House-hunting makes me stabby

I think my title makes this post pretty self-explanatory. In fact, I probably don't even need to write a post after that.

I don't have anything on my mind that would make a good blog right now because the only thing running around in there is "find a house, find a house, find a house". I am trying, damn you!

We thought we had found our dream house. It was so perfect for us. Huge. Nice neighborhood. A little bit kitschy. With a game room. But we waited one day too long and somebody snatched it out from under us, ugh.
So I started my search over and have proceeded to drive my husband crazy. Yesterday he even casually mentioned the fact that he'd been reading about "type A" personalities at work. He was driving at the time and looking at me out of the corner of his eye and I could tell he was waiting to see if I was going to strangle him or if I was too caught up in my house-hunting tunnel vision to worry about what he'd just said. Obviously, the latter.

I send my husband approximately 3 rental properties via email per hour and expect an immediate, descriptive response. Then when I get a response (which is usually something laid-back like "sure" or "I don't know" and that's why I stabstabstab love him), I drive by the house and take a gazillion pictures of not just the house but up & down the street, too and I don't care if the neighbors think I'm crazy. I AM CRAZY and I'm going to live next door to you so get used to it! I can't help it if I'm thorough.
I'm going to have a t-shirt made that says "Type A's do it right the 1st time!" (and maybe one that says "God damn it, I had the Tupperware arranged perfectly, why can't you stack them like I asked you to?!")

Please, for my husband's sanity, let us find a house soon.