The loan funded!
! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Hot diggety damn, Martha. My realtor told me while I was sitting in the parking lot, just pulling up to work, and I just about lost my mind. I went upstairs and did this wild happy dance all around the communications center.
Really, a huge part of me thought it wouldn’t. And when I talked to my realtor’s brother (for whom I hurriedly made a Cashmerino scarf last night), he said that they’d had problems. Lots of problem. This was the Deal From Hell. The more I hear about it, the more I’m glad I was kept in the dark. I couldn’t sleep because I didn’t know what was going on. Had I known, I wouldn’t have been able to walk, let alone sleep.
So the last step is to record it. For those of you who don’t know what that means, don’t worry. I don’t either. I think it goes to the County Recorder’s Office, where it is writ in blood or Sharpie or koigu’n’elmers that I, Rachael Herron, an Unmarried Woman, does own the property. And that’s the easiest step. It should just take the morning. They say. With my luck however, said my realtor, the recorder’s office is going to burn down with my docs inside.
Barring that, I could have keys this afternoon. Or tomorrow. Oh, help!
This is a dream come true. One of my biggest, dearest dreams. I can’t WAIT to show you pictures. Finally. I haven’t shown them before for fear of jinxing it all. But soon. Oh!
You’re all perfect dolls for loving me. You know that? I mean it.
(Oh, the Salvation Army boys actually laughed at my desk and left me with it. Sigh. Ask me if I really care at this point. I don’t. I care that I’m going to have to move it out of the bedroom somehow in order to clean the carpet, but that’s going to be a chop-chop kinda deal. Yep. Get me an axe! Whoop!)
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