And if it has a yard, I can get a puppy!

I've been killing some time doing some extremely premature house-shopping online. And if there is one way to screw up a not-too-rainy and still-light-out-at-four-pm day, it's to look at what you might be able to afford in Seattle, and then see what you could get for the same amount in the town your grandmother lives in, an hour south. SO INCREDIBLY DEPRESSING.

A few weeks ago we saw an ad for a rental house a few blocks away. And the rent was somewhere between "more than what we're paying now" and "pinnng". (First person to email me with the correct movie reference wins Phillip's Star Wars trilogy set.) (JUST KIDDING, PHILLIP!) So we got all super excited and called up the landlord and made an appointment to see the house. Perhaps all you apartment-dwellers can sympathize: there comes a day when the fourteenth trip outside to the moldy basement laundry room- in the RAIN because you have to go OUTSIDE to GET THERE- becomes the most unfair and infuriating thing on the planet. I would pay significantly more rent to acquire my own washer and dryer. Phillip would pay significantly more for more kitchen counter space and a living room layout where his wife would finally permit him to set up his surround sound. (But you know what- you all could really do me a favor and email me that movie reference right quick and then there would be no NEED for surround sound.) (JUST KIDDING, PHILLIP!) (Everyone else: SO NOT KIDDING.)

So the house! That was the day it snowed, so even just getting to the house was exciting. And the outside was pretty cute. It's one of those 'skinny' houses, where there's a one-car garage on the bottom and a big window and balcony on the second level. Like a townhouse without the other houses attached to it. There's a whole row of these houses right near our friends Won and Nathan and come to think of it, maybe THEY'RE the ones who advised the landlord not to clean the first-level bathroom because maybe our friends are secretly clairvoyant and knew we were interested and they were all, "It's already a pain having them five minutes away- we simply could not survive if they lived RIGHT NEXT DOOR." Yeah... the inside? Not so cute. Which was too bad, because it was a fairly new house with three big bedrooms and a huge kitchen. More than enough counter space for Phillip to chop his weekly plethora of stirfry vegetables. Unfortunately the bathrooms were vile- potential renters should not have to wonder if the bathtub is really that dirty or if the porcelain is just a gray color. We will not mention the toilets. The rest of the house was a notch above "Five former frat boys partied here until they got evicted." Some paint, a vacuum, and a case of Comet could have done real actual wonders for this house, but apparently no one thought that was necessary. No, we were not interested. Some college girls were there too and maybe they rented it, because I don't see the ad on craigslist anymore. Oh well.

That little episode did fire the "let's buy a house!" conversations up for a few days afterward and we finally decided to go get pre-approved. According to everyone who has been through this mysterious process, it only involves an hour with a snippy detail-oriented bank employee demanding to see your pay stubs, bank statements, previous tax returns, your list of New Year resolutions, your SAT scores, and all of your junior high diaries. And then maybe maybe you are pre-approved for $60,000 which is enough to buy one-half of a walk-in closet in a Seattle-area townhome. As yet we have only experienced the somewhat embarrassing initial phone call to discuss scheduling the appointment- I'll let you know just how demoralizing it is if and when the appointment actually happens.

In the meantime I'm stuck with my apartment which, all things considered, is a pretty sweet deal. For one thing, it is CHEAP. Cheap cheap cheap. The Apartment Gods were smiling the day our frazzled nearly-married selves agreed to rent that place. It has a room big enough to hide the myriad of wires and metal boxes Phillip likes to call "stuff I NEED". It fits the gigantic couch and chair and footstool AND the dining table. In fact, we may never be able to move out anyway because Phillip swears there's no way we'll ever be able to lift the sideboard, let alone move it. And I mentioned the insta-friends who came prepackaged in an apartment building a five-minute walk away. I'm okay staying there a bit longer. But I think my mother-in-law is getting pretty sick of us bringing our laundry every time we visit.

Comments

[Becca]

White Christmas of course.

[Maggie]

but YOU don't want the prize... RATS