Welcome to Homeownership

You know how everyone says kids are the greatest thing that ever happened to them, and then when you have a kid and it’s fucking hard they all say “welcome to parenthood” with a big grin? Like it’s this joke that they trick you into participating in?

If one more person tells me “welcome to homeownership” I’m going to lose it.

It was day 28 (?) of living here when the oven caught fire due to rat turds in the range insulation.

We’ve lived in our condo for a year now and we both went into this process knowing that shit could hit the fan. Well, literal rat shit did hit the interior components of our oven the first month, probably including the fan, started a fire, and we had to replace it (and threw in a new dishwasher after a two-month long stalemate of neither of us doing a deep enough clean that would make me feel comfortable using it after the gross bachelor who lived here before — more on his gross behavior later). Since then it’s felt like one problem after another which can all be tied back to deferred replacements and the cheapest, corner-cutting flip. Our biggest and longest problem has been the roof. We knew it was old. The inspector said it needed to be replaced. When we reviewed HOA documents it was clear that the roof was original, meaning at least 40 years old. We figured it was going to be a dry winter so we’d try and work on the HOA replacing the roof and hope it wasn’t too bad.

Honestly not mad about having a brand new dishwasher.

It was not a dry winter. The first real rain happened in November, which is not common. Right away, the paint by the front door bubbled up and the next day brown spots appeared on the ceiling. I informed the HOA president that we had a leak and asked about starting the process to replace the roof. It rained hard again in December. Really hard. The bubbling and brown spots grew, and then little drops of water appeared in the ceiling and dripped down onto our shoe rack and floor. I put out a bucket and a towel and contacted the HOA again. I researched roofers and got a few appointments. On Christmas Eve we drove up to LA in the pouring rain, and when we got back after midnight the entry rug was soaked and water had spread all over the entry way. It was so much water, even for how much it was raining. But it rained lightly again just a few days later, while I was in the kitchen making dinner. I heard a very loud, dull ping from the front door, and saw that the water was fully flowing through a hole in the ceiling into the bucket. One of the roofers showed me photos of a basketball-sized hole in the roof, right where the leak was. It wasn’t a leak anymore, just a hole in the ceiling. Shortly after that, the brown spots and paint bubbling appeared above husband’s desk in the office — a far worse place for a leak.

We dumped the water every few hours at some points of heavy rain.

Six months after we first discovered and reported the leak, the whole roof is finally replaced, but not before the roof replacement process caused new leaks (because of course it rained while the roof was off and we had no protection). Now we’re debating when we should fix the drywall. I don’t want to start the process until the next rain, just in case. We've had light rains, but just for a few minutes, not enough (in my extremely expert opinion) to test this roof. The only thing that happened is now I wake up when it rains at night the same way I used to wake up to Chloe barfing. I rush to close the windows, then inspect every inch of the ceiling in the morning. I struggle to get back to sleep because I'm worried about new leaks. I love the rain. Want to move to Seattle because I love the rain. This stress over it is seriously uncool. 

Good news bad news, there’s probably going to be a Super El Niño this year with record rains. And record heat, so I want to install a ceiling fan in our room, then hire a handyman to do all the patching and drywall fixing we need. Hopefully after one good rain so we don't have to also wait too long to do the other things we want to do in the office, and avoid another year of all our books living in boxes.

Second big "uh oh" of our first year of homeownership: roof leak.

There are little things, too. A couple months ago I had a mini meltdown because the dryer wouldn’t start. I’d obviously already loaded my wet clothes into it, but I’d also already started a second load of towels in the washer. I reset the breakers, cleaned the lint filter extra good, checked all the connections, turned the light switch on and off (I don’t know why), and read the troubleshooting page of the manual. When husband came home he unplugged it and plugged it back in and it worked. I would have tried that myself, but to get to the plug we have to pull the whole thing out of the itty bitty closet it lives in. I should have cleaned the exhaust duct while it was out but I was working that day and having the dryer in the hallway blocks access to the office. So pretty soon we're going to have to pull it out again, clean the duct (which we think birds have started nesting in on the outside), and get it back in without pinching the ducting or water hose. It has to be in the closet just right for the door to close and the whole thing to still work.

It’s really obvious in some places how the contractors cut corners, like missing pieces in the baseboards in the kitchen and hallway, gaps in the crown molding in the kitchen, missing board between the counter and wall on one side, random missing outlet plates and gaps in woodwork, random bits of mismatched countertop to fill a gap between the bathroom vanity and wall (instead of cutting out part of the baseboard), and painted over screws and drywall anchors in every room. There’s also the dirt cheap cabinets which started to flake when I cleaned them with a soft cloth and mild cleaner before moving in, cabinets that don’t close properly, and drawers that come apart and/or off their tracks easily. I recently noticed splatters on the kitchen ceiling, literally all over, that need to be individually scrubbed. I can’t use the bathroom faucet without splattering water all over the counter and my clothes (even friends complained) and have to dry it with a cloth multiple times a day. And a few weeks after moving in I noticed a used condom on the side of the garage floor next to an old canister of antifreeze. What the actual fuck was this guy doing in this condo.

Our impossibly small laundry closet in which exactly one washer/dryer model fits.

It’s been a trying few months and we’re not exactly loving homeownership. I suppose that’s to be expected, and the benefits come once this work is done and we can refinance and start to see that mysterious equity everyone talked about (to maintain my parenthood analogy, I assume lots of parents question their decision within the first couple years of having kids, but having a good relationship with an adult child is probably the best). At the absolute minimum, rent will eventually increase enough that our mortgage will be the same as rent for a two bedroom two bath apartment, even if we don’t refinance. And that will probably happen within a decade, which is just so unfair to renters. But it gives us an out someday. Our condo problems, just like most problems, would be less frustrating and more solvable if only we had a lot more money than we do, so if anyone wants to give me like fifty grand that would be great. Or make interest rates go down so we can refinance like everyone said we’d be able to do within a year or two and then we can actually save for all this.

Bunny boy enjoying the balcony.

It’s not entirely shitty. It might be a shitty time but there have been extremely rare times in US history that housing isn’t a very stable and safe investment in the future. If nothing else except my retirement plan (more on that later), at least we can pay for it and do enjoy living here. Which is true: despite the constant annoyances and little things that cost way more than you think they would, we have also gotten to enjoy the parts of owning that we were looking forward to. We bought a small table and chair set and small propane grill, mainly because we needed a way to cook while we didn't have an oven, and have made amazing dinners and enjoyed drinks on our balcony. The amount of natural light makes us feel like we previously lived in a cave. My own mental health is better despite the problems (though work and the world at large are constantly threatening it) and my plants are absolutely thriving, both inside and out. Even my snake plant flowered within a month! Being a light nerd, husband is also loving the effects on the walls and from the disco ball planters and even a glass of water on the counter. We have a skylight, which is one of the coolest things we never thought we'd get, and two baby spider plants are on the wall hung in these lovely knit hangers. We painted accent walls in the living room and bedroom and will paint most of the office. We hung a gallery wall full of fun and weird photos we took and some art we love. We built and installed a ramp in the rabbit area so they can sunbathe in the garden window box (tbd if they actually do). We added shelves for cookbooks in the kitchen. We installed a ceiling fan over the rabbit area, hung blackout curtains for when the sun is too much, and added so much warmth and texture to a previously cold and gray condo.

Could all of this have been done in a rental? Yes, with the exception of the ceiling fan. We painted the very first place husband and I lived in together. But when we had to unexpectedly move out after a year because the owners wanted to move back in, they made us paint over it, and that sucked so much that we never painted again. But we could have, and we could have installed shelves and hung prints and just spackled over the holes when it was time to leave. It would have cost us time and maybe like $30. And part of me wonders why we were so afraid of doing that.

Sometimes the view makes me forget any problem this place has.

Especially now that one of our biggest fears is likely coming true: the house immediately next door is for sale and if an investor buys it they'll build a multi-story property. In the many, many documents we had to read and sign when we bought there was a clause that any views could be lost due to new construction after the purchase date. We read that, recognized the very real possibility that our gorgeous view of downtown could be gone within a few years, and decided to just hope that the people living in that house hung onto it. I'm writing this on our 53rd week of owning, and in half of those weeks sometimes the light and view made the other problems worth it. If it goes away and all we're left with is an expensive condo with half the natural light it once had, there's a real chance these relatively small disappointments and annoyances could turn into real regret. I want windows open for the breeze and curtains open for the light, and we already have to keep the front door closed because of the cigarette smoke coming from the unit right next to us (this guy must have the best genes to counteract all the smoking and drinking he does). If this place ends up a breezeless cave, I'll want to sell at the earliest opportunity.

Even two stories would ruin the view.

Which may not come for a long time, financially speaking. Now that it's been a full year we technically can, but we'd sell at a loss. It's not even worth what we paid for it yet, much less enough to recover the costs to sell and move. So in all likelihood we're going to be here regardless of what happens around us. And in that inevitability, we do have lots of future plans for when husband’s income takes off again or I become a fabulously famous writer (or, more likely, we spend money on nothing else for a couple years at least). Fix the drywall where it leaked by the front door, and over husband’s desk, and by the office closet. Figure out a way to store the cutting boards that isn’t right next to the spice rack, and then somewhere for the stand mixer. Paint the office walls and hang curtains. Add shelving to the office walls for our books, art, and knickknacks. Replace my L-shaped desk with a standing desk to take up less space and maybe add a pull-out chair or small sofa for a guest or reading nook. Add deck tiles to the balcony and install hanging planters in the stucco and the little hummingbird perch my friend gifted us. Paint the underside of the countertops where it overhangs so it blends in better. Hide some cords better. Take out the laundry closet doorframe and maybe widen the closet a touch (probably not possible). Replace my bathroom faucet. Add a ceiling fan in the bedroom.

Marriage compromise: wall color. Totally worth it.

In the very distant future, we’ll replace our kitchen cabinets and drawers with real wood, maybe create a more permanent built in pantry with vertical storage for cutting boards and cookie sheets. Husband will replace his bathroom vanity, maybe even get something tall enough for him to use comfortably. We’ll replace our ancient couch with one that doesn’t take up quite so much space but still fits us both. We’ll maybe rebuild the walk-in closet in the office so that it’s better suited for the storage we need. Maybe also the bedroom walk-in closet to be less awkward and actually store our laundry baskets. Add balcony solar, if it ever gets approved here. Weatherize the front door and French doors, mainly to keep bugs out and help insulate. Fix the HVAC.

I'll never be able to live without abundant natural light again. And neither will my plants.

I knew we were unprepared when we started this process and assumed that it would take a long time and that we could educate ourselves as we went. I also assumed I'd learned enough to at least know where we had gaps in our knowledge. But our very first offer was accepted and we didn't have the chance to fill those gaps. The last year has made it painfully clear how much we didn't know. If we'd had more time we maybe could have looked into the development potential of this neighborhood. There are multiple 8-story buildings going up around us and there's the slimmest chance that we won't be living right next to a construction zone for the next two years. Or we could have moved to a new rental to get out of our cricket-infested apartment and waited a year.

We won’t live here forever for two main reasons: in twenty years we’ll be in our 60s and may not want to (or easily be able to) go up and down so many stairs, and I still want a yard. Circumstances might change, but it’s unlikely that we’ll be able to hang onto the condo when we eventually want to buy a house. Which means someday we’ll have to sell. I don’t want to do what our sellers did and make it look great but function poorly. When we eventually list it for way more than any two-bedroom condo should cost, because that’s how the market works and this is like half of my retirement plan, I want the buyers to feel they’re getting something for it, not just because that’s what two-bedroom condos are worth in the next ten, twenty, or thirty years. I want to be the sellers who get to describe their home as being lovingly and meticulously upgraded and maintained. I don’t want the buyers hate us forever or wonder what we were thinking. And I genuinely want to make smart decisions and enjoy this place for as long as we have it. And if our circumstances do change and we can keep it and rent it out, I want our renters (maybe friends or family) to love it like we did.