Three years ago I was all about renting. I was pretty anti-homeownership. I liked my flexibility, the market was scary, you get to call someone else when stuff breaks, and owning in San Diego was way more expensive than renting anyways. (Plus, you don’t own your home anyways, you lease it from the government and pay “rent” in the form of property taxes, but that’s a whole ‘nother thing.)
What can I say? Both my parents were in the Navy. I went to four high schools. My parents didn’t buy their first home until they were in their 50s. It’s genetic.
But then, hey, there was a story on the news about tax credits for home buyers proposed as part of the big stimulus bill back in 2008. Um, okay. My principles are for sale. I suggested we consider looking at homes on a Thursday. That Saturday I met with a realtor. We looked at six places, and the next Sunday we made an offer.
And I love our place. And the tax benefits.
But hello, summer of 2011! The air conditioning broke. The water heater leaked. And a drafty window let water seep into walls, creating a lovely musty odor.
The problem with these issues was not how much they cost to fix. (About $2,100.) The problem was that the air conditioning went out at about 8 am on a super hot day. The repairman came around 3 pm.
For seven hours I was terrified that we needed a new air conditioner, that the guy was going to tell me I needed a new one even if I didn’t, that it would cost maybe $6,000 ( I couldn’t get a good estimate from the internet), that the guy would sort of fix it in a way that would cause it to explode, that it was leaking something scary into the ground. The potential for disaster is seemingly limitless.
I miss renting. And not having to worry about having emergency house repair savings. Meh.