The other side of the table

As closing day for my new home approached, I knew that I was going to meet the sellers of the place eventually.  There was admittedly a little bit of apprehension in the thought, since these are basically the people that I’d been playing hardball with in negotiating listing prices, how much of the closing costs I wanted them to cover, and the additional costs I made them incur in repairs and requests found through home inspection, and now I was going to have to face them so they could hand the keys of their property over to me.

This was somewhat a new experience to me; the last time I was at the closing table, I was the seller, and the buyer was tremendously low-maintenance, was willing to cover most of the closing costs, and barely asked for any work at all.  And the first time I purchased a home, it was brand new and purchased directly from a builder, so there was nobody on the other side of the table that I had the innate feeling that I was taking something from them, regardless of how legitimate and normal the transaction was.

Furthermore, I had my suspicions initially based on an errant piece of litter on the property that the prior owners may have been Asian, and it was confirmed during the process that despite not being anywhere near Duluth or Suwanee, they were in fact Koreans.  Yeah, I lol’d too at the strange coincidence of it all that I would of course, pick the home of other Koreans to choose to plant my new roots into.  So, I knew going into closing day, that I would be coming face-to-face with other Koreans, after I had kind of put them through a little bit of the ringer, just so they could sell their home.  I wasn’t necessarily scared to face them, but there’s no denying that my requests probably cost them a little bit of money they probably were hoping to not spend.

Regardless, the whole closing process wasn’t at all a bad one; the seller(s) were really nice people, and there was no indication that they were at all sour over the expenditures necessary to make the sale happen.  I was amused by their realization that mother couldn’t speak to daughter discreetly in Korean without me being able to understand it, so most of the correspondence was kept in English, for the sake of the other non-Koreans involved in the process.

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A new chapter

Obviously, I’m pretty hush-hush when it comes to the process of getting to things like this, but let’s cut right to the chase: I’m a homeowner again.

Apartment life wasn’t terrible, but the reality is that renting always feels like throwing money away, and that the end game is always a home where I can stash all my shit and have a place that I can always call my own, and potentially work it to something that might actually be able to make me money in the future to boot.

I came to a realization not that long ago that I actually managed to amass enough money to where I could actually get back on the path to homeownership, and then once the home-buying bug bit, it was off to the races with trying to find a home that suited a lot of my mental checkboxes.

It all happened pretty quickly and has been quite the whirlwind, and I will say that honestly, this moved rapidly throughout the course of a month.  Yeah, sounds like a lot of major decisions being made in a short amount of time, but I had a particular area in mind where I wanted my next house to be, and that made things a little easy in the sense that I wasn’t going to be searching all around the entire Metro Atlanta area, and had more of a specific zip code in mind to narrow my choices.

So there we have it; I have a house again.  Maybe some of it is sticker shock after dropping a massive sum of money for a downpayment, or maybe it’s the surreal feeling that I’ve already moved onto my second house.  Grown-up adulting may be one of those things I always say is kind of weird to consider, but if I’m already successfully capable of owning my second house, I’m clearly doing something right.

Life is fascinating sometimes, and I look forward to embarking on this new chapter of my life in my new house that will hopefully be full of good memories, lots of growth, and abundant potential for the future.

Not a day goes by

I’m still subscribed to my former home’s community on NextDoor.  Partially, because it slipped through the cracks and I neglected to address it after I had moved out, but also in part because it’s turned into this inadvertent source of amusement, fascination and a constant reminder of how glad I am to not live in the community anymore. 

Don’t get me wrong, I loved the shit out of my old house.  The house itself was great, and if it were remotely possible to uproot homes, and plop them down onto other places like Sim City, I totally would.  It’s just that it just happened to exist in a community that went in completely the wrong direction from where I had hoped it would.

Needless to say, based on shit I read on NextDoor on nearly a daily basis, the neighborhood has progressively been getting worse since I moved out.  And after every single I read about disgruntled residents of my old community, and all the neighboring communities dealing with some unfortunate issues on too often of a basis, all I can do is shake my head and take a huge sigh of relief.

Like, the first few weeks of life after the move, I was admittedly in a state of unease at the general change in life.  But as the transition eased, and the NextDoor notifications continued to trickle in, with stories of break-ins, shared security cam recordings of suspicious activity, and oh yeah a shooting incident, all melancholy feelings were gone and completely replaced with pure, unadulterated relief.

Residents airing out their grievances, passively-aggressively shaming behaviors they don’t agree with, and my favorite, the rant featured above, are daily occurrences on NextDoor now, and it’s like a trainwreck that I can enjoy even more, now that I’m but a mere bystander, and not a fellow resident.

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So long, southside

Despite the fact that I’m feeling a little blue about having just sold my house, when the day was over, it was still a massive achievement in unloading, and opening up the doors to the various paths that the future has in store for me.  For every melancholy memory that makes me a little depressed that I’ve said goodbye to my old house, there are at two things I did not like about the area in which my house resided, which contributed to the general notion that I really wanted to get out of the obligation of the house.

For a long while, I’ve always thought of the reasons why the area in which my home resided was not a good place, but I often neglected to notate any of them, and eventually I’d forget some of them, inconvenient, for when I wanted to channel my frustrations with long commutes, or the feeling of despair of living in an area that did not have a whole lot of hope for the future.

I started a Google note file on May 28, 2016, simply entitled “reasons south of Atlanta is not a good place,” and told myself to add to it whenever I had something new to add.  The thought was that eventually one day when I successfully succeed in unloading the house and moving forward, I would have some notes to look back onto for my eventual post about saying farewell to my old area.  It’s a little surreal that that time has finally come, and despite the fact that I’m still feeling bummed about unloading my house, I am in a way relieved that it’s an area that I won’t really see myself going back to any time soon if I can help it.

Because of my general paranoia of the world, I never was very specific to where I lived.  Even now, I won’t get too specific, but I will admit that my old house was on the south side of Atlanta.  The half of the metropolitan Atlanta area south of I-20 that doesn’t get much acknowledgment or credit for anything, and the half of the metropolitan Atlanta area that pretty much has no hope for the future.

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November 22, 2004 – March 15, 2017

I’ve been keeping it quiet since it began snowballing, but me being me, I didn’t want to jinx anything and wanted to wait until it was basically a forgone conclusion before I did any sort of writing or talking about it in any sort of fashion.  It has been no secret that Jen and I worked our asses off a little while back in preparation for putting our house up on the market, and that less than two weeks ago, our house officially went up on the market.

However, just like that, the process has ended as frantically and as quickly as it started.  In the span of barely 13 days, my listed home was given numerous offers, one was selected, the buyer initiated inspections and the closing process, and today, I’m on the cusp of turning over the keys and signing over the title to the house to its new owners.

After 13 years, I will no longer be a homeowner.

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I’m in a bad place right now

I’m not going to sugar coat the fact that over the span of my last posts, things haven’t exactly been going swimmingly for me in my life.  As much as people of the internet bemoaned and stated how much of a dumpster fire that the year 2016 was, I’d have to say that 2017 hasn’t exactly been a drastic improvement over the year removed.  If anything at all, I would say that I’ve been more stressed, more emotionally drained and more taxed this year than I was last.

So to update from the last time I sat down and wrote for a site that’s still down and out of commission, Jen and I finished moving out of the house.  The house is not only empty and completely vacated, it’s up on the market, and doing surprisingly well in terms of buyer interest and awareness that it’s on the market.  Obviously, interest does not equal it actually selling, so only time will tell just what happens with all these people and realtors marching in and out of my house on parade because I can see it happening because I still have security cameras that let me see timestamps of when people come and go.

Getting the house prepared for listing was a tremendously taxing task both physically and emotionally.  Every single day for just under two weeks, weekday and weekend, was spent painting walls, patching up gaps or holes in walls, painting walls, cleaning out belongings, painting walls, cleaning floors and painting walls. 

Painting walls is pretty much the worst activity ever.

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It’s like the ending to a very special episode

Kind of quiet and without applause or music.  The screen just fades to black and then the credits roll.  Silence.

That’s what it kind of feels like every time I close the door to the garage of my house after setting the alarm, lately.  I sit down in my car, close the garage door, watching is in my rearview mirror as it comes down, always making sure it always goes all the way down and stays there, as if I’m concerned by tech-savvy thieves trying to pilfer the open/close signal and then rob me after I’m gone.  And then I back out of the driveway and I pull away, continuing to look at my house in the rearview mirror.  Often times, I verbalize the words “alarm set, garage closed,” so I can have some degree of self-confirmation that I’ve secured the place, before I often times get hit with a wave of paranoia 500 feet later that I forgot to do one or both.

With each time I do this in recent days, I’m ask myself if this is the last time I’ll be doing it.  The answer has always been “no,” because there’s always been more chores to finish, more walls to paint, more cleaning to do, and more things to haul away, whether it’s to trash, storage, or my new home.

However, today marks the day in which there might not be a “no” at the end of the day’s query.  If everything goes according to plan and schedule, my house for the past 13 years will be empty of all personal effects, and I will have effectively moved out entirely.  When I pull away from the house tonight, and ask if this will be the last time, the answer won’t quite be “yes,” but it’s also not necessarily going to be “no,” either.

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