Enough Already!

Liar Liar Pants on Fire!

I arrived home Friday, November 12, around 8:30 and was home by 9:00.  My husband was already back from Cinci. I spent a relatively pleasant weekend with my husband and the in-laws.  I had every intention of going in on Sunday to work on my upcoming Tuesday-Wednesday closing, and though the spirit was willing, the body just couldn’t pull it off. 

I went to bed at 5:00 pm on Sunday.  I went to work at 8:30 am (early for me) and got down to business.  This would not be as messy as the last, I told myself and methodically set about doing my final review and making note of items that needed to be addressed.  “I’ll be out of here by 6:00” I cursed myself. 

At 5:30 pm, I got an alarming call from Mr. Big Shot.  According to him, the loan documents were all screwed up.  Now, this was Phase 2 of this development.  This was supposed to be essentially a re-do of Phase 1 with a few permutations.  The loan documents from Phase 1 (which the Partner-in-Charge closed) were compared to the loan documents for Phase 2 for our review purposes.  The only things that were to be changed were specific deal points unique to Phase 2. 

According to Mr. Big Shot, the deal was supposed to have certain residual spits upon sale of the Project. “Hmmmmm” I thought to myself.  I looked at the deal memo that his people circulated, the SAME deal memo that lender’s counsel was using to draft the documents, and the SAME deal memo that I was relying on to review the documents.  No such terms were in the latest and greatest deal memo that I had, nor was any residual split deal term in the Phase 1 deal. 

So I replied by saying “Well, if its wrong in this deal then its wrong in Phase 1 too” just to let him know that he (and the Partner-in-Charge) had missed it in Phase 1 and it was not just a screw up on my part.  “Great!” he responded.  I also told Mr. Big Shot that those particular terms were not in his deal memo and that half the time the deal memo I’m working off of is inaccurate. 

After he reviewed the deal memo, he called the Partner-in-Charge and confessed that the way the deal terms were expressed in the deal memo was “in-eloquent”.  In-eloquent?!!!!! Try “inaccurate” “incorrect” “wrong” “fucked up”.  Actually, the deal memo was not inaccurate, incorrect, wrong or fucked up.  It was the deal that they had with the Housing Authority; it just wasn't the deal he wanted.  So fuck him, I concluded, let him re-negotiate his deal tomorrow and I left to pack up for closing.   

The point of this rant is that these fuckers make it up as they go along.  “I always get this, I always get that” in every deal they claim.  Bull Shit!  But of course, this ended up being my fault.  Guess how?  The Partner-in-Charge told me that if I didn’t see that particular type of term in their deal memo, I should have raised the issue with them.  Right.  I’m supposed to intuit the deal they negotiated with someone else when I wasn’t even involved in the negotiation.  P’LEASEEEE!

And after all of that shit, I arrived home at 8:00 pm with Harvey staring out at me with the storm door open.  As I was walking up the driveway, out comes my new kitten Fat Tony.  I yelled at Harvey “Get him!”  To which he responded “I can’t go back there”.  Fat Tony had headed for the bushes behind the garbage can.  To which  I replied “G-DDAMMIT HARVEY I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU LET THE CAT OUT!!!), while I entertained visions of me searching in the dark all night looking for this adventurous kitten b/c I couldn’t leave my new kittens in the charge of this idiot who would not even help me look for him.  But, I got lucky, Fat Tony changed course and headed the other direction and I snagged him. 

Oy Vey!  Enough of the Bull Shit that is my life Already!

Lox and Bagels anyone?

We wrestled with the unresolved issues the next day until 7:00 pm.  We resolved them with band-aid “letter agreements” that had yet to be executed.  We went to our “almost closed” victory dinner. 

I got up the next morning and ordered myself lox and bagels and a large pitcher of iced tea from room service.  Around 8:15 am, in my pajamas having my breakfast, I called investor’s counsel to find out if all was well and we were closed.  NO! we were not!!!!! In fact, she asked me what I was doing lounging around in my pajamas while there was still work to be done.  We had to get those side letters executed or the investor’s signature (and authorization to record mortgages, etc…) would not be forthcoming.

I started calling around frantically on my cell phone and all I could get was voice mail.  Meanwhile, the Project Manager was out humping her ass off to get those signatures.  I had a plane to catch at 1:00 pm.  Little I could do at this point.  I sent up a prayer, got dressed, packed and headed for the airport.  By the time I got there, investor’s counsel called me and told me the Project Manager got the signatures that we needed and we were closed.  When I asked her how she got the letters signed, she responded by saying “by pulling teeth”.  All I can say is that she must be one hell of a Dentist.      

The Westin - or the Omega Man revisited

I finally hooked up with Mr. Big Shot, his wife, and Mr. Wannebe Newbe (new guy to the development firm).  (Mr. Big Shot’s wife turned out to be a total and complete sweetie.)  After we got our luggage, we went to get a cab and it was pissing and raining.  In the cab on the way to the hotel, Mr. Big Shot’s wife told me how lucky she was and that the weather would clear up.  She was so naïve; she underestimated how unlucky I was.  It rained the entire time we were there until I left on Friday; then it cleared up. 

When we got to the closing, it had already commenced, the California based people having already arrived and commenced negotiating the difficult, unresolved issues.

I had the firm’s laptop with me and was told that I could get the IT people at Nixon Peabody to hook me up to their Internet system and get e-mail, etc…   I found out that Nixon Peabody has very tight security and will not allow any unauthorized person to hook into their network.  In fact, you have to have a security code to go to their ladies room.  There was no phone line to connect into to get into our system, so this laptop was just a fashionable accessory at that point. 

We worked until 7:00 pm PST that night and then I was forced to go to dinner with these people when all I wanted to do was go to bed.  After dinner, we checked into the Westin Hotel.  I’ve been to the bar at the Westin in San Francisco but never stayed there so I was excited.  However, the personnel at the hotel were on strike/locked out and they were picketing so we had to cross the picket line to get into the hotel.  The picketers also had a bull horn that they were using to shout things like “Check out!”

Now I thought that the Westin in San Francisco would be spectacular.  And I’m sure it is unless you are booked into the cheap, un-rehabbed “seats” as I and Mr. Wannabe Newbe and the Project Manager were.  Mr. Big Shot and his sweetie wife were booked into the new part of the hotel.  Understandably.  I was surprised they would book me into the Westin at all quite frankly. 

The disappointment was that they hotel was so beautiful; you could drive a semi tractor-trailer through the halls, but my hotel room was no bigger than the size of my bedroom at home (my home is a 1500 square foot ranch).  The bathroom was even smaller than the one I have at home.  I forgot to bring the conditioner with me into the bath tub, but it was not a problem.  The vanity was only inches away from the tub so I just reached over and snagged it.  And while the room was ornately decorated, somehow the cracks in the ceiling detracted from the ambiance. 

As did the sounds of the picketers from below with their bullhorn.  B/c I was on the 6^th floor in the “cheap seats”, I could hear them shouting up toward my room.  I felt sort of like Charlton Heston in the movie the Omega Man where a virus had converted most of the world’s population into photophobic zombie like creatures that came out only at night and yelled nasty things up at Charlton Heston in his luxury apartment in LA b/c he wasn’t one of “them”.      

Since I was wound up from the day, I called room service and ordered a ½ bottle of wine.  It was $25 + 3.50 delivery charge + 20% gratuity = $36.08.  I paid cash b/c the client was paying for the room and I didn’t want them to think they had a wino for an attorney.

I was required to go to breakfast with these people at 8:00 am the next morning.  Mind you, I’d lost my 2-hour central standard time advantage b/c they had kept me up until 1:00 am CST (note studies show that  business travelers lose 8 hours sleep and consume 30% more alcohol on a 3 day business trip).  I rallied and met them. 

There was a buffet breakfast or you could order off the menu.  The Project Manger and I opted to order off the menu.  That was a strategical error in a hotel in which its regular staff has been “locked out”.  We waited, waited, the other members of our party finished their breakfast, we waited, we were assured three times our order was coming, to which Mr. Wannebe Newbe remarked “This will be the most well introduced breakfast of all time”. 

It was indeed. 

Closing, Closing, Closing...

Oh, round about September, I started working on 2 HUD mixed financed deals.  I’ll spare you the boring details of HUD mixed financing and suffice it to say that these types of transactions are very document intensive (in laymen’s terms – lots o’ damn paperwork to draft and review); it is HUD after all. 

One of the deals was for the development of a 121-unit multi-family low-income housing project in Richmond, California; the other, a 129-unit senior housing project in Phoenix, Arizona.  California was scheduled to close November 1, 2004 and Phoenix was scheduled to close November 9, 2004. 

Months ago, I told the Partner-in-Charge that he would need to re-assign one of them b/c there was no way I could close two HUD mixed finance deals that closely together.  His response: “Why not?”  Jackass. 

The developer that is developing these projects (and many others I work on) has a very chaotic working modus operandi.  Developers like to play fast and loose with the truth, facts, and figures.  How can you tell a real estate developer is lying? His/her lips are moving.  (Well, at least investor’s counsel will find that funny) 

Meanwhile, in the world of infertility, I started my Lupron suppression on October 29 and was scheduled for my mock embryo transfer on November 9, 2004.  At my doctor’s visit on October 6, I mentioned the potential closing in Phoenix to Dr. Harvard and was told that the November 9, 2004 mock transfer was a “firm” closing date and could not be changed b/c they had to do blood work to confirm suppression on that date.  Period, end of sentence.  So, I placed my bet that Phoenix would not close on time, or if it did, I would have to squirm my way out of going. 

And b/c developers always set unrealistic expectations, the California closing was shoved to November 10, and the Phoenix closing was shoved to November 16.  I won my bet. 

Since my husband works in Cinci Monday through Friday, and I have 2 dogs and 4 cats, pet care is an issue.  I made reservations at the doggie hotel but it became clear to me that working on the closing, packing and shuttling pets to and from the kennel and making arrangements for someone to look in on the cats 2 weeks in a row would just be overwhelming.  Oh, and lets not forget the mock embryo transfer thrown in.

My husband got his parents, Harvey and Euda, to drive in from Rhode Island to pet sit.  It really was nice of them to drop everything (even though they are retired) and drive 2 days (they won’t fly) to do us a favor.  But, there is always a cat hair in the casserole; and his name is Harvey. 

Harvey is a very strange and annoying creature.  Harvey likes to “observe”.  Like when I’m fixing my dinner, he’ll stand 2 feet away from me watching what I’m doing.  When I’m going into the kitchen at night to obtain my 3^rd glass of wine, he’ll come in and watch.  I’m sure he’s planning on staging an intervention any day now. 

And when I’m sitting down in front of the television in the morning having breakfast before work, he’ll stand 2 feet away from me, stare down and talk to me.  I do have adequate seating in my living room; but there he stands staring down at me making small talk.

He also closes my blinds and locks the doors.  In fact he almost locked me out of my own house as I was unloading my dry-cleaning.  Good thing I had my car keys. 

Harvey, Enough of the staring already!      

Am I too dumb to stay alive?

I’ve been kind of just cooling my heels waiting for my August 18, 2004 appt. w/Dr. Harvard. My husband is not at all excited about moving on b/c he is sure that “Dr. No” (my husband’s pet name for Dr. Harvard) will poo poo the latest batch of donors that we like.

One is absolutely gorgeous and she knows it. In her questionnaire where it says “describe yourself” she writes “…nice, talented person w/depth… and look like a movie star!” I would say that she is rather conceited if it weren’t absolutely true. Beautiful hair and face, height and weight proportional, etc…She is a “model/actress/recording artist” in California. I even had my hairdresser cut my hair like her’s this past weekend; that’s how much I liked her hair.

She also has had 1 miscarriage (2002), a smoking, drinking alcoholic mother who died of emphysema at the age of 53, and a strong family history of cancer.

Again, I’m torn. Can I place a $20,000 bet on a 26-year-old woman with a history of miscarriage and cancer? What if I’m lucky enough to get pregnant, not miscarry, and then my child gets cancer? Oh Soothsayer, Soothsayer where for art thou?

This whole thing is giving me indigestion. Enter talking: Tuesday, August 17, 12:00 CDT…I’m sitting there in my office participating in this conference call, when I feel…what is that? Chest pain? No, more like a pain in the center of my back that is radiating towards the center of my chest. My hands were cold and clammy.

“Am I starting to have a panic attack?” I asked myself. In times of great stress (buying a house, first day on the job, going to visit my then current RE) I get this stabbing pain in the center of my upper back. Sometimes accompanied by a racing heart.

Usually, if I pace around somewhere private really fast, it goes away. But there I was, in my office tethered to my desk by a phone cord. I put the phone down and put my phone on speakerphone whilst I paced in my office with the door closed in my bare, stocking feet. All the while thinking “this can’t be happening, I’m going to have to go to the emergency room. Please don’t let this be a heart attack, I can’t carry a baby after having a heart attack…my death certificate will list cause of death: Denial aggravated by stupidity – could have been saved if subject sought out timely medical treatment.”

This went on for the entire hour that the call lasted, occasionally letting up only to be followed by more stabbing pains. Finally, the call was over and then a period of belching ensued. Ahhh, gastritis. Thank G-d, b/c otherwise I wouldn’t be here to share that special moment with you.

I’m considering re-naming this blog: “I can’t take much more of this shit – Already”.

Nothing is ever easy...

I thought this would be an easy month at work compared to the last two. I’ve closed two big deals in June and the beginning of July and nothing was on the horizon for the rest of this month; just clean up and crap. WRONG. Turns out this other associate knows nothing about the bond deal he’s been assigned and he’s not going to be able to get up to speed in time to close August 2. Yes, August 2, the Monday after my July 30 trip to Cincinnati for my interviews.

So I am to take charge of this and shepherd him along in this process; BUT, I am ultimately responsible. I reminded the Partner-in-Charge of my pending vacation and explained that the loser associate is going to have to be able to close the real estate while I’m gone (the official story is that my in-laws anniversary party is that weekend, not the weekend of the 23rd like it is in real time).

Loser associate expressed a great deal of interest in getting involved in these types of deals b/c for the 9 months he’s been here, he’s only gotten the cream of the crap in terms of billable work. So I went about reviewing the file to find out what needs to be done. He has done almost nothing at this point. The file is a mess, he has no checklist, he has no plan, he has no clue.

I started the process of finding out who is on first, etc…and started assigning him work that needs to be done b/c I’m not in this alone. He is to draft, I am to review. And then that miserable piece of shit complained to me about how he couldn’t get to the work I assigned him until later b/c he’s busy with another partner’s work! And his wife has been complaining how she never gets to see him, and his in-laws will be in this weekend…My heart was just breaking for him, his wife who doesn’t work, and their toddler son (who stopped by on Friday, by the way, so they could enjoy a leisurely lunch while I worked).

Now THAT, is ENOUGH ALREADY!!!

The Curse Continues

The travel brochure should have read: Fourth of July weekend celebration! Come spend the Spend 2 nights and 1 day in Hell; Hotel accommodations: $150.

Monday night, July 5, 2004, on the eve of the Big Closing, after working all holiday weekend on my Big Closing, I was looking forward to spending the evening watching the grand finale of For Love or Money and placing “Sign Here” post its on all my documents so things would go smoothly tomorrow morning.

We were having some pretty severe storms after my husband left to drive to Cincinnati. But I like storms now and then…until the power went out. Hmmmm…I thought to myself, I’ll just light some candles and read this new book I bought. It will be peaceful until the power is restored. Well, after a couple of peaceful hours of reading I still hadn’t finished with the post it project so I spent the rest of the evening sticking my “Sign Here” post its to my documents by candlelight.

I then feel asleep on the couch only to wake up in a hot, humid, dark house with no power. Shit, I thought to myself, how am I going to get up in the morning for closing w/o an alarm? I looked at the alarm clock and I saw it had a place for a 9 volt battery. But all I had were AA batteries except for the one in the Caller ID, but that was screwed in and I would need a screwdriver to get at the thing.

Well, I don’t know what I was worried about. Molly, our Bassett Hound, usually wakes up at the crack of dawn to be let outside. Her internal alarm was working just fine and so I got up on time, still without power.

I did the best I could to make myself presentable, plopped 2 slices of bread into the toaster, realized there would be no toast coming forth from the electric toaster, nor would there be any boiled water from the electric microwave or stove. And, my plan to have my cell phone charged overnight, need I say more?

I made it to the closing relatively on time b/c everyone else was late. I sat from 9:00 to 2:30 w/o the aide of any caffeine or food. We finally closed, and I went home to see if the power had been restored. It had not, and now the house was a toasty 78 degrees w/ 100% humidity.

So I pitied my pets as I left for the sandwich shop around the corner to get some food. I vowed to myself that the minute I got my closing documents off to the various parties, I was leaving the office to go home. But to what?

Nevertheless, I got out of the office around 5:00 only to find myself stuck in traffic like you would not believe. My 2 mile journey home took 30 minutes b/c most of the traffic lights in the area were knocked out by the storm. Granted I did foolishly stop at a market on the corner to purchase 1 lbs of fresh hamburger and 1 lbs of chicken for our dinner that night (our meaning me, the dogs and the cats). After all we’d been through, we needed to relax with a nice dinner.

There was a fleeting thought as I stood at the register being rung up that maybe the power had still not been restored in which case, I was better off buying Lotto tickets than spending money on food for tonight’s dinner. But it was sort of like a wedding, we were half way through the ceremony so there was no turning back.

What ensued next was like a bad marriage. When I got home the power had not been restored. It was now a humid 80 degrees in the house and opening the windows gave no relief b/c it was just as hot and humid outside.

I could not bear the thought of another hot, humid night with out television or food. My Hope Addict was encouraging me to wait it out until 8:00. But my inner cynic reminded me that nothing ever went as you planned it to so you better get on the phone to find out what your options are.

My inner cynic was right!! I called the Residence Inn that is about 5 short minutes from my house. I asked if they allowed pets, the clerk answered in the affirmative, I told him I wanted a room for the night, he began to waste my time by telling me all about the amenities his hotel offered, I began to tell him to just shut the fuck up, when finally he said “So how many of you will there be tonight?” and when stupid me replied “Just me and the 2 dogs” guess what? He replied “Oh, I see here we are all booked up for the evening.” Yeah, right you mother fucker.

Well, Mr. Helpful spent the next 30 minutes of his time finding another unwitting hotel to book me and the dogs into. By then it was 7:30 and I got a reservation at another Residence Inn 15 miles from my house. Beggars can’t be choosers so I packed my raw meat, a few personal items and loaded me and the dogs into the car. We arrived by 8:00.

But I was smart this time, I parked under a tree and lowered the windows half way to give the dogs some air while I went to check in. I told the clerk that I needed a room on the ground floor (Molly can’t do stairs), non-smoking please. She looked and looked and looked…Thinking to myself that it wouldn’t do me much good to check into a hotel room after the dogs had died from heat stroke, I conceded the non-smoking issue and was assigned a room on the far end of the development right next to a very busy highway.

I unloaded the dogs first to get them into some air conditioning. Then, I proceeded to unload my meat and personal items only to be greeted by the dogs trying to bolt from the room. After I fought them back and my way in, I observed that one of them had already peed on the carpeted floor. It was purely a visual observation mind you b/c you could not smell the dog urine over the overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke that permeated the room.

I envisioned myself enjoying a pleasant evening of air conditioning, television, a working stove, etc…The dogs would have none of it. They stood at the door waiting to go home, they paced, they panted, they would not eat the delicious fare of Mighty Dog that I served up…

Finally, we (and I mean Molly and me) turned in for what we’d hoped would at least be a restful night of sleep. Bruiser would have none of it. The dog stayed up all night and rang out the time every hour on the hour like a barking grandfather clock. Every time he’d chime in, I’d look up at the clock and it’d be just a little over an hour after his last alarm.

Finally, around 6:00 a.m., I gave up. I turned on the news to find out what the power (or lack thereof) situation was: 80,000 people still without power. My original plan was to spend the night in a hotel and surely the power would have been restored by morning. But I remember the last time I was sure about that and it didn’t happen.

At first I thought: well, you don’t want to got home and have to blow dry your hair in the hot house…wait you idiot, if the house is still hot, there will be no blow drying with an electric drier. So I decided to do my morning grooming ritual at the hotel and then go home and get dressed for work.

Now I didn’t pack much and I deliberately did not pack shampoo and conditioner b/c hotels always have those. Well, the hotel had shampoo, but no conditioner. And I brought a hair clip, but no hair brush. I spent 30 minutes combing out my tangled hair with the teeth of my hair clip while I blew my hair dry.

Finally, I packed me and the pets up and headed for home. When I approached the carport, the outside motion light did not come on. A sick feeling was starting to come over me. But as I approached the door, I could hear the blessed noise of the television. My world had been restored!!! I felt like Dorothy after having returned home from Oz.

But I ask you, when will the July 4th weekend ever stop sucking for me? It’s like my own fucking personal annual Friday the 13th.

Independence Day holiday celebration? No thanks. I’ve had quite Enough of that Already.

Now where were we?

Well, I met with Dr. Harvard on Tuesday. And he was running late of course. This fertility treatment also works hell with your billable hours.

We discussed it (my fertility - not my sorry billable hours) and he advised me that, if I didn’t get pregnant on the next cycle of injectables and IUI, it was time to move on. He suggested donor eggs, and to my surprise and delight, he said that he works with Surrogate Parenting Center of Texas (a donor egg referral agency - among other things) who can get me an egg donor toot sweet. No 1-year wait!

Well, finally some news that didn’t make me want to run screaming from the room and set myself on fire.

We also agreed that it would be best to skip this month and do the my last injectable/IUI cycle in July since June is panning out to be such a ball buster. After all, the odds are so greatly against me under ideal circumstances, why handicap myself with all this stress?

And meanwhile, who would think that a reprieve would come from such an unlikely place?

While I’m sitting in my office, midway between panic attack and complete melt down, the Partner-in-Charge buzzes me, can I come into his office….

“So where are we on Parson’s Place?” He asks.

“Well, since I haven’t figured out how to split myself in two and work on both projects at once, no where” I reply. (You can see that I am completely de-compensating at this point because I don’t even fucking care).

Then, with dramatic flare, he says “Here, let me play this message for you.” And then we listen to Mr. Biggest Client’s message “I spoke with [redacted] this morning and she said that some woman in your office hasn’t even looked at the file….and if we don’t close by the end of June, we’ll lose the tax credits…”

And now (finally) it makes sense for me and Mr. Partner-in-Charge to stop duplicating our efforts and reviewing the same documents and for him to go to the closing in Phoenix. I now have to work on Parsons Place. And while this will be its own version of hell (and the quickest closing on record), it’s a new refreshing hell, not like the old, “I’m sick of dealing with you jackasses” hell I’ve been living with since May.

And that is just the hell that is my work-a-day life. Add to that my own personal hell, and well, to that I say: Enough Already!

Ain't this some fucked up shit?

June is gearing up to be the month from hell. Our (actually, Partner-in-Charge's) biggest client is keeping us very, very busy. And since the Partner-in-Charge has many, many clients, things are going insane (I should actually be at work right now instead of venting).

Being busy is very good when you work at a law firm. Busy = $$$$. $$$$ = Partner-in-Charge Euphoria. Partner-in-Charge Euphoria = more $$ for lowly associates.

Being very busy, however, can wreak havoc with fertility treatment. Had I gotten started on this cycle as planned, I would have done my IUI with my husband’s frozen popsicle sperm this past week. But, b/c I was delayed by 2 small cysts (and I think, in hindsight, Dr. Harvard’s desire to consult with me), the currently projected time for my next IUI would be right around June 15.

I might have to go to Phoenix exactly on June 15 for a closing. The only closings that I have traveled to in the past have been to small closings in KC. This is a “big” closing on a low-income housing project with lots of complicated issues. Now, Partner-in-Charge usually attends Biggest Client’s closings.

So why did the gods of infertility curse me so? B/c I knew that I’d need to be local to get my monitoring and IUI during the time of the schedule closing. So I opened my big fucking mouth as said: “Regina (Biggest Client’s paralegal) needs to know who will be going to closing since in-house counsel will not” (hint, hint: do I have to go?). To which the Partner-in-Charge responded, “I can assure you one of us will be going, and my vote is for you”.

Finally, someone votes for me and it’s for this. FUCK. I guess I should be happy that the Partner-in-Charge has expressed such confidence in my ability to take on this awesome responsibility for his Biggest Client. But on some level, I know its just that little sadist that is buried within the soul of all partners that wants me to go b/c he suspects I do not want to.

But, you know me, I am a girl with a plan for everything (What’s that? do I hear the sound of G-d laughing his ass off or what?). Sooooo, the plan is, I meet with Dr. Harvard on Tuesday, tell him my dilemma, and suggest that I continue to take the back bloating, appetite stimulating, constipating, chemical out-of-control anger bullet, Aygestin (a pill form of progesterone) until this coming Friday. That way, I can delay the start of my cycle and get my IUI after the big closing.

I have this down to a science. I actually have a spreadsheet at work (password protected of course) projecting and tracking all of my cycles. I decided that I want to trigger on a Thursday, so I could get back to back IUIs on Friday and Saturday with husband’s frozen popsicle sperm, and since he’s home by Friday night, I can get extra sperm injections.

Am I brilliant or what? No applause, please. Actually, I still have a dilemma that I’m wrestling with. Would triggering on Friday be better? Husband could do trigger on Friday, Saturday and Monday IUI, ovulate on Sunday, with Husband available for intercourse Saturday, takes 10 hours for sperm to reach fallopian tube….

This is what I have to live with, day after day, of endless planning, analyzing, speculating… I drive myself fucking crazy. But as my Husband says, it’s a short trip (isn’t he clever?).

My word, ENOUGH ALREADY!!!

20 Million!!! More than Enough!

Today went much better than yesterday. It started off rather hectic. I received a call from the Partner in Charge around 9:00 p.m. last night because his client called and told him the real estate closing I had scheduled for today at 10:30 a.m. would have to be postponed for a week and the piece of shit Seller had threatened to take our clients $40,000 Earnest Money deposit if she didn’t close on schedule.

Now this attitude on the part of the piece of shit Seller and the piece of shit he hired to represent him was particularly aggravating since they had caused this closing to be postponed the week prior due to some organizational matters.

Fortunately, our firm has a very good relationship with the title company we work with (it helps that the Partner in Charge is good, good friends with the man who runs the title company). So we were able to scramble and work out a way to close on time. And then, GET THIS, Seller’s piece of shit counsel complained about that!! He said “what do you mean you're ready to close at 10:30? I thought the title company needed a week? I haven’t had time to review the closing documents. Why don’t we close tomorrow?”

What I wanted to say: Because your client is an asshole and so are you.

What I said: Closing has been scheduled for 10:30 for a week now. It wasn’t postponed until 5:00 p.m. yesterday when your client threatened to walk off with our client’s earnest money deposit. I’ll see you at the title company.

So, I met with the client at the title company and closed her side of the transaction but the Seller and his counsel never showed up. It was getting along about 11:45 when we finished and there was some consideration about waiting longer for the Seller and his counsel to show up, but that idea was nixed. I said a secret thank you to G-d as we left b/c I had a 1:00 IUI that had to be timed precisely.

But to cover my bases, I called the piece of shit opposing counsel to informed him we’d closed and the money was at the title company so he’d better get over there with his client and deliver that deed today. And he proceeded to yammer on the phone to me trying to figure out what it was he had to do.

What I wanted to say: Its like nothing you dickweed. This is a straight forward real estate closing, just have your client sign the deed and a few form documents and your done! I'm not even sure why client's pay us to be there anyway.

Finally, 12:25 I get off the phone with this idiot. But today was completely different from yesterday. When I got home and there was my husband, ready to go, sample in hand – well in his pocket to keep it “body temperature”

We got to the Dr’s office promptly at 1:00, dropped of the sample, had a quick bite, and then back for my insemination. I was nervous about how many he would have since he’d had 48 hours in between ejaculations the first time and only came up with 10 million. So what was he going to be able to produce in 24 hours? You guessed it: 20 MILLION. G-d I love that man! And to top things off, I think the IUI today was perfectly timed b/c just as I was leaving my office around 12:30, I had that mittelschmerz pain on my right side that I get when I ovulate and kept having it right before the IUI, so I guesstimate that the IUI was performed within an hour or so of ovulation.

Sometimes, not often, things have a way of working out. And what else worked out was that the Seller and his asshat lawyer didn’t come to our closing. They showed up at the title company around 2:30 this afternoon and the closer told me she would call when she was done. Now keep in mind, all they had to do was: 1) sign a deed 2) sign a broker’s affidavit (stating have or have not engage a broker for the transaction) 3) sign a Seller’s Final Affidavit (just a form doc with some info about the property) 4) deliver tax id number, and 5) deliver a copy of their organizational documents.

This should have taken all of 30 minutes, max. So when I didn’t hear from the closer, I called her around 5:00…..She was still in closing with those idiots! Apparently the asshat lawyer took that opportunity to argue every little detail of what? The broker’s affidavit? The Seller’s affidavit? These are not complex legal documents. But as I say, it worked out b/c if that asshat would have held me over in this morning’s closing, I probably would have bludgeoned him to death in a hormonal rage. And to Art, the asshat lawyer, I say to you: ENOUGH ALREADY, be gone with your bad self!