So, we’re about to do some remodeling up in here, right? And, like good Americans, we don’t have the cash in the bank, so we decided to capitalize on the over-inflated value of our home by applying online with Lending Tree (unfortunately, no referral credit). So we get our offers back. The first is from some guy named Pete at a place I can’t remember. The second is from another place I can’t remember, but the name is unforgettable.
The guy’s/girl’s/fake name is Mexico something. And I can’t be sure if it’s even a real name, right? How many people do you know named Mexico? Me, no other. So as all the deals are scoured, we make a decision. Thing is, we haven’t had a whole lot of time to decide yet, and we just decided last night, and we had a few questions, so we couldn’t call back quite yet. But I got a call today. It was Mexico. Dude sounded gruff. I talk a bit to Mexico, he answers my questions, I call Christy, and I’m all, “guess who called me?” “Mexico,” she replies. He called her before me (duh) because her name is on the application first (I know, I need to man up).
Well, it turns out that Mexico just needs proof of homeowners insurance to get our loan done. So Christy tells me we have no freaking clue where that might be, so call the insurance guy, who’s gotten to know me well, what with all the buying of cars and shit around here. So I tell her I’ll take care of it. Well, I was busy. I didn’t do it today. So both of us do our respective things tonight (I had a shoot for a new museum that’s being built downtown, and a cool one, if it gets done) and as we talked tonight, the question arises: did you call Rich (insurance guy)? Me: “No, um, I’m, like, busy. MaÃ±ana, baby, maÃ±ana. I’m on Mexican time.”