I told The Big Daddy that I thought we should refinance the homestead to lessen the interest rate and term, and crunched the numbers to make the case. He hates matters like this, but I used to be a loan officer back in the day, and I’m not as skerd as he is. I stalked the rate page on the bank’s website waiting to pull the trigger, and they almost had me at 4%, but I got the willy nillys when I was doing the application and never finished it.
A couple of weeks ago, the rate dropped to 3.875%, and I added that to my shopping cart and proceeded to checkout. The avalanche of paperwork came in the mail and we signed and signed and signed. Then we copied and copied and copied. First, we signed that we agreed to have the transcripts of the last two years of taxes sent to them by the IRS, and then we had to copy the last two years of taxes. That there is what you call redundant. Copies of the last two pay stubs, drivers license and social security cards? Check, check, and check. Just a matter of getting an appraisal and badda-bing, badda-boom, we were good to go.
Mr. Appraiser made his appearance and snooped around the place taking pictures and notes. A week later, my enthusiasm for this idea was waning after using up four hours and an ink cartridge getting Mr. Potter all he needed to give the A-OK for this. All looks good, the banker said, and BTW, here’s a copy of your appraisal.
How do I put this………..oh I know, we got a smackdown on the value of the homestead. I low-balled it on the app, but my low-ball got low-balled. Son-of-a-bitch, The Big Daddy said. Times two, BD, times two. Now we have to wait to see what Mr. Potter has to say about all this, and I figured what’s the point in cleaning the place if it’s not worth much.
Most of the time I have to admit that I’ve got a wonderful life, but I’ll advise that if you’re thinking about doing a refi it’s best to take a deep breath and call on your angels. It’s one steep drop when you take a ride on the Housing Bubble.
