Stomach acid

I'm in the home buying market.
For the first time in my life.
All by my myself.
A dream come true.
I lived in San Francisco and DC.
Owning property in those places is pretty much ridiculous.
And I didn't exactly have a Sugar Daddy to pitch in.


But, I'm in Texas.
Where life is slower.
The houses are bigger.
And within financial range.
I said range, not ranch.  
I know my readers must think of Texas as this place with cowboys, big trucks, big hair and horses.
Admit it.  I used to think of Texas as just a big state with rednecks and dusty boots.
It's a bit more refined than that.

And lucky for me, the market is to my advantage.   
(That sounded like a tennis match).


With this process comes a hit of acid.
That's stomach acid, people.
Get your panties out of a wad.
Not the kind of acid you did when you were in college and tripping over globe lights while Eurasure blared through the club speakers.
Not that I was that girl.
(But man, I used to throw down some good times in my 20s).
You catch my drift.

I can't decide if I don't feel good or if it is my nerves.
I'm thinking nerves.
The acid in my stomach is eating away at the lining.
Sort of a good diet, maybe.
It's keeping me from wanting to inhale a large pizza (all by myself).
Last night the only thing I was in the mood to eat was a salad.
And I picked it up from a pizza joint with my friend.
See, I told you.

I met with my Realtor and see "The House" (again).
It's important to take a friend with you to make sure you aren't looking at a property with beer goggles.
Let's be honest, if I picked out houses like I picked out my men, I'd be f-ing doomed.
This situation called for professional back-up.
Enter my friend Leila.  (I used to call her Leila the Crack Deal-a.  That's because she's pretty much the opposite of a ghetto-fool.  Plus she's refined and has a good head on her shoulders).
She's level headed and knows what to look for.
Plus, I trusted her to shoot straight with me.
And, she did.
She approved.


So, again, I'm pretty much o-b-s-e-s-s-e-d.


I keep driving by this one particular house to determine if:

• I could see myself living in that hood.  Check.
• I could see myself walking The Natives around.  Check.
• Meeting the neighbors.  Check.
• Doing yard work.  Check.
  
• Shopping at the local g-store.  Check.
• Running errands in the surrounding locale.  Check.
  
• Wondering if I should just stay in my current neighborhood instead (which is amazeballs)

I'm pretty much obsessed.  I mentioned that already, right?


Here's proof.
Me in the middle of the night (the other night) staring at the property pictures.  And then running the math to triple and quadruple check the "affordability".

 Happy House Hunting To Me,
AB

I'm AmericanBridget and I am starving, but don't feel like eating.  Stomach acid is back.