This was a crazy fucking decade. Let's reflect together, shall we?

2000 - I turned seventeen. I was a rock star. I went to rock concerts and met bands. I was cool. I had pink hair. I played the electric guitar in an all-girl band. We only had one song. Life was good. Like, really good. I was popular in my own way and doing well in school.

2001 - Fucking hell. Totally dropped out of high school my senior year. Well, not exactly. I just stopped going to class. Depression was kicking my ass. KICKING IT SOFA KING HARD. I had my heart broken by someone who isn't worth discussing anymore. I then met and fell in love with my first actual not a doucheface boyfriend and we moved to Houston because we were stupid (I hate Houston). I started college (your mom goes to college).

2002 - BORING. I was going to school and working part time at some busted up mall. Boyfriend and I were boring.

2003 - We moved back to Dallas and I continued going to college. We broke up the week before my birthday and then got back together just in time for me to not spend my birthday alone and then we broke up again. I moved into my own place. I was lonely so I moved in with my dad and his wife. It was hell. I didn't spend much time there. I was doing things like getting drunk and sleeping on random people's sofas. My liver was very upset with me during this time.

2004 - Got accepted into UT-Arlington and fucked that shit up. Depression came back HARD and I slept away the semester in my cold and isolating dorm room. I got a job at fucking Kinko's and moved with a girl that I drank with. I met a dude who lived in Oklahoma and we long-distanced until I got evicted from my apartment and decided to move up OK. I transfered to a store in Oklahoma and ran away from my problems in Texas. Yes, it's THAT easy.

2005 - We broke up. God was he annoying. STAB STAB STAB. I decided that I hated my job and would join the Air Force so that I could travel or whatever. I met Jacob the week before Thanksgiving. We got engaged Christmas day.

2006 - Gave up on my idea of joining the Air Force. I didn't want to be bossed around. Or something like that. I moved in with Jacob and his nine gazillion roommates. I quickly got to work on getting them to move out. And yes, I was 100% successful. Worked kinda hard, partied hard. Made new friends. Life? It was good.

2007 - I fucking got married! I never thought that would actually happen. Sucker! We got married on St. Patrick's day. It was amazing. Shortly after that I accepted a promotion and moved back to Dallas. Jacob moved down a few months later since he had to finish out a contract at his job. We lived in a shit hole apartment. We had double dates and slept late and went out to sushi often. Oh, disposable income.

2008 - I got promoted to center manager of a brand new store. Awesome. Or whatever. Worked my ass off. We got pregnant! Moved to a better apartment complex. Hosted our very first Thanksgiving dinner. Felt like grownups.

2009 - I started this blog. My grandpa died. WE HAD A BABY! I quit my job so that I could stay at home with Peanut. Money became very tight. Ramen noodles = dinner. Went back to school and decided to kick some ass. Built a house and then moved into it.

So... I guess that's it. THAT'S IT? Lauren, are you fucking kidding? This year alone was totally bananas and you sum it up in like six sentences and a math equation?

Fine. The aught decade is fucking over. Good times, bad times, really bad times. Not to mention all of the shit that happened around the world which I won't get into because you already know and I'm sure another blogger is doing a proper decade-in-review.

So yeah. Happy New Year.

Objectives: An editorial or writing position that will enable me to contribute to the creative development of a publication and expansion of its circulation.
Writing and Editorial Background

• Writing: Professional writer for one year working for various online publications and collaborative blogs. Personal blogger.
  
• Editing: Editor of various corporate and business materials. Experienced in copy editing, content editing, and proofreading.
  
• Internet, HTML, and Desktop Publishing: Webmaster for http://laurenacarlton.com.
  
  
  

Employment History

Freelance Writer - March 2009 to present
Little Elm, TX 

I have a column on the Plano Examiner site where I write articles related to Twitter and social media. I have contributed on collaborative blogs such as Silicon Valley Moms (on their sub-blog Deep South Moms) and Room 704. I am currently working on launching a mixed-topics collaborative blog in 2011. I have also written content for my personal blog as a paid affiliate for various companies.

Seasonal Sales Associate - November 2010-January 2011 Old Navy McKinney, TX As a sales associate I utilized a point-of-sale system to ring up customer's purchases as well as stocking inventory and maintaining organization in the store.

Center Manager - April 2004-May 2009
FedEx Office
McKinney, TX 

I began as a customer service associate and was promoted to center manager of a new location in McKinney. As a manager I was responsible for creating marketing strategies and sales pitches for my center in order to reach sales goals. I worked extensively on budgets and maintaining fiscal processes. In addition to the back office duties I assisted customers in creating resumes and other printing projects by using Microsoft Office and Adobe Creative Suite programs.

Sales Associate - August 2003-January 2004
Michael's
Mesquite, TX 

As a sales associate I utilized a point-of-sale system to ring up customer's purchases as well as stocking inventory and maintaining organization in the store.

 

Cook - March 2003-August 2003 Six Flags Over Texas Arlington, TX In this position I worked as various food stands at the amusement park and was a leader responsible for ensuring that all procedures were followed in regards to preparation and cleanliness.

Education
Currently enrolled, Collin College, 2008-present - English major
Graduate, Creekview High School, 2001

Don't get me wrong, ladies (and Dad). I LOVE Sex and the City. I thought that the series was fun and entertaining and the first movie is my go-to film to watch when I'm feeling sick and blah (what's your sick day movie of choice? Nevermind. I don't actually care.).

WITH THAT SAID, I think that one movie was enough. It was a nice end to the series for the fans that wanted a little more of the four classy but mostly slutty New Yorkers. We needed to see Carrie and Big (whose name turned out to be JOHN. WTF, dude. All of that wait for JOHN?) get married. Other than that it was all good ol' fluffy flufferson that only SATC can deliver.

I love their styling. It makes me want to take chances with my look (but only at home in front of the mirror while I play dress up in my closet. Not in the real world.). I love the scenery - I've never been to NYC but it looks like an amazing place to visit. The storylines are a little watery but whatever. I always thought that Carrie was such a selfish bitch and that someone should have shoved her down a manhole.

So whatever. I'm totally going to see the second movie but from the looks of the trailer I can't fucking figure out if there's an actual story or just shot after shot of their clothes and cocktails.



So there you have it. Wanna go with me? We can wear uncomfortable shoes and drink. And look, the adult tutu is making a comeback!!

Um, how cute is that? Seriously.

I am not a "big name blogger" with a million followers on Twitter and thousands of hits every day on my blog. I write to keep the crazy in check and while I love getting feedback it isn't why I blog. I don't blog to get free stuff or stuff in exchange for blogging. I don't blog to stir up shit (but sometimes it happens anyway) or to talk shit about companies or individuals. However, I did it yesterday....

Ahem.

I've got a complaint.

And yes, it's with YOU, Medco.

I never intended on using my blog to get stuff or put companies on blast. But this is unacceptable. I am livid.

I am out of my sweet Zoloft. Actually, for the sake of accuracy, it's Sertraline which is a generic form of Zoloft. It's fabulous. It keeps the crazy in check. IT IS IMPORTANT.

And I ran out. Oops. My doctor gave me a 'script for three refills and I finished it. I received a letter from Medco stating that since this is a long term prescription that I will be switching to mail order refills that will automatically be delivered to my house. Sweet! Now I don't have to go into the pharmacy with all of the sick people! Oh, the germs!

The letter instructed me to get a two week 'script from my doctor "while [I] wait for [my] mail-order prescription to arrive." Makes sense. I can do that. I called up my doctor and explained the situation to her and she had it all set up for me. Fantastic! She had a nurse call in my prescription to the "retail pharmacy" and set up my mail order with Medco. Awesome. I didn't have to do anything. Love it.

I go to my retail pharmacy which happens to be Walgreens to pick it up and the pharm tech tells me that my insurance won't cover this refill.

WTF???!?

I get on the phone with Medco and the call center drone puts me on hold for no less than 15 minutes just to come back and tell me that they have sent me two letters and even did a courtesy phone call to remind me to get my mail order refills set up in order to avoid a lapse in my medication.

GOOD! GREAT! THANKS! APPRECIATE YA!

(STAB STAB STAB)

I didn't have the mail piece in my hand that instructs me to get a two week supply but I did tell him ninety-eleven times about it. You know, that mail piece that YOUR COMPANY sent to me? You DO work for Medco right? This isn't some third party call center horseshit that doesn't understand how these sort of things work? You seem to speak proper English and yet you don't seem to understand a single fucking word that I'm saying.

There was nothing they could do. According to Matt. Or whatever the fuck is unhelpful ass is named. I told him that this prescription is for an SSRI and it is imperative that I not have a lapse of more than a few days because things will get ugly and that there MUST be something that can be done.

He then told me that I could pay full price for the prescription.

I chuckled. AND THEN SLAMMED MY PHONE ONTO THE COUNTER AND SCREAMED "NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.........

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Actually I did kinda laugh and then while biting my liberal tongue I told him that I pay for health insurance and that I've handed over enough money and that Medco should take care of the rest. I would pay my copay but that's it.

Apparently the stellar logic of I GIVE YOU MONEY SO YOU CAN COVER THE EXPENSES THAT I INCUR WHEN I AM SICK OR CRAZY was lost on him.

The pharmacist gave me two little green pills of my sweet Sertraline to get me through the night and to keep me from killing anyone. I thanked her and told her that my husband will appreciate her giving me medication to keep me from being a total asshole to him.

I am amazed that my insurance company would not cover the cost of my medication. Have you ever taken an SSRI? Have you ever STOPPED taking it? Well, you can't just quit it cold turkey. Not only that but people usually take SSRI's for a reason. What if this was my diabetes medicine or an anti-coagulant or blood pressure medicine? What if I had cancer or HIV? Would Medco tell me to pay out of pocket and refuse to cover a measly fourteen day prescription? Why are mental illnesses not regarded as legitimate illnesses?

I am pissed off about this for a few reasons: 1. Medco does not take my need for medication seriously and is basically telling me that my illness is not as important or serious as someone else's; 2. Medco receives a hefty amount of money from my family each month for our health insurance and they are now being stingy with it; 3. The call center guy basically told me that I was shit out of luck and that I should have heeded their messages to get this taken care of even though it clearly states in the letter that I should get a two week supply in the interim.

So thank you, Medco. While everyone else is going to bed on Christmas eve and snuggling and dreaming of the wonderful holiday, I won't be. I'll be having an anxiety attack. I'll be wide awake because I'll be afraid that someone will try to break into our house or that the baby will asphyxiate. So yeah. Thanks for that.

The above is Peanut's very first Christmas ornament. I found the clay (or whatever it is, plaster probably) Converse-style shoe at Hobby Lobby and painted it. It was originally off-white with red trim. Totally fugly. So I painted it because I'm frickin' awesome at crafts.

It might a unique baby's first Christmas ornament but let's face it - all of the cutesie ones are kinda stupid looking. I didn't want to get her a pacifier or bottle ornament because she doesn't use either of those (and they don't sell giant veiny tit ornaments at Hobby Lobby). The 'baby in a manger' ones are way too religious for my liking and the teddy bears are too generic and obvious.

ANYWAY. I am trying to like Christmas for Peanut's sake. I want to get excited. I really do.

But then I remember that she's a baby and has NO IDEA what Christmas is so I think that I get a free pass to be ornery for another year.


BLAH BLAH BLAH DISCLOSURE: Hobby Lobby didn't pay me to mention them on my blog. They SHOULD pay me because I go to their store like every other fucking day. Maybe I should get a job there. I'd always have Sundays off. But then I'd have to sell giant metal crosses and scrapbook supplies and silk flowers to old people. Nevermind.

Since I didn't vaginally deliver Peanut and I didn't see her being pulled from the incision in my belly it is likely that she isn't MY child. I mean, hospitals mix up kids all the time, right?

She can't be mine for one obvious reason - she is SKINNY.

At her nine month well visit today she weighed in at fourteen pounds twelve ounces which means that since I last weighed her over a month ago she has gained less than one pound. She usually gains AT LEAST a pound so this is a little abby normal for my girl. Her pediatrician reassured me that once a baby becomes more mobile (and she totally is) the weight tends to pack on a little more slowly than when the baby was just a cooing drooling pooping vegetable (my words, not hers).

Good to know. She is now in the third percentile which is three percent from falling off of the chart altogether.

MY CHILD IS THINNER THAN NINETY-SEVEN PERCENT OF BABIES HER AGE?

Seriously, whose kid is this?

She's tall and thin. WTF dude?!?!

I just don't know who I need to contact in order to clear up this mistake. I mean, I'll still keep her since I have grown attached to the little booger but I would like to verify that I did in fact give birth to an overweight baby and not a lean mean drooling machine.

She has to go back in about a month for a weight check. I made her pediatrician promise me that she wasn't going to call Child Protective Services on me for having a skinny child. I SWEAR she eats ALL THE FUCKING TIME! I nurse her constantly! She eats carbs! Her favorite food is bread for crying out loud!

Maybe she'll end up packing on the pounds during her most critical and terrifying years; her teens.

Did you know that Jehovahs Witnesses don't celebrate Christmas or any holiday for that matter?

Why the hell not? Because a lot of Christmas traditions have Pagan origins.

#justsayin.

I envy those damn JW's because I do NOT like Christmas. Seriously. I want to stab it in the face until it is dead.

I figure that this year will be different since I now have a child and well, isn't Christmas all about the kiddies? However, Peanut doesn't get Christmas. I decided that even though we still haven't unpacked most of our boxes that we should clutter up our living room even more by putting up the Christmas tree. While I strategically placed the silver balls (teehee. BALLS) and icicles on our six footer Peanut crawled around under the tree and whined because I was doing something other than holding her.

OH! The Horror!

My child is incredibly spoiled and will definitely get more gifts than she needs this year and probably every year of her childhood. The problem with this spoilery is that she won't fully appreciate what a lucky little girl she is until she's older and by then she'll be a self-entitled little brat.

I really want to like Christmas. Maybe this year will be different.

I'll just fake it for Peanut's sake. After all, I don't want to look like I'm suicidal in the pictures.

Ah, the good ol' holiday party. My mom and step dad built their house the way they did for the sole purpose of entertaining. It has like nineteen living rooms and an open floorplan that screams THROW A PARTY IN ME!

ANYWAY. Tonight was their annual holiday party and it was full of the usual goodies and the usual people. I stuffed my face with cream puffs while trying to remember people's names. Sure, you came to my wedding, but who are you again?

Here's a helpful tip if you are attending a party with a lot of Persians: when in doubt, just call him Muhammad and you will be right 98% of the time. You're welcome.

FAIL. I am not photogenic these days. Or maybe my face really does look like that. Either way, my aunt probably snapped some cute shots but I doubt I'll ever see them. My sister took some photos of us with my camera but the lighting in the house was such that the photos came out looking blurry.

So whatever. It was a nice time but we kept the baby out way too late and she was a nightmare all the way home. Lucky for us she fell asleep as soon as I laid her down. Keeping a baby up late only a week after establishing a new earlier bedtime is kind of stupid and I plan on not doing it again any time soon.

So, for the oil that should have only lasted one day (HELLO EVOO!) and for God's chosen people, Happy Hanukkah. Or Chanukah.

Neil Diamond is Jewish. This gives your religion a hell of a lot of cred in my book. *fist bump*

**EDIT!** I am not Jewish. But I love Jews.

I take pride in what I put on my body. I make the effort to look nice everyday even if I don't plan on leaving the house (hello, I have to look faboosh when I check the mail!). That's just HOW I ROLL.

You will never see me at the local Walmart in pajama pants. Not even yoga pants. I wear real mother fucking pants with a button and a zipper out in public. You will also NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER see me wearing my UGGS (why do I even own a pair?) around town. I just won't do it. I don't even like wearing flip flops except at the pool.

I love shoes. Like, I LOVE them.

I love feet (and not just my feet. Yours too. And no I don't have a foot fetish. Okay, maybe a little one). My toenails are always painted and I rock at least one toe ring at all times. I wear cute socks or stockings. And, I own a lot of shoes. Maybe not as much as some people but I can't deal with my husband bitching at me for buying ANOTHER FUCKING PAIR OF SHOES! DON'T YOU HAVE SOME JUST LIKE THAT?

He doesn't get it. These, these have the strappy thing, these are peep toe, these have a higher heel. Yes, they're all black leather. Yes, to a layman they all look the same. But let me assure you they are NOT the same. And NO I will not be donating any of them to the Salvation Army anytime soon.

So while you complain, my dear husband, that you don't have much space in OUR closet for YOUR stuff, I want you to know that I have donated like a gazillion pairs of shoes and entire wardrobes' worth of clothes since we starting sharing a living space.

So let me keep my pointy heels, my fuck-me boots, my lime green patent leather stillettos (and my blue ones, red ones, yellow ones, and of course, black ones). They all mean something to me.

Remember which ones I wore on your birthday last year when we went to Mr. Sushi to celebrate and then later conceived our daughter? I do. The black peep toes with the bow and poppy flower print.

Was that TMI? Whatevs.

Jacob, I love my shoes. Don't make me choose between you and them. Because I can't wear you out to dinner with dark jeans and a blazer. #justsayin

Every parent does things differently when raising his or her children. While I am not a fan of labels I do tend to fall into the attachment parenting bucket more often than not. I breastfeed, baby wear, make Peanut's baby food from scratch, and co-sleep. I never thought that I would co-sleep. I didn't want my child to still crawl into bed with my husband and me at the age of sixteen. We need our own space EVENTUALLY. My entire life is baby-fied including my marital bed.

NOT COOL, PEANUT. Children are the ultimate cockblockers.

So for the past eight-ish months I have been snuggling with my little bundle of spit and poop while getting very little sleep. She would wake about once an hour to comfort nurse. It was convenient for her to fuss just enough to wake me up so I could whip out my breast for her.

She is a smooth operator.

She wasn't hungry. There was no fucking way that she needed to eat that much.

NO. FUCKING. WAY.

I don't mind nursing her to sleep but I do mind her resisting until one in the morning. Babies need more sleep at night than what she was getting.

I swear I didn't want to do it but I was losing my mind. I was not getting any sleep and I doubt she was feeling well-rested either. We needed to have some time apart. I needed my nights back. I needed ME time without a baby attached to me.

So I let her cry it out.

If I had tried it a month ago I would have felt like the worst mother in the universe. I was certain that there were things I hadn't tried, methods that were still to be tested, the right lullaby, the right book, the right pajamas, the right room temperature.

I read the No-Cry Sleep Solution*. I tried the tips in the book. Elizabeth Pantley** gave me hope that good sleeping habits could be learned.

And guess what? NOT MY BABY.

Something tells me that I'm part of the majority on this one.

If I have ever made you feel bad about using the cry it out "method" with your child then I am sorry. A thousand times over I'm sorry.

SO VERY SORRY.

Get it? I'm apologizing.

It is hard to hear her cry. Luckily she falls asleep within thirty minutes so I don't have to endure it for too long. When I go in to check on her she is sleeping on her stomach as if she fell asleep while sitting up and then just fell forward. It's heartbreaking.

Well, not really.

She sleeps soundly and peacefully, get this...

ALL NIGHT LONG.

She usually goes down around nine and wakes up around nine the next morning.

She is a fucking rock star. The reigning queen of dream land.

And now I can get some sleep too. Or have sex with my husband. But probably mostly sleep.



*FTC disclosure: I did not get paid a damn thing for mentioning this book. Not only that but I even bought the book with my own money! In a real brick and mortar bookstore!

**Pantley is the author of the above-mentioned book. I have never met her nor have I corresponded with her in any way. We aren't friends. Just so you know.

On Wednesday we closed on the house!

(and the peasants rejoiced, yay!)

Apparently there was a lot of cubicle battles regarding our file. Our underwriter is in California, his/her boss is in another state and we're in Texas as is our house. Our loan was not assigned to an underwriter specializing in USDA loans which have their own timeline. NOT OURS! We got assigned to some asshat who took his sweet time. He demonstrated absolutely NO sense of urgency in the matter. HELLO! WE ARE RUNNING OUT OF TIME!

Once a 'rush' was put on the loan our fucking underwriter had to obtain signatures from his superior who was in another state.

Seriously, does it have to be this hard?

Fortunately we were not responsible for paying any of the interest for December and some additional costs were covered on our behalf as well for our trouble.

So after four months we are finally in our house! It rocks and already feels like home.

Now we can establish new habits that will make our lives better.

LIFE IS GOOD. Just so you know.

GUESS WHAT FOLKS?!

I am a fucking sheep. Baaaaaah.

Also? I will do whatever Aunt Becky asks of me. She offering up something or another on her blog as a prize if we fill out this questionaire thing but the truth is that I just love her so stinkin' much that if she asked me to publish a photo of my ass hole on my blog I'd do it.

So here's some effing questions and my effing answers.

1) Do you like sprinkles on your ice cream?
YES. Big fat chocolate ones.

2) If you had to choose one word to banish from the English language, what would it be and why?
"Tender."

3) If you were a flavor, what would it be?
Something savory. Like pepper bacon.

4) What’s the most pointless annoying chore you can think of that you do on a daily/weekly basis?
Fucking laundry. FUCKITY FUCK FUCK.

5) Of all the nicknames I’ve ever had in my life, Aunt Becky is the most widely known and probably my favorite. What’s your favorite nickname? (for yourself)
Lolly. It's what most of my family members call me.

6) You’re stuck on a desert island with the collective works of 5 (and only five) musical artists for the rest of your life. Who are they?
Metallica, Deftones, Black Sabbath, Opeth, Tool.

7) Everything is better with bacon. True or false?
YES.

8 ) If I could go back in time and tell Young Aunt Becky one thing, it would be that out of chaos, order will emerge. Also: tutus go with everything. What would you tell young self?
It doesn't matter what others think of you, only what YOU think of you.

Head on over to Mommy Wants Vodka to participate!

So I had this idea.

Actually, I totally stole it from Allie and Tia. If When I succeed I give you ladies all the credit. Okay, I should get some of the credit too for doing the work. Whatevs.

ANY-FUCKING-WAY. I want to start running. And not just from bears. Or rabid dogs. Or bill collectors.

I have done some reading and it looks like running is an excellent way to get in shape and feel awesome. Jacob and I are overweight. This is no surprise. We are also unhealthy. Again, not a shocker. We need to get fit and healthy and I think that having a great place to run like our new neighborhood will be a good start for us. We can put the baby in the stroller and get running! I found a site that has created a 'couch to 5k' program with a week-by-week schedule that we will use to get us into shape.

However, all of the planning in the world won't do a damn thing if we don't get off our asses and get out the door.

While I might be totally motivated to make this change I can't force Jacob to do it. I mean, I COULD, but I want him to want to do it too. I think he's ready for a change.

He is using the house as a catalyst for big changes in our lives. We'll be home owners in a good neighborhood so we can safely go for walks and eat healthier (why owning a home changes our eating habits I don't know) and BE happier.

Okay, I can get on board with this logic. It's a new start. A perfect time to make some changes.

So let's do it.

I will probably create a new blog just for keeping track of our running once we get up and running (YES! A MOTHER FUCKING PUN!).

First things first! If you are a runner or have excellent exercise habits feel free to answer the following:

1. Do you wear actual running shoes or just athletic shoes?
2. Is there a particular brand that is better to go with for beginners?
3. Do you have a favorite running website you'd like to recommend?
4. What do you eat or drink before running?
5. Is it better to run in the morning or at night?
6. How do you strap down the girls if you are large chested?

Buying a house is a TOTAL pain in the ass.

We purchased a home from a builder so we didn't have to deal with individual contractors. This is the way to go if you want to build a house and don't want to deal with the minutiae of every detail involved in the construction process.

We signed our contract and paid our earnest on July 31st. We broke ground and had a slab in less than a month and then four days later the frame was completed. Then, our closing date was pushed up from the 30th of November to the 25th! However, that soon changed BACK to the 30th. MAYBE. We aren't finished packing yet and our newest closing date is still up in the air.

Right now it is 1:30am on Monday, November 30th. We are either closing on the house in 12 hours or we aren't. Unfortch we won't know until the USDA decides this morning or whenever they get off their fat slow-moving government asses and do their jobs.

Seriously, federal government, you knew about this tax credit deadline (which has been extended just FYI) and yet you didn't staff accordingly to ensure that loans were still handled in a timely manner? Or does the fucking federal government (I can feel their satellites shifting to target my apartment - HAHA suckers I have the blinds closed!) always take their sweet time and don't give a shit about the people that are receiving the loan?

I'm sorry, FED, but when it's all said and done my husband and I will have paid you A LOT of money. We are your customers. We are not being treated right. And the bank who we are getting the loan through has provided us with the worst loan officer in the history of home ownership. He was even recommended by the builder! Believe you me, once all of this is completed and we have signed our names forty gazillion times and our furniture is all moved in and the house is OURS we will be writing some letters. Things have not been handled professionally. We have received emails from our loan officer that are downright embarrassing. As in, I can't believe he is actually saying things like, "we've been victimized" and calling it "drama." OMFG are you serious? Someone get this guy a TEMPLATE! Do NOT under ANY circumstances let him free-write an email EVER again! In his attempts to empathize he came across as unprofessional and immature and we have little confidence in him. I'm not going to enjoy meeting him later today if we do in fact get to close on the house today.

Sometimes I feel like we'll never be home owners. That the house will just sit there, beautiful and unoccupied. We'll visit every Saturday like always, taking off our shoes as we walk into the foyer, opening and closing doors, flipping light switches, laying on the soft carpet. It's OURS but it isn't.

The cliche so close yet so far has never been more appropriate.