Just let me mooove already.

Sad news bears. There were some issues with the lender today, and so we won't be closing on the house tomorrow.

My phone rang while I was at work, and Dave s-l-o-w-l-y told me "Uuuuuh, we have a problem."

"What?" I'm saying this uber-fast, as if the quicker he told me the problem, the sooner I could be done dealing with it.

"So, uuuuh, the lender called."

"And?" This is my way of being tortured. Tell me I need to know something, and then refuse to tell me for at least 45 seconds.

"We can't close tomorrow."

And then I proceeded to feel as if I got punched. In the face. Twice.

It's just a delay, and it's nothing too major, but when you just got back from driving all night to get a marriage license, and you're planning on moving, and you've got everything all set, and you're worried about moving and the wedding dress fitting appointment on Saturday, this is just one more thing.

Aside from the eight-hour ulcer I had developed today and the feeling of getting punched in the face at 9 a.m., I'm doing OK. And why? Because really, what else could I do? I don't have time to panic.

In better news, Mr. Big met Dave and me this weekend. We spoiled him, bought him a carrier and dishes and a leash ... And then had to let him go back to his mom for another five weeks. Le sigh.

We went home Thursday night, and ended up in the booming metropolis of Ottawa, Ohio, at 8:30 a.m., right on time to swear to the State of Ohio that we were ready to be married. After forfeiting $40, we were given a long piece of paper with a pretty gold star on it, saying we're able to be married within the next 60 days in Putnam County, Ohio. It's pretty much official now. That's one less thing to worry about.

Now if we could only manage to CLOSE on this stinkin' house.