Wanna hear something scary?

A few weeks ago I heard the most terrifying words anyone has ever spoken to me.
I was sitting at home at the time. Minding my own business. Chances are I was watching TV. Probably something terrible. Then, the phone rang. It was my realtor.
"He accepted your offer on the house," he said.
Gulp.
I realize this was supposed to be good news. Most people, I understand, make an offer to buy something with the hope that offer will be accepted. In theory, that's what I did when I made a bid on this particular one-and-a-half story home. In that particular moment, though, my most immediate thought was something along the lines of, "Nonononononono! Take it back! Take it back! You can't make me!"
I'm paraphrasing, obviously. And more than likely editing out a few less than printable words.
I've had a little time now to adjust to the idea of home ownership. I've bought supplies. I paid a whole bunch money that could have gone to something important like a new iPod or a few Playstation games for something silly like an inspection to make sure the home is structurally sound.
On Tuesday I officially closed on the purchase, a process that largely involved someone pointing at a line on a piece of paper and me, blank stare on my face, signing my name. They told me all of the documents were related to the purchase, but as far as I know, in addition to my mortgage and loan documents, I signed away the rights to any oil discovered on the property, my entire baseball card collection and my first born child.
I signed my name so many times Tuesday morning I started to understand how professional athletes must feel, only without the legion of groupies or the steriod rush.
I'm looking forward to moving into my new home now, although I've discovered the line between excitement and terror is surprisingly thin. I think it will be good to move out of the room I've rented for the past year or so in the basement of my step-sister's house. I understand moving away from my 5-year-old nephew will seriously cut down on my opportunities to play with Thomas the Tank Engine toys, but nobody ever said owning a home was perfect.
Really, what's not to get excited about? Now that I own a home I'll have a lawn to rake and mow. I'll have a sidewalk to shovel and gutters to clean. I'll have mortgage and insurance and property tax payments to make. But I'll also have an opportunity to borrow tools from my neighbor and never return them. This, I've come to understand from comic strips and situational comedies, is what neighbors do.
Buying a house means I can finally get a puppy, although given the amount of time I'm actually at home these days that seems like a bad idea. It means I can throw big, loud parties without worrying about disturbing people in neighboring apartments. Scrabble parties can really get out of hand when people start arguing about triple letter scores.
I suppose it's appropriate that this particular purchase takes place just a couple of weeks before my 33rd birthday. If anything, buying a home is just another part of getting older.
Like I said. Gulp.


----------------
Now playing: Rilo Kiley - Portions for Foxes
via FoxyTunes