I’m so excited! I’m so scared!

So, I don’t know the easiest way to put this out there on the Interwebs since I’m sure everything will go to hell as soon as it is public but…


Mr. B and I have been looking very carefully over the past couple weeks for a house that made us feel just as yuppie as living in Bethesda and Arlington did. That is, the house has to be as awesome as my last kitchen was, be a walkable distance away from the train and shops, and still feel suburban. Also, it has to be close to our families, Trader Joe’s, and downtown Philadelphia. Also it has to have enough bedrooms for visitors. Also it has to be close to synagogues and Jews. Our poor real estate agent.  Luckily, we found it and are currently going through the process of purchasing it.

Since you know how big of an optimist I am, I am convinced that something will fall through at the last minute, hence, no pictures and other details yet.

But, I am practicing blogging with integrity, I have to reveal an incident that has already happened to me in the home-buying process.

I have a folder that I keep all my homebuying documents in (and by this point, there is a Dickensian amount of them.)  This is the folder, because Lisa Frank is the shit.

Yesterday, I was waiting to drop some documents off at our loan office and the secretary there, talkative and warm, said, “You must have little ones.”

“Huh,” I asked, wondering why she thought so.

“The folder,” she motioned to my folder containing all of our tax documents.

“ohhhh,” I turned a crimson shade of mortified.  “No, I just like Lisa Frank.”  I paused. “I’m my own little one.”

And then left as quickly as I could.

Buying a house, committing to serious legal contracts, still going on 12.