Ok so everything was going good. Dan and I started our house hunt and after seeing like 8 properties I was like “Ok not only am I more of a princess than I even thought I was, but we are never going to find anything because of said princess problem!” Everything we saw seemed wrong somehow. The bilevel seemed somehow… weird. The three bedroom homes just… didn’t have enough bedrooms. There was one awesome one except you had to turn sideways to enter the kitchen. There was another great house, but only if you planned on having zero to a maximum of one child who would remain an infant/toddler indefinitely. Then we saw a bilevel that I thought I could learn to love and Dan was like “But you don’t like bilevels!” The realtor said I was allowed to change my mind while I made a “No doy” face at Dan. I wanted to like one that was a little bigger than the others but you could hear the traffic from Foothills Parkway in the front yard which was not cool.
But then we saw the ninth property and it was like love at first sight! Hardwood floors! Remodeled kitchen with granite counters! A remodeled bathroom! Plenty of space! A totally finished basement! A brand new fence! The real estate gods smiled upon us and our offer was accepted. The realtor sent us a series of emails regarding the many tasks we must complete prior to the closing. The list grew increasingly longer and I realized that while I have put my name next to over 95% of the tasks on our wedding to do list, A) Our housing was possibly more important than our wedding day (I said possibly, people) and B) Even though I am starting to understand interest rates and points, Dan is SO much better at that stuff and therefore better equipped to handle it but even so C) I had to take a couple of things off Dan’s plate so D) Instead of calling the inspector or the mortgage loan people I would E) Volunteer to look up neighborhood crime stats and collect info on any registered sex offenders in my neighborhood and btw I am now F) totally freaked out that someone will google sex offenders and find my blog.
But anyway I started to look up sex offenders and it was CREEPY. I mean creepier than running before dawn near the creek creepy. Creepier than that weird guy I used to work with who was like my dad’s age and constantly saying the most inappropriate things, to me and all the other girls, too. And rubbing up against us in inappropriate ways, and intermittently saying lewd things to our supervisor during team meetings. (No, I did not make that up. I could not make that up if I tried. I wish it was not true). Creepier than having a patient in the hospital who had a boner for like our entire occupational therapy session (which I later found out was just a penile implant, after all. Was I disappointed? Maybe a little. IS THERE A LAW AGAINST BEING CREEPED OUT AND SIMULTANEOUSLY FLATTERED? Didn’t think so.)
So anyway this list is gross. I was about to link to it but then I realized I don’t want to make it easier for you. If you really want it you can google it. Also I thought it was even weirder to link to the list than to say sex offender on my blog. Like I was saying, every face on there I was like “Did I see him in King Sooper’s last week?” “Was that the guy I thought was looking at me funny when I was running this morning at dawn?” “OMG that guy’s address IS ON THE SAME BLOCK AS WHERE I USED TO LIVE” Ew ew ew ew ew ew. I couldn’t look at the whole list at once. But I will do it. I will do it because it means I get to check “Look up sex offenders” off my to do list, which means there will (hopefully) be one less thing to delay or prevent our closing, which means I will finally have what I always wanted, which is to share a home with the man of my dreams!!! Which is saccharine but true. And while it may be gross, it is NOT creepy.
One thought on “Creepy McCreeperson (aka Creep Depot)”
Dude… there are creepy creepos everywhere. You should also check out self-defense classes in the area. But the true point is: CONGRATS ON THE HOUSE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Um, and I kid you not, the word I need to type into Blogger to show I am not a bot and can actually leave a comment is: “hoties” – one T; gosh, even Blogger has a creepy side)