1) No occupancy permit (see yesterday)
2) Radon gas in the house (we'll find out Thursday)
3) Issues getting a mortgage (not a problem so far, but Chris has yet to remove himself from the couch to check things out.)
Here is a list of the things that have gone right so far:
1) Our original offer was too low, but we countered and the bank accepted it.
2) Our offer was accepted two days before we were both off from work our one week's vacation together all year.
3) All of our vacation plans fell apart, leaving us open for inspections, paperwork, etc this week while the P&S gets taken care of.
4) Our closing date (7/24 if all goes well) is the week after we go to NJ for Lori's party and the week before I wrap up my summer job, leaving me all August to get us moved in and started with renovations.
5) My Dad has claimed that our buying this house is a good reason for him to buy a wet saw, which Chris has been hankering after. I guess you cut tile with it? So maybe we'll get some new tile? I dunno.
All that said...I will not be posting pictures of the house until we have keys in hand. Sorry. I hate to be superstitious, but things have just barely worked out so far and I don't want to jinx it! I promise that the day we close will find this blog splashed with photos...
I'll post later if we hear anything. At this point, we're waiting on an Occupancy Permit from the city by 7/3. Anything could happen between now and then...
Hello, I suppose I should introduce myself as I didn't get the chance during your previous visits. My name is Reginald Bertram Fellowbottom III. I am the ghost that haunts this house.
ReplyDeleteWell, actually, its not the house as much as the plot of land that the structure is built upon (and once quarter of your neighbor's abode). You see, back some time in the 1670's, the exact date has escaped me after these few centuries, I and my kin were engaged in a bit a of a tussle with the local indigenous people regarding the best use of this land. They believed it was best suited for the growing of community vegetables, some of which were promised to us to keep us alive through the long and grueling New England winters. I thought it would make for the perfect place to erect my future estate's ballroom. And in all fairness, we had the ones with the muskets.
It was during my last encounter with the natives that, as the Bard had put, I was shuffled off this mortal coil. After we had "cleared" out this minor infestation, I was accosted by the medicine man, or shaman, or witch doctor, or whatever the bloody hell these savages called this man. Apparently, we had "removed" his family and he was come seeking revenge. While my men were able to deal with him swiftly, he managed to utter quite a curse before he passed on. Our guide was able to sum up the hex as such, "For the blood you spilled here, you should be rewarded with dancing here for eternity."
I see now that the idea of dancing was a purely poetic stab at my ballroom.
Eternity appears to be rather accurate.
Shortly thereafter I succumb to a virulent paralysis that devoured first the function of my legs, then progressed over the course of a full year up my torso before ultimately stopping my heart.
Since that time I have been milling futilely on this plot. As a man who has delved into the heart of Africa, seen and tasted the wonders of the Orient, and sailed across the ocean, my existence here is proving disasterously boring. Even my only pleasure for these many years, alarming and frightening the still living, provides me no entertainment. I see no further reason why I should continue this practice. Therefore, I have decided that you will be the first living specimens that I will co-habitat with peacefully. Please do not be alarmed. I fancy the kitchen, as I enjoy pretending to eat. It may not be uncommon for you to see food you've prepared float before dropping suddenly to the floor. Take comfort knowing this phenomenon is just an old ghost trying to taste once more some warm buttery bread, or perhaps a berry jam.
Alas, I must conclude this missive. The chipmunks out back appear to be engaged in a sort of domestic spat, something that will surely grant me a few hours reprieve from the crushing boredom. I look forward to boarding with you and will surely write again.
Yours in eternity, forever,
R.B. Fellowbottom, III