Late-night 7-11 Brain

It always seems to be getting towards midnight on Saturday night when my brain starts really going at full speed. Right now the inside of my head sounds like what happened when I sanded the basement door with my Dremel tool--a high-pitched, growling metallic buzzsaw whine. There are so damn many things I want, so damn many things I want to DO, and there are so many of them that I'm totally at a loss as to how to organize them in my mind, even to the point where I could name them all, much less to begin to plan on how they might be accomplished. I need longer days, less work, less commute time, SOMETHING; more friends, more co-conspirators. Is it redundant here to say I miss JP?



First, I guess, before I go on to try to enumerate my incredible litany of things that would make me who I really am--because I'm NOT myself, haven't been in years--but before I try to make sense of the cacaphony in my head, I suppose I should bring the story up to date.



Around Thanksgiving, I called for an estimate on the roof. It took a while but finally I got the estimate: $7200 for a whole new roof, down to the rafters, and some of those might need to be replaced as well. I flipped--the fucking roof was CERTIFIED, goddamn it--and so I called Denise and Gail to find out what the hell I could do. Denise faxed me the roofing cert--which was really only a single sheet of paper, much to my surprise. I called the company--which, and I hate to say this because the guy turned out to be so nice, I thought just HAD to be a two-bit outfit (Denise said "New Phase Construction" and I thought "Hmmm--kinda strange name" which was an understatement, because it turned out to be "Nu Faze". I wish someone would tell business owners how utterly cheesy it is to spell their business name in some cutesy phonetic way....)



My original thought was that the roofer was some buddy of Slaughter's, or that they weren't licensed, or whatever. I was ready to put it on the roofer, in other words; what he told me, though, was even better (from my standpoint).



He had no record of examining my property.

He had no memory of examining my property.

He had no memory of being hired to examine my property. (He did know Slaughter's name, but not in connection with THIS property.)

He asked me to fax him the certification, which I did; his first statement was "That date has been changed". He also said that he ALWAYS annotates his inspections in the "comments" section, and this one was blank; and THEN he said "...and that's not my signature, either."



"I've caught sellers using my forms..." he said, at one point. Turns out it's pretty sure that Slaughter forged the FHA certification. That was when I decided to file my complaint with OBRE. It turned out to be a ten-page letter, plus at least another 10 pages of documentation; it's currently under investigation. I've also contacted a lawyer, because the OBRE said they can't help me recover any money--typical!



It's late right now, and I have things to finish; I've got so much more to say, though, and this is so clear an illustration of the problem--not enough hours in the day, even on the weekends....

New Years' + 6 resolution...

...To attend to my blog weekly at the VERY least.



It's not that I have nothing to say. God, no. If I ever found myself with NOTHING to say, I'd be personally terrified. It's just not having the time to say any of it. Like now--it's time to go home. And damn, that is SO where I'm going!! This place makes me nuts. (Clarification: I'm at work. No, really? Duh.)



More soon.