Home Sweet Home

I have been saving for a home of my own since I was 15 and scored my first non-babysitting job cleaning condos at Trapp Family Lodge for $5/hour (which I thought was a HELL of a lot of money at the time).

I grew up in an ever-changing series of shitty apartments with bad carpeting and fake wood walls. My friends in VT lived in houses, big ones, with big families and horses and barns and stables. I envied them. I wanted a big rambling old Green Gables house in the middle of nowhere to call my own.

It only took me 15 or so years to scrounge together enough pennies to make my dream come true. And as of this Tuesday, it is official. I am a HOMEOWNER?!?!

I know, right? What crazy bank decided to lend ME money!? My new home is a money pit and a fixer upper all rolled into one but it is MINE. Mine, mine, ALL MINE!

I have a drill and I am not afraid to use it. Door jams need to be replaced, asbestos needs to be removed, would you like to discuss the merits of hot air vs hot water heat? I could go on and on for hours about this shit. I will be glued to DIY websites and reading everything I can about home improvement.

The thing is, I could have bought a condo for a similar price, one that is not falling down all over the place and rotting but...well, that is just not really me. A run down, rickety old house with funny angles and peeling paint and a funny smell seems like home to this weirdo lady.

And now that the piles of paper have been signed and I am in debt till I am old and gray and it is official, I can begin my new life as Little Edie. Grey gardens, watch out, there is a new crazy cat lady in town and I am about to start decorating and wearing pantyhose on my head.