We have truely lost control of our horse.

Well it seems to be crunch time for ProjectHouseFromHell. We have to close on our loan by August 22 or the earth’s atmosphere will self-destruct and all life forms will be eliminated. That and we will lose our fabulous interest rate. H has kicked into balls-out working mode. (Sorry, I have always wanted to use “balls out”…it is just so down and dirty) Right now the motto is not “Always have control of your horse”. Nope, it is “We have pretty much lost control of our horse and if we don’t catch him soon we will be sitting in a stinky pile of manure!” Yea, I’m fired up too.

I have suddenly been assigned to handle the financials. Oh yes, with my keen mathematical skills, knack for number-crunching, and ability to converse with the money people. Most of my bank conversations go something like this:

WTC: Hi there, I am calling about our loan…er…I mean, our soon-to-be-loan.
Mr. Potter: (sigh…not HER again) What is your name?
WTC: Oh ya, guess I should tell you that. WTC…but it might be under H or maybe under H and WTC. I am not sure.
Mr. Potter: (Clears throat) Hmmmmm…ok, here it is. It is under your husband’s boss’s mother’s sister’s account. Right now it looks like we still need a Sworn Construction Statement, a property inspection, a final appraisal, receipts from the gifts you purchased for the past 3 Christmases, and your first born child.
WTC: Right. Ok. I’ll get right on that.
Mr. Potter: I will need these by 2 pm today because I am leaving the office for our annual golf outing.

After these conversations I have to phone H, who is working on a job in No-Cellphone-Signal-Land. He usually calls me back and says he couldn’t understand a word of my message and what do I want because he is working in an attic that is hotter than hell and full of spiders. Absolutely nothing I have to report is what he wants to hear. As a result, he has become a bit irritated and seems to be losing his sharp edge just a bit. With having to work his regular job, having to work late into the night to finish his own house, and having to deal with me all while trying to make a deadline, I guess it is somewhat understandable that he indeed seems to be losing control of his horse.

The other day was pretty much a day I describe above. The bank was screaming for numbers and receipts that are buried somewhere in the deep in the depths of the Motel 6 and I had phoned H to leave a muffled and unclear message to call me. He called back in his I-Am-Fuckin-Hot-And-Highly-Irritated voice.

WTC: Hey, the house-inspector-guy wants to come on Wednesday.
H: Crap. I was hoping it wouldn’t be that soon.
WTC: I tried to make it later but it takes a while to do the paperwork after the inspection and we need to have it done by the 19th or they will tear the house down and we will have to start all over.
H: WTC, you REALLY need to fill the nail holes.
WTC: Wha??
H: The nail holes really need to be filled.
WTC: What nail holes?
H: The nail holes in the trim that I haven’t put up yet.
WTC: Ya, ok.

Where’s my lasso?