Suddenly *Not So* Single Journey

Update on Squatter-gate

Thursday, August 27th, 2009

Well, I mentioned that we worked diligently on the squatter problem after Ed’s revelation Monday night.  I thought my idea was genius.  I’m tired of trying to get them to leave.  If they like the place so much, I’ll make them stay.  I wanted to wire the house so that every time they touched a window or door in an effort to leave, they’d get a shock.  Just a little jolt, nothing lethal.  Think underground fencing for people.  Good plan, huh?

Then, I remembered that I was a good girl.  And we decided to make some phone calls, asking advice of those who had experienced similar situations.  The consensus was that we could try to write a letter and deliver it with a police escort in the morning, but know that if it didn’t work, we’d need to file eviction papers in the County Clerk ’s office.

Once I sent the kids off for their first day of school, I shared with S the letter I had composed.  I had thought of every contingency.  It was iron clad.  Or so I thought.  I even completed the proposal for the repair work on the house.  Since S would be doing it, I used his company proposals.  He even gave me a discount.  (Generous, huh?)

I noticed S was lingering.

S: Did you call for an escort yet?

Me: Just about to.  I wanted to make sure they’d be home first.

S: At 8 in the morning?  They probably haven’t gone to bed.

He watched me pace for a moment.

S: I’m trying to stay with you and be here for you as long as possible, but I have to go to work.

Me: Thank you.

So I called, twice, before I was transferred to the right branch of law enforcement.  And they were vague on when he would arrive.  And I was supposed to park in front of the house and wait for him.  Yeah, because I definitely wanted to be sitting in front of the house with them inside.

The officer, I’m going to call him Officer Lifesaver, pulled up alongside my vehicle.  We spoke for a long long time.  Luckily, I’m only going to give you the short version.  Here we go.  He looked up the tenants while I told him everything that had transpired.  He was very sympathetic since he was a landlord as well.  He saw that while neither had a criminal record, the male squatter had a long (and again) LONG history of being the victim of assault.

Officer Lifesaver: Who gets assaulted that many times?

(That was my favorite quote.)  And then after reiterating that he couldn’t give me legal advice, he advised me to skip the letter step and go straight to filing for the eviction, do not pass go, do not collect $200.  (Okay, I added the Monopoly part.)  The advice was sound.  And so he gave more.

Officer Lifesaver: Where do you live?

Me: (pointing) See the brown house.

OL: Geeze.  And they know you live there?

Me: *gulp* Yes.

OL: Watch out for your property.  You’re gone during the day.  They’re not.

Me: When does the law start working for me?

OL: File the papers.

So, I was beginning to think maybe I should just go to file the papers.  And I did.  It didn’t take too long.  It did cost money.  It was worth it.  Last night was the first night in a long time that S and I didn’t lament the problems with my house and the renters.  It was the first night we were able to relax and talk and not even look longingly at the Schlager in weeks.  It felt good.  It freed up a lot of time.  So we snuggled and watched television instead.  Way better.

Posted in Just Venting | 1 Comment »

I’m living Pacific Heights…

Wednesday, August 26th, 2009

When  I was younger I watched Pacific Heights.  I had always been into suspense/horror movies.  And this one was particularly frightening.  Unlike so many horror flicks with their aliens and freakish antagonists, this one was dripping with realism.  And we all know things that could and really do happen are far scarier than the possibility of a monster under the bed or in the closet.

Michael Keaton played the bad guy who managed to charm his way into a San Francisco apartment by flashing some cash and driving a Porche.  The young desperate couple who owned the building and lived on the upper floor were soon victims of his scam.  He wasn’t paying rent, he had stripped the apartment of anything of value, and he had scared off the paying tenants.  Soon he had goaded the frustrated boyfriend/landlord into hitting him, which resulted in a restraining order where the man had to move out of his own house, leaving his girlfriend alone in the building with the sociopath.  And through it all, they discovered that the law was flawed and that too often the criminal knows how to work it.

All I can say is, welcome to my world!

After the meeting with the squatters on Sunday, S was feeling confident that we would be seeing some money.  I was…hopeful?  So, imagine our dismay when Ed dashed our hopes and revealed the true character of these…people.  (It’s a good thing I’ve decided to keep this blog PG.)

Apparently, while I was busy mowing my lawn, since they had failed to maintain it and I couldn’t afford the fine I would be responsible for…they snuck out the back door and through the yards to go hide out and drink with another neighbor who’s on my naughty list.  (The list is really short, by the way.  You have to really mess with me to get on it.  Not even J is on it.)

I was out for blood at that point.  The gloves were off.  No more niceness.  And I was ready for them to be gone, ready for this learning experience to be over with.  I don’t need a lecture.  I know I should have checked them out better.  I know I should be less trusting.  I could blame myself, but I blame them, too.  They should have kept their word.  They should have done the right thing.  They should have followed the golden rule.  Let’s face it, it’s not entirely my fault.

We started plotting and planning.  How were we going to get them out?  We made some phone calls.  I was all for the sooner, the better.  The problem is, doing things legally ties your hands.  And doing things illegally is wrong and dangerous because even though we may be right, the law is tricky.

**Check back tomorrow to see how tricky.

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Sunday Night Squatter Meeting…

Tuesday, August 25th, 2009

“Lodging isn’t a luxury but a right.”

While this is true, with all rights come responsibilities.  And in this case…if you want to stay, you have to pay.  (I made that up all by myself.)

Sunday night, after we had been told Friday night that we would have money on Sunday, we called before coming over.  S and I had rehearsed what was going to be said.  It seems I say too much, explain too much.  (I know, you’re thinking that doesn’t sound like me at all.)  So, we agreed there might be times that I gave him the lead.  The male squatter seemed to respect him, to an extent.

So, we went over.  And it was difficult being there, looking around, realizing that I was saying goodbye to my dream, my plan.  I was very forthright, very assertive.  I told them how it was.  I didn’t want stories or excuses.  I wanted money.  And if they weren’t going to be able to supply the money, then they needed to move out. 

I asked that they not force me to file eviction proceedings, since that would impact their ability to find another place to live.  We tried to explain that we really were thinking of them and the kids (yes, there’s kids, which makes me feel like Scrooge, thanks).  At the same time, their problems had become my problems and my problems were much larger than theirs.  They were losing a place to live, I was losing an entire house.

S tried to convince them to find jobs.  The male squatter, henceforth MS, complained that the guy he was working for wasn’t paying him.  It was a guy we had warned him about, and we reminded him of that fact.  And the female squatter, FS, had supposedly gone back to stripping.  (I know, can I pick them or what?)  Apparently that wasn’t working out.

In the end, nothing was truly resolved.  S had suggested that if they gave us the remainder of the rent before the end of the month, we might consider letting them stay while we’re selling the house.  (I could use the money…)

We went home, feeling relatively good about the situation.  Oh, but how quickly those hopes can be dashed. 

**Read tomorrow to find out how Ed gave us a reality check.

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I want justice!

Monday, August 24th, 2009

Okay.  Here’s my story.  And keep in mind, while I am venting, I will gladly accept legal advice.  So, if you know a lawyer, are a lawyer, are studying law, or even know impressive Latin words…contact me on the Contact Me page.

See, my saga with Wells Fargo continues.  I may not have named them previously, but the gloves are off now.  I’m hurt and angry and dismayed that they are able to get away with such shoddy business practices.

My story begins, as most do these days, with the divorce.  I spent some time playing Russian roulette with the bills, trying to make ends meet, trying to keep the utilities on and food on the table, oh…and for that table to be in our house, the food to be driven there by my car.  You get the idea.

I ended up working out a deal with Wells Fargo after they threw around the word ‘repo.’  I agreed to make an extra payment, split over two weeks.  And the regular payment two weeks after that when my next paycheck would be deposited.  The representative wanted it to be done through auto pay, but I told her I would do it and call in the confirmation number.  She said that if I did that, the transaction would be canceled.

So, I made the payment, and I called with the confirmation number, explained that the auto pay needed to be canceled.  I was confident the situation would be taken care of.  I held up my end of the bargain, they should hold up theirs.

Only they didn’t.  For those of you keeping up at home, you know that on Wednesday, I discovered that the auto pay had gone through and that I now was looking at an account overdrawn by just shy of $500.  Up until now, I had NEVER overdrawn this account.  NEVER.  So, I had a meltdown, called Wells Fargo and spoke to the woman who I called the confirmation number in to.  She admitted there was an error on their part, but assured me that it would be remedied if I’d just calm down. Easy for her to say.  I was the one who was destitute.

The one catch was that I’d have to supply them with the most recent bank statement showing all the overdraft fees.  They would only authorize one check, one payment to me and I would have to make sure everything was on there before they would do so.  Needless to say, I spent Thursday faxing bank statements.  Yes, plural.  Three.  Fees just kept popping up.

I called Thursday after I made it home from work to ensure that the last statement had been received.  It hadn’t, to their knowledge, since due to confidentiality issues, only one person was authorized to claim the faxes and she was gone for the day.  The woman I was speaking to was going out on leave and it was her last day.  She referred me to her supervisor, who was standing near her and I could hear in the background, who would be in the next day.

I was upset.  I explained that they had cost me my house because I was on a forbearance and the payment was expected on Friday.  I knew that my check would be direct deposited in a few hours and that it would simply maybe cover all the charges in my overdrawn account.  I would not be able to make the payment.  I also reiterated that I wouldn’t be able to make any payment to them tomorrow, as previously planned, since their error had overdrawn my account.  I told the woman to make sure to note in my file that there were to be no more auto pays and that they would have to wait for their payments until the money made it into my account like everyone else.

So, I called back Friday, only to be told the suoervisor wasn’t in, didn’t normally work on Fridays or Saturdays, but that my message would be passed on to him if he arrived.  I was more than mildly annoyed.  It seemed that I had been put off at a time when they should have been striving for superior customer service since they had wreaked financial havoc in my life and created an undue amount of stress.

Well, Monday arrived.  No call from them saying they received my fax.  I opened my bank account in preparation for a call to them only to discover that the payment I told them not to make was auto paid, further overdrawing my account  and again causing more overdraft charges.  (I had seen that I had a balance of $23 on Friday morning and stopped to get gas, since the light was on.  And then on Saturday, I made photocopies of the listing paperwork for my bank at Office Depot.  That $1.80 charge now cost me $36.80.)  Clearly, I lead a very frivolous lifestyle.  My charges would bore the pants off you.

Well, I nearly burst into tears, nearly… since I held them in until I made it to the car.  I had to leave work at this point.  I drove home to get all the paperwork and call Wells Fargo…again!  The supervisor is not in until one, unless there is an emergency and he won’t come in.  (At what point do I become an emergency?)  And I couldn’t get anyone to understand.

The reality is that Wells Fargo made an error that caused me undue to stress and hardship.  They have yet to make good in any way, shape, or form.  And they have, in effect, cost me my house.  J came through with his money and if I had had any money in the bank, even without the squatters coming through, I could have made the payment.  Instead, the mortgage company offered to let me put the house on the market, rather than foreclose immediately.

Shouldn’t I have any recourse?  Doesn’t it seem like they should be held accountable?  Given all that has transpired the last few days, I deserve way more than the overdraft fees and the unauthorized payments.

A little help, anyone?

Posted in Just Venting | 10 Comments »

About the squatters…

Monday, August 24th, 2009

Apparently, despite the fact that they have done a considerable amount of damage to my house, totally at least the amount of the security deposit to date, I still have to follow the legal methods of eviction.  S and I stopped by the house Friday night, since they had promised me more rent money, but to no avail.  The end result was that I had to put the house on the market, and check out any repairs that might need to be made prior to sale.

We knew in advance that the front door had been kicked in, that the plate had been so badly bent that I had removed it so the door could close.  And then there was the disc behind the door that was supposed to prevent any damage to the wall.  It was split in two and inside the wall.  Not quite what was supposed to happen.  As looked around more, we discovered that the hall door had also been opened so harshly that there was a hole in the wall behind it.  But my favorite, the piece de resistance, was the master bedroom where the door had been kicked open with such force that the frame was split and the trim was coming off the wall in pieces.

I should be commended on my restraint.  I didn’t rip anyone a new one.  I didn’t make them cry using just my words.  I didn’t let S beat the wheels off the male squatter.  In short, I was clearly too nice.  And I’m paying for it.

I called the police today to see what I could do.  If this was how they treated the house when they claimed to like me, once I had them served with eviction papers, what would prevent them from further damaging the house?  And all I found out was that if there were illegal activities taking place there, I was liable since I was the owner, but I couldn’t get them out any sooner.  That seems fair.

The one bright note: the officer told me that I could try to serve them with a letter asking them to leave by a particular date.  And if they balked in any way, I would then file formal proceedings.  And…wait for it…if I felt threatened in any way, I could have an officer accompany me while I served them the letter.

Well, at least that’s something.  So, I’m heading off to write a letter now.  And then I’ll be calling an officer to escort me to my own house.  And then I’ll hope they get it before I lose it.

Wish me well.  And if there are any landlords out there with advice…I’ll take it!

Posted in Just Venting | 3 Comments »

Thar she blows!

Thursday, August 20th, 2009

It’s not exactly out of the realm of possibility that I’m going to be one of those rare cases of human spontaneous combustion.  In fact, taking a page from S and his affinity for numbers…the chances are about 67%.  Could be closer to 73%.  And this is why…

• After suffering through the nonsense at Rachel’s school late yesterday, I decided I was too hot and irritated to cook.  Pizza was the way forward.  So, I checked my account balance and discovered that my car company automatically debited a payment that I had made…twice.
• For those of you who have been reading me any length of time, you know that I am currently struggling to make these payments once a month, forget about twice.  Needless to say, my account was overdrawn almost $500 after all the overdraft fees were tacked on for the miscellaneous expenses that I had incurred over the last few days.  For example, I bought S a Red Bull that essentially cost me almost $39.  Crapalapa.
• Then I called Wells Fargo and decided not to mess around telling my story to a customer service representative, instead I needed a supervisor and requested one immediately.  The end result was that I spoke to a woman I had worked with previously, the woman who set up this payment that messed everything up.  And she told me to calm down.  That was easy for her to say.  I was the one who was destitute with an overdrawn account.
• Oh, and my renters still haven’t paid the rent.  I’m just going to refer to them as squatters from now on. 
• And J still owes me money for child support, but thinks he can be up my butt about being too soft on the renters.  Here’s how that conversation went:

J: Did you tell them to get out?

me: It takes time to evict people.

(And I’m confident the house will be foreclosed on before that can happen…)

J: I think you’re being too nice.

(I’m ready to pull a Mount Vesuvius on him now…)

me: So, you think I should be tougher on people who owe me money.

(He really quieted down then.)

me: In that case, how’s the child support coming?

J:(bristling) You know I get paid on Friday.

me: I’ll look forward to getting it then.

And that’s when that conversation ended.

• I talked to S’s realtor and discovered that despite my good intentions to help the bank recoup their money on the mortgage, I can’t afford to sell the house.  I can’t sell it for more than I owe and I don’t have money to pay for the realtor fees and other closing costs.  (Let’s face it, if I were sitting on that much money, I could pay the mortgage.)
• So, S and I discussed what we were going to do about the house.  By now, I’ve accepted that foreclosure is unavoidable.  And I’m trying to focus on the positives.  For example, we can switch out some appliances. (I could have a working oven once more.)  And we could switch out some blinds.  And we could switch out some light fixtures.  And…you get the idea.
• Oh, and as if the financial ruin isn’t enough…this is my ninth day bleeding.  Yup.  9.  NINE!  I mean, FFS!  I’m blowing through tampons and Midol like they’re Tic Tacs.  And you know what a crimp this is putting on my love life, right?  (Okay, at least imagine.  Now it’s day 12 of the drought.  And who can blame him…)

So many aspects of my life have been impacted lately…too much!  On the ‘Bacon is my Enemy’ blog, she also seems to be experiencing an unusually high volume of BS in her life.  And I completely get her analogy where she compares her life to a Jenga game.  I’m with you, sister! 

And I just keep muttering ‘this, too, shall pass.’  (Thank you, Gramma.)  And I keep resisting the urge to go shake my fist at the sky and shout ’smite me, oh mighty smiter!’  And I have stopped wondering how life could be worse, because when I do that, it gets worse.  (Or worse, I feel like a jerk since I mostly have my health and so do my kids…Rachel’s allergies and Keenan’s bizarre facial discoloration where his soul patch would be aside…)

Ok.  Enough already.  Just had to vent.

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I’m so not impressed…

Thursday, August 20th, 2009

We go through the same routine every year as school prepares to begin.  Every year I am twisted into a pretzel as I attempt to get the kids everywhere they need to be.  Last year, I was a bit overwhelmed.

It was my first year doing that single mom thing.  And I made sure to take Keenan to his new school, but I was a complete and utter failure in the getting Rachel to her freshmen orientation department.  Still, somehow she pulled through.  She is going to be a sophomore this year.

Wednesday night was what they call the ‘drop in’ time.  From 4-6pm, the theory was that the students and their families could take their schedule and get a leg up on where they would be each period of the day.  Nice theory.

First, let me remind you that I don’t get done work until 4:30pm, which means I am already at a disadvantage.  Then, I have to drive home and pick up the girl before we can go to the school.

me:  I suppose you want me to change.  (I was wearing pink scrubs.)

Rachel: No, Mommy.  Unlike some people, you look pretty in everything you wear.

I turned and looked at her.

me: What do you want?

Rachel: Nothing, Mommy.  (And I can almost see the halo.)

We arrive around 5:10pm, give or take a few seconds.

This is a sprawling campus with a court yard and nameless industrial looking buildings that bear letters of the alphabet for label purposes.  And there’s a lot of red.  It’s an angry campus.  They should have gone with more soothing colors, especially if they were going to run the drop in as shoddily as they ran everything else.

We traipsed around the campus in 93 degree weather that with the humidity felt much hotter.  I was melting.  And the worse part: no teachers.  I met more custodians than I did faculty.  And the rooms?  They might have been nice and inviting, but it was hard to tell with the locked doors and drawn blinds.  Grrr.

So now, if I really want to be the loving and supportive parent I intend to be, I have to go to the next Open House in September.  This is how they suck me in.  And they wonder why they have such a weak turnout to these events.

I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to doing this all over again tomorrow night for Keenan.  I’ll dress better, cooler, as in lighter clothing.  And I’ll eat before I go.  I have a plan.

Posted in Just Venting | 1 Comment »

How are you?

Thursday, August 13th, 2009

I’m asked that probably fifty times a day.  It’s common courtesy at work as we pass one another.  It’s common courtesy with patients as I take care of them.  It’s a conversation starter.  And in our society, I’ve come to realize that too often we don’t even wait for the response, really care to hear the answer.  Yup.  ‘How are you doing’ has become a rhetorical question.

And sometimes I wonder if anyone would notice if I answered honestly.  Since lately, I’m having more and more difficulty answering ‘ok.’  Mostly because I’m not ok.

• After my fearing foreclosure post, I was directed to a website that I devoured hoping to find an answer.  I called numerous places.  The end result: one company that claimed to have lawyers on staff and a legal way to modify my loan to make it more manageable.  Oh, and I wouldn’t have to make mortgage payments until the modification was completed.
• I talked to S.  I talked to J.  I completed paperwork so the company could talk to my loan specialist.  There was a flat fee required, but it seemed that it was a ‘go.’
• Spoke to my loan specialist.  She tells me that she doesn’t want to see me get ripped off and that if there were any other way to modify my loan other than what was currently being done, it would have happened.  Furthermore, she doesn’t think there will be a significant change in the payment due to the rising interest rates.
• So, I wonder what I’m holding on for.  Maybe I should try to sell the house and if I can’t, let it go.  Maybe I won’t have a choice for much longer.
• All of this is hinging on whether or not the renters come up with money.
• And it’s also hinging on whether or not J comes up with child support.
• And my sanity is remarkably intact, though I’m rather focused on all this right now.  Can’t quite seem to accomplish much else.

Michael had been out of town for a few days, enjoying the beauty of Charleston, South Carolina with his family.  It was their last hurrah beofre the kids returned to school.  And he made the mistake of posing that question as we sat down to eat lunch together.  So, I laid out what’s bothering me for Michael while we ate.  He listened to me in silence.

Michael: Well, my cable’s fixed.

And I think I stared blankly at him for a moment.

Michael: Yeah.  I’m an asshole.  That’s my biggest problem.  And now it’s fixed.

me: Huh.

S and I discussed that conversation last night.  He’s having some issues with work.  And we all know about my issues.  Somehow, we’re still good.  Somehow, despite all the stress, we’re in a good place in our relationship.  He has adopted this ‘we’re in it together’ attitude that I never envisioned.  And I like it.

Some day, we’re going to look back on all this and marvel at what we’ve survived, what we’ve accomplished.  I look forward to that day.  Until then, I know that I’m not alone.  I know that I have someone to listen to me, who supports me, who cares about me.  And that makes it easier, when asked how I’m doing, to respond with the accepted reply.

Posted in Just Venting | 4 Comments »

Our Version of the Brady Bunch…

Wednesday, August 12th, 2009

We have an interesting extended family vibe around the house.  We’re like the Brady Bunch.  I brought a teen, a tween, a kitty-heifer, and a babbit.  S had a kitty-bull and a garage monkey.  And when you pull us all together, it’s never dull.

We’re pretty sure that over the last few days the kitty-cows have…well, you know.  (Because Rachel, sometimes when a mommy kitty and a daddy kitty love each other very much, they give each other a special hug…)  So, I’m anticipating a kitty-cow litter.  And I need that I like I need another hole in the head.

The living situation isn’t without its challenges.  There will always be challenges when you have three adults living in the same house.  For one thing, roles can be confused.  And…the kids can have this mistaken notion about who they take orders from.  For example…they may actually think that Doug, our garage monkey, is an adult and his word matters.

Take one recent night for example.  S and I had just finished a discussion in the bedroom.  He had gone out to start shutting down the house.  I was to join him momentarily.  (It’s one of our nightly rituals.)  As I’m headed down the hall toward the living room, I see him practically rubbing his hands together in glee.  I glanced around to see the source of his delight.

And there it was.  At 11:15pm, Doug was seated on the floor eating chicken wings with Keenan, who should have been in bed fifteen minutes ago.  I took a moment to count the infractions.  Let’s see:

1. Keenan was up past his bed time.
2. He was eating way too late.
3. He hadn’t asked permission to eat.

The list was about to get longer when Doug noticed my presence.

Doug: Yeah, I went to Carmella’s to get wings and me and Keenan are going to watch the Simposon’s Movie.  It just started.

I looked to S, trying to decide if I was able to reprimand him or if, since Doug was his ‘kid’ that fell into his area.  He beamed and mimed me crushing Doug like a bug.  Game on!  So, I started by telling Keenan that it was bedtime and he shouldn’t be eating this late at night, nor had he asked my permission to eat wings.

Keenan: But Doug said I could…

me: Doug didn’t give birth to you.  (Then I realized that opened the door on the whole, ‘well S isn’t my parent but he gets to tell me what to do’ thing…)  And he’s not the boss of you.

S (chiming in): Doug isn’t even an adult!

Doug: I am, too!

S: Being 28 doesn’t make you an adult.  You have no responsibilities!

Doug was about to rebut, however I still hadn’t sent my point home.

me: Doug, you can’t feed the kids without asking permission.

Doug: I asked Keenan…

me: He’s eleven!  Ask my permission!

And the discussion dragged on.  While I’m confident Keenan understands the situation now, I’m not confident that Doug does.  He does seem to have a reasonably healthy fear of me though.  For now, that will have to do.

Posted in Just Venting | 4 Comments »