house hunting emotions (as told by troy barnes)

My husband and I have entered into our first house-buying experience, and I'm suddenly realizing I'm not the greatest at handling this kind of exciting, stressful and emotional journey. I've always been a homebody, and the two of us are probably the most sentimental humans in Arizona. We walk into a house that's for sale and we're like, oh well hello there, destiny, thanks for bringing us to our new place of solace and happiness. The problem is, when it's listed way out of our budget or sells before we can make an offer, we might take it a little too hard. It feels personal. Like we've just been betrayed by the very destiny that promised us so much.

I figured Troy Barnes, a character on the TV show Community, was the best man for the job of illustrating our complex emotions of the past few weeks.

We hadn't actually planned on buying a house this early. But we came across a few local properties, and our interest was piqued. The wheels started turning. What if we bought a fixer upper, lived in it for a few years while we fixed it up, then resold it to provide us with enough money to build our own house (which is our ultimate dream)?

We saw the house for the first time a week and a half ago. We knew right away it was the perfect type of dingy, in need of our tender love and care but not too far gone. It was priced low; most of the houses around our city at the same price are half the size. It had only been listed for one day, so we were confident with our offer and waited the necessary 10 days before the bank would tell us we were officially home owners.

But then, over the weekend, our realtor told us that the bank was rejecting all of the offers. There are a total of 3, we found out, so our initial feelings of being the special chosen ones quickly vanished. The bank wanted our highest and our best. We could raise the offer, raise the earnest money, waive the inspection period (or shorten it)...

Our confidence was shaken and we had no idea what to do. The market began rising as we twiddled our thumbs and lost sleep. Even if we raise the offer, will the other offers raise theirs as well? How can we be sure we beat them to the highest bid? Why couldn't this be a personal interview, where we charm The Bank and make them love us? Is there any way I could send The Bank a basket of mini muffins to endear them to us? Is this a sign? And if so, what's it pointing at? Are signs even a thing? 

So many questions! So much doubt! In the back of our minds we kept telling ourselves that everything will work out either way - if this isn't the house, then we'll move on with our lives and continue saving our money. If it is, then we'll get it...right? 

The Bank is impossible to mind read, unfortunately, but we decided to just do everything available to us. Raise the offer, raise the earnest money, shorten the inspection time. I tried to also send the mini muffins, but they don't like baked goods; they only eat pure gold and our hopes and dreams.

We submitted the new offer this morning. So now we're left to wait again. We'll hopefully know by tomorrow, but while I sit here typing at work it's all just like

and

It's stressful not knowing the future. I know we're not the only human beings with this problem, but it would be so much easier knowing whether or not this is the house. I'm not even sure if there's such a thing as the anything. While I believe God cares about the smallest desires of our hearts, I am not positive that he always tells us direct answers to the decisions we make. Things like where we go to school, or what we have for lunch, or what job we take. Sometimes there are clear answers, but sometimes there aren't. In this time of uncertainty and stress, I have to remember that the future is taken care of whether we're directly lead to purchasing this house or passing it by. We've done everything we can to make it happen, because in our minds it's the house - but dealing with the loss of it will not break us. It will simply be another story to tell.

archives: jimmy jons

Happy Friday!

I decided that today would be a good day to reach back into my blogging history and pull out one of my favorite posts from my first blog, Once Upon a Wife Life. My first blog was dedicated to my friends and family while we were away in Virginia for law school. I posted a lot of personal posts, mostly to keep them updated on our lives in Lynchburg. 

Now that we're back, I've let OUAWL go, although I do need to write a few more posts there to wrap up our time in Lynchburg. All that to say: this was one of my silliest posts. It still makes me laugh. 

I first posted it on June 7th, 2012. Enjoy!

This is from our engagement session with our friend Mike. circa 2010.
He told me to be sexy. I had no idea how.
He said that the key to being sexy is to pretend you're about to say the F word.

Sometimes, I laugh out loud at myself.
It's not because I think I'm really funny (I occasionally think I'm pretty funny) but I'm just really easily entertained, and sometimes when that perfect thing comes to mind, I can hardly contain my glee at my own cleverness.

When we were in Charlotte last weekend, we went into a very high-end department store, Neiman Marcus.
They carry all of the fanciest brand names. I mean, the store name is in cursive, and it's just really obvious that it's not a place where Dusty and I regularly shop. Or ever shop.
We went around admiring the merchandise, and I could have sworn a few hefty men came cautiously in our direction just to make sure we weren't trying to steal anything.

Back off my wal-mart cardigan, dude, it's a fun color and it fits nice.

As we made our way back to the fancy menswear, Dusty began to drool over a ridiculously gorgeous pinstripe suit. It was divine. I nodded my approval, sneaking a peak at the $4,000 price tag on just the jacket. Maybe that's normal for people like Leonardo DiCaprio...or maybe that's just the kind of suit he would buy for his dog, I really don't know. For little ones like us it's a lot of money.
A well-dressed (duh) grey-haired man approached us, asking if we needed any assistance. He had a bit of an arch to his eyebrow that said he was up to no good. We told him we were just looking.

He proceeded to nod and walk back across the glistening tile to another store worker, and whispered, "Eh, just a couple of Jimmy Jons."

Now.

I don't know what that's supposed to mean. My fancy-pants radar was going off, signaling that I should be offended. But that radar is broken (I bought it at a discount) and all that resulted was a fit of giggles. Offended giggles, obviously, but it had us both cracking up, trying to imagine what they must think of us.

We then developed a string of Jimmy Jon scenarios.

Me: "Most of my pants I bought for less than $10...and that's why I'm a Jimmy Jon."
Dusty: "9 of my socks have holes in them, and that's why I'm a Jimmy Jon!"
Me: "Well, I use safety pins to keep my dress intact. Pretty sure that makes me a Jimmy Jon."
Dusty: "Our favorite restaurant is Olive Garden. That, ladies and gentlemen, is why we're Jimmy Jons."
Me: "Ha! I use my panty-hose as a pasta drainer...and that's why I'm a Jimmy Jon."
Dusty: "I buy all my groceries from the bum next door...and that's why I'm a Jimmy Jon!"
Me: "Gee whiz, our entire downstairs is courtesy of thrift stores and Craigslist. We are so Jimmy Jons."

For the record, some of these are true, and some of them are not. I won't say which are which.
I wish I could remember some of the ones we actually said that day, because we were in stitches, we were so pleased with ourselves. Suffice it to say, we're not too upset about being Jimmy Jons.

Then yesterday, I was having a conversation with my friend Becky about fitness. We were talking about getting in shape, and how important it is to keep a tight core, and feel the burn, and bladda yadda work-out jargon.

One of the items of conversation became arms. I think it's especially important to women to have toned arms. The last thing you want is for your under-arm to do a flash-dance in the middle of you waving to the next-door neighbor.
We all want sexy-toned arms.
So I said, "Oh ya. It's a must. Especially in the summertime...I mean...when I put on my new bridesmaid's dress last night, I just kept my arms spread-eagle so there wouldn't be any unwanted skin gathering."
We had a good laugh.
I told Dusty about this conversation, because I thought it was really funny.

After work that night, we stopped by the grocery store to pick up some things for a barbecue we were going to. We grabbed some beans, hamburger/hot dog buns, and then headed down the chip aisle.
A very dangerous place!
I immediately spotted the Puff Cheetos, because I love those, and have been craving them since...the last time I ate them, and realized I never wanted to stop.

This was last year. Proof of our long-standing affair.

After we checked out, I asked Dusty if I could go ahead and open the Cheetos for a pre-barbecue snack.
He said no!
I was upset.

Dusty: "You need to have self control."
Me: Rolling my eyes, "I don't want any of that."
He looks at me critically. We start to walk out the sliding doors.
Dusty: "Oh really? So, what? You just wanna be spread-eagle for the rest of your life?"

Funniest thing he's ever said to me. Except for one other thing, which I can't blog about, because it's super inappropriate.
But I thought I might pee my pants. I had to pause in the parking lot and compose myself.

The moral of the story is, when I think something is really funny, I can't. stop. laughing.
And going on a rant of hilarity is one of my favorite things to do, and I absolutely love that I have so many people in my life that allow me to be ridiculous.
Love you guys :)

Dusty, ya Jimmy Jon, I love ya.

(original post)