The Road to Hell is Paved with Mortgages

Was searching for a blog topic today, and then ran into this. My buddy Lani just bought a new house (YAY Lani) and basically her fingers have started to go gangrenous from signing so many damned papers.

I have bad news for her — and anyone out there who is a new homeowner. Those five bazillion papers you just signed? Those won't be the last. Not by a looooooonnngg shot.

The hubby and I bought a house shortly after we were married. We're talking weeks, people. Weeks. We didn't mean to. We'd been renting this cute, tiny place in the miniature version of a town we lived in, but he got a new job and voila! Time to move. We were going to rent again, except that even if we spent approximately five times the national debt– a month– we could still only get a run-down, Eddie Muster lives here kind of place that I wouldn't let my dog into, let alone any kids I planned to have. So we bought. And let me tell you, the hoops we jumped through were so numerous I was starting to wonder if we'd joined the circus and had been given poodle cuts.

But we purchased our house, signed the stack of papers, and were happy. That was it, right? Wrong. A couple years later, I gave birth to a not-so-healthy baby boy. Not so healthy to the tune of about $100,000. Enter a little thing called second mortgage. (For all none of you who are waiting with baited breath for word of the not-so-healthy child, let's just say he turns 11 next week.)

Second mortgage papers out number first mortgage papers by a bit. I'd say about two feet of vertical hieght. At least ours were. Now we'd been careful and studious when picking a bank for our second. We didn't want to get screwed, after all. So we researched and picked just the right place. And so, a month after we signed on the dotted line (lines, actually), they sold it.

And Lani thinks she was swearing like a sailor. The new company sucked in so many ways, I can't even begin to enumerate them here. Well, I could, but the FCC would probably have something to say about my language, so I'll skip it.

Enter a phase of our lives known as refinancing. I'll save you the drama. Let's just say we've now done this three times. Three mind-numbing, nail-biting, callous-causing times. We just signed on our house– the house we have been living in for twelve years— three weeks ago.

And I had to sign my name four times. That's it. Four times. Well, at the actual closing. Before that, there was the signing and the faxing and the dropping off at the office, etc. etc. ad nauseum. So this is the last time, right?

Don't count on it.

In the meantime, though, congratulations Lani! Enjoy that new house because despite all the pains in the butt home ownership brings, it is well worth it. Believe me. And I have the gangrene to prove it.

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