Betting the Farm, or Buying It?
A metric ton of bullcrap... with expedited shipping! But, don't worry: We're red koopas in the end.
Sooooo, our hopes and dreams got demolished this past Monday.
Our loan officer at the USDA is as venomous as civil serpents come—though I haven't decided whether she's a sociopath or just a flake.
It seems that every interaction we have with her presents some additional obstacle or some new dimension of adversity to the whole house-and-land equation, and it's happened enough times that I'm starting to adjust my initial hypothesis from "ditzy" to "maybe, just maybe, actively sabotaging us."
It's impossible to say which—and, since neither is exactly preferable to the other, it almost doesn't even matter.
We wrote last month about the USDA's funding dropping out just as we were finally getting close to the end of the road. That, of course, wasn't our loan officer's fault—although she did sit on that news for three days before she bothered relaying it to us.
But, this past Monday (13 November) I got a phone call from her; and, since the 120-day window the USDA gave us on our "certificate of eligibility" back in July was about to close on Thursday the 16th, I figured she was calling to check in on the status of the last few documents we were waiting for our builder to send over to her so she could finalize the projected cost of our plans, lock in our eligibility status, and let us get the ball rolling on taking possession of the property so our builder can start... building.
But, no.
She was calling to do what she does best: Use her anti-Midas touch to turn everything she sets her sights on to crap.
The gist of her phone call boiled down to two baffling little tidbits of information...
- Even though we had been offered a 4.125% interest rate back in July, that rate has now jumped to 4.5%; and...
- The USDA's maximum loan term for a manufactured home is 30 years; and so, the quote and cost breakdown for the 33-year loan she originally offered us will be compressed into 30 years instead.
Okay...
A few thoughts on that...
First, we were under the impression that we were locked in for the 4.125% interest rate; otherwise, what's the point of even having an expiration on the certificate of eligibility in the first place?
Second, Athennia did some research and found that the interest rate had changed back on 01 November... which means that this woman decided to wait nearly two weeks before reaching out to let us know.
And third—and this is really the clincher—I made it abundantly clear back on July 21 that our plan was to go with a manufactured house, and I acknowledged that I had read through all the program details, including the part explaining that the maximum loan term was 30 years instead of 33...
But apparently, there was not one single time in the past three and a half months, when our loan officer stopped to think that we might like to know that the $378,000 budget we've been operating under would end up being $348,000—since it isn't just the duration of the loan that gets crunched down into 30 years: The principal gets whacked as well!
(We had assumed that since the $378k had been calculated to our particular financial situation, we still qualified for up to that amount, and our monthly payments would just be a bit higher, paying it back over 30 years instead of 33.)
When I finally hung up with her, I basically just wanted to cry...
I called Kitten to break the news to her that we'd essentially just had the rug, the subfloor, and the entire foundation pulled out from under us.
Then as I started to calm down, I said to her that the ONLY chance in hell we still had at making this work was if all parties involved were to be willing to eat an equal share of this sudden $30,000 overage to bring us back down under budget.
Mind you, this is after we just spent August, September, and October painstakingly working with Brody to bring Clayton Homes' initial proposal down from $410,000 to $380,000 to be in budget the first time around.
(Granted, $22,000 of that had been leeway for the event that the township demanded a full stormwater management plan, and we were able to cut most of that out when that mandate came back at $7,500 instead.)
But, we had already downsized our house once, and then gone through the build process item by item with Brody to see where we could shave off some remaining costs here and there. There wasn't really anything left that we could just nix at this point...
We'll just build a fire out back, and cook on that. Wash our clothes down in the river thrice a year. Sleep in the shed that's already on the property.
Actually, we don't really even need the house at all then."
...and we sure as hell weren't about to downsize yet again to an even smaller house!
No, the only thing we could ask Brody to take out of the proposal at this point was the $10,000 we still had in there just in case we run into any problems with the existing well on our property. (We'll just have to hope to God that we don't hit a snag with that—and we'll have to take out a small personal loan or something later in the unlikely event that we do.)
Next, Athennia and I had to pony up another $10,000 on top of what we had already earmarked out-of-pocket... which certainly wasn't a trivial undertaking, but we managed.
And finally, that left the matter of asking the seller to knock $10,000 off of his asking price for the property. I really had no idea how that request might be met: On the one hand, the guy's been trying to unload this parcel for six years now... and, on the other, he's been holding out for six years because he wants his full $160,000 asking price.
1.27 acres of flat, open land.
...in safe, quiet Kutztown.
...largely insulated from neighbors and surrounded by farmland.
...with a well, a brand new septic system, and 100-amp electric service that's trivial to upgrade to 220 amps?
$160,000 is a phenomenal price for that—which is why Athennia and I didn't balk back in early August when the guy's realtor made it clear they wouldn't settle for anything less.
But suddenly, we had no choice.
I asked our realtor Angel if it was customary for the buyer to have any sort of direct contact with the seller in extreme edge cases like this one—because, even if the guy ended up saying no to our offer and we had to back out, we had already rescheduled settlement three times because of the whole "stormwater" rigmarole and the USDA's lack of funding, and I personally needed him to know at this point that Athennia and aren't a pair of imbeciles who just don't know how to buy real estate...
Nor are we a couple of sleazy shadeballs who had this gimmick all planned out—where we kept him under contract for three months with no end in sight so that we could finally lowball him in the last five minutes.
I heard Angel shrug over the phone, and he said...
Yeah; I mean, if you wanna write him a letter or something, I'll send it along to his realtor along with my paperwork. Anything we can do, at this point!
So, I wrote the seller and his realtor a heartfelt two-page letter, outlining the entire process so far from our point of view to give them a context of what it's been like working with our loan officer, then trying to get answers from the township on the stormwater issue, then finding out the township lost all the permits on the property's utilities at some point in the past.
I basically just leveled with them...
Athennia and I aren't morons.
We're not jerks.
Turns out the government is just grimy and incompetent at every level. (Who knew?)
We absolutely love the property and would be devastated to lose it.
We've spent the last three months working our asses off and navigating an endless barrage of bullcrap from the township and the USDA, but we finally have the approved build permits in our hands.
And then I asserted that, while none of that changed the fact that he wants his full asking price, he must surely feel on some sensible level that accepting $10,000 less from someone who's already navigated all these issues is preferable than gambling on starting all over again with a new potential buyer who will face many of the same hurdles.
And I said that, should he agree to accept our lower offer and wait until whenever the USDA might have funding again, Athennia and I also felt that it was important that we reimburse him for whatever property taxes he incurs over that time—going all the way back to 03 October when we first should've had settlement. (He has really done us a solid with his continued patience up to this point, when he wasn't at all obligated to be; and we believe that fair is fair!)
I had Angel deliver the letter with the rest of the details of our...
our renegement?
...our one-sided counter-offer?
Whatever you'd call it.
All we could do then was cross our fingers.
Meanwhile, Athennia stopped at her mom's on the way home from work later that afternoon so she could help Taylor fill our some paperwork and apply for health insurance.
She ended up being there way longer than she had anticipated; so she just grabbed some Chinese food for herself, Riley, and me on her way home afterwards.
Then we watched a couple episodes of Fringe and called it a night to put that Monday of all Mondays to bed forever.
Tuesday we were still reeling from the rollercoaster ride the day before; so, it was decidedly not the ideal night for the downstairs neighbors to start up with their shenanigans...
If you were to invite a dozen people over and fire up the club music—knowing that the noise ordinance goes into effect at 10:00 P.M.—when might you be likely to schedule your party?
A) on a Friday evening, when most people don't have to wake up early the next day
B) on a Saturday evening, when most people don't have to wake up early the next day
C) 9:55 on a Tuesday night, because that's the kind of brain-dead, uncultured, devolved clownshoe of a swine you are
Fortunately, we couldn't hear the noise from our bedroom, and Athennia had no trouble falling asleep with the white noise of the two fans we run at night.
But, I was pretty wired after jackhammering our kitchen floor with a baseball bat—
—so I ended up staying up for a few hours playing chess instead of going to sleep when Athennia did.
The neighbors were still blasting the music the last time I popped out to the living room to check, just after 1:00 in the morning... which meant they definitely knew how jerky they were being, and something absolutely had to be done about it.
So, Athennia called the landlord in the morning and left a detailed message outlining what had happened and tactfully asserting that we would probably have to involve the police if no action was taken and something similar happened again.
A woman from the front office called back a short time later with some unexpected good, no great, no PHENOMENAL news.
She said...
I can't tell you everything... but they were probably "celebrating."
They received a letter on their door a few days ago, and... well, they'll be out by the end of next month.
So, she cryptically indicated that the neighbors had been served an eviction notice—and were "partying" the night before as a way of thumbing their noses at it (in the sense of "What are you gonna do now? You're already kicking us out.")
She cautioned that things might get a little worse in that regard before they get better—but she seemed to imply that the detailed records I personally logged of their noise offenses and the comings and goings of all their unauthorized extra tenants back in January and February may have served as the impetus for the entire fiasco... and indirectly been the very thing that eventually did them in.
So, what have we learned here?
Athennia and I came terrifyingly close to losing our house plans; but we try to put positive energy into the universe and conduct ourselves like reasonable, ethical people... so, when fate threw a wrench into our plans, we made an honest plea to those with the power to affect our fate, and they decided to oblige.
Our lovely neighbors, on the other hand? They've conducted themselves like a toilet full of turds for more than a year now... aaaaaand it turns out they're getting flushed.
The remainder of the day can hardly compare to that glorious news; but, for what it's worth, Riley went over to Lou's to visit Taylor, and Athennia and I went on a "date" to Qdoba :)
Thursday the 16th, Angel called me back and said that, while the seller's realtor had been pretty incensed at the news when they spoke on the phone, both Angel and the seller's realtor had agreed to reduce their respective commissions a bit, so as to put more money in the seller's pocket—making him ultimately agreeable to our new offer!
Unfortunately, Thursday was also our deadline to have a complete property and house package on file with the USDA, or our certificate of eligibility for financing would run out and we'd have to apply all over again (complete with gathering paystubs, tax returns, and all sorts of other paperwork).
I reached out to our loan officer and nicely pointed out that we had spent the week navigating the $30,000 rug-pull she'd thrown at us when she moved the goalposts Monday morning, and I asked if there was any way she could wave us through (since she's well aware by now of exactly what our plan is, and she knew damn well that the last few details she was waiting on from us would be in her possession well before the USDA has funding again).
She gave us a 24-hour extension but warned us (almost gleefully) that she would have to rescind our offer if she didn't have everything on her checklist by 4:30 the next afternoon.
And, staying true to how thoroughly she sucks as a loan officer, she included said checklist in her email back to me—only for us to find a line item asking for a detailed foundation plan (tailored, naturally, to our specific house and our property's specific soil).
I immediately called Brody—who's been dealing with this woman directly for three weeks now and constantly checking in to see what information she still needs from him...
Not only was this literally the first he was hearing anything about a foundation plan; but, he assured me that this is something official that an engineer typically draws up and signs off on...
In other words, definitely not a "24-hours' notice" kind of thing.
And I'll be sending Clayton Homes a 10-page play-by-play of that facet of our journey as well... because we would not be anywhere near as close as we are to making this dream a reality, were it not for Brody's efforts :)
Angel sent over some paperwork for us to sign, officially updating the terms of our offer on the property to reflect the $10k drop in price.
And then Taylor called Athennia at work to ask if Athennia could stop by Lou's on her way home and help Lou and the girls sort out some problems they've all been having with each other.
We covered all that drama enough back in February: I really don't feel like unpacking it all again—and I'm sure they don't want me to either (although it occurs to me that one way they could avoid that would be to stop constantly trying to rope us back in).
On a brighter note, when Athennia did finally get home and come inside, she showed me this picture she had snapped in the parking lot...
"Whose car is that?" you might ask?
WHY, IT'S ONLY THE DOWNSTAIRS NEIGHBORS'!!!
Man, karma sucks; doesn't it?
Someone got behind the wheel of that Rogue and... went rogue.
Let's play a quick game of "Who Do We Think Crashed the Car?"
Was it... the one who looks like a Nitwit from Minecraft?
Not likely: She doesn't drive.
She just pops out of the weeds at the far end of the parking lot from time to time, looking like she snuck out of a mental asylum while the guard at the front door stepped away to grab a coffee...
Was it... the one who looks like a Koopa Troopa from pretty much any Super Mario game over the past 30 years?
Anyone who's played a Mario game knows that, while red Koopas turn around when they get to a cliff, green Koopas go right over the edge.
What's really going to bake your noodle—at least for five seconds or so, until you realize, as I did, just how much you don't care—is, Are the Nitwit and the Koopa actually the same person?
See, because they could be.
I've never beheld them both at the same time.
They could be the same woman, with a Jekyll and Hyde sort of thing going on: Like, on even days, she has her act together and looks relatively presentable; and on odd days, she goes outside and wanders around in slippers and a tablecloth.
Who knows?
Who cares?
Moving on.
No, wait!
I almost forgot about this guy who drives a Reebok sneaker!
And, let's not miss out on shaming this little twerp for parking in the handicapped spot, despite clearly not being handicapped...
What can she possibly have to say for herself?
That's crappy on so many levels, the nepotism's actually the least worst thing about it.
Get better soon.
Just after 5:00 on Friday morning, I happened to be looking out the living-room window en route to the kitchen to make some coffee, when I saw the rare treat that Athennia gets to see almost every day...
A black SUV.
With tinted windows.
And no headlights.
Stopping outside our building's front door so two of the 16,000 downstairs neighbors could quietly sneak outside and hop in.
The old "if I can't see them, then they can't see me" game that infants play before they have a handle on object permanence.
...And, of course, a shoddy attempt to mask the very behavior that earned these clowns an eviction notice in the first place—which would suggest (to anyone capable of thought, at least) that the whole incognito attempt isn't quite as effective as they'd convinced themselves it was.
But, I'm a dude who takes his privacy pretty seriously; and I'm a fan of good OPSEC as much as the next guy.
So, I let my imagination run downstairs and interview the driver, since he's clearly a master of his craft.
This is what I imagine that he told me...
Black is the color you see when you be closin' yo eyes; aight? So when dem cameras watch me rollin' up in the Batmobile? They thinks they just be closin' dey eyes; ya mean?
Shoot, dawg. I even wears full army camo wiff sunglasses! So even if the cat watchin' them cameras do see my car—which they ain't—they don't even see nobody at the wheel, bruh.
They don't see nuffins!
...Which might serve to explain why people from this apartment have been crashing their cars as of late.
We took it easy Friday evening...
Made a pizza for dinner.
Watched three episodes of Fringe.
Didn't throw any raucous parties (since that's really more of a Tuesday-night activity).
Saturday afternoon, Athennia headed back over to her mom's for Round Two of mediating between Lou and the girls.
By the time dinner hour rolled around, we felt like something quick and easy and settled on Burger King—where we ran into this yahoo...
We were midway through our order when this guy stormed into the lobby to interject at the top of his lungs that the staff had messed up his chicken sandwiches.
The cashier completely ignored him (rightfully so) and continued taking our order, then gave us the cups for our drinks.
But, given that he turned around and came back, he should've been dressed as a red Koopa.
I wasn't sure he'd be interested in hearing about the underlying logic right at that exact moment though ;)
The lobby was totally empty, save for us and this guy; and he just continued getting more irate by the second. Soon he escalated his tune from whining about the sandwiches to, "I just want to cancel the whole order! How about that? Would that be faster?"
Athennia wanted to hang back before we sidled past him to get our drinks.
Nope!
Don't allow yourself to be bullied.
I am so sick and tired of the entitlement and the dysfunction around here...
Take a step back and put this into perspective: It's a God-damned chicken sandwich. If you wanted a correct order and food made well, why did you opt for Burger King? ...In Morrisville, no less—where it's not clear to me that anyone in a 10-mile radius has successfully completed middle school?
And, if you've realized that mistake and you're seeking a meaningful resolution, why come in here and scream at the top of your lungs to a minimum-wage crew who quite obviously couldn't care less what it is that you're demanding?
Does that make any sense to you? On any level? Do you feel like a schmuck? Because you're acting like a schmuck.
Get better soon.
So, I shot Athennia an insistent look conveying that we were going to get our drinks.
Right now.
Guy or no guy. He didn't own the place.
In the words of Jesse Eisenberg in Zombieland, "Fuck this clown."
We walked past him and got our drinks without issue.
Then, me being me, I commenced obnoxiously drumming on the counter with our straws—hoping to provoke some sort of reaction from him as we stood and waited for our food.
I was just hoping for something quick simple; you know?
Surprisingly, he didn't take the bait.
And to make matters worse, by the time he finally left, another family was just entering the restaurant... so I couldn't even go ahead with my plan to prank our cashier and the rest of the staff by slamming my fist down on the counter and demanding that she cancel our entire order!
It didn't feel right to put them through that. So I didn't.
I never get to have any fun!
(Well, except for the three episodes of Fringe we watched after dinner. Sci-fi with a bit of class is a nice reprieve from our realm of Koopa Troopas and Nitwits.)
On Sunday, we headed over to Playwicki Farm (not to be confused with Playwicki Park) in Langhorne to squeeze in a short walk before sunset.
Here's photographic proof of Langhorne proper...
It exists. There's not much else to say about it.
No sooner did we cross over the creek and make it to the 45mph stretch of Maple Avenue, when some Gladys just had to make a left in front of us from the Woodlyn Crossing development.
Gladys was apparently borrowing her drug-dealing great grandson's tinted-windowed Lexus, because she and the car didn't seem like a match at all...
Given that she thought the "45" on the speed limit sign was a "7," it came as little surprise that she couldn't navigate the roundabout either.
Two hours later, we had traversed the last quarter-mile to our destination.
Welcome to Playwicki Farm! There's a fire hydrant... and a guy off to the right dressed like a fire hydrant!
There are also apostrophic catastrophes, like this one...
Or, if Jimmy's ATV is at home, and Joey's ATV is in the shop, then neither ATV's in the park. And in fact, no ATVs are in the park.
Welcome to third-grade grammar, where you'll learn how to say what you mean... and how to not say what you don't mean!
Curiously, they didn't apostrophize the word vehicles—which means they're not even consistent in their stupidity.
I feel like the sign should either be totally wrong, or totally right...
Anyway, the farm was... farmy.
There were fields...
And some natural divides between them...
And lots of deer...
Coming from real parks like Playwicki and Dark Hollow though, the paved path left a lot to be desired.
So we got on something a little more out of the way...
It didn't take long to find some pre-teen brilliance on display...
What's Spencer doing over there by that fallen tree?"
Haw-haw, SICK, bro! That's like poetic. Absolutely legendary.
Anyone see where Greg got to?"
What does '55 Left' mean, anyway?"
So I just scrawled ADSR all over it."
If I were into making electronic music, it might refer to an attack, decay, sustain, release envelope used to define the parameters of sounds generated by a synthesizer.
But I'm not into music production, or anything else, because I'm just some dopey little tween with shitty parents and nothing to do."
And so, here are Kitten and the Molerat's despondent faces at having to see a bunch of dicks (or at least their handiwork) in an otherwise beautiful farm-park...
But, we did catch a lovely vista back in the woods just before sunset...
Then it was time to make like red Koopa Troopas and turn around.
Same with closing out what was really a pretty rough week:
Life's pretty frustrating right now with all this exhausting nitpicking from our loan officer (and the government not having funding, for failure to understand third-grade economics).
But, like a couple of red Koopas, we've managed to turn things around and get back on track.