Since deciding to enter the "blogoshphere" (good lord...what a stupid word), I've been trying to figure out just how to begin the begin, so to speak. Assuming anyone actually reading this already knows me, to one degree or another, I figured I could cut right to the chase, without volumes and volumes of back story....You can all thank me later...
April 10th, 2005....my last day of work at a good job. No time yet to prepare for the new one I would start 3 days later...and the unenviable task of moving my family from a tiny, yet wonderful, apartment in Hollywood to a newly "purchased" condo in Burbank. We don't really own our homes. You knew that, right? Yes, they call us "homeowners", but really we're in debt up to the napes of our necks and have no real shot at owning said home unless the lottery actually comes a'knockin. And the last time I checked, the lottery doesn't have my address. The fine, upstanding, uniquely understanding banks actually own our homes. And to the lovely people who make decisions about buying and selling....god damn do i love you guys. Everyone speaks so glowingly of you while you're signing your life away...all the way through escrow. But beware the perils of missing a payment date on your mortgage (funny: same prefix as mortality and mortician...just a thought). All of a sudden you're one of "those" people. It's all down hill from there to them. They start wringing their grubby little hands about not getting every cent from you quick enough. I'm sure there's a dozen or so different filing options at the mortgage bank offices. You start in one file...virginal and pure...only to be moved from file to file, like so many bad dates...ending in a series of one-night stands with nothing to show for it but a yet-unnamed series of maladies and dilemmas. But by all means...please buy a home. It's the best decision you could make. You owe it to your family to give them a bank-owned headache. Trust me.
3 comments:
Mortified. Opposite of what I feel reading this. Good opener.
Now, that is scary. And it kind of makes me thankful that I rent and my landlord is my next door neighbor.
Is this how I'm supposed to find out what's going on with you? Beautiful and Pure. I loved reading it.
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