The Money Pit

So, we did it. We finally closed on the Little Bungalow That Could(nt), and sold our current house. Smooth sailing from now on, right?

LE WRONG.

We apparently transformed into a very continental Tom Hanks and a darker haired Shelly Long, for we today learned that the house is in fact CRUMBLING. Ish. It seems that the bowed sidewalls that everyone (and by everyone, I of course mean the FHA Appraiser, Consultant, and Contractors) assured us were going nowhere are in fact about ready to break due to the improperly supported weight of the roof. And one of the neighbors tried to tell me this early on in the process, but this Joo ignored him, choosing instead to believe a bunch of licensed professionals.

And I would've blindly gone on their bad advice, had a certain city inspector (whom I regretfully referred to as an incompetent, alarmist ass - sorry, Boris, or Yuri, or whatever the fuck your name is) halted work on the project, citing irreconcilable differences with the roof system.

So now we wait. We wait while an adorable little structural engineer calculates forces and tolerances and tells us what we need to do to stabilize the structure and properly support it. Until that time, we cannot even begin to reroof the little bungie. *le sigh*

LET THIS BE A LESSON TO ALL OF YOU. Or not. We're still delighted to be rehabilitating our dream house.