It’s safe to say that Scott and I could be considered professional renters. Over the past six years we’ve inhabited five apartments in four different states. Some have been bad — think using the oven as a heater and finding random guinea pig droppings left behind by the previous tenant. Others have been great–sauna, gym and hot tub? Yes, please!
But all of them have had one thing in common: they were temporary.
I’m tired of temporary.
I’ve quite literally been trying to buy a house for the past four years. My efforts have been foiled by two major roadblocks:
1. All of our money goes to student loans.
2. We move too damn much.
Thankfully, the student loans will be paid off this year. Also? I think we want to stay in Minnesota for a while. With these two roadblocks out of the way, Scott and I are fixin’ to buy a house by…wait for it…next summer!
(All of this is pending on me spending less money on shoes so we can actually scrounge up a down payment, of course.)
While a year isn’t all that much time, next summer can’t come soon enough.
In order to pass the time, I’ve decided to make a list of why I can’t wait to stop throwing my money away on rent each month.
1. I’m tired of hanging “removable” wallpaper with double-sided Scotch tape and then having to reinforce it every five days.
2. Trying to Turbo Kick quietly so you don’t disturb the people below you gets old fast.
3. I hate elevators. I just want to carry my Costco groceries inside without having to make four trips up and down four flights of stairs to do it, thank you very much.
4. I want to leave Jolie at home and not care how loud she yelps for three hours straight.
5. I want to buy nice, stylish furniture that isn’t from IKEA.
6. I want a gas range. So I might better cook my Top Ramen, obviously.
7. We need some equity. At this point, our only valuable possession is a painting.
8. It will justify the fact that I watch upwards of three hours of HGTV a day.
9. If I have to apologize for Jolie attacking another neighbor dog in the elevator, hallway, parking lot, or doggie exercise area, I think I just might lose it.
10. I’ll no longer have drunken strangers wandering into my house at 11:30 pm on a Tuesday. (Hopefully.)
Perhaps that last one needs a bit of explanation.
Last night, I was sitting in my underwear looking up Martha Stewart recipes for tomato cobbler while Scott watched coverage of the DNR in the living room. Suddenly, I heard our front door open. A man’s voice I didn’t recognize started talking as he entered the apartment.
I instantly panicked, fearing one of Scott’s friends was about to see me in my granny panties.
Then I realized Scott doesn’t have any male friends in Smalltown.
Unfortunately, I also realized there was a hole in my granny panties.
The thought of a complete stranger witnessing my matronly undergarments was slightly less upsetting as I would probably never have to see them again. Still, the scenario was far from ideal. Especially considering the hole in the underwear.
Within a few seconds, the intruder realized he had stumbled into the wrong unit. He slurred his very best drunken apology before making a quick escape. Scott made sure to lock the door behind him.
While this surprise visit was an honest mistake and posed no real harm, it truly symbolizes all the crappy aspects of renting that I’m completely fed up with.
Holey granny panties + intoxicated construction worker + privacy of your own apartment = something no one should ever experience³.
Want to know the worst part?
I still can’t find the stupid tomato cobbler recipe I’m looking for.