We have entered the final week, and that means that by the end of this weekend, 95% of everything I own must be packed, given away, or trashed.
I sort of hate packing, so I’m mostly getting rid of stuff. Do you need anything? Air conditioner? Dining room set? Some toddler-sized clothing that I still have for reasons unclear even to me? How about some maternity clothes? (Why yes, I was last pregnant over seven years ago. What’s your point?)
Chris definitely started me on the right track and now if you stop by my house you will certainly leave with a carful of stuff. So. Come on over.
I went ahead and listed some of the big stuff on CraigsList, and there’s more to go, yet. The very first thing I listed got me one of those ridiculous scammer emails within an hour. I feel so special. Why YES, Mr. Bussy, I would be DELIGHTED to accept your cashier’s check for $3000 more than my asking price, and then just wire you the overage while you arrange for a shipper. That’s no trouble at all, because I was on my way to the post office to pick up that bridge I bought last week, anyway.
The Actual Real Life Person who came to check out some of my furniture was over two hours late, gushed about how much she loved it, and then never called me again. So, you know, so far I am really enjoying this entire process. I am thinking of listing my kidneys, next.
In the meantime, it’s not as though I’m experiencing any other stress in my life, so I’m free to focus all of my attention on this. HAHAHAHAHA.
Oh, I never told you about the inspection on the new house. That went really well. It’s absolutely perfect! Except for the roof. And the air conditioning. And the water. BUT OTHER THAN THAT, it’s splendid. And really, who needs those other things?
So that was a lot of fun. We knew, heading into the inspection, that the sellers were already selling us the house for less than they owed on it. (To which I sort of want to ask, PEOPLE, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? But who knows what their situation is, so I’ll try to keep my Judgy McJudgerson comments about financial responsibility to myself.) So after the inspection when we had a list of several major and a dozen minor issues, we had our realtor go back to the sellers and say, “Hi, yes, it’s all fine, but we sort of assumed when we entered this contract that the house would be coming with a roof, so perhaps you could pay for that, okay, smooches!”
And the sellers did just exactly what we thought they would, which was to send their realtor back to say, “Hahaha, you’re set to close in three weeks, you know and I know that you are not going to walk away from this deal, besides which, my clients are already completely broke. So here’s some change they found underneath the couch cushions as a show of good faith, and really, we think our contribution of $2.81 towards the new roof is generous, so suck it. Smooches!”
And our response, of course, was to say, “Thanks so much. Please, sir, may I have another?”
That part was actually not so bad, because we knew it was going to happen.
The part that sort of WAS bad was that there was a “miscommunication” in our mortgage paperwork—which has since been straightened out, obviously, or I wouldn’t be so jovial—wherein we had said “we are not interested in buying any points” and the mortgage agent heard “howzabout you try to charge us for a few points and hope we don’t notice and then claim you thought we really wanted them?”
It really is quite funny, now, because we caught it, and because no matter how old I get it never ceases to amaze me how sleazy most people who work on commission can be. The whole “oh it was an accident” thing is so ridiculous I can’t NOT laugh. It’s also funny because Otto did most of the dealings with the mortgage company (being as how he’s down there and I’m up here) and was so patient with me, every time he called, as I became more and more indignant.
“YOU TELL HIM THAT I USED TO SELL MORTGAGES!” I demanded. (I really did. For a brief period of time, during my divorce, out of desperation. And my soul started to atrophy and I stopped.) “TELL HIM THAT I’M ON TO HIM! TELL HIM THAT I WILL WRITE ABOUT HIS COMPANY ON MY BLOG!” (Otto wisely pointed out that threatening him probably wouldn’t bring our rate down any. He’s so logical. And cute!)
Now the mortgage is ironed out and we’re getting roofing quotes and everything is still on track for me to throw myself into the pool, fully clothed, shortly after we close. I also plan to make Otto carry me over the threshold. I hope he’s building up his biceps, because I am going to be heavy with all those wet clothes on.
Anyway. That is all the news here, except for that other thing I’m trying not to think about (but thank you for the comments, and especially the emails, which were a great comfort), and the fact that I went to the dentist this morning for a cleaning. I thought I was SO SMART, scheduling a cleaning a week before I leave, giving myself a leisurely six months to find a new dentist in Georgia. Clever!
I didn’t feel so clever when the hygienist was poking away and said, “Hmmm, little stick here, feel that? I think you have a cavity.”
“NO I DON’T! I FEEL NOTHING! IT’S FINE!” Oddly enough, she was not swayed by my persuasive argument. So now I have to go have my stupid cavity filled on Monday because I have absolutely nothing else to do.
I think I’ll bring the dentist my toaster when I go.