This Old House

Day One: March 9

I bought a house today. No-we bought a house today.

It takes practice, saying "we," even if it's been "we" for over four years (or if you want to go by how long we've been engaged, almost two years). Even though every single cent at closing came from me. I still have to say "we." Plus, he's moving in Saturday and it will be "his" until the end of August, after our wedding. I sound bitter about this, and I swear I am not. I digress.

We bought a house today, ten o'clock this morning. With my cashier's check and eldest brother in tow, Matthew and I drove the twenty-five minutes to the closing agent's office. Tucked away on our usual drive to a flea market with less than stellar clientele but a great resource for Magic the Gathering cards, the three of us joked about blowing off the closing and continuing all the way there, not that our dealer came there anymore (Magic cards, not drugs).

Folks forewarned us the proceedings would take hour after monotonous, unbearable hour, first signing forms stating we received the forms, then a form signifying that we would sign the next forms, then more forms confirming that we had other forms to sign, on and on until our fingers bled, our hands cramped, and our names no longer held any meaning.

It took all of forty-five minutes, the sole holdup coming from having to get confirmation back from Quicken Loans. The highlight of it all had to be an aside conversation brother Matt had with my realtors (a mother/son duo), who commented on the insane things you find in houses sometimes, one such case being a marijuana plant right next to the front door. A lull happened in every other conversation as he replied, "Well, some people really like their weed." With homework in tow and a card from our realtors, Matt, Matt, and I drove to the county clerk's office to file some paperwork on our way to our home to see what had been left.

"So how do you feel?" Brother Matt asked as we drove away from the ReMax office and toward the city hall, center, whatever. Matt and I shrugged, still feeling nothing. Not even trepidation at the amount of money I just dropped or how much money I will continue to siphon into this thing for the rest of my life. I did feel a jolt of electricity when Marie (the power of attorney) held out the bunch of three keys for me. "Man, I remember... I felt nervous and almost sick to my stomach, having to hand over that big of a check when I closed on mine..." That thought never even crossed my mind. For me, the need for a house before our wedding day was just that: a necessity.

Halfway to the clerk's office, Matt's phone rang, the X-Men: The Animated Series theme song crying out from his pocket over the quiet blues on my radio. The conversation went as follows:

Matt: "What's up Jason?"

Jason: "Hey Matt, what's going on?"

Matt: "Not much, buddy. I, uh, I'm a homeowner now!"

Jason: "Really? That's great! I just got engaged!"

Matt: "Congratulations! That's fantastic!"

It ended within thirty seconds and had brother Matt and I cracking up at how matter-of-fact the discussion had been.

On the two occasions we happened to peruse the home while on sale, an excessive amount of crap remained inside. Not noticeable upon first glance, unless you made your way into the garage or down into the crawl space, where you would find boxes upon boxes of what any pair of average parents collect over the course of their children's lives. Matt and I continually commented that we hoped they would clean it out before they handed over the keys. Sure, there may have been a hidden box of Alpha in the depths of the crap (and sealed boxes go for $40,000), but why should we have to pay to rent a dumpster for something that should have been done before we stepped over the half-rotten threshold? It's not like that box of Alpha was anything but a dream.