Friday, November 26, 2004

Exactly two years ago, I purchased my first house. Having spent the last two years procrastinating over remodelling projects and murdering the back lawn, I’ve come to the conclusion that owning a house doesn’t exactly jive with my personality.

I like the idea of ownership; the fixed mortgage payments vs. annual rent hikes, the luscious tax breaks, the robust equity appreciation from Phoenix's hot housing market, etc. What I don’t like is the burden of continuous upkeep. I’m not bashful about it, either.

My bathrooms have no floors, just raw concrete slab. I started repainting the kitchen cabinets 13 months ago, and it's still just halfway done. My front yard is only a busted water heater shy of looking like a ghetto crackhouse. I’m constantly fighting weeds. (I play sick little games with them, letting them grow free for a while before mowing them down under a shovel and a cloud of Roundup®. Yes, for a few brief moments I get to play Weed Tyrant. I know, it sounds like a nifty Machiavellian time, but it’s really a pain. That Roundup® crap stinks, literally.) There’s a dead bird carcass in the yard. (I haven’t tossed it in the garbage yet because I’m curious as to how long it will be before the neighborhood cats drag it off somewhere.) And, there are so many oil stains on the driveway that I’m contemplating a Guinness submission for the World’s Largest Rorschach Test.

Were it not for my parsimonious nature, I would have paid someone long ago to tile the floor, paint the cabinets, pull the weeds, trash the bird, and scrub the driveway. In the meantime, I'm just letting it all go, knowing some day I’ll eventually be obliged to cough up some dough for a day laborer, lest my home be mistakenly raided by the DEA.

This grand adventure in home ownership has made me realize, once and for all, that not only am I not a house person, I am a fundamentally cheap and lazy person, as well.

Maybe my next property should be a condo.


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