Houses are horseshit

So it’s 2007, my new job is going well. My sister recently bought a house. My brother is house shopping. I’m living in a studio apartment in Fargo for $375 a month. I decide to take the plunge as well into home ownership. 

I have few reasons.

The market has crashed already. Rates are low.

Not sure I want a house, but it seems like the grown up thing to do. I have a solid job. And I go through the First-time Homebuyers program that helps people like me get a house. You take a class and learn all the ins and outs of buying a home. I can see myself settling in for five years in Fargo. They say you have to do five years in a home to make it worth it. (which is horseshit, by the way)

After looking at more than a dozen homes, I find one in the upper end of my price range ay 103,900. It’ll be tight moneywise, but it’s a nice character home, big trees, perfect size for a single guy and a roommate.

Home ownership is part of what we are told to do when we grow up. You get a home. You fix it up. You have your own private place. You build a bit of equity as the housing market rises. I didn’t see how it was worth it at the time. I figured I would be better off staying in an apartment and stashing the money away into savings or into stocks. But the pressure to buy, to be something I’m not, to live up to the parent’s expectations, was too much. 

I’ve been reasonably happy with the house. But not enough to warrant the purchase.

So 4 years later, I’ve been paying 875 a month average. About 100 of that goes to principal, the rest to interest and insurance and taxes.  That’s $42,000 for four years. Only 26 more to go and I own it!

And that isn’t counting 300 a year for flood insurance, 500 for a new dishwasher, 170 a year for rotor rooter, 500 to get the tree trimmed, 500 a year for other fixit type things, and looming costs of painting and shingles. Add in the 50 a month for the city garbage, extra 60 a month in electricity and heating compared to an apartment, and you’ve got another 10,000 for a total of $52,000 in four years. That’s now more than half the cost of the home in four years.

For comparison, a similar two bedroom apartment in Fargo currently goes for 625 a month. No extra costs for garbage, sewer, fixing things, or homeowners insurance or property taxes. $30,000 assuming I overpaid for the last four years. Let’s add renter’s insurance at $200 for fun, and it’s still not up to $40,000. That’s assuming I moved out of the studio into nicer digs, which may not have happened.

So in four years, I spent an extra 12,000 to have a place I get to fix, mow, shovel, and deal with a racist neighbor from hell (neighbors from hell can be found in apartments and in neighborhoods. Fact!) If I stayed there until paid off on the 30 year plan, I’ll have spent over 300,000.

Well, how about getting that principal back upon selling, you ask? I’m now asking 106,500 with no takers after 3 months. That’s barely over 0.5 percent a year. How much will I gain at that price? Nothing. Not a dime. Although I’ve paid into principal, even an extra 100 bucks a month for the first two years, I don’t see anything. The real estate agents and banks take that. I’ll be lucky if I can pay off the 1000 I spent to spiff up the place with new paint and watersealant and landscaping.

So now I have the joy of paying for a place I can’t sell and don’t live in, while unemployed. I’m still trapped in Fargo.

I asked the loan manager at the bank if I could just pay the interest and insurance and taxes because of all this, just cut off the 120 or so in principal. No dice.

This whole home ownership just has no upside to me. Anyone I ever hear talk about their home is always complaining about how much work it is and what broke last week. A coworker had to spend 5000 out of pocket to fix his fence last summer.

I honestly don’t see it. The only way it would make sense to me is if you planned to stay in the same place for 15 years, and who can foresee that when jobs don’t often last that long?  I guess without people to buy into this whole system, banks wouldn't make money, so hey, we can all feel better about helping banks out, right? 

I guess I like the honesty of apartments as well. Yes you are helping someone else get rich, but they are providing a place to live that they fix if it breaks. It's a lot easier to leave an apartment than a house. And the owner isn't promising that you will one day make money off it it when you won't. ever. 

Rant over.

Anyone interested in buying a house? I've got the perfect one for you!

Life in a 1970s crack den squatter's house

It's been a week since we moved to Plymouth. My days are filled with boxes. Each one a bit of a surprise with things we may not have seen for 9 months. We're shedding clothes for donations and have 4 large boxes ready for a garage sale. I've been unpacking for a week now and the place still looks like this:

We've cooked one meal so far in the apartment. Tacos.

Fiance said two people have told her to get me blogging again.

Me: But, there hasn't been a whole lot to talk about. Plus I'm rather happy.

Fiance: I guess it must be hard to blog when you're happy.

Me: You don't understand.

There are a pile of things to worry about still. The house still hasn't sold. I'm still jobless. I can't rent the house, or the bank will want their money right away. I can't go much lower in price or I'll be paying to sell it. My racist, horrible neighbor is calling my realtor to complain about a sump pump that I've never touched ever but now it's a problem where it drains. She also seems to be complaining about the leaves falling on her lawn.

If I wanted to get easily metaphorical, I'd make some comparison to these life problems and the boxes that surround me and invade my dreams. They are still there. I unpack them, but they don't go away.

But that's just freshman creative non-fiction. Not gonna do it.

This week is not a week for worrying about the financial burden of the house in Fargo, the debts we've piled up from a year of unemployment, the fear that I won't find something soon or be eligible for unemployment. This week is for taking things one box at a time, putting the apartment in order, slowly and thoroughly, sending out emails to job contacts, enjoying the indoor pool at the apartment building, enjoying the sudden fall temperatures where you can leave a window open rather than run the air conditioner.

This week is a week for enjoying the fact that this business exists along the I94 corridor on the way to the Cities. The fourth-grader in me sheds a tear of joy each time he sees this.

To paraphrase Rogue Lieutenant's blog tag - this week is a week to enjoy your life.

My racist, sadistic neighbor

For the past few weeks, my sadistic neighbor has been taping sheets of newspaper to her front window. I imagine the intent is to help the neighborhood birds build nests.

Instead, I’ve been listening to a robin try to fly through the non-papered part of her window for days. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Bird poo now stains her front porch. I think the bird must have brain damage by now.

I say sadistic, and should probably elaborate. My neighbor is the personification of the Hallmark Shoebox lady, complete with cataract glasses and froofy dog. I had a feeling she would be interesting when my first conversation with her involved her telling me about the occasional black people that come through the neighborhood and how she called the police.

Racist elderly people. There’s not much that you can do but plaster on a fake smile and look for the nearest exit.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

This neighbor accused me of trying to kill her dog one winter. I had salted my icy sidewalks (mostly for fear of her falling and getting hurt). She said if I used salt again, she would call the police.

This neighbor said the trees in my yard were blocking the sun from her tree. When the time of year allowed for it, I had the tree trimmed by a guy who shimmies up trees with just some climbing equipment. She spent the afternoon yelling at the guy while he was dangling 30-40 feet from the ground with a chainsaw.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

When this woman speaks to you and she’s angry, she starts at 10, no build up. You open the door (the first mistake) and find her already mid-sentence yelling. Your day is ruined thereafter. You can't shake the conversation. It's like a verbal concussion - you are disoriented and confused. When she did it to Fiancé, I wrote the neighbor a letter letting her know that if she had any further concerns, to put it in writing and to deal with me and that I no longer wished to speak to her.

She said the letter gave her a good laugh.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

In the tree out front, there are four baby squirrels learning how to climb and jump. A rabbit has taken up residence in our front yard. Our yard is a sanctuary. Her yard is a study in inducing brain-injured birds.

Fiancé and I are trying to find the open window to a new life since none of the doors seem to be opening. We keep banging our heads against the window. Over and over again. Hoping for this next job to call, for the next application to be the last one needed. Every day we feel a bit stupider for believing things could maybe work out. That she could find a position that covers healthcare. That we could escape Fargo.

Fiancé nailed an interview with a non-profit company. Absolutely perfect for the job. She even sent a hand-written thank you note. She was passed over and given no reason for it.

I tried calling for some counseling to help navigate the stress of a wedding, unemployment, finances, unsupportive parents (Fiancé’s mother was thrilled she didn’t get the job) and trying to move. They scheduled me for six weeks from now. Six weeks.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

But then you wonder what might be beyond the window. If we did get through, things might be just as miserable.

The bird needs to figure out that what he needs is right there, that the newspaper will work wonders in building a nest if only he would grab it and go. Forget about what is beyond the window.

I don’t know what that means for us, what we are missing in our quest for a better life. Often these things are only known in hindsight. For instance, my brother-in-law lost his job after 7 loyal and wonderful years with the company. He searched for six months to find a position somewhere. Because of that, he was able to be home to support their newborn baby that had a lot of birth complications. He got hired soon after at a place just across the street from their home. The universe knew he needed to be home for the baby until it was better. But it sucked horribly for him for the months trying to find work while the due date loomed.

I hope we figure it out soon. My head is getting very sore.