Splitting Hairs

Going through the process of buying a house is much like walking through a neighborhood on a Sunday afternoon Lady Godiva fashion.

There is nothing hidden, nothing private. Nothing sacred. Everything is bared for all to see and it's quite disconcerting. I guess the $300 I spent two years ago on a few ...ahem..."adult toys" is no longer my business, but the business of the bank as well. Crap. Busted. Oh, what they must think of me now!

I am a private person when it comes to my checkbook and my bank account. I don't like to tell people how much I paid for my lunch or my shoes, let alone what I spent on my latest toy chest addition. I hate the fact that these faceless people miles away have had access to every. single. financial. transaction I've made for the past five years right there with the tap of a finger. I hate it. Hate it.

We are supposed to close on the house/property next week but now the underwriter is splitting hairs. No one can seem to get their shit together and no one is ever near their phone so the shit is not only scattered, it's lying around untended. This whole debacle makes reminds me of that saying "too many cooks...." The broth is getting spoiled and I'm frustrated. Back to the underwriter...there are weeds growing up around the AC unit at the house and a railing on the steps to the side door (three steps, yup, three), is missing. No big deal, right? Easily remedied with a weed whacker and a quick trip to the hardware store. Nope, not quite so simple. Apparently, this is a HUGE DEAL and must be dealt with PROMPTLY or the bank won't finalize the loan.

Ummm...what? A few weeds and a non-existent railing could determine whether or not we get this home? Momma needs a margarita. Or two.

I have a confession: I haven't even BEGUN packing. Nope. Not one box has been packed. I don't even have any boxes yet. I'm a little bit scared to start. I'm afraid that if I start even thinking about putting stuff into boxes I will somehow jinx the whole damn process and we'll lose the loan, and the home, over something stupid like weeds. Maybe I'll just toss everything into big garbage bags and circumvent this whole jinxed concept.

Yes, I am a bit superstitious. And a great big pessimistic worry wart.