It all comes down to money.
Money for this.
Money for that.
Waiting, waiting, waiting on everyone!
After thirty five pages of financial stuff for the Broker, copies of every type of documentation, and a bunch more pages for writing up an offer, I'm toast.
Stick a fork in her, she's done!
My head is spinning and I haven't been butterfly free for nearly three weeks now. I am amazed that so many people purchase houses. The end product might be great, but the road there is flippin' long and filled with danger.
Okay, maybe not danger, maybe it's just really, really scary.
To add to this wonderful adventure everything, and I do mean everything is a short sale. Which is a terribly misleading term and in no way promises or promotes a "short" time frame. In fact, it guarantees a long, drawn out process with more paperwork, more professionals, and more waiting.
I'm fairly certain that I will have a raging ulcer before this process is over.
And I haven't even made a mortgage payment yet.
How do you people do this?
Our agent is a dream. She's funny and honest and she's known my Beloved since elementary school (he kissed her on the playground once...but I'm okay with that). She's holding my hand and reminding me to breath. She answers my stoopid (yes, stoopid) questions and smiles all the while. I'm going to have to send her a really huge bouquet of flowers once we move into our new home.
I know, or at least my Beloved keeps telling me, that everything will be okay once we get through the process.
I admit that the looking part of this is fun. It really is. Except those houses that should be condemned or the funny smelling ones, or the ones that still have renters in them who have utterly trashed the place. None of those places are fun.
It's the pretty homes, the light and airy homes, the home that smiles at you as you pull in the driveway. Those are all fun. It's the home where I walk in and I know exactly where I would put the Christmas tree, that makes this frightening journey a little more bearable.
But then the nasty truth seeps in and you realize that you can look, but you can't touch. There's paperwork to file, money to exchange, and the waiting, waiting, waiting to be done.
I hate the waiting. I hate the worry of rejection. I loath the short sale process and all it involves.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go throw up.