust settled, and I finally had some savings and had repaired my credit (because the ex, oh my GOD, but let’s not talk about that now, mmmkay?) and took care of all lingering Bad Issues from Said Divorce…well, I was actually in a pretty good place.
So I prequalified (which was amazing, seeing the amount of money someone would trust me with, but hey I wasn’t going to complain) and then looked up with big eyes and said, “Okay, so…what do I do now?”
“Now,” the broker said, “you find a house.”
“Oh.” I blinked. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. Get a realtor and find a house. And remember…” He fixed me with a steely glare, and I began to feel faint.
Christ, is there more paperwork? “What?”
“Buying your first house is the most stressful thing you’ll ever do.”
“Are you kidding? I have kids.” I laughed and breezed on out of his office, feeling ten feet tall.
I should have listened.
…to be continued…