Tag: Mortgage

Happy Birthday to me…

For those of you that know me, most of you will not know when my birthday is. You may have an inkling, but asides from that, you won’t know the date or probably even the rough week that it is.
Those of you will this lack of knowledge will, however, have knowledge of why there’s this tiny, tiny, insignificant space in your brain’s spreadsheet of birthdays. I severely dislike birthdays.

Birthdays are a celebration of your age, up until a certain point in your life you’re edging that “one year older, I need to be older” until you hit that limit, but you keep getting older regardless.

Mum says I won’t know these things ’til I’m older, I need to get older.

I can’t get on this super fun looking ride at the fair, when I get older I get taller, I need to get older.

I don’t have enough money, and my parents won’t buy me this. I need to get older, so I can get a job.

I need to get older, so I’m legally allowed to have sex, learn to drive, get married or buy my own pet.

I need to be older, so I can buy my own alcohol, own my own property and leave home without parental consent, vote, get tattoos…

Everything that we want out of life is goal orientated towards getting older, it gamifies the system. That integral part of ageing is akin to levelling up and the only thing you need to do is sit back, keep your hands inside the boat and just stay afloat.
But after that, there’s nothing else.
Levelling up in a game that boasts no benefits to the player for doing so. Some players have friendships and clan members who recognise this occasion and give what they can out of their already limited inventory to “celebrate”, moreso this is just more things that you don’t need or things that will be consumed quickly. Even worse if it’s an event consumable that is useless until after the event is finished, specifically celebratory greetings cards. These either clog inventory, or get thrown out or destroyed, serving no purpose other than to be thrown away.

Maybe it’s just me, but it’s useless.
Most I know treat it this same way, and once they realise the futility of it, the celebratory nature evolves into one of them drowning their sorrows in alcohol, pretending that it’s the night of their lives.
“It wasn’t a fun night, unless you don’t remember what happened. That’s how you know it was fun.”

Playing a game that you’re already tired of, which has no benefit as you’ve already reaped the best awards, those awards now meaningless as most only further your degradation into debt or emotional debt. Like any other Online MMO, essentially.

This is also where the other side of things slow down too. If you’re using your birthday to celebrate your life and accomplishments, what have you even done within the past year to celebrate? To some, living is enough, and they would be right, honestly. The trivial pursuit of life itself is worth the celebration, but do they dignify themselves with those same standards?

This sort of line of thinking that reminds me of that ADHDinos comic. Or at least I’m sure it’s that comic.

Are you celebrating your birthday? No, I did fuck all this year and thus have nothing to celebrate.
My birthday is coming up soon, and I did fuck all too, so I shouldn’t celebrate mine either? NO! You did lots this year! Even if you think it was shit or not a lot, you kept yourself alive blah blah blah… Double standards everywhere.

It even comes down to the point that I’ve literally bought a house and, despite cutting it super fucking close, I’m going to have moved in before my birthday. I have about 3 weeks to do so, but y’know, almost there. I still want nothing to do will celebrating my life, my brain makes every excuse under the sun to deny my own celebrations, and when it can’t find a “good reason”, yuck, celebrating my birthday? How self-centred.

Celebrating someone else’s birthday, on the other hand? LET’S FUCKING GO.
What do you like? What do you like to eat? Where do you like to go? What do you like to play? What do you play it on? Do you use Amazon? Would you use a gift card if I gave you one? I sent a box of chocolates to your address. I bought a redeemable code for Hogwarts University for you, and you can’t just tell me to use it because I don’t have a PlayStation/ I already have the game. And I can’t refund it. I know you wanted these things because despite what I say about forgetting everything that anyone ever says, when it comes to someone wanting something, I somehow can materialise an extensive library of what everyone I love wants that not even I knew of until this precise moment, then will systematically forget about it until someone else’s birthday. I made a reservation at your favourite restaurant, and don’t worry, I know you’ll probably be busy on the day, that’s why I’m ready to change the reservation date at a moment’s notice.

Honestly, once again, double standards start to show, but this time I have an ace up my sleeve.

Is it because I’m unhappy? Is it because I have ADHD? Is it because I’ve had a mentally and emotionally traumatising childhood? Or is it because I’m just a miserable bastard?

I like to believe that it’s all of the above.

I genuinely hate it when anyone decides to celebrate my birthday.
— The focus is on me, ew.
— Someone is trying to take my wants/needs into account when I’m not used to that, ew.
— Someone who is usually never taking my wants/needs into account when they should is feigning responsibility and pretending they care for a day, so they can keep an emotional hold on me using guilt, ew.
— People I don’t know that well know my birthday, ew.
— People that I don’t want to inconvenience in any way, fret and pressure themselves to get me something for my birthday, mega ew.

Yeah, there’s just so much and I want none of it. So many people hate being reminded of their birthday because after a certain point age becomes insulting in a way. “Happy 30 Birthday!” It is one that makes people lose their shit.

Birthdays are for me, what Christmas is for kids who’ve just been told Santa isn’t real.

Do I require money? Yes, I do. Do I like “things”? Yes I do. But it gives me nothing when it’s from someone else. The best form of gifts are the ones you give, not the ones that are received. Awkward concept if everyone is like me, but they’re not. There are people who love gifts and people who like gifts, you figure out who those people are, and you give gifts to them. The people who do not like receiving gifts? Don’t give them gifts.
Actually, idea. Wait a month or two, and invite them out to lunch and pay for it. They’ll still dislike that, but they’ll dislike it a lot less than being given a gift.
Or, if you really, REALLY, want to give them a gift, there are two options. Give them either the gift of advice/help or the gift of food. Ask them if there’s anything they need help with; laundry, decorating, finding a specific brand of snacks that are out of stock in their local store, helping them understand what the heck solicitors are saying when they’re moving house, sign up to that stupid phone game they play and use the referral code. That helps our small, simple minds out a lot.
And in regard to food, go with them on their grocery trip, pay for a few things, or ask them what they usually buy and when they buy it. Things that last a long time go well, tinned goods, microwave rice. Nothing that is expensive or that they’ll know is expensive.

Basically, treat them like your little end-of-the-world, doom-hoarder buddy, stocking the pantry of their bomb shelter.

By the time this posts I’ll be days away or days past being 25, and honestly, I consider this “halfway” through my life.
Currently listening to Pokémon Diamond, Pearl & Platinum – Champion Cynthia Battle Music, is this the appropriate time to consolidate on how far I’ve come?

I honestly don’t intend on living past 50, so shouldn’t this space of my life be where I take off? Or should that have been the previous 25 years?

It matters now, it won’t matter in a few hours once I’ve forgotten. I’ll continue to live life playing frogger on the many trains of thought running through my mind at once.

Everything has really picked up within the last 2 years.
I’ve gone from living comfortably with emotional and mental abuse at home, with a LDR girlfriend who would not only empower me to fight against it (building me up), to gaslight me over her substance abuse and my mental illness (to tear me down). I’ve been through a lot for me, if anyone else was in my position, I don’t doubt they would’ve handled it a lot better than me.
So many people with “just do this” and “I would personally…”. I honestly don’t doubt that everything everyone says is as easy as they say it is but, my green on button to make my brain do things requires a virgin sacrifice, and it’s hard to find those these days.

From the breakup I started branching out, dating and breaking, dating and breaking kinda turned me into something else. I’m very broken, but in this weird broken state I’m able to do a lot more than what I could before. 1 break up and I could date someone else, 2 break-ups, and I was okay travelling hours by myself to meet people. 3 and I gained a lot more confidence with people and discovered peculiar personality traits about myself.

I started looking for a flat, then I stopped, then I started again, viewed one, didn’t get it, stopped. Started looking again, viewed a bunch and managed to purchase one.

My habits concerning doing and experiencing new things all have a pattern. I’m extremely malleable, but to stretch I need to be put to my current limit then left to rest, I return to resting form. The next time I’m put to my limit, the limit is further than previous, kinda like fitness.

Regardless of me, I can’t help but think that other people’s help and other people’s moral support helps me a lot more than I help myself. (Because peer pressure only affects me when it’s guilt induced, therefore I only get stuff done that way because I don’t want people to be disappointed in me.)

I’ve helped a lot of people in the past, financially, emotionally, physically, but I brush it off and forget about it because it doesn’t matter. It’s my time and I, personally, am a waste of time, so it works out at a net gain if I actually help.
But when others help me it means so much to me, because you’re wasting your time, helping A waste of time, basically doubling your time wasted. And as much as you’re fucking stupid for helping me, I love you lots and will never forget it.

To those who’ve helped emotionally.

To those who’re there for me.

To those who’re just there and they don’t even really know they’re helping because it’s honestly just their company that keeps me sane.

Thank you.

If you’ve read this far, this post was not done with a clear intention or goal, it was just a rant post. Legacy posts are still happening every Sunday (I almost fell behind, oops.) and new posts will come soon. Thanks again.

~ Jinx

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Buying a “House” (Flat) – Part 3 of 3

And so it begins…

Or so I’d thought it would’ve.

The proposed settlement date was on the 14th of October 2022. And we’ve missed that mark.
Not because of me, and not because of the seller, the solicitor or anything to do with the whole purchase itself.
God-damn postal strike.

And hey, I know we gotta strike. I understand the striking. I’ve only ever worked in a food-place, so while I’ve not been under the immense pressure of service-style jobs, and key workers experience as a whole.
I’m maybe one or two tiers above that. I’ve more than dipped my toes in that steaming bathtub, but I haven’t got down to the point where you have to brace yourself as you’re about to lower your sack/coochie into the boiling water, but I can imagine it.

But UGH. Now, someone who, as a type of key-worker, has to wait until these “Saturday and Sunday Aren’t Working Days” people to deal with my stuff… which will be Monday. For anyone that knows me, I do have quite a few bones to pick with weekend people, but moreso for the fact that the entire business is shut down for 2 days of the week.
Maybe it’s just because I’m used to jobs being a 7-day service, but it’s super niggly. I’ve worked in a Fish & Chip shop, Caravan Park cleaning vans and again at the same caravan park pouring pints. Now, working at Greggs it’s the same thing (not complaining about Greggs). People have got their days off, and it’s been whichever, and someone else was working that day instead to continue service. It’s probably the autism talking, but that makes 100% sense to me, regardless of the business being run. I’m struggling to try to think what business wouldn’t work on a Saturday or Sunday.

But yeah, this is just a big complaint about fucking “business days”, like fuck your business days, every day is a business day if I’m working. This week, I had Tuesday and Sunday off. Next week it’s Thursday and probably Sunday again. The week after, god knows, probably 2 “weekdays” off.
I’m just irritated and whining that I can’t get my house sooner.

I’m easily irritated when I’m excited for something.

So.

Closing Statement here. £6,666.06.
I immediately thought of my friend and how she would, “Fuck no. Fuck buying that house. That’s a fucking sign.”, and drop it.
Brandishing my “devil’s number” and my declaration of “I definitely do not own a house and have never bought property before, please believe me”, I hand it in to my solicitor.
Promptly following getting home I receive an email of where to put the rest of my dosh and boom. I’ve gone from 13k in the bank to 2k. And believe me, spending money has never been scarier.

I’ve spent a lot of money before, but never this much. I’ve given a lot of money before (more than I’ve ever spent on myself at any one time, because helping others in need is so much more important.) and even then… it’s still scary. I’m going to have to be paying money for the rest of my time to pay off the house, house insurance, life insurance, council tax, gas bills, electricity, Wi-Fi… food.
This is such a massive jump and I just took the leap of faith like I’m on the Red Bull diving championships.

My settlement closes on this Friday (21/10/2022), and I couldn’t be any more excited or freaked out.
I’m keeping this post until I get the keys or something else happens. I want to split off the after-purchase blog for the next part. Makes it a lot neater in my brain.

And so this is it!

Friday the 21st of October 2022, I am officially a house owner and a did a lil stweam to show you guys not only the flat, but my mind-state.
I’m fucked.

The settlement was on the Friday, and then I was just told, “Yeah, they have your keys, you arrange with them when you want to take the keys from them and yeah…”
That was kinda “Oh fuck…” My mortgage advisors have been chasing me for my key-date for ages, and it’s just… now?
Cool…

But yeah, I got in and lay in the middle of the living room floor for a bit. Got up and streamed and painted a huge patch of yellow on a pink wall. I’m going back to do it again because it didn’t really do much, and I really want to incorporate yellow and purple in my office space.
But yeah.
Yeah…

This is fucking huge and I have no idea what I’m doing.
Fun.
But I’m happy. So much happier.

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Buying a “House” (Flat) – Part 2 of 3

Come a couple of days after my first post, I received my mortgage offer and mortgage info package from the provider that my advisor got into contact with. Furthering the depth of how much I’ve been thrown into this largely insane and intense worry about this bog-standard thing that people apparently do once every 23 years?
Mind you… Coming to that whole, “once every 23 years” thing, I’m technically only 1 year behind being 24. Not bad.

The day after, I’ve received my solicitor’s email asking for when I wish to settle the transaction.

Uhhhh… Soon? ASAP? Now? In a week? I don’t know… When do you think is best?
I legitimately have absolutely no clue on a good when for this. So instead of answering or not answering, I ask some side questions about what things I would need to do, and if I should have spare time set aside to do it.
My man knows my game and suggests a date while also letting me know what needs to be done.
He knows the game.

So, here we are, with a settlement date and just kinda waiting for things to fall into place.

3rd of October, I received a few more documents concerning what I’ll actually be buying. Layout of the flat and the ground surrounding it. What’s mine and what’s equally my responsibility as much as every other neighbour.
The solicitor’s checks and stuff.

I have my co-workers arguing with me over whether they’ll be buying me Christmas decorations as house-warming gifts, and my unfiltered, reflex response was “You better fucking not.”
As much as the idea of people buying me furniture/furnishings for my flat greatly embarrasses me and completely feels uncomfortably out of the norm, I’m trying to get them to communicate with each other. There is no reason for me to have 5 kettles, but if they don’t know what each other is getting, then that’s what’s going to happen.

“I am a man… with 5 ovens!!”

More documents and guess what, these are signing documents!!

Declaration of Occupancy and the big nasty agreement that if I fall behind on mortgage payments, then the bank gets to repossess my flat.
Nasty.

For these documents, you need a witness to sign as well after watching you sign them. It’s recommended that it’s not a close family member, someone who’s going to be living with you or someone you’re close to. So, the manager at your job is probably a good bet.
Getting those signed and also having a read over the qualified acceptance to make sure there’s nothing I don’t understand… which realistically, who is even sure they ever fully understand these legal jargons apart from lawyers…
All I need to do now is close my Help To Buy ISA, get the closing statement and hand it over to the solicitor, along with the other things I signed and that should be it!

At this point, I am also going to be making a pilgrimage to every charity shop that stocks furniture and:
1. Asking if I can reserve furniture, and if so, how long is it reserved for.
2. If I purchase furniture, how long can they hold it for. As if it’s big items, I may need a hand getting it to my flat.
3. General prices and items held at that shop. I’ve noticed that each shop is a little different.
I’m uncertain if this is down to limits on things they can accept, standards on what they can accept, or just the customers they tend to get.
There are a lot of charity shops where I live, but most only have clothing and knick-knacks. So, I, personally, would assume, if I didn’t know any better, that any furniture I have would either have to be dumped or sold second-hand as there’s no “furniture charity shop”.
I could possibly stop people at the dump and try to commandeer their stuff. However, it’s a long walk out from where I’m situated, and our local dump requires you to reserve allocated time spots to dump… so… no one really goes any more.

And an update from previous post about having a bed, that is no longer the case.
It’s been a while since I was offered it, and they couldn’t hold onto it for that long. That and I’m pretty sure it was just a single bed, but I was never told, and that’s not what I’m looking for anyway.
I do, however, possibly have a toaster and a microwave. But that was from a rapid word of mouth from someone who is not really around all that often any more, so I’m not putting all my eggs in that basket.

The plan is, fridge-freezer, washing machine, bed.
Couch (fold down double bed), Chair (fold down single), Kettle, Microwave.

The rest is all in the air from there.

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Buying a “House” (Flat) – Part 1 of 3

Note: This is not a guide, but a partial sequence of a full event that I’m currently in the middle of.

I’m currently in the middle of purchasing property for the first time in my life. Now as of writing this I’m 24 years old, and 6 years over the “You’re an adult now, we’re going to boot you out the nest.” threshold.
As of the late teens of the 2000s, I started investing in a Help To Buy ISA. It something that I was completely unaware of until maybe about a week or two before the whole opportunity to get one was closed off to the public, and not that long off being ineligible to start one due to my age at the time.
It was something that was very “detached” to me, as money (showing a weird privilege here) has always been something I’ve been really detached with. But with that lack of bond with money, also comes with a lack of experience in spending it because I never did, and never do spend on myself.
Also, solidifying a lack of experience in transactions and business type things, is also a key contributor to my lack of self-confidence, a lack of experience in life.

I started my first-ever house hunt over a sudden, heavy need for my own space. This need has always been there for me, but it was always fleeting. I was always too “happy” to hold the negative emotion, or it was always too convenient to stay where I was.
Things in my parental household would anger me, sadden and disappoint me. My privacy would feel extremely violated, and I would feel as far as to say, I did not feel safe in my own home.

I have a partial diagnosis of both ADHD and ASD, going as far as to having the verbal diagnosis of a therapist, but nothing in secure writing. My verbal diagnosis was on the cusp of February 2020, by which would’ve been officially recognised later if it weren’t for COVID-19 almost putting a halt to all physical contact everywhere.
So to say that these sporadic and intense urges to move were connected to my mental disability, you’d be onto something there.
This time, however, it’s different. I don’t honestly know what’s fuelling my move. Like a combination of all the small and big things all at once, finally coming together to repair the broken glass. I’m still doing it, I’m still on that train of thought, and I’ve not fallen off for months.

So at first, I was looking at property right across from my work. A second floor flat, 2 bedrooms with a balcony. Situated on the edge of a shitty area, but a colleague of mine (who is a local) informed me that that block is a decent block, and I’ll have decent neighbours.
I went to view the flat and accidentally scared the real estate agent, as I arrived 10 minutes early and caught her coming out of her car.

So to say that these sporadic and intense urges to move were connected to my mental disability, you’d be onto something there.
This time, however, it’s different. I don’t honestly know what’s fuelling my move. Like a combination of all the small and big things all at once, finally coming together to repair the broken glass. I’m still doing it, I’m still on that train of thought, and I’ve not fallen off for months.
People keep asking me, “So how was the flat?” “Did you like it?” “What’s it like?”
Empty.
This bitch empty, yeet.
I am a first-time buyer, I do not have a lot of money to set on a deposit, and I’m buying in a beach-side town. Most property in this area used to be rentals, and they’re all being sold because of new.

The first property I looked at was “great”, and by great I mean there was nothing inherently wrong with the place. And it was a 2-minute walk from work, or 1 minute if you try to traffic dodge.
After a lot of anxiety and faffing around without any confidence whatsoever, I may or may not have hired the first local solicitor I saw and asked them to put an offer on the property.
The bid was unsuccessful, and my bid was 4th from the highest, followed by several others who’d ranked below mine. It was a busy bloody property, with a shit ton of interest.
When going for that property, I listened to the wrong people. A co-worker of mine told me that I was bidding too high initially, as I was close to the market value of the property. And a friend of mine outright said that I was not ready for a move whatsoever, no even ready to buy my own flat. With this confidence blowing measures, I regressed a bit and pulled back, losing me the property. I, however, saw this as an opportunity to build up my tolerance.

I started to view property that I couldn’t afford, picking up some more of the stupid language that’s used specifically for it. Learning the questions to ask estate agents when in the property. I viewed things “way” out of my budget, but keeping realistic with the style that I’d kinda be looking at.
Then, it came up.
Literally 1 property above the one I’d looked at first. I saw it as a sign, and requested a viewing as soon as I saw it pop up.

I went in, and it was dated, and empty. The walls were all painted nice, but unconventional colours, also nice. The dated aspect never bothered me as my things, such as furniture, will be all second-hand anyway. No major damage or anything concerning, nothing needing fixed and nothing worrying. 2 minutes from my work and all it requires is appliances and a bed.
Boom, it’s calling for me, I want it.
I took it. I grabbed that opportunity by the fucking throat.
Not only that, but I made an offer within 24 hours of viewing (as it was the one above the first one, it would be popular as it was cheaper than other flats), market value plus a little extra to give me an edge.
Within that hour, my unofficial offer was accepted.

Now comes the hard part.

Phone calls and endless emails, document gathering, passports, driving licence, prove you have that much, prove you can pay it off per month. The mortgage advisor contacting me every hour to ask for more and more stuff every time. One email she sent me had an opener that had me fucking buckled, though.

To see “Please don’t kill me…” pop up on my email notifications was already funny enough, but from someone I’d consider to “act more professionally” than to use language or a phrase like that was hilarious.

I’m currently now in the process of probably the last few legal documents being exchanged between the mortgage advisor hub and the mortgage lender themselves. (After having to physically go to the bank and get them to print something out, a waste of paper in my opinion). From then, once I’m accepted from the mortgage, I’m pretty sure it’s all about getting the solicitor and the advisor to talk to each other. Then closing down my ISA, getting another statement (ugh, more in-person printing), then putting the money where I’m told to.

Direct debt for the mortgage should be easy enough, but…
Whew…

It’s a lot, but I was ready for this, and I’m glad I’ve done it. I’m getting so much support for doing it and so many people want to help.
There were one or two people who were very adamant I didn’t do this, but honestly, if they were right, then I’d already be fucked mentally right now.

Right now, I feel very on top of things, and it’s been a long fucking time coming.

On getting the house, I’ll post a follow-up, and will be livestreaming my “Keys Day”.
Call me Commander Keys because I’m going down with the ship.

The worse the odds, the better the fight.

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