House hunting.

So, tomorrow, we embark on the wondrous journey that is house hunting.

Again.

For those of you who read my old blog, God rest its soul, you might remember that about two years ago, we went chasing the elusive dream that is the "short sale." Never has there been a term so misleading. Our realtor told us, time and again, "Be wary of the short sale. No, seriously, you'd have to be a moron to put yourselves through this" (or something to that effect). But, it was no use. We were blinded. Blinded by the garish blue siding on the outdated tri-level on the Spanish-speaking street in the less-than-desirable subdivision that we longed to call "home." (We were young and impressionable. The basement had a chair rail. A chair rail!) We offered up all we had - more, in fact - and we waited for weeks. And weeks. And then the deal fell through.

With an apartment lease rapidly running out, we decided to rent for awhile. We wound up in our current home - a kind of cool, 1950's-esque ranch home, fitted with the homes original windows. At times, the draftiness gets so intense, we fly kites in the living room. The utilities are a bit pricey. Also? I've recently started to notice that the house may or may not be sagging in the middle. Like, we may slowly be sliding into a sink hole.

So, given my fear of drafts and sink holes, we decided to look into buying again. And, once again, we've sort of fallen in love with a place. It's a stunner. 3 bedrooms, 2-1/2 baths, finished basement, near a Menards (we'll get to my love of Menard's later. Seriously. Save big money at Menard's, people. You'll thank me And Menard himself.), and just pretty much ideal. So... the problem?

It's a short sale.

So, now, here I sit. Exploring home options like they're men. "This one is safe," I say about the small ranch on a quiet street. "This will provide me with security in my old age. It will always be there when I get home from work; it will never let me down."

"This one doesn't deserve me," I say, regarding the needs-improvement, sold-as-is property in the 'up-and-coming' neighborhood, "but I could be the best thing that ever happened to it."

"And you," I say, looking at the dreamy, short-sale town home, "you seem like a great idea right now. But I'm pretty sure I'll regret you in the morning."

For serious: short sales are the one-night-stands of real estate. Every time you're presented with the possibility of one, you're all, "No more - I have too much self respect for that and, really, I know better," but then another good-looking prospect comes along and you're all, "Oh, fuck it, it has an attached garage." Okay, I'm pretty sure I just obliterated my metaphor, there, and I'm not sure what an "attached garage" would refer to on a man. But you get my point.

So, talk to me. Tell me your tales of real estate horror. Of home-purchase-gone-awry. Of one night stands with attractive yet ultimately unavailable homes.

P.S. Have you seen this movie?

It's kind of what I'm talking about with the whole "falling into a sinkhole" thing. Rent this. It's ridiculous.

P.P.S. Seriously, I love Menard's.