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My Hero, My Fireplug

JoeGraffitiSo the Manly Fireplug and I bought a house.

I should say he bought the house, since the sale of his last one gave us the down payment for this one. But my name’s written next to his name on several thousand pieces of paper by now, I’ll be paying half the mortgage, and I must have earned at least a tiny amount of credit by simply enduring escrow.

Weird how fast life changes. Two months ago we were planning our honeymoon (now postponed.) Back then I had no idea what “4 percent and no points” meant. I still don’t. But I know it makes some people jealous.

Due to recent events at the barbershop, I’m reluctant to post photos or give too many details of the house. Most of my anger at the arsonist has faded, as I figured it would, and I feel fairly confident, or as confident as one can feel about this kind of thing, that it was just some random pyro.

But I can’t be rational about the welfare of our dogs.

So I’ll say this much. It’s in a far-flung corner of the city, with nice big rooms, hardwood floors that are getting refinished right this moment, two skylights, and a great backyard for the dogs. From back there you can see a slice of the bay and the glimmering lights of Oakland. Every time I stand out there my head gets quiet and I feel like life is gonna be ok.

Thanks to our realtor Matt Fuller, who every day for the past two months went above and beyond. He was one of maybe two grown-ups we encountered during this whole process. I started referring to one mortage lady as “Trainwreck Pennie,” but that was weeks ago – she was nothing compared to the bumbling, inept, and juvenile band of incompetents who barely avoided derailing our “dream.” (I’m looking at you, Prominent Escrow Company.)  Reading Matt’s emails to them – as their series of mistakes delayed our closing from one day to seven – was a personal highlight. He steered us safely to the other side, always with a sense of humor. Thanks, dude.

The real hero of this story though is my husband. Seriously, I’m biased, but he managed to get through the sale of his last house, applications with two separate mortgage companies, an arson at his business, fire insurance paperwork, finding a temporary chair during shop repairs, tax season, multiple contractor appointments, and the Escrow Week from Hell with the sort of fortitude I hope to one day emulate.

Now, who wants to help us pack?

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