Friday, March 07, 2008

evening

During My Current Super Stressful Days, Picture Me Like This…

This is a scan of me and my mom posing on our front lawn, in our dirndls.  They weren’t even costumes, coming by them legitimately because my mom is from Germany.  As most of you who know me in real life know, you’re not going to see me in a dress these days.  Consider it a courtesy to your eyes.  However, I think we looked pretty cute back then...and my mom would still look cute in her dirndl.  Heck, it probably still fits just fine, forty or so years later.

Also, you can be pretty sure that that little kid wouldn’t be the slightest bit worried about foreclosure stress (the 30 day postponement is a done deal and I think the paperwork looks fine in order to get the loan modification done - the email I got from the mortgage company today had a HUGE salary error on it, so with that clarified, it looks okay to me...although “me” doesn’t get to make the decisions these days, sadly), and she’d go inside and change into her Toughskins and play a pickup football or baseball game in the street with her brothers and the next-door neighbor boys.  Or, play some hoops in the driveway.  I can’t believe it, the guy my parents sold our childhood house to, took down our basket that wasn’t attached to the roof about the garage, but a post CEMENTED into a little outcropping off the edge of the driveway.  Damn, that guy destroyed my childhood basketball court.  Creep!  So what if it’s his house now?  It’s always going to be OUR house.

Thursday, March 06, 2008

evening

Vote for Dodger!

Vote for Dodger, cutest pup in the group.  Win Dodger’s mom a vacuum, and get Dodger into the finals so his mom can pick a charity that we know and love (if we don’t qualify, I’m sure we have friends who do) and get them $10k.

Go, go vote now!

Wednesday, March 05, 2008

late morning

You know what?

If you sleep for almost 48 hours, nothing changes except that your back hurts when you get up.  Oh, and some American Idol contestants have some new gossip released about them.  David Hernandez, a gay stripper?  Frankly, I didn’t think he had enough personality for that.  Amanda Overmeyer has a DUI or three?  NO!  Anyway, I had/have some weird cold/hot & sweaty thing going on.  Stress, pain, an exotic illness?  Probably not an exotic illness, dammit.  Although, my feet are peeling - not only gross, but fairly exotic, if by exotic I mean strange & disgusting.  And, aren’t most exotic illnesses strange and disgusting?  Yes! 

Sunday, March 02, 2008

evening

Stresss is uh, kinda stressful

I’ll be back soon, as soon as I can breathe.  I’ve been trying to work things out with the mortgage company, a loan modification, I’m hoping.  I’ve sent in all of my paperwork - my taxes, my letter of begging & pleading (I’m sure that is its official title), and my profit & loss statement.  The day after I sent it in, the woman at the mortgage company, the woman who has my life in her hands...went on vacation for more than a week.  Yes, right after telling me that I’d better hurry and get my paperwork in because the foreclosure sale of my house (MY HOUSE!!!) was going to be March 6th, the day she returned from vacation.  Then, oh wait no, she realized she was mistaken, that the day was March 22nd.  I said, “How could that be, no one has ever told me any date at all, except the November 2007 date, when I received my very first foreclosure notice...on my 43rd birthday.” That’s a birthday I shall never forget.  Impressive that I only had one drink at dinner, huh?  Anyway, the mortgage co. woman said that I’d have to call the law firm about the sale date.

I called the law firm and received yet another sale date - this one was March 12th.  I said to the woman, in a friendly voice, “That’s kind of soon, isn’t it?  No one has told me anything about a sale.” She said, in an unfriendly voice,"It’s all the notice we’re required to give.” That’s it.  No, I’m sorry.  Nothing to ease the blow.  Just like, “Hey, it’s not like it’s my house, what do I care?  Too bad, so sad for you, lady.” I’m sure they get their fair share of deadbeats, but I’m also sure that they get their fair share of people who just ended up in a place that they never in their whole lives thought they’d be .  I agree that my last refinance was probably a mistake, I probably shouldn’t have worried about trying to pay off my surgery or my doctor with the refinance.  I thought it was a good citizen way to go.  But you know what, it’s better to keep your house and worry about your medical bills later.  I couldn’t work for a year, either because I was in so much pain waiting for surgery or because I was in so much pain recovering from surgery.  Part of that time, Leigh-Ann wasn’t eligible to work because she didn’t have her green card yet.  Anyway, I spent lots and lots of money on medical bills and meds, just to try to get me functional and I tried to pay everything that I could.  I paid off my whole back surgery, including the surgeon, physician’s assistant, and anesthesiologist, who each had their own separate bills.  How do I get rewarded for that?  The possibility of these jerks driving by my house singing songs.  I don’t begrudge anyone trying to get a bargain, but I do begrudge them trying to get a bargain while humiliating those people whose homes they want to get.

Barbara & Marshall Zucker are the cheerleaders for foreclosure.  It’s a laugh riot to them. “While the bus is rolling between houses, and when she isn’t talking about property or leading everyone in song, Barbara tells jokes. They’re corny old Borscht-belt knee-slappers, the kind of jokes that involve an Italian, a Jew and a Pole. Punch lines today include cannibalism, suicide and bankruptcy.” Gosh, aren’t punch lines about suicide just hilarious!?  Hey, is that why you registered your http://www.vegasforeclosureexpress.com site through Domains By Proxy?  I guess you’re not proud enough to tell anyone exactly who is behind the website?  I don’t know, I guess I don’t find punch lines about suicide and bankruptcy to be all that funny.  I guess I’ll just be stuck eating my borscht with sour cream, but never make it to telling good old Borscht Belt knee slappers.