4.27.2009
We Have A House!
As of 2:45 pm Friday April 24th, Daniel and I officially became home owners. Yay! More to come...
4.01.2009
Plan Of Action
Today at work I was using the ancient, green paper cutter in the work room for an extended period of time. You may be wondering why, in this technological age, I was spending my afternoon in the work room with the ancient, green paper cutter whose blade is about as dull as watching grass grow. It’s not important, but I was cutting out occupancy load tables to glue to the Community Appearance Board life safety submittal drawings. Fascinating, no?
Aaaaanyway, as I was standing there all alone in the work room with only the distinct scratchy/creaky/squeaky sound of the paper cutter every 2.5 seconds, I wondered how I would react to slicing a finger off.
I know, weird, right? But cutting paper is so mindless, that I started thinking how easy it would be for me to just position a finger a little too closely and then SWOOSH, one aggressive swipe of the blade and I would only have 9 digits. So, then (while still cutting of course) I devised a plan on what I would do if I should happen to lose a finger. These are the kinds of things you think about when you come from a mother who devises elaborate plans of escape from crowded enclosures and randomly gives you pocket knives, tasers, and seat belt cutters “just in case”.
First, I would try very hard not to totally freak out. 1.) because I would be really embarrassed if I cut my finger off and 2.) because I wouldn’t want my co-workers to think I was a drama-queen. Then, I would immediately wrap the bloody stump in my white cotton undershirt (yes, I was wearing an undershirt today) to staunch the blood flow while I located and grabbed my detached finger, and rushed it to the office kitchen where I would take a Ziploc bag from the third drawer on the left, fill it with ice and put my finger in the bag. I would then put more ice on top and zip it up. I’ve heard they can reattach digits if you follow this protocol.
With my hand wrapped in my bloody undershirt and my finger nestled amongst ice cubes, I would call Daniel to come pick me up and take me to the emergency room. OR, if one of my co-workers happened to notice my predicament, and offered to take me to the emergency room, I would gladly accept their offer. The emergency room staff would be quite impressed with my wherewithal to ice my finger and the doctor would efficiently reattach it. Though I would forever have limited use of that particular finger, at least I wouldn’t cultivate the nickname “stumpy”.
Fortunately, I did not have to put my plan of action to the test and finished my paper cutting endeavor without incident.
Aaaaanyway, as I was standing there all alone in the work room with only the distinct scratchy/creaky/squeaky sound of the paper cutter every 2.5 seconds, I wondered how I would react to slicing a finger off.
I know, weird, right? But cutting paper is so mindless, that I started thinking how easy it would be for me to just position a finger a little too closely and then SWOOSH, one aggressive swipe of the blade and I would only have 9 digits. So, then (while still cutting of course) I devised a plan on what I would do if I should happen to lose a finger. These are the kinds of things you think about when you come from a mother who devises elaborate plans of escape from crowded enclosures and randomly gives you pocket knives, tasers, and seat belt cutters “just in case”.
First, I would try very hard not to totally freak out. 1.) because I would be really embarrassed if I cut my finger off and 2.) because I wouldn’t want my co-workers to think I was a drama-queen. Then, I would immediately wrap the bloody stump in my white cotton undershirt (yes, I was wearing an undershirt today) to staunch the blood flow while I located and grabbed my detached finger, and rushed it to the office kitchen where I would take a Ziploc bag from the third drawer on the left, fill it with ice and put my finger in the bag. I would then put more ice on top and zip it up. I’ve heard they can reattach digits if you follow this protocol.
With my hand wrapped in my bloody undershirt and my finger nestled amongst ice cubes, I would call Daniel to come pick me up and take me to the emergency room. OR, if one of my co-workers happened to notice my predicament, and offered to take me to the emergency room, I would gladly accept their offer. The emergency room staff would be quite impressed with my wherewithal to ice my finger and the doctor would efficiently reattach it. Though I would forever have limited use of that particular finger, at least I wouldn’t cultivate the nickname “stumpy”.
Fortunately, I did not have to put my plan of action to the test and finished my paper cutting endeavor without incident.
3.30.2009
Weather
Our Saturday afternoon was interrupted by the sounds of tornado sirens and dire meteorological warnings on every television channel. Nashville was directly in the path of some severe tornadic conditions and we were urged to take cover until such time as the professionals deemed it safe.
We immediately proceeded outside.
We immediately proceeded outside.
3.19.2009
Just Tell Me When It's Over
Are you wondering about the house? Of course you aren’t. You all have fun and exciting and productive lives, while my every waking and sleeping moment is consumed by house (and not the Hugh Laurie kinda House!).
We were, allegedly, supposed to close tomorrow. It was a pipe dream, my friends. Never gonna happen.
Daniel and I spent 8 (that’s right – EIGHT) hours in our mortgage consultant’s office on Tuesday. We were there promptly at 9 am, bearing cups of Starbucks, for a 1 hour scheduled meeting to update our file, submit our bank application, and lock in our interest rate. And then things went downhill in a hurry. It’s difficult to even adequately articulate WHAT exactly we did during that 8 hours, but there was cursing, and tears and maniacal rants (oh, and no lunch – which perhaps contributed to the maniacal rants).
We have jumped through more hoops than a goddamn circus poodle! All for a wonky lil cottage painted a heinous shade of flesh into which we’re going to have to pour massive amounts of sweat and cash. Sometimes I have to remind myself why I ever wanted my own house in the first place.
Okay, but here’s the good news. Our agent, who deserves WAY more than the 3% he’ll be getting, got us another extension on our closing date. We have until March 31st. And if we can’t manage to close by then, I’m out. I’m done. I’ll rent or live in a tree or live in a refrigerator box over a sidewalk grate on Church Street. Because I can’t keep up this frenetic emotional and psychological strain.
Oh, and I’m also tired of people trying to commiserate. I know I would probably do the same damn thing if someone kept complaining to me of their house-buying trials; you know, try to empathize and say soothing things like, “we’ve all been there...it’s always so stressful buying a house…etc.” But dammit! This is different. Anything we could possibly do to make buying a house more difficult than it already is under normal circumstances, we’re doing. Which makes us either a.) clinically insane or b.) incredibly stupid. Take your pick. In the meantime, cross your fingers that this all ends SOON before somebody gets hurt!
We were, allegedly, supposed to close tomorrow. It was a pipe dream, my friends. Never gonna happen.
Daniel and I spent 8 (that’s right – EIGHT) hours in our mortgage consultant’s office on Tuesday. We were there promptly at 9 am, bearing cups of Starbucks, for a 1 hour scheduled meeting to update our file, submit our bank application, and lock in our interest rate. And then things went downhill in a hurry. It’s difficult to even adequately articulate WHAT exactly we did during that 8 hours, but there was cursing, and tears and maniacal rants (oh, and no lunch – which perhaps contributed to the maniacal rants).
We have jumped through more hoops than a goddamn circus poodle! All for a wonky lil cottage painted a heinous shade of flesh into which we’re going to have to pour massive amounts of sweat and cash. Sometimes I have to remind myself why I ever wanted my own house in the first place.
Okay, but here’s the good news. Our agent, who deserves WAY more than the 3% he’ll be getting, got us another extension on our closing date. We have until March 31st. And if we can’t manage to close by then, I’m out. I’m done. I’ll rent or live in a tree or live in a refrigerator box over a sidewalk grate on Church Street. Because I can’t keep up this frenetic emotional and psychological strain.
Oh, and I’m also tired of people trying to commiserate. I know I would probably do the same damn thing if someone kept complaining to me of their house-buying trials; you know, try to empathize and say soothing things like, “we’ve all been there...it’s always so stressful buying a house…etc.” But dammit! This is different. Anything we could possibly do to make buying a house more difficult than it already is under normal circumstances, we’re doing. Which makes us either a.) clinically insane or b.) incredibly stupid. Take your pick. In the meantime, cross your fingers that this all ends SOON before somebody gets hurt!
3.05.2009
MUST. BUY. HOUSE.
Hello my dears. I wish I had something interesting or even mildly entertaining to amuse you with but my entire being knows only one thing right now: MUST. BUY. HOUSE.
Things are better since the last time we chatted. The machine that is the process of buying a house is moving along like an old jalopy. Highly unreliable, often emitting smoke and noxious fumes, but still chugging along with an occasional joyful burst of unexpected acceleration.
Today marked our extended inspection deadline. We FINALLY got the entire inspection completed last week with the inspector having to come back out to the house to finish inspecting the plumbing. The plumbing was not inspected the first time because a major leak was discovered upon FINALLY getting the water turned on and it had to immediately be turned off until it could be repaired.
General Inspection. Check.
Termite Inspection. Check.
Not so fast! There’s been some technical delays (of course!) with our inspector getting the updated and revised inspection report to the people in the HAND department (the Home and Neighborhood Development department is the branch of NACA that handles all property rehabilitations), so while I have created a scope of work based upon the incomplete inspection report, we do not know for sure what repairs HAND will require us to do.
Which means they may make us (and by “us” I mean a professional who we hire) have Work Write Up forms submitted on any number of things to supplement the inspection report to the satisfaction of HAND. Which means the utilities may need to be on and functioning to accomplish this.
Remember when I told you TODAY is our inspection period deadline? Which means the utilities go off tomorrow.
Remember when I told you that our inspector was having technical difficulties submitting his revised report to HAND? Which means we won’t know if HAND will require any Work Write Up’s until next week.
Ultimately what this means is that I have spent a good portion of my day corresponding with various people in an attempt to assess the potential situation, determine whether keeping the utilities on is an option and if it is, how we go about making sure they stay on. This is a very complex process. The “various people” include our real estate agent, our NACA mortgage consultant, our NACA real estate consultant, our HAND consultant, our HAND consultant’s consultant, the seller (Bank of America), the seller’s representative, the seller’s representative’s utilities manager, and the seller’s representative’s real estate agent. I know, right!? Fucking unbelievable.
In the meantime, we are trying to work with contractors to make sure we have a few lined up and ready to go once we get the green light. Which means meeting contractors out at the house and responding to their phone calls and emails regarding questions or concerns they have about the house or our rehab budget or the NACA guidelines or what kind of kitchen appliances we want, or whatever.
The house is old people! It hasn’t been occupied in over 2 years. There’s some major renovation that’s going to have to happen for this place to even be habitable. Our budget is tight. We need to accomplish much working with not-very-much. The rough estimates we’ve received from our contractors based upon my sketchy scope are within budget, but, remember when I told you we haven’t heard from HAND yet on their assessment of the inspection report? Which could mean A.) We have some room to breathe or B.) we have to scrap some of the cosmetic renovation just to meet code. And due to the technical difficulties our inspector has been experiencing, we won’t know this information until next week.
Nothing stresses me out more than not being in control of a situation. If I can be involved and proactive and work towards a resolution, I’m in a much better frame of mind. It’s when I have to wait on, count on, depend upon others that drives me to drink! And that’s where we are now. Hopefully, our inspector will be able to work out the technical difficulties with HAND tonight. Hopefully, the utilities will stay on beyond tomorrow. Hopefully, HAND’s requirements won’t completely bust our budget.
And remember when I told you Daniel and I are getting married?
'Member dat?
Even though we’re not even remotely interested in doing the wedding thing – or really any kind of traditional thing associated with getting hitched - I do want to give some consideration to how we’re going to pull this thing off…when we’re going to pull this thing off. I'm envisioning rings. I'm envisioning travel. I'm envisioning a party. But until this house stuff is over with, my brain cannot accommodate anything else. MUST. BUY. HOUSE. It’s my mantra.
Things are better since the last time we chatted. The machine that is the process of buying a house is moving along like an old jalopy. Highly unreliable, often emitting smoke and noxious fumes, but still chugging along with an occasional joyful burst of unexpected acceleration.
Today marked our extended inspection deadline. We FINALLY got the entire inspection completed last week with the inspector having to come back out to the house to finish inspecting the plumbing. The plumbing was not inspected the first time because a major leak was discovered upon FINALLY getting the water turned on and it had to immediately be turned off until it could be repaired.
General Inspection. Check.
Termite Inspection. Check.
Not so fast! There’s been some technical delays (of course!) with our inspector getting the updated and revised inspection report to the people in the HAND department (the Home and Neighborhood Development department is the branch of NACA that handles all property rehabilitations), so while I have created a scope of work based upon the incomplete inspection report, we do not know for sure what repairs HAND will require us to do.
Which means they may make us (and by “us” I mean a professional who we hire) have Work Write Up forms submitted on any number of things to supplement the inspection report to the satisfaction of HAND. Which means the utilities may need to be on and functioning to accomplish this.
Remember when I told you TODAY is our inspection period deadline? Which means the utilities go off tomorrow.
Remember when I told you that our inspector was having technical difficulties submitting his revised report to HAND? Which means we won’t know if HAND will require any Work Write Up’s until next week.
Ultimately what this means is that I have spent a good portion of my day corresponding with various people in an attempt to assess the potential situation, determine whether keeping the utilities on is an option and if it is, how we go about making sure they stay on. This is a very complex process. The “various people” include our real estate agent, our NACA mortgage consultant, our NACA real estate consultant, our HAND consultant, our HAND consultant’s consultant, the seller (Bank of America), the seller’s representative, the seller’s representative’s utilities manager, and the seller’s representative’s real estate agent. I know, right!? Fucking unbelievable.
In the meantime, we are trying to work with contractors to make sure we have a few lined up and ready to go once we get the green light. Which means meeting contractors out at the house and responding to their phone calls and emails regarding questions or concerns they have about the house or our rehab budget or the NACA guidelines or what kind of kitchen appliances we want, or whatever.
The house is old people! It hasn’t been occupied in over 2 years. There’s some major renovation that’s going to have to happen for this place to even be habitable. Our budget is tight. We need to accomplish much working with not-very-much. The rough estimates we’ve received from our contractors based upon my sketchy scope are within budget, but, remember when I told you we haven’t heard from HAND yet on their assessment of the inspection report? Which could mean A.) We have some room to breathe or B.) we have to scrap some of the cosmetic renovation just to meet code. And due to the technical difficulties our inspector has been experiencing, we won’t know this information until next week.
Nothing stresses me out more than not being in control of a situation. If I can be involved and proactive and work towards a resolution, I’m in a much better frame of mind. It’s when I have to wait on, count on, depend upon others that drives me to drink! And that’s where we are now. Hopefully, our inspector will be able to work out the technical difficulties with HAND tonight. Hopefully, the utilities will stay on beyond tomorrow. Hopefully, HAND’s requirements won’t completely bust our budget.
And remember when I told you Daniel and I are getting married?
'Member dat?
Even though we’re not even remotely interested in doing the wedding thing – or really any kind of traditional thing associated with getting hitched - I do want to give some consideration to how we’re going to pull this thing off…when we’re going to pull this thing off. I'm envisioning rings. I'm envisioning travel. I'm envisioning a party. But until this house stuff is over with, my brain cannot accommodate anything else. MUST. BUY. HOUSE. It’s my mantra.
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