Aug. 10th, 2012

kittydesade: (Default)
Gaeilge )

Well, that's going to require some work.

I checked my email this morning only to find out that no one had told me about the mail order sale (free shipping) we're having next fucking week. For those of you who have been around me for longer than a year or so, mail order sales range from the "was that a thing? It didn't feel like a thing" to "AUGH I HAVE BECOME A DECAPITATED CHICKEN." This on top of all the house shit. My Aunt did spend about half the drive in apologizing to me for springing that on me. Still want to strangle half my family. Mostly the uncles.

House stuff! Okay, so, since I haven't updated people in a while since I got so damn tired of it, starting from the beginning. We are applying for (and hopefully finishing, now) a renovation loan for Old Hotness. That means the loan is for the total cost of the house plus renovations. Originally the selling bank had come down on the price from $Tigers to $Lions, and that plus the quote for the renovations that we got from the contractor we ended up going with ($Wolverines) just about hit our budget. We figured the house would appraise the second time for what it had appraised for the first time, which was about $Sabertooths, so we'd be good. Right? Of course not! Instead it appraised for $Pumas, which meant we had to make up the difference between $Pumas and $(Lions+Wolverines) or we had to get the selling bank to drop the price by the difference.

I hated that. Because I had to go to my family for help, and even though I know Grandpa can throw any $$ of a number of wild animals my way, that doesn't mean I enjoy it. At all. It makes me feel like a failure as an adult and a whiny spoiled child who throws tantrums until she gets what she wants. But, indeed, I swallowed that and told my Mom where we were (actually I've been calling her fairly regularly with updates anyway) and asked if there was a way to get help with that. And two days later, I had a check for the difference.

And two? three? days after that, I got an email from Realty Lady saying the Listing Agent had sent over an amendment with the price dropped by the difference.

Because of course if I hadn't stomped on my squick and asked for help, it wouldn't have happened. I think what happened with the selling bank, too, is that they realized they had a house on their hands that finally had a buyer after three years, that was in the process of falling apart, and that they wouldn't be able to sell again any time soon without throwing a shitpot of money at it themselves. Because the $Wolverines cost of the repairs is only what is needed to make the house functional as a modern house. It does not involve any of the cosmetic shit needed to make the house a picturesque sale. This is partly out of budgetary concerns and partly out of me going I will decorate my own goddamn house thank you very much. But it's also what led to the appraisal coming in low, annoyingly enough. Anyway, I suspect the bank guessed that. And the odds of someone coming along in the next couple months with enough money to sink into the damned thing who would want to are very, very slim. And if that house has to go through another winter as it is, I feel fairly confident that the shitpot of money needed to fix it up for sale will double.

SO. Where we are with the house is basically waiting on a clear to close ... date? Letter? Confirmation? All the paperwork is in, all the money for the down payment (except what the boy has) is sitting happily in my account plus the amount I got from my family that we may no longer need, but which Mom told me to sit on anyway just in case. Because I have the best family ever. Renovations Lady thinks it'll go through. Realty Lady thinks it'll go through. Paralegal and company are just waiting for the date. Contractor Dude is ... well, is actually on vacation but is gung ho and ready to go when we get closed. I won't be moving over Dragon*Con (thanks be to the Goddess, yeesh) and the guy who's completely redoing the heating in the house is the same guy who was working on it when someone last lived in there.

To sum up: the house will be mine. Oh yes. It will be mine.

This weekend I ... well, I intended to do very little. Instead I will do batch cooking as little as possible, mostly involving throw shit into a pot and stir it every 30. I will do Arabic Saturday morning and try and remember to goddamn post it here. Saturday evening there will be Hiddlestoned Shakespeare. Sunday there will be sleeping. And possibly sewing. In between there will be writing this Thing that started out as an emotion play profiling-as-courtship Grimm fanfic and has turned into a nearly 20k Grimm Big Bang. Because Monday new Grimm canon starts and I want to at least have a completed draft before the Grimm writers rip my headcanon to shreds.
kittydesade: (daft faerie bastard)
Deutsch )

Wait. German book. Why did you give me an exercise involving a guy running over an old lady. Really? Out of all the things you could have chosen to be all "describe this in the past tense" you chose that? Fuck you.

Wow. It's been so long that I completely lost track of where I was.

I really, really want to just pull out my wheel tonight and spin. I'm not sure if I will or not, but I really kind of want to. Only I can't remember what I was going to do tonight before inundating myself with all the Transformative Power of Dance movies. I should go back through and look at logs and see what they say.

Actually what I really should do is go out front and get some wheel time before I go home, because you know once I get home I won't remember that I wanted to get out my spinning wheel anyway and ply my damn yarn. I hate having all my shit packed up. My guitar, my wheel, most of my painting stuff not that that ooooh. Hey. Now that I have a shed and a garage and stuff, or will have, I can probably prime in the winter. I can paint all year 'round, you guys. Oh wow.

Anyway. So, yeah. Let's get ramblin, ramblers.

(What? It's spinning. Therefore you get a Nameless icon. Now go on, picture Jeffrey Dean Morgan sitting down to a damn spinning wheel. I dare you.)

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