All Plans Go Boom

I really don’t even know what to say at this point.  I mean, I knew today would suck.  Today was the day of packing.  Well, technically it’s been the month of packing but today was crunch day.  With the closing only two days away and the movers scheduled for 9am on Wednesday, this was the day to box up any loose items and break down the furniture, a day of fast paced frenetic packing, a day of drama.

Today was yet another one for the you-can’t-make-this-shit-up leader board, folks.  We were on fire.  Boxes were boxing.  Tape guns were gunning.  Newspapers were padding.  Cats were hiding.  Plans were dissolving.

Just as we were sealing up some last boxes and patting ourselves on the backs for some seriously productive packing, the phone rang.  (Cue dramatic bum-bum-BUMMM music.)  I answered as Rocco went to get a visual on both cats before adding our latest boxes to the growing mountain.  It was my Hoboken realtor.  Even her thick accent couldn’t disguise the angst in her voice.  “I just talked to the buyer.  Her husband was laid off today.  She has a call into their mortgage company to see if it will affect their financing.  See what you can find out from your lawyer.”

My brilliant superhero of a lawyer was out of the office today for other closings.  We’d already talked this morning about the joys of our title issues, but there was no reaching her to warn her of the impending doom.  I did hear back from her before close of business.  Her response was incredibly supportive – “Good thing we kept that sale contingency in your contract for the Maplewood place.”

Authors note:  I know what you’re thinking right now.  “Boy I bet Elly could use a glass of wine.”  Yes folks, Elly really could.  Elly was frantically trying to pour herself a glass just before she sat her reeling rump down to get her blog on.  Here’s the thing – all the wine glasses are packed away in a box.  The wine opener is also packed away in a box.  Fortunately, I found a screw top bottle of vino that I’m currently swigging directly from the bottle (Dad-style-ee).  Crisis averted.

So what does that mean?  Hell if I know.  After I stammered unable to form words for a solid thirty seconds, my lawyer (who I really do think is one of the smartest and most competent gals on planet Earth) softened her tone and said, “Don’t do anything until tomorrow.  Let me work.  I’ll talk to you first thing in the morning.”

Well, some stuff couldn’t really wait till tomorrow.  I went ahead and canceled the appointments with every frickin’ utility to have services shut off in the am.  Sadly I can’t unforward my mail.  Won’t it be asinine to drive to Maplewood once a week for the next six months to pick up the mail from my PO Box when I still live in Hoboken?  Good times!

I notified my Maplewood realtor of the possible issue with that purchase.  The poor thing is packing up her home at the moment as she’s supposed to close on her new place next week, too.  Now she’s having all kinds of nightmares of what might happen with their deals.  Yay for real estate!

Should I see this as the equivalent of a big lightening bolt from the sky?  “Don’t do it, Elly!  Don’t move!  You’re supposed to stay in Hoboken living above a filthy bus stop until the end of time!”  I mean, what else could happen?  …and then a fucking plague of locusts descended.  Oh wait, there’s already a plague of termites and carpenter ants at the Maplewood joint.

Nobody panic.  I’m just fine.  I actually think this is pretty hysterical.  Just goes to show that God (or Allah or Buddha or whatever floats your boat) has a dark and wicked sense of humor.  I think God laughs a little when kids with ice cream cones trip and fall.  She’s embarrassed about it too (just like we are) but as long as no one is bleeding, that shit is funny.

Seriously, I’m just fine – copacetic even.  There’s no need to put me on suicide watch…all my knives are packed anyway.

And I still think I’m not totally fucked yet.  There’s a small chance all this could still move ahead.  But I’m lubing just in case.