1 September 2003
It's 8:12 as I start writing this, and we've just now finished dinner. Those of you who know me in person know that this is not the most fabulous thing for Mrissas, but I did have a mid-afternoon snack in the airport, so I made it through the plane ride and the train ride and the waiting around for the grocery store to sell Mark the rudiments of groceries. And I had, along with some Kraft dinner, a sliced up tomato from Bobbie's garden. I had been fooling myself for most of the summer that the organic cherry tomatoes in the store tasted like garden tomatoes. They do not.
More detail tomorrow on the whole process. The short version is: we're getting a house, and everyone was a trooper with one notable exception. In my family, a trooper is one of the best things you can be. "It was a 105 degrees, and she's 86 years old, and she moved all the books and the set of free-weights into the moving van for us. What a trooper!" Like that. Troopers included me, Mark, Timprov, C.J., Cal, Bobbie, Anna Belle The Realtor, Pam The New Mortgage Being, The Sellers Who Let Us See The House Repeatedly in a Short Time Frame...pretty much everybody except for Steve The Former Mortgage Being.
The moral of the week's story is: we get a house. The secondary moral of the week's story is: we do not recommend having any kind of dealings with Steve The Former Mortgage Being, as he appears to be both incompetent and unethical, and I'm scheduled to talk to the president of his company tomorrow morning, and frankly I hope that he's Steve The Former Mortgage Being and not just Steve Our Former Mortgage Being. Because it was really ridiculous and made for a horrible, horrible Saturday afternoon for me, because all of this came to light after we'd made an offer on the house and had it accepted. Eek. Happily, we were able to get it straightened out while we were still in town. I don't want vengeance on Steve The Former Mortgage Being (mostly), I just don't want him to screw up anybody else's housing experience.
In not-really-related news, we've decided, after riding the monorail and taking the train back from the airport, that the future is not all it's cracked up to be. You would think, for example, that the future would feature benches at the airport BART station, so that the BART riders most likely to have cumbersome and/or heavy baggage could sit their weary selves down; but you would figure wrong.
Whine whine bleh. I had a good week, things will go fine, and I'm doing better as the tomato and Kraft dinner (not mixed together!) sink in. And I keep repeating to myself that this is the last time we have to do this, that the next time I see the Minneapolis airport will likely be when I pick Mark up and then drive down to our house where we live and are located and receive callers and also our mail and can paint whenever we want to and stuff. But I need a little more time, a few more of the tasks out of my hair, a little more blood sugar and a little more perspective. I hope to have all those things covered in the morning. I guess we'll find out. There will be house pictures soon. There will be house-hunting pictures. There will be Stuff. It will be Fine, possibly even Good, possibly even Soon.
There will be many more requirements for troopers over the next month. That's all right. We'll all be trooping somewhere.
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