At Least We Don't Have To Evict Any Crack Whores

As I write this, our real estate agent (if you need one, send me an email and I'll send you his name and number) is writing a contract for an offer on our first house.

We haven't said anything to most people--including our parents--because we get tired of having to answer the "found a house yet?" questions. My mother is the worst. She would call us every day if she thought we'd answer the phone that often: "How's the house-hunting going?" Seriously, I love you, but shove off. WE STILL LIVE IN AN APARTMENT! Does that tell you ANYTHING at all?

There really aren't that many ways for house-hunting to go. We live in a very expensive area and, while we make a good living between the two of us, it's not good enough to afford a $600,000 starter home. Okay, I've talked about my mother, but this is not a woman in touch with the realities of living in the D.C. metro area. She lives in an enormous 4-bedroom, 3-bath modern split level in Kalamazoo, Michigan. When she bought it, Pharmacia, the area's largest employer, had been bought by Pfizer, and all of the employees were gradually being let go or transferred. There were about 15 houses for sale in the three blocks around her house, and suffice it to say, they were a steal. Her beautiful, modern home went for $161,000.

This is not the case here. Where we live, $161,000 will not buy you a one-bedroom condo in a bad neighborhood. And by "bad neighborhood," I mean the kind of neighborhood where you duck when you hear gunfire. The kind where you don't really want to raise kids.

When she was here in May, we looked at a two-bedroom townhouse in Greenbelt, Maryland. That is a long way from where Dan works--45 minutes, easily. This townhouse was listed at $214,900. My mother and I both left in tears, while Dan, inexplicably, went on and on about how much he liked the shed out behind the place.

My reaction: "I would rather be homeless. Like, living in a HOMELESS SHELTER."

My mother's reaction: "They must have listed the price wrong."

Dan: "Did you see that shed? That shed makes me very happy."

Molly: "Would you shut the fucking fuck up about the fucking shed? What the fuck?"

Molly's Mother: "I can't imagine anybody paying $215,000 for that. That looked like a meth lab."

Molly: "When have you ever been in a meth lab?"

Dan: "But the shed..."

And so on. Anybody wonder why I really just wanted to talk about my hair? That house had an entire wall in the living room that appeared to be made out of cardboard, painted to look like exposed brick, nailed to the studs.

But a couple of weeks ago, I saw a listing on Craig's List for a house in Indian Head, Maryland. Indian Head is a long, long, long way away from where I work. It is a long way. I will just leave it at that. It's not so bad for Dan, but this will be a 1-hour commute for me, minimum.

Indian Head, Maryland, is not a very happening place. I did not see myself moving here. It lacks things like Target. And a grocery store.

However, when you find a house that is twice the size, at least, of anything else you've looked at so far, and the price is $150,000 less than the last place you found that you would even consider buying, you make exceptions.

We found a house. And we're making an offer. OMG, BFF. WTF?