WOW… A COLONOSCOPY ISN’T EVEN THIS BAD…(it's the preparation that sucks!)
***MAJOR LANGUAGE / ADULT CONCEPT (ONE) ALERT***
Ever buy a house? Not me.
I have been in a few apartments and they basically say
“how’s it goin?”, check your teeth, scratch your head and rub you behind the
ears like you’re a dog… and boom you live there. Pretty simple ehh? Well, for
an apartment…
It’s not the LOOKING for a house. It’s not the cheerful real
estate agent whom you not just hope is good looking but is also good at their
job. {My agent isn’t good looking, is flat chested, and allows no interest in
me from the dating realm. That’s because my agent is a man. Yet if I tell you
he is a good real estate agent, then I am telling you the wrong information. I
won’t give his name here, but if you come to the midtown Harrisburg region on a
drive you will see his sign on just about every house for sale in the area and
for good reason. He has sold and bought just about every house, and he is
knowledgeable about just about every one. He isn’t a good real estate agent… he
is the best. No… THE BEST. There that’s better. Everyone from the bank to the
insurance companies to the home inspectors to everyone . . . they all refer to midtown
as his domain and say how absolutely awesome he is. And they would be correct. I
DIGRESS… per the usual… }
It’s the PAYING for the house… and all that info they need
to openly rape you of your credit history, bank statements, and tax information…
in public! As if I were stuck in a stockade. Please throw tomatoes… (and stop
raping me)… Speaking of the bank… Have I compared them to a colonoscopy yet?
Well, I never realized I could take a fisting to my urethra… And this fist is holding a handful of money
they are ripping from my bladder. Get a visual? Enjoy the pain? Throw up? Me
too! (you were warned there’d be one adult concept…)
Meeting my bank loan advisor, she was a pleasant
referred-to-me woman by my real estate agent and she is fantastic as well. Very
informative, very pleasant to the ears. I may have called and talked to her
years ago… her number may have been 1-900-QUICKIE.…… But to hear her list of
demands from the bank was like hearing it from Mommy Dearest! (put the hanger
down and don’t cut my beard!!!)
Tax records! (snip!)
Pay stubs! (whip!)
W-2s! (snip!)
Bank records! (whip!)
I felt like one of Wayne Brady’s slapped bitches! (thank you
Chappelle’s show)
But I gave her all the information she needed and then some
more. We set up a bank account there so that I could get a lowered percentage
rate for the loan and all was fine. Then I got an email from the bank asking for more salary
information. They have my tax records for the last 2 years, W-2s and paystubs
for the last month. what more do you need? I basically asked this and said this
to the one lady at the bank. She didn’t really have an answer (salary
verification is a requirement) so I thanked her for not explaining anything to
me and hung up the phone in a fury. When I got the information she asked for,
the HR people who had to verify my salary explained how much goes in (and comes
out of you) to buy a house. And all she’s doing is following bank protocol. And
all I was doing was being an ass. So, tail between my legs, I apologized to the
bank lady and explained to her this was the first time buying a house and it’s
overwhelming. She acknowledged my apology saying how nice it was to hear (she
never hears them) but then asked for my salary information while twisting the
knife…
Oh, as if you needed more info from me about this first time
drilling n grilling… it ended up ok. Being it was my first time doing this
house buying, I was unaware of this part of the process. Yet now that I know
what to expect so in the future it shouldn’t be so bad.
AGAIN, this bank loan information roll out is like the
night before shits for the colonoscopy. Once you are on and off that toilet
more often than an altar boy kneels in front of a priest after mass, you then go to the actual -oscopy.
I was warned that the amount of paperwork you sign was
monumental. “Sign what they tell you to whether you know what it is or not. And
if you want to read it, do it later on when you can’t sleep at night. It’s
better than Nyquil!” – I was told. Well, for one part it was true. For the
other, not so much. I guess my bank helped out the mortgage broker process (or
whatever) because even though there was a lot of paperwork indeed, I was
expecting to sign my name 500 times. I even screwed up my own name due to
signing so much stuff, even mixed up the dates. But in reality, I think less
than 20 signatures were needed.
The move in date was any day after the above signatures were
completed. I chose a week after closing and it worked to perfection. During the
week, boxes were piled into the car and transferred to the house. I work close
to my house so I just swung around the block and then drove back to the old apartment
to load up for tomorrow’s offload. This was perfect, so that when the large
stuff needed moved, it would make for an easy move for my helpers. And on that
day, it was a Friday evening, we started at my apartment with a couch at 6pm.
We were done and eating pizza (truck returned) at 7:45pm in the new place. It was
quite possibly the fastest move in history, and worked out just as I planned
it.
AND NOTHING BROKE, NOT EVEN A LIGHT BULB!
I set up my bed with help from friends and family, and after
everybody went home, it felt good to know I was already there. I laid down to
sleep and at about 2:45am I was awoken to drunken screaming in the street:
“FUCK YOU YOU BIESHA-SHIT! YOU NEVER LOVED ME!”
--“NO BITCH YOU NEV’R ‘OVED ME AND UGAN GO TA HELL!”
And so on… … … I’m sure the make-up sex was fantastic.
I rolled over in my bed and smiled and thought “It’s great
to be back in the city, err, home!”
III
