I’m almost an official grown-up

>We made an offer on a house yesterday and it was accepted! It’s a super cute little blue house that is pretty much perfect for us, so here’s hoping that the inspection goes well and the big crack in the living room ceiling is nothing. Heh.

I’ve been frantically making phone calls all day to banks and attorneys trying to get everything straightened out. We HAVE an attorney (the father of one of Mr. H’s students) but his son had an accident and is in a coma — I kid you not — so he isn’t working this week. We only have THREE measly days for the attorney review process so we had to find a new attorney. She was recommended to me by two of my bosses and she seems nice and smart so I’m sure it will be fine.

Now we just need to find a mortgage with decent rates. I talked to someone at Chase today and thought he was awesome, and then I found out the rate he gave me was pretty high. Ass. I’ve already tried Wells Fargo (useless), I have unresolved issues with Bank of America, and TD Bank wants way more information than anyone else, which I do not like. Our realtor gave us the contact info for some mortgage broker who I’m pretty sure is either his BFF or a family member, but I didn’t like the guy. He seemed sketchy, but I didn’t know how to tell the realtor that without offending him. I kind of side-stepped the issue and never gave a concrete reason, just asking for a different broker. I’m waiting for her to call me now and I’m getting so impatient that I may just give in and call her in about 2 minutes.


The Pretty Girl’s Best Friend

>I have pretty much resigned myself to the fact that this is my role in life: to be the pretty girls’ friend. I was always the messenger in school, you know, the one that the boys would try to get information out of about all the popular girls, or the one that they would ask to put in a good word for them. Of course I helped them out because I’m nice like that, but also because I thought it would get them to like me.

I don’t know what it is about me, but I must put off some kind of vibe that makes me unapproachable. I mean, I know I have low self-esteem (practically non-existent), but logically I know I’m not horrible looking. Sure, I could lose a few pounds, but even when I was skinny I seemed to be invisible to men.

I shouldn’t complain because, hello? I’m MARRIED. I know that, and it is AWESOME and I love my husband more than life itself, but sometimes it really just sucks when I’m out with a girlfriend and they’re always the one getting hit on. I have never, ever been hit on. Ever. No, wait. I lied. I did get whistled at once by an honest-to-goodness crackhead in the city, and I was with the BFF who is disgustingly gorgeous. I bet she was jealous. But anyway, it’s not like I don’t appreciate the fact that Mr. H thinks I am the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, but sometimes it would be nice to get attention from other people just to prove to myself that I am not completely hideous.

I’m never the one that gets free dessert at restaurants or the one that gets drinks sent to her or even the one that gets approached by random men in stores or on the street or whatever. I hate when women complain about this kind of attention and make it seem like it’s sooo trashy and irritating. Hello?! People think you’re ATTRACTIVE! Take it as a compliment and move on.

When I was in Italy with Mary, we were sitting at the bar in our hotel in Rome and these two MARRIED British men came over to tell her how much she looked like Mariah Carey and how if they weren’t there with their WIVES they would come over and buy her some drinks. Cheesy and sleazy, yes. But still kind of flattering in a weird way. Then, when we were sitting at a little cafe in Florence, completely trashed and crying about who knows what, two Italian men and there English-speaking female friend come sit at the table next to us to tell her how beautiful she is. Now, Mary is pretty and she has ginormous boobs, but she’s also kind of a bitch. Is this what men look for? My goodness.

Paranormal Activity

>Last night, Mr. H and I watched Paranormal Activity with his brother and sister-in-law. I had heard mixed reviews, ranging from “it sucked” all the way to “scariest movie ever” so I really wasn’t sure what to expect. One of my bosses, who doesn’t believe in ghosts or anything like that, told me that it was really disturbing and that I should see it. Well. The whole thing was pretty boring until about the last 20 minutes or so. Like the part with the girl? In the bed? And the footprints? Oh, and the attic? Yeah, creepy.

I think part of the reason I got so freaked out by it is because I totally believe in ghosts and demons and possessions.

My grandma died when I was 11, in the downstairs apartment of our two-family house. My parents and I lived upstairs. After she died, weird things started happening. The first incident happened one night when my BFF was sleeping over. We were sleeping on my floor, in front of my bedroom door, which was open and looked all the way to the other end of the house — through the kitchen, into the living room, and then finally into the dining room. I woke up in the middle of the night, looked through the door and saw my grandma standing in the living room. She was wearing a white nightgown and was picking something up from our coffee table. I couldn’t see what it was, and she didn’t look in my direction. She just walked across the room out of my view, and I closed my eyes and prayed for sleep so that I could forget what had just happened.

During the winters, my grandpa left and went down to Florida. That first winter, we started hearing weird noises coming from downstairs. The TV in his bedroom (which was directly below mine) would mysteriously turn on. My mom would hear footsteps walking the length of the house when she was in the basement doing laundry (in the middle of the day when she was the only one home). The lights in the basement would turn on my themselves. The stereo in my room would turn on and off by itself.

One day, when I was in high school, I was in the kitchen washing the dishes and my mom was in the living room watching TV. All of a sudden, the kitchen door (which led into the back hallway) flew open and slammed against the wall. The door had been locked. Twice. There were no windows open that would have created a draft, and the deadbolt was locked on the door, so someone would have had to physically turn the lock to open it.

Another night, I was home alone while my parents were out shopping. My grandpa was in Florida. I was in my room, chatting on our super cool cordless phone with some friends when all of a sudden, the phone in the living room began to ring. We only had one phone line and I was currently using it so there was no logical reason for the other phone to be ringing (not to mention the fact that the kitchen phone didn’t make a peep). I had just finished eating dinner, so I brought my plate and napkin into the kitchen. There was a stapler on the kitchen table — in the middle of the table. I watched as it slid off the table and slammed on the floor at my feet. I ran back into my bedroom. The person I was talking to had to go, so I was left by myself. I kept trying to call other people and every single person’s line was busy. I finally got through to another friend and I told them what had happened. They stayed on the phone with me until my parents got home.

My grandpa had a new girlfriend at this point, and he had several photos of her around his apartment. My mom and I had to go down there for something during the winter, and we noticed that all the photos of the girlfriend were turned over in place. It was only those photos — others next to them were still standing.

Whenever anything happened, I would tell my mom and she would go downstairs to “yell” at her mother to knock it off as she was scaring me. I don’t think that was her intention at all. I really believe that she just wanted to make her presence known; to tell us that she was still around.

Aside from those encounters, the only other paranormal experience I have occurred 10 years ago at Mr. H’s old house. It was right after his friend died in a motorcycle accident. We were home alone and Mr. H was shaving in the bathroom. I was sitting on the toilet (closed!) keeping him company. Something made me get up and leave the bathroom and I remember turning and seeing a man standing at the end of the hallway. He smiled at me and then walked down the stairs. At the time, it happened so quickly, and I assumed that it was one of his brothers, even though they weren’t home and I knew  it was his friend. Less than a minute later, his oldest brother came in, wearing something completely different, solidifying the fact that it wasn’t him who I saw. I didn’t tell Mr. H about this until a couple of years ago because I thought it would upset him.

I have to admit, I’m kind of nervous about purchasing an older house because of the baggage that might come along with it. That might sound crazy, but it’s true. I actually try to sneak away from our realtor and Mr. H at each house we see to try and test the atmosphere of the house. Mr. H believes in ghosts, so I know he doesn’t think I’m crazy, but I think the realtor might think I’m even more neurotic than he already thinks I am if he knew I was attempting to find the ghosts in every single house we look at.