F.U.B.A.R. or Closing As An Abortion (Part I)

If I could throw something now, I would. After a week of this shit, I'm actually starting to get mad about this whole thing. But let me back up yet again.

I took last Friday off of work and busted my ass for three days getting the house ready. I had to make sure a freaking railing was put on the back porch because the VA are a bunch of nit-picking douche bags. I had to finish moving our copious collecting of little treasures out of the Devil Queen and into storage. I swept, mopped, and dusted. I took down the antique light fixture in the foyer which does not convey and replaced it with something a little less dramatic and dear to our hearts. Jack was kind enough to loan me a truck and his time so the countless truck loads of shit could be laid to rest. Kenny came with a truck, trailer, and two helpers to move our washer & dryer, the refrigerator, and the armoire that Andre the Giant was meant to be buried in.

By the end of it, I was covered in chiggers & seed tics, cuts, bruises, and a smattering of poison ivy. I was exhausted. I ate continuously and somehow lost a couple of pounds. Saturday was a 16 hour day. But, come Sunday evening, it was finished.

We were on schedule to close at 4:30 PM Tuesday, July 28, 2009.

Then, Monday evening the title company calls and says there is a problem. Fucking brilliant. But, I thought I was clever. I was expecting something like this. Some weird, unforeseen delay. I did not panic. Supposedly, all I needed was a letter or something from the gentleman we'd originally bought the lot from back in the days of Moses. Sure. No problem I though.

Well, you know how that goes. Right?

Now, I actually did get that letter, but it turns out that wasn't what I needed after all. Now, Friday, July 31, 2009, I'm still waiting to close. More to come.