grumpy about the construction project (final weekend thoughts)

I thought we’d close Friday on our renovation loan and then we’d spend the weekend panicking about all the preparations we have to make in anticipation of breaking ground. Instead, as my dear readers know, the mortgage-issuing bank screwed the pooch. We’re spending the weekend making preparations anyway, on the loosely optimistic assumption that everyone involved actually wants this thing to happen and will flex out as much as necessary Monday to make it so.

Remember that the delays have nothing to do with us or our contractors: our money is ready; the workers are ready; we are approved as borrowers; our contractors are approved as well. This is only about giving the underwriter documents that satisfy his anal retentive need to track how and when our money moved from our mutual funds and savings accounts to our checking account. I’ve collected all available records from the financial institutions involved and there’s nothing more that I can do. Hosebags all, these financial institutions — as difficult, rigid and challenging as a child with OCD. This is not a comparison I make lightly. I speak from maternal experience. (Except I don’t call Jesse a hosebag, not even behind her back. Most of the time, anyway.) Now it’s just up to the bank underwriter to get a grip. I hope he’s been to behavior modification therapy lately to help with that.

I’ve been considering offering the underwriter some additional data points to assist him in reaching a sound conclusion. He already has 400 years of our financials. He has our renovation contract bid and the bid reviewer’s assessment of it. He has the appraisal of our home and a bunch of photos that accompanied it. He has a variety of special-issue letters and special-issue statements from various financial establishments. As far as I know, he has a bug in my house and is in constant communication with the CIA about it all. But really, what does he know about me?

I think if things don’t work out Monday, I may offer to fly out to New York, where the underwriter works, and give him stool and urine samples. I can do it right in his office. I may also invite him to perform a proctology exam. Then maybe he’ll have all the information he needs to finally authorize us to close already on this fucking loan.

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