Panic Attack Tuesday.

11/23/2010 · 14 comments

in Adrian, How Did My Life Come To This, Psychological Warfare

Fuck.

I’m buying a house.

Okay, well, Adrian and I are wanting to buy a house. A loft. A small one.

We’re self-employed.

I heard your collective gasps, those who have bought a home before me. For those who haven’t–beware. Buying a home while self-employed is like trying to put mascara on a giraffe. Sure, you can do it eventually, but it’s going to take some serious shit to get there. Hope you brought your ladder and come-a-longs, ho, that Revlon is in for a fucking ride.

While, yes, fundamentally, I understand this is not the Bank’s fault, and the fact that a good 1/3 of the country being in foreclosure makes it more difficult for anyone to get a loan, it’s equal parts frustrating and baffling. Though we make good money, are not looking for anything even close to 100% financing, and have excellent credit, we have not been employed in the same city for 2 years.

To the banks, this means we are heathens. We’ve already been rejected by two.

It’s also sending me into an OCD Anxiety Meltdown.

We’re in the final stages of underwriting. Leading up to this, we’ve turned in P&L’s, Taxes, Affidavits of Credit Checking (as Adrian’s car was stolen 2 months ago and we’ve placed a trace on his Social Security Number for now), Utility bills, Inspection Reports, and the tears of Guatemalan children saddened by the plight of the mayfly.

This is getting a bit like the whole TSA debacle. Yes, I fundamentally understand the need for the nudie pictures and the crotch groping, but I also understand now what it’s like to be on this side of it. A little crotch grope here, a tit squeeze there, and BAM. You’re a terrorist. The bank’s doing a hell of a job running their hands over Adrian’s crotch, but we won’t get to end this little bump and grind with a vacation.

I understand why Adrian and I are considered risky in the eyes of the Bank, especially considering the loan environment, but it’s painfully embarrassing to consider yourself ‘blessed in the self-employment area’ and for banks to tell you no.

We’re supposed to find out tomorrow if we get it. We’re also supposed to close tomorrow.

We’re supposed to be out of our apartment, house or not, by next Wednesday, because we’re tired of living in a place where the cops told us, “You should move. Soon. It’s not safe here,” when Adrian’s car was stolen.

I have not packed a single box. Neither has Adrian. We’re not even trying to. We have no immediate plans to do so. We come home every night as though we’ve never even considered moving.

We’re both fucking terrified. It’s like this isn’t even happening–we’ve been in a state of limbo and self-induced impending homelessness for a month. We’re both just ignoring the fact that we HAVE to move no matter what, for fear that if we start packing, we’ll get our hopes up and the Bank will notice and rain down rejection from the heavens like so many fearsome thunderbolts.

Half our shit is still in boxes from the last time we moved. But we have no truck with which to move. We have no tape. We are unprepared and I am scared to fucking death.

Our realtor even got a notification about a loan for a customer he does not have. That man was approved.

An imaginary man was approved faster than we.

In one week, it will mark the 16th time I have moved in 12 years. Adrian has, barring a house in college, lived in one home growing up. The jealousy of that kills me.

While ‘home is where the heart is,’ and family is what matters in making a home, I want a real home for once. I want a place that’s all ours. I want a place where I can paint the way I want to, and live how I please, and sit on my balcony and be peaceful and come HOME to a HOME. I’ve moved so many times that houses are flippant objects, to be discarded and unremembered as you bounce from one to another, temporary places for your stuff. I’m tired of that.

I want Adrian to say to me one day, “I’ll be home soon,” and know it means something bigger than a shitty apartment where I happen to be.

Sometimes, I’m not funny. Sometimes I’m terrified. And embarrassed. And procrastinating.

 

Update: Since this post, we have not closed. We have been notified, however, that Fannie Mae will probably not let us move into the loft, even though we were approved for it, because the HOA is under quite of bit of interesting litigation. We have packed all of our stuff, and are in the process of unpacking it or putting the boxes into closets so we no longer live in a UHaul maze. Though we will probably not get the house, it’s under good terms–if the HOA is in trouble, we don’t need  the place.

Pam the Realtor November 23, 2010 at 6:24 am

Hang in there! I know how frustrating the process can be but it’s totally worth it in the long run. There was a study done a few years ago that said buying or selling a home is the 3rd most stressful thing you will go thru in your life after death and divorce.

Noa Gavin November 23, 2010 at 3:31 pm

Pam: I like my life with a side of what the fuck. Keeps things fresh. Thanks for the kind words.

Liz: Thanks for your support–you’re like a favorite bra, ho (Oh, HO!). We just got word of another round of paperwork due today to close by tomorrow, if we do in fact get the loan at all. Oh well, either way, my ass is moving!

elizabeth-flourish in progress November 23, 2010 at 9:41 am

Noa, I feel your pain as I have been on the real estate roller coaster/ ferris wheel/ merry-go-round myself. More than anything, that period of time when you don’t know where you are going or when you are going is painful and hard.

It’s hard to feel settled when you don’t really know where you can hang your hat.

It’s hard to move time and time again. I’ve moved 20 times in 30 years and Harv grew up in the same house for his entire childhood. His idea of a big move is moving the TV from the bedroom to the guest room.

Hang in there.

elizabeth-flourish in progress November 23, 2010 at 9:55 am

on a completely note, i was trying to type in your address and instead of ohnoa, i typed ohho. oops

Ali November 23, 2010 at 7:08 pm

Hang in there Noa! I bought my home three years ago and my situation was equally as stressful, for entirely different circumstances. It’s totally worth it in the end, which sounds like small potatoes right now, but it is. My process took almost a year and we weren’t sure until we actually used the key in the front door that the house was actually ours. It was the most stressful thing I have done in my life to date, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Hoping you receive good news soon! :)

Noa Gavin November 28, 2010 at 10:24 pm

I’m pretty terrified that it’s all going to be a joke–Nelson will be on the other side of the door as the lock doesn’t click, “HA HA.” Thanks for the wishes!

Elly Lou November 24, 2010 at 9:21 am

Don’t EVEN get me started on housing shit. We’re going to try again in the new year. Which basically means I’ll be a homicidal ball of nerves in the new year. Fingers crossed all is working out today.

Noa Gavin November 28, 2010 at 10:23 pm

I’ll be looking forward to your homicidal rantings on your blog then, Elly. Good luck to you!

Kernut the Blond November 24, 2010 at 7:49 pm

Hang in there Sweetie! It will all work out, one way or another. I have my fingers crossed for you!

Not long ago I lived in a small cottage, while most of my stuff was in storage, and it was one of the best times of my life – there is a feeling a great freedom when you don’t have a great load of crap to haul around. I’m back to that phase where I want to get rid of a bunch of stuff and carry a lighter load. Having stuff = stress. I used to want to buy a house, but after running into similar problems as you, I lost the desire. There’s something said for being mobile.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Noa Gavin November 28, 2010 at 10:22 pm

If we get approved, we’ll be moving into a loft, and I can then convince Adrian, who is a fun combination of packrat/clutterhater, to get rid of some of his more random keepings. Examples: 13 year old wallet filed under “wallet” in our filing cabinet (oh, how I wish I were joking), 24 inch computer monitor from his Freshman year in college 11 years ago, 400 copies of Automobile magazine.

bloggertobenamedlater November 25, 2010 at 3:43 pm

I have been woefully out of blogland for awhile due to annoying lawyer job. As a construction lawyer, my advice to you is to chew drugs that end in the letters ‘pam’ until the process is completed. You will care a great deal less what happens that way. In the absence of drugs that end in the letters ‘pam’, a martini will do. I recommend an American Beauty martini. 1 part vodka, chilled, 1 part champagne and 1 part rose liquer. Shake, strain and swill. Have 2 and you will not care what the banks do, or that you are now living in a cardboard box under an underpass. Good luck with the new home.

Noa Gavin November 28, 2010 at 10:19 pm

Your suggestion is a hell of a lot more fun than the frantic packing I’ve been doing for 2 days. Contents of one box: Menorah, Asian Tea Set, Cat Treats, Fur Blanket, Pendulum, Pocketwatch, External Hard Drive.

Lynne May 18, 2011 at 10:15 am

Your frustration is understood. I’ve lived in the same city almost ten years and worked at the same company for over eight years. I see people who have no job (and don’t want one), sell drugs (and are happy with that profession), have children they neither want nor care for (and continue to have more), and are there with open arms and hands for the government (and everyone else) to take care of them……..yet they own a home. I recently went totally off on the loan processor where I had applied for my mortgage because that one phone call was the last fucking straw in a long-ass laundry list of completely ridiculous things she was asking me to provide: I had to justify (in writing) a $500 cash deposit I made to my checking account a couple of weeks prior. I hate being made to feel like someone’s bitch and actually having to *be that bitch.* After I laid her out with the above-mentioned references, I meekly shuffled over to the fax and sent what she needed. At least she could’ve sent me a card for bending me over like that. Not so much as a reach-around. No kiss. No flowers. Nothing.

Noa May 18, 2011 at 12:31 pm

Ugh…buying a house made me want to kill myself. That’s why we’re now renting–because I like living.

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