I am fucked. Fucked. FUCKED!
If you’ve been reading this tripe for any length of time, you’ll know that the past 3 years of my life have been consumed with my effort to work out a mortgage deal with my lender. I simply cannot afford my $2300 monthly payments, and I’m tired of sucking dick just trying to make ends meet.
According to the media, there are tons of government aid programs out there to help idiots like me. Over the last 3 years, I HAVE TRIED THEM ALL.
THEY. DO. NOT. WORK.
The simple truth is, the banks DON’T WANT TO HELP PEOPLE! They make more money in government bailouts by foreclosing, than by actually working with home”owners,” so they have zero incentive.
Like a total fucking patsy, I followed the carrot they dangled in front of me for the last three years: “If you just fax us this, that and the other, we’ll give you a loan modification!” I faxed, scanned, emailed and called for YEARS, and spent countless hours (and thousands of dollars I could ill afford), bawling in frustration and banging my head against the wall. I never gave up, though, because I though it was a war of attrition that could ultimately be won by the strongest man (me, dammit).
In Nevada, the State mandates that lenders meet with troubled homeowners for a “mediation hearing.” I went to such a hearing with a representative from my lender — which, to my surprise, isn’t Chase after all. It’s something/somebody called Seterus, Inc.
I got my fucking mortgage from Washington Mutual. Chase bought them out, but then sold all their bum loans to LBPS (Lender Business Process Servers)…who in turn sold the loans to Seterus, Inc. So my loan has changed hands so many times, I bet they don’t even have the original documents.
I (stupidly) didn’t challenge them on that at my mediation hearing, because I’m tired of dragging this out. I’m finished with stalling tactics — I WANT RESOLUTION! IF ONE MORE PERSON SENDS ME AN EMAIL TELLING ME ABOUT HOW THEIR “FRIENDS LIVED FOR FREE WITHOUT PAYING A DIME FOR YEARS,” I’m gonna SCREAM!!!!!
I’VE ALREADY LIVED FOR “FREE” AS LONG AS THEY’LL LET ME!
I missed about 12 payments back in 2009/10 (just to get their attention; they wouldn’t answer my calls for the 12 preceding months, when I was still scrounging around sucking dick to make the payments. I got tired of sucking dick, the money dried up, and NOW those fuckers answered me. They gave me a trial loan modification, which if I made 4 payments on time, they would make it permanent.
SIKE! I made my four payments ON TIME, but they dragged ass for TWELVE MONTHS with no answer. In the meantime, I kept paying to show “good faith…” but apparently, it was a stupid fucking move to make, because all those “trial” payments weren’t enough for Chase/Seterus/WhoeverTheFuck…and EACH and EVERY SINGLE $1200 payment I made counted for NOTHING. Because they were modified to $1200 (instead of my original $2300), EACH PAYMENT COUNTED AS A DEFAULTED PAYMENT!
Because of this, by the time I got my mediation hearing, I was already pretty far along in the foreclosure process (much to my surprise — I’d been paying TWELVE HUNDRED DOLLARS A MONTH TO THESE BLOODSUCKING ASSHOLES! Didn’t feel like I was defaulting, to me!). At my mediation, I offered to just give them the house back in exchange for being released from my debt (what’s called a Deed in Lieu of Foreclosure). My lender’s representative said Sorry, we don’t take Deeds in Lieu.
OK, so will you at least write down my principal to the fair market value? I bought the house for $380,000 and have only paid down $111 in principal — out of $125,000 in payments!!!!!!!!! And now it’s only worth $100,000.
No. “I’m sorry, we don’t write down principals.”
FUCK! So what do you WANT me to do?!?!
My choices were to a) let ’em foreclose, or b) short sell the house (get whatever money I can for it, and hope my lender accepts that instead of the full amount I owe them).
I was crying so hard I couldn’t decide what to do, so the fucking bitch representative from my lender marked it down as “client will foreclose.” BUT I NEVER SAID I WANTED TO FORECLOSE! I DIDN’T DECIDE YET!!!!!!
I ended up discussing with my attorney, and deciding to short sell. I had to hire ANOTHER attorney (more fucking money I don’t have), and this asshole warned me that because I was already so far along into the foreclosure process, he might not be able to push my short sale thru in time. He told me up front that it was a gamble — but I’d have to pay his retainer either way.
What the fuck would you do? I paid his fucking blood money, listed the property, and BUSTED MY ASS to sell it as fast as fucking possible. It was listed on a Wednesday, and by Monday I had EIGHT OFFERS. I submitted the best one — a CASH OFFER, WELL ABOVE the bank’s appraisal of $105,000 — during the last week of November.
I still haven’t heard back. I assumed my offer was sitting in a stack of papers on some asshole’s desk over at Seterus, waiting for him to get to it.
Right after I posted my last blog, I went outside to run some errands, and found an auction notice posted on my door!
THESE FUCKING LEECHES ARE AUCTIONING MY HOUSE OUT FROM UNDER ME, EVEN WITH A SOLID ***CASH*** OFFER ON THEIR FUCKING DESK!
I’m not dumb — I know they get more bailout money from the fucking Feds if I foreclose, so it’s better off for them NOT to approve my short sale.
But it’s going to FUCK ME OVER.
If my house goes to auction, they can sell it out from under me (fine, whatever)…but then they can came after me and SUE ME BLIND for the $380,000 I owe them! My only recourse is to completely fuck my finances and credit by filing bankruptcy…which I don’t want to do, obviously.
I want them to APPROVE MY FUCKING SHORT SALE!
What’s frustrating is, I can’t do a GODDAMN THING ABOUT IT. I tried going to the Chase Homeownership Crisis Center, but this really smarmy young prick told me “We don’t own your loan anymore, nothing we can do.” He was a real asshole about it, too. FUCK YOU! I bawled my eyes out all the way down the hall to my car, not caring who the fuck saw me.
There has to be SOMEONE I can tell about this who can help me! My attorney says they are doing “everything they can” on their end, but to be honest I don’t want to rely on that. He already got his retainer; what the fuck does he care? The first fucking thing he said to me was “I told you this might happen!” just to cover his ass. Fuck you! Thanks for your support, asshole.
I figured there had to be SOMETHING I could do on my end, to make sure the auction is stopped before they have a chance to approve the short sale. I tried calling all those fake-ass “HOPE for Homeowner” hotlines the dumbass pussywhipped government set up…but they were WORSE than useless. One lady had no answers for me, the other said she couldn’t legally advise me because I already have counsel retained. NO ONE WANTS TO HELP.
Basically, my lawyer says I just have to sit around and wait until the auction date — which is right around the corner; Feb. 15th. *HOPEFULLY* they’ll halt the auction once they realize they have a better offer sitting on their desk, or even better just go ahead and approve the fucking short sale RIGHT NOW. But if they don’t….
If my house goes to the auction, I swear I am rounding up all my dirtiest, smelliest hippie friends from the #OccupyLasVegas encampment, and bringing them all to the auction with me: “HEY YOU FUCKERS! GO AHEAD AND BID ON THE MOUNTAIN VIEW PROPERTY — BUT IF YOU GET IT, YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO DEAL WITH 500 HIPPIES CAMPING IN THE YARD! YOU’LL HAVE TO EVICT 500 PEOPLE…GOOOOOOOD LUCK WITH THAT, ASSHOLES!”
Yeah, I’m fucking pissed!
I’ve done everything I was supposed to for the last three years. I played by the rules, filed countless papers and faxed, scanned, emailed and called every time they said they needed updated stuff. And they’re still giving me a giant middle finger.
HOW CAN OUR GOVERNMENT STAND BY AND LET THIS HAPPEN?! GROW SOME FUCKING BALLS, PRESIDENT OBAMA! ***FORCE*** THE FUCKERS TO WORK WITH PEOPLE! YOU HAVE THE POWER!
I have zero power, and it’s extremely demoralizing.
All I really did this past week was sob. I am TERRIFIED. What the fuck am I supposed to do? I’VE DONE ALL I CAN! And it wasn’t enough.
Since logic and reason have failed thus far, I turned to the occult. I went to Bell, Book & Candle (Ye Olde Magick Shoppe, on East Charleston in Vegas) and bought a Jinx-breaker candle to break my string of bad luck. Nevermind the fact that I don’t believe in magic; I’m desperate! The big fat barefoot bearded wizard in there shuffled over to his shelf of herbs, sprinkled a bunch of happy oils and glitter on a jar candle, and charged me $8. I hope it works! He threw in a couple of magic beans for good luck…which if I’m REALLY lucky, will grow into a beanstalk leading up to Seterus’s offices, so I can climb up and finally find the RIGHT dick to suck.
THEN, in case the Goddess wasn’t listening, I went over to the other side of town and bought a little statue of Saint Joseph from a Christian bookstore (I thought I’d burst into flames walking in the door, when I heard the “Praise Him” music and saw the moon-faced Christer heifer behind the counter smile beatifically at me). Someone had told me that if you want to sell a house, you’re supposed to bury a statue of St. Joseph in the front yard, upside down facing the house out near the street. Nevermind the fact that I don’t believe in religion; I’m desperate! I went inside, for good measure, and donned my lucky Big Girl Panties, my favorite psychedelic caftan (the one I wore to my dad’s funeral last year) and my lucky pink cowgirl hat. Basically, it was everything I had that was meaningful to me…so I wore it like armor, brought my jinx-breaking candle out to the front yard, and buried St. Joseph in amongst the lantana in my front garden.
I HOPE IT WORKS.
I spent last night weeping in my truck in an empty parking lot, screaming in rage, beating on my windows, biting my steering wheel in sheer frustration. WHAT MORE CAN I DO??????
What really pisses me off is, it’s basically my own fault that I “waited too long” to decide to short sell. Remember, by the time I listed my house I was “so far along in the foreclosure process” that my lawyer couldn’t promise anything.
Well, THE ONLY REASON I WAS THAT FAR ALONG IS, YOU FUCKERS STRUNG ME ALONG WITH FALSE PROMISES OF A LOAN MODIFICATION!
Is that really MY fuckin’ fault?!?!?!?!?!? I WAS TRYING TO DO RIGHT! AND NOW I’M GETTING FUCKED!
I just can’t believe there is NO ONE IN THIS ENTIRE WORLD who can/will help me. NO ONE.
I’m utterly alone. WHERE ARE YOU, PRESIDENT OBAMA? Oh yeah that’s right, you’re busy sucking bank cock. They probably need another $8billion bailout.
WHO THE FUCK DO YOU REPRESENT, PRESIDENT OBAMA? ME?? OR THE BANKS?
I ACTUALLY VOTED FOR YOUR DUMB ASS! I bet none of those fat cats did. So, don’t you owe me ANYTHING?!?!?!?!?
FORCE THE BANKS TO WORK WITH PEOPLE! It’s the only way our economy will recover. No one’s gonna feel like spending money until their mortgages are refinanced so that their homes are no longer 300% underwater.
I swear, I never felt so hopeless as I did last night, bawling my eyes out in that supermarket parking lot. I actually wanted to be dead…which I feel awful saying, because my dad committed suicide last April and my family’s still pretty tore up about it. But it was how I felt — I honestly didn’t even want to be alive anymore. I’m too tired!
This process has drained out all my enjoyment of life. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, all I can do is cry and worry and drink myself into a stupor every night just so I can doze off for a few hours, then get up and do it all over again. MY LIFE IS NO FUN ANYMORE.
Thank Dog, my camera job boss was cool and let me take a couple weeks off. (There’s no show anyway, but sometimes they make me go to other hotels and work lesser shows just because they can.) So I had plenty of time to sit around and weep.
I swear, my friends are probably sick to death of me and my whining. All I do is cry and stay home…people probably think I’m making it up, but I REALLY JUST DON’T FEEL LIKE PARTYING! The other day I went out and met a reader of this blog for drinks, and started crying all over the restaurant in front of him. It was *very* awkward. I got the fuck out of there as quick as I could, so I could go home and cry in private. I didn’t wanna cry TOO much, though, because I had a foot fetish photo shoot with Footmode.com the next day, and I didn’t want puffy, wrinkly eyes. But that shoot ended up cancelling anyway!!!! I got up the next morning, tried to de-puff my eyes with ice packs and
I **NEEDED** that money!
Oh well, I did a few other gigs this week (somehow, in between all the sobbing) so I’ll be OK. I did a photo shoot out at the J.W. Marriott in Summerlin, where the photographer wanted me to dress in a sexy Tomb Raider outfit. I put together a Tomb Raider ensemble out of odds-n-ends from my wardrobe, and it looked awesome…but asked me to take the pants off, anyway, as he was more interested in shooting up my crack into my vagina! He actually laid on the bed and had me straddle him, while he shot up my crack. I thought it would be all shadowy and artsy, but when he showed me the back of the camera, it was gross. All stubbly labia, way too clinical for my taste. To his credit, when I expressed dismay he vowed to darken the shadows and not publish them anywhere. But it was still kinda humiliating. (Although I don’t know why — I’m fine with my labia, and I shouldn’t really care if he photographs them or my knees or my shoulders. They’re all body parts, after all!)
When I got out of there, I went straight home to bed, to engage in my nightly ritual: medical marijuana, wine, and Words With Friends. That’s right people, my life has come to that. It’s all I do for fun anymore. LITERALLY.
Because of my insane stress levels, I had to go get more “medicine” at the dispensary (a dispensary is what they call the legal place for marijuana patients to get their “medicine.”) At one time, there were upwards of 70 dispensaries in town…but the stupid fucking Feds shut them all down for technicalities — see, according to the law, dispensaries are “nonprofit organizations” that are supposed to help medical marijuana patients for free. HAH! All the ones I’ve been to are complete and total FARCES. The staff is a bunch of dumb cocky stoners, and all they try to do is sell you the most expensive “top shelf” medicine — only they’re not allowed to say “sell” or “buy,” because it’s a NONPROFIT. So they’re very careful to say “donate” instead of “buy,” as in, “How much of a donation were you looking to make?” STUPID!
The place I go to now is one of the last ones left in town, and they’re VERY low profile. They don’t advertise anywhere, and there’s not even a sign on their door. I only found out about them thanks to a fellow medical marijuana patient and friend who is a celebrity impersonator at a local Strip hotel, and he brought me over and sort of “vouched” for me as a new patient. Even then, I had to wait two weeks for them to vet my application and approve me as a patient…but now I’m in, and can go “donate” for meds any time I want.
At first, I was totally impressed with this place because of its low profile — as mentioned, “other” dispensaries I’d been to were staffed by cocky stoners, but this place seemed legit. WRONG! I went in the other day, and the two guys in the back were high as kites…acting like IDIOTS. Come on, guys…can’t we be PROFESSIONAL for once in our lives?! They tried to “donate” me all kinds of super-expensive top-shelf crap, which I refused (I like ditchweed just fine, thanks)…but thank Dog they have these specials, like at Payless Shoes — only instead of BOGO (Buy One, Get One Free), they have DOGO (Donate One, Get One Free) (REALLY??!!). TOTALLY STUPID, but the product was OK. If you’re wondering, the “recommended donation” was $65 per 1/8th of an ounce…but since it was DOGO, I got a quarter for $65. Still pricey! I need to learn to grow my own, already.
Now, I am a TEXTBOOK MEDICAL MARIJUANA PATIENT, and I only use my medicine in bed, when I’m trying to sleep (can you blame me for having insomnia, at this point?!). But the rest of the day, when I’m driving around taking care of business (or trying to, anyway), I can’t be high. So I turn to my #2 pal, AlkyHol, which comes thru in a pinch. Alas, I got a DUI in 2010, and some asshole robbed my Breathalyzer from my truck the other week, so I can’t even really numb myself with THAT anymore 🙁
Still, one afternoon I was SO upset that I just couldn’t take it, and drove to the nearest grocery store to get a drink and some food. Unfortunately, it was one of those lame grocery stores that only sells beer & wine — I hate beer, and I don’t like drinking wine in the afternoon, so I was reduced to buying wine coolers and packaged sushi from the deli. HEARTBREAKING! I sat in my truck, crying and drinking this awful Bartles & Jaymes “margarita” and eating shitty Albertson’s sushi. It was a low point in my life…but I’m sure not the nadir. That’s yet to come, I’m sure.
Speaking of my truck, I’ve actually been spending a lot of time hanging out in there lately because I own it and no one is going to foreclose on it or take it away. I feel sort of safe there, which I don’t at home, since people are always driving past, checking out my house to see if they should bid on it at the auction. It’s like vultures circling my poor pathetic carcass! But ever since that fucking asshole broke into my truck the other week and stole all my stuff, I don’t feel safe there, either 🙁
Well, that’s about all. Now it’s time for me to eat a cookie, drink some wine and go to bed and play Words With Friends. In the morning, I’ll get up and face it alllll again. But with any luck…
…MAY TOMORROW BE THE DAY MY LENDER APPROVES MY SHORT SALE!
🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂
P.S. One more thing to add: I was out in suburbia shooting fetish videos, when I stopped at Albertson’s (grocery store) for a snack. I don’t have one of those discount cards they try and give you, so they can track your purchases while giving you two cents off this and that, but I remembered this cool trick I read on LifeHack or some place: if you don’t have a club card for a particular store, just give them your phone number. But not your REAL number, because if you don’t have a card, it won’t do you any good anyway. Give them the FAKE number “867-5309,” from the ’80s song “Jenny,” by Tommy Tutone. GUARANTEED someone will already have used it, so it’s in the system and you can use it to get the discount. I’m here to tell you — IT WORKS! Just add on whatever the local area code is, and you’re golden. Try it — you’ll see 🙂