Awesome House: CLOSED!

I just closed on the Awesome House!

At 42, I’ve finally purchased my first home. My bride is overjoyed. For me, right now, it’s like a suit jacket I know I’ll grow into (and not in the belly way).

Yeah, I guess I feel a little taller. Must be the big-boy pants. Or maybe I’m finally filling my father’s shoes — or the shoes of a real dad: This is the house in which we shall raise kiddo. (At least one.)

I hit for distance on this house and my ass intends to stay in it for a good while.

I was just telling Joy that when I came out of the title company and got into the car, Sirius started to play KISS’ “Detroit Rock City” on the classic vinyl channel. I CRANKED that radio in celebration.

Not that “Detroit Rock City” has anything at all to do with my house (wow…. that’s the first time I’ve said that!) but the music was pretty rockin’!

Oh Yeah. There It Is.

As I sat filling out the mortgage papers a couple of weeks ago, I was told that something always comes up at the last minute.

We close on the property on Monday morning. And I got my “last minute” crisis Friday afternoon.

I was actually in a meeting with a Congresswoman when I received a text from my realtor giving a final total I’ll need to bring with me to closing — via cashier’s check from my bank.

I explained that the money’s not coming from a bank– ergo, no cashier’s check. The mortgage company was aware that one of my insurance accounts was going to be the source of my closing funds.

The title company specified that it has to be a cashier’s check. “Just wire it,” said my realtor.

It was 2 o’clock when I RAN out of the office and hustled out to my car. I sped home, asking myself the entire time if I really needed to be this worked up about it. Considering it was late on Friday and they needed a cashier’s check by Monday morning…. yes. I really needed to be this worked up about it.

But the insurance company doesn’t perform wire transfers from this kind of account.

I ended up going to my local bank, in which I had written and deposited several checks from this funding source over the past few months. (Extremely) luckily, ONE teller hadn’t yet closed out that day’s business — which meant that I was potentially in business.

Next step: I wrote a check and let them run it to determine if an automated hold would be placed on the money.

It was quite a gamble: if no hold was placed on the check, the money would be available for me to draw upon on Saturday morning — at which time, I could have a cashier’s check drawn. If a hold was placed on the funds, well, I’d have to work on something else. The realtor was at work hatching a plan for me to create an account at the mortgage lender’s bank, and for the mortgage agent to ask for permission from the president of the bank to allow a ban check to be drawn against the funds immediately. Again, it would require an exception from the president of the bank.

I nearly held my breath as the automated machine fed my check through it’s U-shaped channel — but I know I gasped when the teller replied: “No hold.”

I would have hugged her if I could have. She told me I’d owe her an ice cream cone — a debt I’ll GLADLY pay.

I was extremely lucky to find a solution on such short notice. I was equally lucky to have found a teller who hadn’t yet balanced out for the day.

On Saturday morning I was able to walk back into the bank and have two bank checks cut — one for the closing, and another to cover the side deal I made for “the brain” of the whole-house audio system.

Now I can say I’m ready for Monday morning. Or at least, this last-minute crisis has been averted.

Day 120

I just got a note from Laurel alerting me that we’ve been married for four months (specifically, 120 days) as of today.

Well, it’s been a wonderful and exciting third of a year. At this point, I’m very very deeply in love with Laurel and our daughter; I’ve just bought an amazing home, am driving a new car, and am striving to kick some bootie in a new job.

There’s very little about my day-to-day life now that resembles where I was even just a year ago — and that’s saying something, considering I’ve lived here for two-thirds of a year.

Oh, there are some things I miss — friends and friends I’d call family, mostly (I’m lookin’ right at YOU, Jackie!!). And at times I miss my semblance of a “single” life — specifically, a quiet and peaceful apartment and the fitness regimen I’d adopted. In comparison, my life is a ZOO — we never actually stay home after work, it seems — always rushing off someplace to do something that pulls me away from the basic to-do’s, it seems. (Seriously, I shouldn’t have to “put my foot down” about things as basic as doing stupid laundry — yeah, that’s still an issue — but to my great relief, it’s just about the only such issue remaining at this point.)

I think our communication problems have nearly dissipated. Oh sure, we still have different priorities about things — but I think that if I continue to assert myself (a problem for me for some time) things will continue to smooth themselves out.

The biggest triumph in our time together is the way we’ve come together as a family. Kiddo is at the point where she feels comfortable singing “I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUUU” to me over the phone while she’s staying at her daddy’s place. Laurel attributes this to a belief that kiddo thinks daddy and I are friends. (We’re so not friends.) Kiddo started calling me “Dad” about a month ago, and it makes my heart sing every time she calls.

This doesn’t mean that I don’t need time to myself, or that I’m always happy to have her stuck to my hip (and by the way, I now have the dog stuck to my other hip). No, Dad needs a break from kiddo — and from Mommy — occasionally. I don’t need much down-time, but I find I’m very thankful for whatever time I can steal. (For example, this evening I’ll be meeting Laurel at home at about 6 PM — then we’re going to an art walk and to dinner. You can bet I’ma SOAK UP the time alone between 4:30 and 6, though.) Laurel and I have gotten pretty good about intercepting kiddo before the other of us boils over.

So I guess this means that by the time we’ve been married for six months, we’ll have been moved into the new house — in a way, our second move together; kiddo will be a solid kindergartener, I’ll hopefully be making solid contributions at the office, and we’ll have been making the new house our own for the past couple of months, and probably preparing to do a lot of raking.

(Note to self: buy gutter guards when you have the gutters installed along the addition.)

Perhaps all of these simply amount to this: We’ll be settling into a regular family life together.

Right now, we’re “making do” with the small house and its set of problems. You know, there’s a lot of my things still in the basement that I have to unpack and re-pack between now and the move — and I’m really looking forward to seeing many of those things again — chiefly, my dishes and books. But at this point, it’s great to be able to look forward to something new, larger, grander, and “right” for us. The promise it represents — a lovely home for my family — fills me with great hope.

And all that ain’t too shabby for Day 120.

The Only Thing Brave Bear Is Afraid Of

We’ve been having some severe weather here lately — heck, thanks to a recent hail storm, we’re having a whole new roof put on the house and garage, and I’ve got $1700 worth of damage to my car.

Kiddo is allowed to sleep with us when we have violent storms outside. This always makes for a long night, because our darling little girl doesn’t just drift off to sleep between us. She squirms like a worm on a hook, and kicks frequently. I told myself during the last storm that next time I’ma deploy to the couch.

“Brave Bear” is the name or title bestowed upon a large stuffed animal that generally resides in the rocking chair beside kiddo’s bed. Tonight, Brave Bear is kiddo’s bunkmate — and kiddo has been challenged to stay in her room and hug on Brave Bear if things should get noisy outside.

Tonight as I prepared to put kiddo to bed, I overheard the conversation in which mommy prepared her for the renewed possibility of thunder-bumpers this evening. Kiddo told Laurel that Brave Bear is not afraid of thunderstorms, or anything

— EXCEPT me running away.

~~~

This isn’t the first time she’s mentioned this. I overheard her say something to that effect some time ago. I viewed the matter with some concern then, but ultimately I guess I’d figured she meant something else (e.g., getting lost, perhaps because I didn’t know my way around town very well then). But tonight she used the words “Tony running away.”

Laurel’s immediate response tonight was to remind her that we’ve married, and that I’m not going anywhere — or, if I’m going somewhere, we’re all going together. This point is particularly important now that we’re just starting to talk about moving into a home that would better suit our needs.

Ineptitude

Before I left my old address, I sent out letters of instruction to the corporation that handles my investments. There was a separate letter for each of my accounts. Each letter instructed them to change the address from my old one to my new one.

This really is not rocket surgery.

Today I received in the mail a confirmation letter from the annuity services arm of the corporation. The letter came to the new address and bears, correctly, the new address within the letter. The letter also asked me to confirm the change of address.

Now, this is stupid. I sent them a letter and ordered them to change the address. Why the Hell would I have to write them back to confirm it?

Anyway, the letter also listed a toll-free telephone number. So, I dialed it.

Automated system: “Thank you for calling the annuities center. If you are calling about a minimum distribution check, press 1. If not, press 2.”
Me: {presses “2”}
Automated system: “Please enter your social security number, or user ID, followed by the pound key.”
Me: {complies}
Automated system: “Please enter your PIN. Then press the pound key.”

I have NO idea what value this is, so I just type something that I might have used.

Automated system: “We’re sorry. The number entered wasn’t recognized. Would you like to receive less paper from our company? Our environmentally friendly e-documents system…”

This goes on for another 30 seconds, talking about how wonderful their e-document system is. Note that the system launched into this giant sales pitch immediately after it told me I failed the PIN test — there was no, “please re-enter” or “Have you forgotten your PIN?” Anyway, let’s rejoin the digital diatribe currently in progress.

“… Please hold for a representative. Your call will be recorded to assure quality service.”

But then, it STILL won’t shut up:

“Would you like to participate in a brief customer satisfaction survey? After you have finished your conversation with the representative, remain on the line, and you will be connected to our automated…”

The phone told me I’d been on the line for over two and a half minutes when the automated attendant FINALLY shut the Hell UP.

Now, one of the reasons I don’t just fire this company outright is because they use customer service representatives who I presume are based in Ireland — or their hiring practices are just that strict. Maybe they believe that the US people whose accounts they helped tank won’t be as mad at them when they’re talking to a person with a brogue.

“Hello, this is Mike. How may I help you today?”

NO BROGUE.

Me: “I’m calling in response to a letter I received from Annuities Services. It asked me to confirm the change of address order I filed.”
Brogueless Mike: “Sure. May I have your account number please?”
Me: {complies}
Brogueless Mike: “Thank you. Okay, just one moment…. okay, I saw that a change request came in for this account… would you please confirm the new address on Butter Street?”
Me: “Butter Street?”
Brogueless Mike: “Yes, at {reads an address on Butter Street in Pennsylvania}.”
Me: “I’ve never lived at an address like that.”

Let’s sum up: I’m calling to confirm that the address, to which they sent the confirmation letter and which bears the new address correctly within, is… um… correct. This guy, a representative from the same company, is reading off an entirely different and incorrect address I’ve never heard of in my life.

Brogueless Mike: “Okay, so shall we change your address to the new address today, then?”
Me: {I answered yes, but not nearly so briefly.}
Brogueless Mike: “Okay. Would you like a confirmation number for this address change?”
Me: “You realize that I’m calling today in response to a letter I received from YOUR COMPANY, which already HAD the new address correct, right?”
Brogueless Mike: “I don’t know how that other address got into your account, sir, but I can change it to the correct one now. Would you like a confirmation number for this address change?” Be advised that you will receive a confirmation letter in the mail…”

*facepalm*

I’m so done with these bozos.

TMI

Mover guy really didn’t need to tell me about how he had his testicle removed eighteen years ago.

Really couldabeen fine without that information.

Move Updates

Car Guy’s trailer truck guy estimates he’ll be here tonight between about 6:30 and 8 PM. The mover guy reports he’ll be in town tomorrow between 11 AM and noon, and I settled the bill with the moving company at just a hair under $4K — I’ll totally take that.

Also I got a notice in the mail just now from the apartment complex. The title of the document reads, “Landlord’s Itemized List of Damages for Resident.” That part is scary. But in even bigger letters below, it reads, “No Damages.” Wheeee!!

Day Three

This morning I got the kid ready for school, kissed Laurel goodbye and started back in downstairs. I’m beginning to feel like I’m really working my ass off around this house, and to be honest (and a bit ranty), I’m beginning to accept there is ZERO chance this house is going to be in any kind of shape to accept my household goods shipment tomorrow: there’s butt-TONS of laundry on the floor in the basement, there’s nothing over the floor to support the boxes — she told me she wanted to buy some racks for the boxes to go on, mostly because the basement periodically floods.

For two days I’ve been cleaning around here. Dishes, laundry, you-name-it; lots and lots of picking up things and dropping them where they seem to belong. Hell, this morning I took an end table and something resembling a CD or DVD rack, wiped them off, and put them downstairs next to the washer and dryer just so I could have someplace to fold/put the laundry I’m cleaning. (Toldja it’d be kinda ranty.)

I confess I’m losing grip on what I hoped would be a semi-orderly move-in, and honestly my hope for actually getting to unpack my things is dim. I mean, it’s going to take probably a month to get this place squared away.

Okay. That said, I recognize that things simply don’t stay put away with a four year old on the loose. I know Laurel’s just completely slammed, and I’m here to help — but damn. These past couple of days really feel like she didn’t even try. I’m not entirely seriously wondering if her suggestion to “relax and take a month off” is really a veiled encouragement to clean the entire home. After all, I’m pretty sure she’s aware I won’t live in a house that looks like this.

‘Scuze me while I empty the dishwasher. I have a buncha sippy cups to reassemble.

– Tony

Another Car Guy Update

This evening I heard from the truck driver delivering my car. He estimates he’ll be in town tomorrow evening at about 5:00 PM. Doesn’t really seem like such a great conversationalist — I’ve a feeling the transaction will be quite short. I just hope my car looks as good as it used to (last week).

The Big Reunion

The day turned out to be a complete clusterf*?k.

I’ve no evidence to suggest Car Guy attempted any follow-up after about noon today, when he told me the damage to the original truck was worse than expected, and was still in the shop; that he was working on getting another truck, and that I was his top priority. Perhaps he figured there wasn’t much point in trying after I took off for the airport (and he knew when that would happen).

Got to the airport and got to go through security twice — my bag got a special search thanks to a an old brick of an apple pie that appeared as a liquid under the scanner…. but then the security guys took exception to the polished .44 caliber cartridge I have as a key fob — a gift from my military days. Sooo… back to the luggage check to put the fob in my checked baggage, run the bag back through the machine, and run me and my carry-on back through the process. I’m a quick study: this time I took out the stupid apple pie and placed it in the bin. It landed with a “thunk” that hinted it had gone from ingestible to sugar-coated paperweight sometime over the previous week. I think I broke some blue uniformed hearts when I tossed it in the trash on my way out of security.

On the short flight to Chicago, I found out how nasty a simple sinus-pressure headache can get when you add an aircraft to the mix. I nearly vomited when we landed, and had a weak stomach through my original short stay at Butch’s place.

Just before I boarded my second flight, I got desperate enough to blow $10 on a bottle of Tylenol and another few on a croissant. I was aboard the plane and settled in my seat when my stomach finally laid off and the pain was confined to my head.

It was at about this point I noticed one of the men seated ahead of me showed the flight attendant something on his iPad. Murmurs followed. Shortly we were greeted by the guy from the gate, who told us that our pilot and co-pilot were still stuck at LaGuardia — a function of the foul weather that struck the east coast. And with that, our 5:30 flight became a 9:00 flight.

Laurel and the kid had already started the 1.5 hour drive to meet me at the airport when I phoned to break the news. Our plans in shambles, I scrambled to make a reservation at a local hotel familiar to Laurel and arrange a town car from the airport (I think it’s about a 30 minute drive). Laurel, meanwhile, found a restaurant, fed kiddo, and headed back home — punctuated by the kid getting car sick at some point during the return trip. What kiddo had her heart set on more than anything else over the past few days was for me to ride in the back with her on the way home.

The plan now is for Laurel to meet with me tomorrow morning. I hope she’ll roll down the windows and air out the car on the drive back 🙂