Buying a House is Like Riding a Bike... Ding Ding!

“If you can survive buying a home together, you can survive anything together.”

That’s a quote from our realtor who sensed that my fiancé and I were at our wits end with one another as we were debating “to bid or not to bid”. (If you’re dying to know... we bid)

Buying a house is so much more than just buying something with a roof that you can live under. When you buy a house you’re buying responsibility, you’re buying a new chapter to your life and you’re buying some uncertainty. I bet you didn’t know that uncertainty can come with such a huge price tag.

I was talking with one of my closest friends the other day who is also embarking on her first time house hunt and we were commiserating over how much you need to know when buying real estate and that no one ever really prepares you for what you’re about to go through. I’m a smart gal, but during this process, I’ve never felt so stupid... if I had a dollar for every sentence I started with “I know this may be a dumb question, but...” when talking to our realtor and broker, I would have already paid off our mortgage. It’s almost like the industry wants to haze first time buyers and once you’ve made it through, you’re officially in the cool club and have figured out all the insider secrets – I hope there is a secret handshake we find out about at closing.

So my fiancé and I are embarking on our last leg of the home buying process, which for me, has been kind of like riding a bike – its really tough and confusing at first, and you may be left with some scars (my scar is the memory forever etched in my mind of hearing how much closing costs would be – ouch!), but when you finally get it all down, you cruise to the finish. Now, unlike bike riding, I have no intention to hop up on the real estate bike seat again for at least another 5 years because this was all one wild ride that I don’t have the stamina to do again any time soon, but when I’m ready to kick up the kickstand, it will be easy to pick back up again.

My real estate bike was a tandem one as I ventured into this experience with my soon-to-be husband, and if you’re riding solo, I must give you major kudos because it can get pretty scary out on the road alone. However, riding tandem isn’t always that easy especially when you and your partner aren’t always equally matched – I remember trying to rent a tandem bike with my dad while we were on vacation on Mackinac Island... I was about 8 years old and he was about 150 pounds heavier than me. Let’s just say the bike ride didn’t work out because the weight difference caused my part of the bike to be stuck at a 45 degree angle, unable to be pedaled by my 4 foot-something frame.

So now that you know this about tandem bikes, my fiancé and I rode through my home buying experience rather smoothly, but then the weight difference would set in – whoever thought I’d be so turned off by a banister? And who knew my soon-to-be husband had a burning hate for certain kinds of shrubs? What’s important to you isn’t always important to your partner – what you see as fixable, could be unbearable for someone else.

Okay, so enough with the bike metaphors (but aren't metaphors just so darn fun?). The important takeaway from all of this is that buying a home is an interesting, stressful, exciting, scary and overwhelming experience. It’s an experience that has really opened my eyes and one that I’m happy I’ve had the opportunity to have, but if you’re a first time home owner, you better be ready to take people’s opinions, disregard those same people’s OTHER opinions, and know that NO question is stupid.

As my fiancé and I approach the closing of our home, we can reflect on the bumps in the road, the bruises we got along the way and the times when we were just not thinking at the same speed, but with those moments behind us, we can now plan on just cruising to the finish... ding ding!

My Sticky Situation

Gum. I stepped in gum.

Today I was enjoying a break from work and taking a walk around my office building when I suddenly felt like someone was stepping on the back of my shoe. Turning around to glare at the rude person who was walking WAY to close to me, I saw no one and smelled a familiar minty fresh scent – it was then I realized I had put my foot smack dab on top a clump of sticky, germ infused gum.

Who just spits it out like that? I guess I wouldn’t be surprised about all of this if I were sauntering through a truck stop, but a high end office building? Please. Get some class, people! Are you too busy being a high powered lawyer that when you’re done with your gum you choose to let it stumble out of your mouth and hope your assistant is close enough behind to catch it? I don’t care who you are, gum is like the devil’s glue and is such a pain to clean off... I should know... my right foot is currently plastered to the floor beneath my desk because not even all the scraping in the world can remove this piece of rudeness from my sole.

As you can tell, I don’t just have an issue with the gum. I have an issue with the people who just spit it out. These are the same people who leave public restrooms filthy. Who raised these rodents? And I’m sure if these guilty gum spitters found themselves in a similar sticky situation, they would throw a fit.

I myself learned a valuable lesson and had karma bite me in the butt when I selfishly disposed of my gum in a careless way. I was at a beach with my dubble bubble practically melting in my mouth from the heat. Wanting to get rid of it and seeing that the trash can was a distant 10 feet away, my laziness got the best of me and I decided to toss it in the sand. Later that day, forgetting about my careless action, I was frolicking in the sand and stepped in MY OWN GUM. I was barefoot, it was sticky and the situation wasn’t pretty.

Have you ever stepped in melting gum barefoot? No? Well hot gum on a heel is like super glue on fingers (I’ve superglued my fingers together before too, that’s another post all together). Even when I thought I had scrubbed it off, I could still smell the dubble bubble and had residual gumminess on my foot for weeks. I made myself two promises after that: 1) never chew dubble bubble again (the smell alone sends chills down my spine and my heel starts to throb) and 2) never spit out your gum on the ground, Rudy McRudster – throw it away!!!

If it weren’t for the fact that it was MY gum, I would have flipped out even more because if it wasn’t, it would have been like having a creepy old man licking my foot... assuming that whatever random gum I come across has been chewed by a creepy old man and for comedy’s sake, lets say it is. I realized how disgusted a fellow beach bum would have felt if they stumbled about my dubble bubble trouble – ew.

So the next time you’re thinking, “this gum sucks, I don’t want it anymore”, either find a trash can or be a champ and swallow it – it only takes 7 years to “pass”, right? Because for every person who steps on a stranger’s gum, an angel loses its wings... no, wait, that’s a bit dramatic, but just remember that public places aren’t yours, they are everyone’s and when you disrespect a public space by spitting your gum on the ground, you’re spitting on your fellow man.

Disrespect. What a sticky subject.

I'll have my "usual", please.

The other day I went to Starbucks for my mid-day java jolt and ordered “my drink” – a grande, raspberry, non-fat, no-whip mocha. That’s right, I like my drinks how I like my men: sweet and complicated.

So I ordered, handed over the obscenely unnecessary amount of 4 bucks, and then elbowed my way into the huddled mass of other afternoon coffee lovers waiting for their overpriced cup of stress relief. So I’m standing there, waiting. And waiting some more. I then get waved over by the barista, who I’m thinking wants to reward my loyalty by giving me a free gift card under the table or something, but who instead admits that they are out of raspberry syrup.

Two questions:

1. WHAT?? [Insert big eyed, blinking stare]
2. And why didn’t you know this before I gave up my money and waited patiently, anticipating the unforgettable taste of my beloved brew??

It’s not the fact that they ran out of the raspberry syrup that makes me upset– I understand that disasters can and will happen. It’s the fact that they led me to believe that my addiction would be satiated and then suddenly took it all away... and then what’s worse, with my fellow Starbucks cult members looking on, is that they asked me what other drink I wanted, and I had NO idea. I was put on the spot, expecting my raspberry mocha, and couldn’t even read the menu for other options as my vision was blurred by the sudden surprise of not getting what I ALWAYS order and ALWAYS expect.

So I just kind of stared at the remorseful-less Barista and said nothing... it was almost like I was waiting for him to say, “JUST KIDDING! You’ve been Punk’d” and then be presented with the best raspberry mocha I’ve ever had by Ashton Kutcher himself. Well, that didn’t happen.

I collected myself and managed to order a latte instead, but I wasn’t happy about it. I then realized how much I rely on my “usuals” – I think we all have some kind “usual” we depend on. Be it a favorite dish you always order at a specific restaurant or a specific TV show you watch every week without fail. “Usuals” most likely control some facet of your life and I was embarrassed that my “usual” left me tongue tied and inflexible (and in front of a gaping, judging Starbucks crowd no less).

The more I think about my “usuals”, the more disappointed I become in myself. Let’s face it, most of us aren’t sky diving instructors or out of work artists trying to make a buck on Hollywood boulevard by playing the drums on empty buckets -- we’re working at a typical 9-5 job and without even trying, we are living very mundane, “usual” lifestyles, which is something I often complain about when I’m not playing drums on the corner to make an extra buck (okay, that’s a lie, but not a bad idea).

So here I am, whining about my unusual life, as usual, and have a mini panic attack when Starbucks forces me to think outside my raspberry mocha and settle for something different. Was it really that painful? Of course not. But should I take this as a lesson that I need to drop my “usuals” and spice things up? You bet ya. Stepping outside your comfort zone, even if it’s merely ordering a new kind of drink, can only enhance your boring life and introduce you to wonderful new things; however, having tried this before, these new things soon become your new “usuals”, thus the vicious cycle continues, but either way, you’re embracing change and change is good.

So go forth, change things up and instead of ordering your usual, go for your UNusual.