Saturday, February 17, 2018

Dave's Not Here, Man

I have glossed over the raw nerves and sheer anxiety dealing with getting a very large sum of cash wired from our broker to our Costa Rican bank account to go to closing on our new house next week. This week has been me on the edge of frayed nerves, trudging back and forth between banker, real estate agent, house inspector, lawyer, baker, candlestick maker.

There's been some nerve related petty squabbling between Jim and I, at least that one evening when the agent told me (rather untruthful) that Jim had ignored getting things done, throwing me into a panic of trying to accomplish this pile of tasks. Jim showed me the email trail and Jim was right, the agent is a lying asshole whom I almost believed.

Like I said, nerves on edge, providing more and more documents to the bank to justify bringing Scrooge McDuck's bounty into the country for a house and assorted investments. Just when you think things are resolved there is another document requested. I think we've finished now and we're just waiting for the money being released into our bank account for closing.

I keep going out to the pool to swim but the landlord's wife keeps coming out to try and question me on our plans. I keep asking her when she's going to have the electrical problems, dryer and now the dishwasher fixed. Nothing is fixed, yet they are pushing hard to put a new tenant in here. Looks like we're going to have less than a  day to move and clean this place out. Not looking forward to it.

The online argument yesterday was good because it seriously distracted me from the week of stress and flu recovery. I ran into the guy who'd viewed our rental a few days ago that I was somewhat less than welcoming to, explaining to him what the deal was in detail about the electrical problems with the house. He's an engineer that speaks a pile of foreign languages. I ended up dog-sitting for his puppy so he could slip into the bank and Jim's made a friend that he can speak Russian and German with. I felt bad for how bitchy my barfing sick self that been when the landlord and he just unlocked the door and moseyed on in.

Today started off well. I had finally started to feel better, even if I somehow managed to do something to my hip. We got up and went down to the local farmer's market to get locally grown fresh bacon, fruit and vegetables, some CBD oil, bread and bagels. We walked around in the sunshine a long time, deciding to take stroll on the beach.

Before we could do that we ran into Dave. Dave is a guy here that takes surf photos, some for magazines, some for the tourists. Dave's an interesting dude, 70 years old who has lived just about everywhere and done a huge variety of things for a living. The only problem with Dave is if you get sucked into his orbit it takes an hour or better to get away from his conspiracy theories and many loves of Dave. In December he was telling us he wanted to move in with a woman we all knew named Maggy and start a family. Now it's a lady he's known and loved for years from Venezuela. Who knows who it will be next.

It did take us a solid hour or better. I almost had a sunburn, something that so rarely happens to me. But things went a little haywire when we got home. The front door was wide open, and multiple cars were in our front yard. Yes, yet again the house was being shown without telling us anything at all in advance.

I am almost ashamed to admit it, but I went off on the rental agent, letting them  know it was extremely uncool to show the place with zero notice. When I get notice I generally make sure the place is very clean and make myself very scarce while they show the house. Today I'd walked out with breakfast dishes in the sink, an unmade bed, my business AmEx sitting out with my personal credit card on the desk top next to my computer and a diamond and sapphire necklace on the dresser. Things I would never have left sitting out if I had any clue someone was visiting. Too many little thieves in this community.

Ignored the young mom, dad, toddler son and infant and pretty much told off their realtor about showing them a house with screwed up electrical system and all the other things the landlords will not fix. Jim told me later he was very surprised for how I jumped all over the guy. I'm pretty furious that the landlords aren't fixing a thing and showing the place willynilly so the next family will have the same problems. Yeah, I know, it's not my problem since I'm leaving, but it's still pretty scummy. I'm seeing the faked photos with the fancy furniture all over the real estate lists here online like a bad rash, and having to field questions from people looking about why the joint looks nothing like the photos.

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