And Then There's This

As the house becomes my tomb.

The buyer made an original offer of $289,000. Inspector came by last Thursday, and a contractor came by on Friday to work up an estimate of repair costs for the buyer.

On Tuesday, our realtor informed us that the buyer decided she would go no higher than $200,000.

An $89,000 drop. Are you fucking kidding me? What an asshole.

If she dropped her offer by $19.99 I could respect her. I'd even go for $50. But $89K? Seriously, I expected her to drop her offer when the results came in on this rattrap, and I was willing to kick in 9 grand. Give me a fucking break. The woman flew in from California to fuck us. She must be really lonely.

Our realtor essentially told her to go fuck herself. So the deal is dead. And now we are waiting for spring to roll around. When the housing market will have collapsed and mortgage interest rates are at 23%.

I prayed to my father's corpse and begged him to bequeath me his handyman skills. You know, so I can work on the house, improve it superficially, enough to make it attractive to some unsuspecting rube.

Know what Dad said?

"Fuck you, loser. You couldn't handle a hammer when I was alive and you definitely cannot handle one now. You are a wimp, a wuss, a pantywaist and a Caspar Milquetoast. Just keep reading your poetry and whining in your blog until your fucking house falls down on your head and entombs you. It's what you deserve, you pointy-headed fuckwad."

I fear I left a bad impression on Dear Old Dad.

Fuck him.

And fuck the bad juju this fucking rattrap is killing me with.