Yesterday I received a phone call from our realtor that our buyer’s buyer’s loan didn’t go through, which means we won’t be closing on any homes until the end of August.
It all seemed silly to say that my buyer’s buyer screwed up, but then Twitter pointed out that my seller gets to say that his buyer’s buyer’s buyer dropped the ball & oh, man. THIS IS WHY I HATED DOMINOES AS A KID.
This is also why you pay off liens to the IRS & don’t try to hide them from your loan officer & I’m not pointing any fingers, but I am looking straight at you Mr. Buyer’s Buyer.
Did I mention that Doug & I spent our anniversary packing up the remainder of the house, moving boxes & furniture into the downstairs for easy access on moving day, which was scheduled for this coming Saturday? So pretty much we have a few tshirts & a toothbrush to our names, some paper towels & cleaning supplies, but our downstairs looks like an episode of hoarders with a pathway cut from the front door to the back door & our upstairs is empty sans big furniture.
I tried to ignore it all but now I’m throwing the most epic emo-angst tantrum because we jumped through fiery hoops last week for our loan & had no clue that people on the back end were effing it all up to the point that we now have to re-lock in two weeks & pray we get the same rate.
In related news, today I found myself sitting in a parking lot outside of a craft store, shoving McDonald’s French Fries into my face-parts like I was a greedy homeless person. I will admit that it was a low point in my life.
I need healthier coping skills.