12 calls to our lender
7 calls from our lender
85 emails from our moronic real estate agent
5 hours after we were actually supposed to close
~2000 contractually-binding signatures
------------------------------------
THE HOUSE IS FINALLY OURS!
I'm not going to get into the nitty-gritty of the past 24 hours, but I'd be lying if I acted like we rode our unicorns over a rainbow to the closing office and signed our promissory note in edible chocolate ink while being massaged by the Bank of America fairies. Not quite. But we're through the bureaucratic muck that a real estate closing makes and can now move onto to more exciting things -- like the fact that the parentals are coming tomorrow to visit the ATL for the first time ever. They will be staying here:
That's my apartment, which has been likened to:
a) a bank vault at Gringott's
b) a cave in the rainforest
c) Britney's future (i.e. dark, depressing, and full of snacks)
It might not look so bad, but trust me, it is. I only looked at their "model" apartment before I moved in, which is (of course) cheery! comfy! welcoming! etc! and somehow ended up in one that attempts to suck out your soul upon entry with its almost complete lack of natural light. Maybe they thought I was a Lady of the Night? I'm flattered, Slutty Apartment Rental Girls, but even a Lady of the Night could use a little sunshine now and then. Like at noon. On a completely clear day. With all the shades up. Anyway, I'm going to go home and try to fit my walls with some of those seasonal depression lights so my parents don't resort to the hari kari.
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