We all float down here..

The good news: The house is getting a new furnace.
The bad news: The heat exchanger is dead and the furnace is so old they stopped making parts for it 25 years ago, so the whole thing needs to be replaced.

HUD Agent: "Yeah, no problem, I'll put in a work order and have it fixed this week. Should be done by next Friday so you can close on the 17th."
Best Assets: "No. We're not under obligation to do that, so we won't sign off on the work order and if we don't sign off on it, HUD won't replace it."
Me: "WHAT THE FUCKITY FUCKING FUCKY SHIT IS THIS? THE HELL, YOU SAY! You will too sign that work order."
BA: "No. And you can't make us. Neeners!"
Me: "Oh yeah?"
BA: "Yeah! Neeeeeeners!"
Me: "Hey, HUD in Santa Ana, CA who oversee the MN Realty Owned Homes? BA are being pricks and here's the bullshit they're trying to pull now. I want to close on my house. I've been trying to buy this house since MOTHERFUCKING JULY. BA is holding it up. Pls to help k thx?"
HUD: "That furnace thing sounds like a health and safety hazard."
Me: "Yes. Since the gas can't be turned on or it will flood the house with, y'know, GAS, and no bank will approve a loan for a house that's likely to explode, asphyxiate the occupants, or freeze solid during the -40F temperatures we get here like, now."
HUD: "Yeahh.. We fix those. No problem. We'll get a work order.."
Me: "AH HA! See, yeah, about that.. BA are pricks. They say they won't sign it."
HUD: ".. What. The. SHIT?! The hell they won't!"
Me: "I can has someone from HUD call them and tell THEM that?"
HUD: "Oh yes. Yes, yes you can has. You can has so much that we will call them while you are on the phone.. ah, fuck, they're not open now. DAMMIT! We will call them on Monday and find out what the fuck they think they're doing and find out just when they will be processing this work order so you can close on your house."
Me: "Can you make them install the carbon monoxide detectors they're legally bound to install in a house in MN before they can sell it, while you're at it?"
HUD: ".. they said they wouldn't do that, either?"
Me: "YUP."
HUD: "Give us until Monday. We're about to go medieval on their ass. We gotcher back."
Me: "YAY!"

Dear Best Assets:
Fuck. You.
No love,
me

I haven't been posting much lately because most of the words running around inside my skull can be summed up as, "AAARRGH gimme my goddamn house already, you bastards!!" I want to write, but I'll start something and my brain will wander off moments later into a seething morass of "When? Why is it taking so long? What could I do right now that would make this take less time?" The answer, "It's out of your control, so you just have to wait." never ever sits well with me.

Amusing tidbits:

While my realtor was in the house, diagnosing it with a missing electric meter and dislocated interior gas line, a total creepo from the neighborhood walked right in the house "because he saw someone was there". He tried to convince her that if she was a realtor, it wasn't worth showing the house because he "was gonna buy it as soon as it went back on the market again. [His] dad would cosign so the loan was a done deal. [He] lived with [his] dad in a duplex. [He] had a free apartment in a place [he] managed but they didn't allow dogs and that's why [he] wanted the house, because it had a yard for a dog." He was informed that the house isn't going on the market, it's being purchased, and I'll be closing sometime this month. He then asked if I had a dog. My realtor said, "No.. but she has a GUN." Apparently that was enough to get him out of the house. We both expect that this creep will show up while I'm moving in. Thankfully, I know a heavy who is a clone of Hagrid for size and fierce head and facial hair, and is willing to come hang out with me and scare creepos away. That Guy is no good in these situations. He's too laid back and nice and not at all intimidating.

Not so amusing tidbits:
On Friday the 13th, I hit a cat. It was an accident - it was dark and raining and there were no streetlights. I didn't see the damn thing until it looked at me and my headlights reflected. I tried to stop but it's a truck - stopping on a dime, not so much. I slid into the cat and knocked it into a ditch. It was alive, so I rushed it to the emergency vet. Immediate diagnosis: leg fractured in two places, two broken ribs, possible other internal damage - turned out not to have internal damage, just bones broken in places that didn't require amputation. She had collar tags, so the vet contacted the owners. It's a good thing I didn't contact them.
"That driver should learn to watch where she's going!" (Note: I have defensive driving certification.)
"We let her out all the time and she's NEVER BEEN HIT BEFORE!"
"Why'd she have to take her to a vet all the way across town? Couldn't she have taken her to a closer vet? We spent a lot of gas getting out here."
"$300 just for an appointment?! The cat wasn't hurt that bad, couldn't you have waited until morning to see her and charged us the cheaper fee??"

The vet called the police and had them given a citation for violating leash laws, then informed them the bill was over $3000 - would they like to pay? If not, they could sign over the cat. They signed the cat over. The vet is taking her home as his own. Unfortunately, I suspect these morons will just go get another free kitten/cat somewhere and the cycle will start anew. I'm kind of kicking myself for not having grabbed their contact info off the tags. But it's probably better for everyone involved that I didn't.

Adoption paperwork is going slowly. Newest dumbness: "It says here your mother is a Canadian citizen?" "Yes, that's right." "Doesn't that make you a Canadian citizen as well?" "Yes." "Then, unfortunately, I can't help you with adoption.." "..What? I'm a dual citizen." "There's no such thing as dual citizenship, so you're probably just Canadian." "No, I was born here. I'm an American citizen too, much as that galls me some days."

That garbage is brought to you by someone who's read the US Citizenship laws and doesn't understand them. The US does not recognize dual citizenship, they only recognize the American portion. You can't, as an American, file for citizenship of another country because to do so automatically renounces your American citizenship, but if you were born abroad, or born to parents of another country but in the US, it doesn't negate your citizenship to the other country, it just adds America. It took an hour and fifteen minutes to get that through to the social worker. Technically, I think I have Norway in there as well, since my mother's dual Norwegian and Canadian by virtue of being born to Norwegian immigrants before they became Canadian citizens. I figured it was better not to get into that portion, since the poor social worker was confused enough.

Got up at oh-gods-why-am-I-awake, drove across the city, walked for three miles, drove back across city, then started packing boxes and tried to think of what to do in which order.

At that point, my brain made a noise something like *bwheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesplurch* and that was pretty much where it stayed. That Guy came over, and thankfully his brain had not melted out his ears, so he was able to play both director and sherpa, and we got all internal furniture except the dishwasher and Love Sac loaded into Cargo Bay 1 in about 5 hours. K. came over and disassembled chicken cages and took most of them away, the rest are going away tomorrow. Other friends stopped by at random intervals to bring supplies or take away furniture. Freecycle people showed up all day to also take things away. There are significantly less things than there were yesterday. This pleases Zod.

I managed to not lose my shit on two adorable little chatterboxes, and I'm proud of that. When I'm in a Focus Groove, I tend to go uberbitch if anything shakes said groove. Like someone asking questions or distracting me or interfering with me. Small, hyper children - however well meaning or cute - tend to bring out the worst in me when I'm trying to Get Things Done. But I didn't eat their brains. Either my tolerance is growing or I was just that tired. It was cute watching a tiny little girl hauling a chair almost twice her size across the floor.

The library has been dismantled. I thought I had enough boxes for the books. I was wrong. This is after the culling that sent someone home with a box of books last week and another bag full going home with someone else today. I suspect my book collection is gaining sentience. It's at the very least achieved spontaneous generation. Who needs four copies of Mercedes Lackey's 'Oathbound'? Why did I have them? I know I owned one, and Ex!Roommate probably accounted for a second, but where on earth did the other two come from? Well, they're gone now, so if I find a second or third copy when I unpack the boxes, my suspicions will be confirmed.

After That Guy left, I treated myself to some pizza and Coke Zero. I am suspicious of Coke Zero, as it tastes just like Coke and yet.. isn't. Diet Coke tastes nothing like Coke, so I expected the Zero to taste like that, but no. Somewhere in the midst of dinner, my feet went on strike. They joined forces with my lower back and quit on me.

It made the move of the Love Sac from Back Room to Front Room interesting. I was literally crawling along the floor, pushing it. "Ehn!" The reason it got moved is because the Internet got relocated to the livingroom. I moved the DSL modem and hooked it up to the Mac. There is no waterbed from which to compute in comfort and that room is currently in a state of sty that is seriously awful. Depression is not my friend, nor is it condusive to cleaning.. anything.. but especially the lair. I can judge when the last time I cleaned my room by the number of Taco Bell cups. They're empty, and they only ever had water in them, but they wound up on the nightstands instead of in the trash. I go to TB roughly once a week, because that's about how often I can handle having a portal to hell open in my digestive system. There are 11 TB cups. It has been about three months.. which sounds about right.. last week of June.. since I've cleaned my room. That was actually one of my first clues that I should start sleeping with the sunlamp on. The house stress is bad, but the depression hit way, way too hard. The last month, especially. It's been nuts, but nobody really notices it from the outside. Normally I go on freaky cleaning binges at least once a week, for some part of the house, and am not satisfied until it is sterile and sparkling and my lungs ache with bleach fume chemical burns. Again, this was a clue that I needed to start sleeping with the lights on. Stupid lack of sunlight.

Tomorrow, I wake up and begin Phase Two of Project GTFO. Must pick up tape for boxes, then finish packing up books. I'm assuming that tomorrow is going to be sheer hell, just judging from what my feet and back feel like right now. Most of the day, I am babysitting Squidget. I am half tempted to haul blankets and quarters with and do laundry when Squidget banishes the trains in favour of a movie. That way I don't have to walk down stairs and can get rid of the pile of quarters living in a colander in my bathroom. Tomorrow night, I'm going to tackle the majority of the cleaning up and probably pack some more. If bedding has been cleaned, it will go to Temporary Domicile.

Monday, all items that are coming with me need to be boxed and those which aren't coming with me need to be sorted into 'destroy' or 'donate' piles. Tuesday, anything left to go into Cargo Bay 2 needs to get in there. Cleaning needs to happen. So does carpet scrubbing. Everything needs to be out of the house and garage, except the donation items, by Wed. morning.

The current conundrum I'm facing is.. do I take the desktop computer with me to Temporary Domicile, or do I put that into Cargo Bay 2 and just take the Mac and external hard drive? The only reason this is an issue is because the mac's screen is about two seconds away from seceding from the rest of the computer. The little 'don't put me backwards!' thingy broke off when Jamie had it, but I think it's somehow gotten worse. I'm considering making little tape "hinges" that connect from the keyboard to the lid so it can't fall backwards. It will be so ghetto. It's making me consider some sort of wacky case mod. The chassis is pretty banged up, which only looks bad because it's supposed to look all sleek and silvery. If the exterior chassis were, say, weathered leather..

Or I could just find out if the Apple Store will play doctor to the Mac, and whether that would cost more or less than a netbook.

Or.. I could stop procrastinating and go swap the laundry into the dryer. My feet are trying very hard to veto this idea. I'm not even really sure when they got a vote. Hmph. Uppity things.

I get to start the paperwork all over, because the realtor didn't understand that forgery? Kind of a crime. Just a little. Having his secretary sign documents for me, injury. Having both my middle initial and my last name spelled wrong, when it was typed out underneath the line she signed it on? Insult.

New!Loan!Officer groaned and facepalmed, because he can't submit falsified documents. I've canceled the agency with Idiot!Realtor - documents I also didn't sign, for those of you following the trainwreck.

So we start all over. HUD has to cancel my bid and my PA and put the house back on the market, I have to get my earnest money back from the escrow company, Molly the Super Agent has already written the new paperwork so as soon as I get my money back, we can submit the bid all. over. again.

A complaint is being lodged with Exit Realty and with the MN Dep't of Commerce. As there is no actual damages except to my patience and cheerful demeanor, I'm debating whether to make it a criminal case as well. I'm not a happy camper. That generally doesn't bode well for the object of my ire.

All invoices and rent receipts were turned in yesterday. Back to waiting. I received my Truth in Lending packet yesterday, so at this point they're taunting me by holding my loan just out of reach. Included with that was the most recent credit report they've pulled, and my credit has gone up 12 points since the last time they pulled it, a month ago. Which should verify what I said in my Letter of Explanation.

It is slightly irritating that people with undischarged bankruptcies can get loans with no problems, while someone who didn't declare bankruptcy and made creditors whole even on debts that were racked up by an identity thief is having such a hard time. But, at least thus far, they haven't turned me down.

At this point, they could take a chance on me and have someone living in and paying for that house, or they can turn me down and let it sit empty another 8 months and have it go down even further in value. Anyone who comes along after me is going to base their bid lower than my bid, which is $30k under the HUD valuation and $150k under the independent appraisal valuation.

But then, if things made sense in the financial and housing industry, we wouldn't be in the midst of this econopocalypse.

I find out today whether or not the house loan will fund. The crash and burn potential for the day is enormous and stress levels are running into the red zone. Of course, the potential that I will be so giddy I start squealing and perform the endorphin-induced equivalent to drunk dialing is equally as huge, but that's not counteracting the amount of stress involved in today.

We will return you to your regularly scheduled Peregrine as soon as we are able.

The realtor was nice enough to come back so That Guy could see the inside.

The scary dungeon area in the basement elicited a comment of, "And you'll have somewhere to put the children when they're bad.." I nodded. The realtor looked between us and just shook his head.

And people think That Guy is the normal one..