Today we said goodbye to Giddyland. Our house’s change, but we always look to those we cherish the most to call home no matter the address. The memories we created will grow in grandeur with each passing year, as will the tales we’ll tell of the epic days of J. and Mrs. Giddy. But, they’re now the past, as is, thankfully, the past year.
For now, we’re squatters in a luxury rental apartment located deep in the bowels of Coram,USA…and perhaps, if Christine has her way, we’ll once again soon be strapped to the chains of a mortgage till I’m nearly 90 fucking years old. No doubt owners of some over-priced condominium in need of an updated bathroom and new dryer. Good times await.
Here’s our story in a nutshell…a big fucking nutshell.
About this time last year, we realized the expense and upkeep of Giddyland was becoming far too much of a burden for Mrs. G and I. So, we made to decision to scrub the place down, clean out a ton of shit, and try once again to off load the place. On April 3rd we listed for sale, by April 8th, we’d accepted an offer. Nice.
All was going smoothly, as we now searched for a new place to dwell. It took a couple of weeks, but after Christine rejected my Double-wide idea and the consideration of hitting the open road in a fancy RV we finally settled in on an over-priced condo in Middle fucking Island with a twenty foot high living room ceiling for who knows why. It featured a fenced in yard with a 6 square foot patch of grass for the dogs and a recently updated bathroom, so it was perfect.
Since I probably had to get to a station appearance or something, I quickly realized I was tired of shopping for a place to live and had better things to do so…, since this place was adequate, I signed a full price offer, then shook hands and went off to do whatever I had pressing that Saturday morning. Good right? Anyway – a check for the deposit was in the seller’s attorney’s office on Tuesday, so we were in contract. Cue Christine…buy new furniture.
All seemed to be going smoothly as I regularly exchanged reams of paperwork and evidence of my assets with total strangers at a local credit union. They determined, for the most part, that I was a reasonable risk to lend a few sheckles to. Neat-o, let’s close.
Philanthropic folks that we are, we donated a whole bunch of furniture and shit we didn’t want to move. Some of our crappier shit we just had hauled away. So, we were left with a bunch of boxes, a bedroom set, and a couple of folding chairs. Oh, and a piano, which comes in handy when you don’t have a fucking place to sit. But, we figured, what’s a couple of days? In a week we’ll be in the new place!
As we approached the end of June, we were ready to close and move. This is when things went from smooth to rough. Seems our buyers had locked in a rate for a mortgage, that they’d lose if they weren’t able to close by July 1. Problem was – our contractual on or about date was June 15, meaning it could go to July 15. With the July 4th holiday and banks and lawyers not being able to lock in a date before July 1, the buyer had to re-apply to maintain his low-rate lock-in.
Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, but since we were involved, of course it was.
Seems as the buyer’s re-application process moved forward their lender found an impropriety they had not noticed when they first applied. And their mortgage application was denied. Ain’t that a kick in the head? Effectively, our deal is now dead. Fuck. Now what? We’re also contracted to buy that fancy condo in Middle Island.
So, we start getting the place ready to go back on the market, and start scrambling to figure out how to potentially carry both places till old Giddyland finds another buyer. We have what we feel is a workable plan that oddly included renting our place to Kyle, but in the end, we’re now denied the mortgage as the lender didn’t have enough faith in my ability to sustain both places while waiting for a buyer. So, a nice little extra bruise to the ego to make the whole process that much more memorable.
Now we’ve lost that fancy condo, and have to break the news to the sellers. They were not sad for us. They were pissed. Their plans are now spoiled as well. And on it goes.
We re-listed the house, had the obligatory open house, a bunch of lookey-loos but apparently a few interested parties, and within about a week we’d accepted an offer. Great, we can try to move forward once again.
We’d returned the deposit that our original buyers had given once they were declined for their funding. Ya know, the right thing to do. Our deposit? No-where to be found. Our seller’s attorney, rather than return the deposit as, we later learned, instructed by his client to do, choose to extort us for his own “troubles”. Yup, held our money in escrow and refused to release it until we agreed to pay him.
Can’t make this shit up.
Back and forth, lawyers and realtors, who’s hollering at who, it was a veritable shit show. We deal with it the best way we see fit…booze and weed. Neither really helps as much as you’d hope (kidding, they both work great!).
After a significant amount of shouting, threats and downright nasty name-calling, a couple of months go by and we’ve gotten most of our money back. The rest, we’re confident will be well worth the wrath we intend to wield. Don’t fuck with the Giddy’s.
Anyway, we’re close to actually closing on the second deal officially divesting ourselves of the burden that was Giddyland. It was a pain in the ass, covered with weeds, a constant strain on our checking account. But it was our burden. And for what it gave us this past fifteen years, it was a burden we were more than happy to bear.