Skip to main content

Bankrupt it Up

This last month has been another 180. We visited a house on a whim, and actually liked it.

Of course, because it is us, it couldn't just be a normal house. No, of course the only house that we have seen that we actually like couldn't be simple. Oh no. Not us.

This house is a Chapter 7 bankruptcy.

A bankruptcy sale is complicated. You need a judge to approve you buying the house. Instead of the seller, you have a trustee who has to take the best offer on the table. Once your offer is accepted, due to some arcane as fuck laws, you have to wait 21 days with your offer listed publicly and during that 21 days, a random person could come in and be like "oho! I like this!" and outbid you. Once you make it through the 21 days, you have to get the judge's approval and it proceeds from there mostly like a normal sale.

Pros:
Long time to actually purchase the house (for us)
Complicated so it keep a lot of competition at bay
Potentially a good deal on a home because the court who became the seller just wants to get rid of it

Cons:
The house almost definitely has something wrong with it
You could get your offer accepted and then get outbid in the 21 day period and you're out like $1k because you spent money on inspections
You have to wait 21 days
You need court approval

This process doesn't sound too complicated. I'm keeping it simple here. But just figuring this out was hell. There is almost no information on this process online. I spent 2 weeks attempting to understand the basics. The most helpful thing I found was a 2 page pdf from some random nobody lawyer in the middle of the US that gave a short sort of overview. We even spoke to a lawyer type person who was literally no help to us at all. In fact, I could argue that he gave us false information.

The Fiancee and I have given three whole extensions, and written two counter offers for this place. The trustee takes 7 billion years to get back to us, even exasperating the listing agent.

I would love to be able to sue the court system for the emotional, mental and physical stress this process of their has placed on me.

The truth is that I thought I would be able to continue to enjoy my current neighborhood for basically another year. I am not ready to say goodbye to where I live. I love my neighborhood. It's perfect. There is a library and a park basically across the street, it's close to public transit, it is around the corner from an elementary school, and a senior center. the street is a bike boulevard.

I love it here. I love it so much. I broke down at work on my lunch break and cried my eyes out in a bathroom stall, trying to be quiet because my coworkers are allowed to shit in peace.

I am aware that it isn't like I'll never come back. I even like the neighborhood that this house is in. It's cute and up and coming. It has good restaurants. There isn't a library though, and the parks aren't very close. But there are a couple of good elementary schools, and it has like 6 bus lines the pick up on the corner. The houses in the neighborhood are nice.

But it isn't here. It isn't the place I got engaged in, or where I hosted my first family Thanksgiving. It isn't where I said goodbye to my best friend when he moved to New York. It isn't where I've hosted countless games nights, and parties, where I completed NaNoWriMo for the first time, where I ran my first 5k, where I started to find myself, to be comfortable with me.

But the house, if we get it could be a new place for memories. I could own a pet, grow a real garden, my mom could move out of her shit hole neighborhood, I could be a landlord.

No it wouldn't be the same, and I know I won't stay here forever. But I don't know how to say goodbye.
I don't want to.
I'm not ready.


But who ever really is?

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Designing a basic flyer

Now listen up! Here's a story about a non profit who lives in the funding world and all day and all night everything is funds for them and themselves and everybody around them cause it ain't got nobody to fund it fund it fund it its called charity charity  charity charityyy charity charity charity charity  charity charity charity charity-ty-ty-ty
In my free time, I am the CSO/grant writer and designer for a lovely nonprofit known as Project Books, Inc. It's a 501(c)3 that focuses on bringing literacy to underserved populations. It's not an easy task for a lot of reasons, but one of the biggest is design.
One of the first things you learn in a business class is how essential it is to build your brand. your brand is who you are, it's how your customers recognize your products, it's what you communicate to your constituents, its multiple layers of subtext that basically advertise who you are. It's the clothing your business dons.
As Project Books is a young no…

Post Move Life

I survived the move.

Being a homeowner is almost the same as renting. I still have chores, I still have to go grocery shopping, I still have to work out, and accomplish some kind of personal goal that makes me feel like a person and not a robot.

But there are differences and new challenges. I actually have to care about my neighbors. I have to care about having earthquake insurance. I have to care about my plumbing, my electrical, my roof, my backyard.

There is a never-ending slew of projects. Right now it's redoing the sewer lateral, and painting two rooms to prep for my next challenge of being a landlord. After that, it's make the backyard stop looking like an empty weed filled lot, make the in-law unit an actual living space, make the front yard look less like someone went to Mars and then just dumped the red rocks they stole all over it.

Those are just incoming/ongoing projects. That doesn't include figuring out new furniture arrangements, making sure the tree in front…

Life Long Ache

Screeching metal, harsh chemical smell of burnt rubber, bits of shrapnel bouncing off of my goggles as I struggle to breathe through the my nose, harsh light shining straight into my eyes.

To be clear, I'm sitting in a chair at my Dentists'.

The first memory I have of visiting the dentist is screaming in a chair as a man rips one of my teeth out without numbing my mouth. My mother sits in the corner on one of those metal spindly chairs that you most commonly see stacked in corners in a school gym. She didn't know he was going to pull a tooth. Neither did I.
He was white, tall, and the hair on top of his head appeared to be migrating to his arms instead. I can remember the event as if I am watching it from someone else's eyes. The screaming child, the nurse with a face mask holding her legs down as she desperately tried to get away. Her mother, eyes wide with horror, pale, disbelief in what was happening plastered across her face.

Dentist, large, crushing my lower jaw i…