I realize that my posting is way down. I apologize. I would really like to be writing more, but to be honest, my brain is just fried right now. Even now I feel like I am eeking out these meager words just because the last couple of days have been so insane.
As I mentioned before, I’m now in the process of moving to Japan. Nothing about that process has changed. Unfortunately it seems like everything else has.
First, I have to say that getting fingerprinted is a lot more difficult than it has any right to be. Right from the get go we knew we only have a finite amount of time to get our materials put together and sent in for our FBI background checks. We are relative amateurs at this process.
My husband, being the forward thinking and planning fellow that he is, made a point of calling ahead to our local police station. Honestly when I say local I’m being a bit sarcastic. We have the unfortunate honor of living in a part of Houston sandwiched between other towns. Our closest option was to actually go to the nearest police station in the town where we worked. This was still a half hour drive. I digress.
My husband talked to a wonderfully helpful officer who told us to come in at a specific time and not to worry about getting a hold of finger print cards because they had plenty on hand. They did. Unfortunately the front desk staff didn’t know this, and apparently were too busy to check.
Tuesday we spent a rather uneventful morning being turned away, even though we were told we wouldn’t be, and then referred to a company to get finger print cards, who wouldn’t give them to us and only did fingerprinting by appointment a week later. Obviously that wasn’t going to work for us.
There went my half day off. It turned into a frantic scramble to find somewhere else to get our fingerprints done. We found a place. It was on the other side of town, which in Houston is not exactly a small problem, and we were going to have to drive there during rush hour.
Nervously I made my way through the rest of my day. I rushed out the door and had gotten most of the way into the process of driving through downtown Houston during rush hour when my phone rang. Turn around my husband says.
Officer Dudley, now upswing in my stressful day, was so annoyed that we’d been turned away that she offered to meet us at the door and let us in. She had told them to make sure we got fingerprinted and fingerprinted we got. We also discovered the boxes of fingerprinting cards they apparently didn’t have. Hooray! Mission accomplished.
We went home for an evening of getting our house ready to show because moving over seas means selling your house. I’ll get there in a minute. Everything was going swimmingly until my husband yelled, through the bathroom door, to come out and look at the email on his phone.
The email was from our JET coordinator. Our first names got switched. That meant that my husband was the one on the wait list and I was the one who was in the program. Yay for me, but not so much for the 85 dollars we’d already spent to get my husbands tax exempt form. It also meant we had to redo our paperwork. I was over the moon, and he was understandably upset.
I wish I could say this was the end to my crazy story but no. We came home, got dinner with some friends, and then the dog threw up. He continued to do this until three in the morning on Wednesday. Needless to say neither of us went to work on Wednesday and thank god we didn’t.
Our house listing went up at ten o’clock pm Tuesday during the midst of the madness. I was just sort of waking up on Wednesday morning when my husband’s phone went off. Someone wanted to see the house, at 10:45. We tried to put them off until later, but they didn’t get the memo. So myself, my husband, and my sick dog all went to Starbucks. We attempted to make some sort of plan attack, but that was quickly going to go to hell in a hand basket.
Coffee and a cheese danish helped me feel a little bit better about my sleep deprivation and the overall sickness of my dog. He’s still not entirely himself nearly a week later. We packed up after yet another discussion about all of the things that needed to be accomplished that day. We finally managed to get back into our house. Finally we could clean and eat lunch. I called Officer Dudley and made a meeting time of 2:30. I should have known it was too good to be true.
We ordered sandwiches and continued to clean. Halfway through a look around of the back yard the dog decided to void every drop of water he’d managed to keep down in the last six hours. He turned into a gushing dog fountain. Since we’d had a call for another showing at four, I was unkindly thankful that he’d thrown up outside. One phone call to the vet later had us and the dog set up for a five o’clock vet appointment.
Three quarters of the way through my Jimmy John’s sub, god they are delicious, I got a phone call. Officer Dudley was done early and on her way to meet me. I threw the lamentable bites of sandwich back in the fridge and off I went. Thankfully our meeting place wasn’t far away. It would have gone a lot more quickly if I hadn’t stopped at the wrong gas station, across the street no less. When I pulled up, she was ready and tapping my door with a pen. Time, I knew I had at least a little time.
Wrong. My phone rang. On the other end was my husband informing me that another showing had been scheduled at three thirty, so back I rushed to get him and sick dog. Packets of materials in hand, we bolted out the doorway before would could catch sigh of the greedy vultures so desperately in need of our house.
A small digression. If ever you need to get something done at all three major shipping companies at once, I highly recommend a Postal Annex. I don’t know if they have them everywhere, but damn they should. They put the real Post Office to shame. That’s where we took our four folders of precious gold paper work to, and sent them off with all the fond wishes of those hoping for no more bullshit than already experienced in one day.
Next stop curtains. At the behest of our realtor, we had been advised to purchase curtains. With the already ridiculous number of showings scheduled, we were a bit leery, but hell what do we know? My husband stayed in the car with the sick dog, just in case he threw up again, and I ventured into the somewhat deserted Super Target. My mission, cheap curtains. I succeeded in getting a cheap, and rather cute, set for under forty bucks. I also picked up diet coke because drinks were going to be in order.
With the coke and curtains safely store, we drove off again for, well at this point, who knew what. The dog wasn’t doing particularly well at the point, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to call and see if we could get the vet appointment moved up. Thankfully, it must have been a slow day because they said yes.
We drove the thirty minutes, the vet was a holdover from when we’d first moved to Texas, to the vet’s office. They took us right and looked over our dog. The diagnosis was dehydration, which wasn’t too surprised considering the fountain he’d been only two hours before that. They produced a bag from the magical back rooms every vet office has and hung it from the ceiling. To my credit my dog was very amiable about the giant needle that they stuck into his side. We waited as the saline solution slowly dripped beneath the skin of our dogs back. What it served to do was to create a strange, leaky, bulbous bulge on our dogs side. Our poor sick pathetic dog now looked like Quasimodo, and to make it worse he was leaking.
He leaked the entire way home. Of course we didn’t find this out until we got to the bar. Since, you know, we’d had another showing scheduled for our house at six fifteen. They showed up at ten to six. That comes later. During our drive home my husbands phone rang yet again. This time, we were glad to see, it was our realtor. I listened to my husband with growing interest as he seemed to get more excited. An offer had been made on the house. Less than twenty four hours into our showing, we had an offer. Apparently it was one worth considering. On a high that only a first time home seller can have, we raced home only to be kicked out by a man and his toddler, remember the early people I mentioned earlier?
To the bar we went. Wednesday was almost done except for the fact that we didn’t get back into our house until seven o’clock that night.
Thursday ended up being about the same. Five more people came to see the house, and two more offers were made.
Friday, we decided to except the offer on our house. Our realtor met us at the same bar we’d been to before and proceeded to pay for our time “signing”. Signing really just meant sitting at the bar, signing the paperwork, and then shooting the shit for four hours about video games. I like to think we might have come out of the experience with a good realtor for next time and maybe even the beginnings of a friendship. I’ve always been to quick to jump to conclusions on that score. At least one other realtor called to bitch about not being told soon enough that the house was option pending. Two other offers were made Friday. The first offer was still that best and it was what we signed. Less than two days later we had a house in the option period.
I’m sorry for my lack of posting, but as you can see it was warranted. Also as a small side note, I’m fairly sure that the person who made the offer drove by, no fewer than three times on Sunday, to stare at the house. The last time the woman, who is eight months pregnant, drove very slowly and stared at us. Needless to say, the lock box key is sitting on our dining room table for the time being. It is still sort of our house at the moment.