Things No One Tells Anxious People About Owning Their Own Home:
- Buying the home isn’t the expensive part. I mean, yes, it costs a lot of money and the down payment is scary and the mortgage is this looming paper mache monster (made out of bills, obvi) that looks like the sand dune at the beginning of Aladdin when it melts after Aladdin touched the lamp, but the expensive part, the really expensive part, is buying all the shit you need to make your house YOUR HOUSE. Like, not just using empty pizza box stacks as furniture.
Ah, furniture. Why is that a thing? Why does it cost money? Also, does it have to look good? Is it socially acceptable for me to make a circle of tires I found at the dump in my living room and stuff them full of the pillows I already have and say it’s experimental couch seating? Eco-friendly couches? Man, I’m onto something. I should copyright that shit. “Tired? Relax on this couch! (I am a quarter sorry for that pun.)
- There will ALWAYS be something to fix, and that’s going to stress you out because it will cost money and also take time. My vents need to be expanded, or something, and no, that’s not a euphemism. Something is wrong with my air vents and they need to be widened because it’s a fire hazard (okay, THAT is a euphemism). The outlets in my kitchen aren’t safe because of something to do with water and being electrocuted, but what do I know? I’m just a girl with an MFA. I’m not an electrician. Also, my water heater is officially out of warranty so any day now I won’t get hot water and it’ll be cold all the time and OH GOD LIFE IS SO HARD.
- THE BUGS. Oh my god. There are too many bugs everywhere. Isn’t this place supposed to be clean before I move in? My brother is a plant/bug genius (or just a genius in general) and was all, “describe them to me,” and he told me they are GOD DAMN FLEA BEETLES, which, thankfully aren’t fleas but look and jump like them and are gross and EVERYWHERE. So now I have to spray this “eco-friendly” bug stuff everywhere that’s probably going to make Atreyu grow an extra tail and *hopefully* (fingers crossed) get me an extra boob all the while mutating the flea beetles into SUPER flea beetles that have heat vision and just the right amount of hair on their chests.
- The inevitable crazy neighbor. I mean, honestly, everyone has ONE. That one neighbor that intrudes or runs around naked in the middle of the night howling at the moon or tries to break into your place to steal your chocolate chip stash. Dear future Whitney: meet all your potential neighbors before buying a place so you don’t end up next to a lady who gets mad at you for doing what she asks you and then won’t leave you alone and then texts you thinking you’re her son.
Settling into my place has been more like hyperventilating into my place, learning how to adapt to all of the projects I have to do and prioritizing which ones need to be done first (Arranging my bookshelf was the first thing I did. I still haven’t bought a new water heater, though).
Maybe I should think about prioritizing correctly, though. But I still have some art that needs to be hung! I can’t possibly think about getting the living room windows repaired until all my art is hung! DUUUUUUHHHHHHH.
18 thoughts on “The Neverending Panic Attack Story”
“…so you don’t end up next to a lady who gets mad at you for doing what she asks you and then won’t leave you alone and then texts you thinking you’re her son.”
Did this happen? Or are you just really good at dreaming up awesomely awkward situations?
Oh, that actually happened.
That answers my questions. For now. Let us know after you’ve painted the walls and put up shelving, then decided to you need to have all the wiring ripped out and redone. 😉
“Flea Beetles” sounds redundant. Henceforth they shall be known as “Fleatles.”
That sounds even grosser than Flea beetles!
I do my best. 😉
All major holidays – you give the friends and / or family that like to give trinkets a list, a specific list of things you need. I felt no shame in giving out catalog numbers of the pillows from Pier One that I wanted. Had my Dad fix my air conditioning as my Birthday gift. I tell them I’m being practical, don’t want to waster their money.
Give it a try.
It’s quirky, I know.
My first apartment I woke up to find a strange woman passed out smelling like a brewery on my couch. When I woke her up she sort of seemed mildly surprised but not enough surprised which told me that this was a normal occurrence, and casually walked out saying wrong apartment, sorry. I learned to lock the door, which she learned to pick. Apparently picking a lock is not an indication that you are in fact going into the wrong house. This included a particular morning when I was sitting on said couch watching tv when my butt began to vibrate. I found a phone between the cushions to which I answered and she was on the other end saying she must have lost my phone in my couch last night… interesting part was I didn’t even know she had come in or left that day. I moved shortly there after.
This story should be a novel.
“My vents need to be expanded, or something, and no, that’s not a euphemism.”
I miss you when you’re not blogging 🙂
Also, hoping you are okay. We are kindred panic spirits, so every so often I wonder if you’re having the kind of day I’m having, like being told the pool is closed because it’s too hot, but you’re already standing there in your bathing suit, sweating, and so you cry (maybe in the hopes of creating your own pool?).
I’m often having one of those days.
Happy New House, Whitney! Many joyful trips to Home Depot and Lowe’s await!! Your addendum to this list is going to include: You never get all the stuff you need to clean/fix/refix/attach/reorganize/paint a project the first time to the big box.
Yeah, I know. But I love our Little Bitty, and you’re going to love your’s, too, Whitney. ❤
You had me at pizza box furniture and third boob!!! They both sound amazing. Lol. Best wishes on your house adventure. It can be a pain in the ass, but it’s apparently a grown up thing to do.
This was me in your words. I had to go through each and every moment described here when I got my apartment. My own house. The idea was so thrilling. Was like a dream until it turn into reality. And reality usually is not that thrilling. A year went into planning and sorting out properties until one is finalized. Another year and a half, and I got the keys.
And THEN, the mission of turning that house into a home (as humorously described by you).
Getting the painting done as you imagined, running after the plumber (they are truly the Kings), sorting out the kitchen (list out the kitchen items. I mean REALLY, our belly actually rule the house), all that freakily crazy paper work.. huhhh That, as happy as I am about it, actually sucked my energy, psychic balance, sweat and blood too (while trying to put a frame on the wall )