I’m so excited I could spit.
Internet, I found my house. While the selling broker was distracted, I licked the front door knob and called dibs. If I was a dog, I would have peed on it. Mine…all mine I tell you!!!
I am ridiculously wired. Every five minutes or so I have to squeeze my eyes shut, ball up my fists and squeal! Currently I’m pulling a Johnny Cash and trying to offset my adrenaline and multiple cups of caffeinated green tea with a couple glasses of sedative – I mean pinot noir.
It’s not working.
It’s actually terrifying. I’m officially really excited about a house – and it’s been at least three offers since I’ve been excited about a property. If I don’t get this one…it’s not going to be pretty.
I’m not going to go postal – no gun. I’m not going to get all suicidal – not after spending the last year focusing on not dying. I’m not going to shave off all my hair – please, it just started growing again and it really wouldn’t be that noticeable. I’m not going to go on SNL and tear up a photo of the Pope – though I could piggy-back that with the head shaving and really nail it. I just hope that Lifetime has a marathon of Nora Robers movies on tap if this thing falls through.
I’ve decided that I would be willing to auction of my first child for possession of this house. You know what they say…the fifth time is the charm! I’ve crossed my fingers, my toes, my eyes, and even my legs (sorry Rocco). I’m seriously considering an animal sacrifice (mostly because my neighbor’s puppy is a yipping machine).
Rocco has had a total hardon for this house since it first came on the market. He’s really in it for the asking price and the low taxes. I just want a frickin’ yard. Well – maybe I have SOME additional criteria but the yard is a really big deal for this southerner that’s been trapped in a land of concrete for the past decade. Mama needs some tomatoes and fresh mint for my iced tea!
In fact, Rocco was so sure of this house that he had me get a mortgage approval letter before having ever seen the house. A letter for a sale amount OVER LIST PRICE. Having. Never. Seen. The. House. He spent the drive out this morning saying things like, “Babe, maybe we should decide how high we’re willing to go to get this house.” Um, hi. I repeat. Having. Never. Seen. The. House.
Fucker.
I was convinced there would be no yard. The house would be dark and lonely. All corners would be sharp, pointy, and mean. We might even find cobweb-crusted skeletons chained to the boiler pipes in the basement. Every room would be painted deep prom teal. The horror!
In reality, it’s adorable. It’s so bright and airy inside it’s almost as though someone got drunk on sunshine and hurled everywhere. The rooms were small, but manageable. Then we walked into the kitchen. Rocco stood inside the doorway to a…yes it’s too good to believe…bathroom on the GROUND FLOOR!!! The clouds parted and a heavenly chorus rang out. He stepped out of my way and I peaked in to case it out. Then I looked out the window. Out over the back yard. With sun and everything. I then proceeded to dance a silent but enthusiastic jig and chant to my agent in a sing-song whisper, “This is my house, this is my house, all you bitches better get the hell out, ’cause this is my house, yup yup my house.”
We toured the upstairs and headed to the basement. The garage is actually attached and under the kitchen – a rarity in Maplewood. As I described how I could maybe put the kiln in the garage with the car and use the room immediately off the garage as a pottery studio, adorable (and apparently psychic) Rocco said, “I think we’ve found your house.” Awww, it’s OUR house. Unless we get divorced. Then all bets are off, buster. Just for that sweet statement he can buy a new power tool to rip out a wall.
Now I have to wait until tomorrow afternoon (at the earliest) to hear if the sellers will take our offer. That far exceeds my capacity for patience. I’m pretty sure there will be little tiny chunks of Elly all over this monitor, the desk, the walls, and maybe some ceiling if I don’t hear back by 3pm tomorrow. kaBOOM.
Cross your fingers, Internet. I’m homeless as of May 21st. As I may have mentioned previously, I really like to eat and sleep indoors. It’s a my deeply held religious belief that camping is what you do when you can’t afford room service.
Holy mother of pearl I want this house. Maybe I should have just peed on it for good measure. Don’t worry – I’ll be fine by the bottom of this bottle of wine. I shall distract myself and delay an anticipation explosion this evening with the musical stylings of Adam Lambert.