Well, shit.


Remember me?

Still here.

Sigh. Whatever.

Guess what I got in the mail two weeks ago? A letter. From a collections agency.

IN THE AMOUNT OF $100,000.00.

Did you catch that? That $100,000 part? Because that's TOTALLY the best part.

For those that don't know, we foreclosed on a condo we owned in 2007 (like 30% of America has done by now, but for the record...we were SO doing foreclosure before it was cool). Interest rate up, couldn't refinance because we owed more than it was worth, blah, blah, blah. I swear to God, it's the same story everyone else has.

So we walked away. It went a little something like this:

Talk, talk, talk
Plead, plead, plead
Sob, sob, sob
Pack, pack, pack
Move, move, move
Sob, sob, sob
Sold at auction

That was three years ago, and since then, my mom has died, Hubs lost his job and had two knees surgeries and we've moved twice.*

It sucked but life goes on, right? Years pass and it becomes a fading memory.

Until Friday, when I got the collections letter.

Seems in the good ole' state of California, your original loan is a "purchase money loan"...money used to buy the house. This means it's a "non-recourse" loan...the bank can't come after you for the difference.


If you refinanced your loan at any time, it is no longer a "purchase money loan". This means the loan becomes a "recourse" loan, where the bank can come after you for the deficiency.

THE $100,000.00 DEFICIENCY.

Well...pardon my French, but fuck me twice.

So, after crying, and pleading, and consulting with two attorneys, and crying some more, and eating a tub of raw chocolate chip cookie dough...we'll be filing bankruptcy. It's the only way to protect us from this ginormous debt we didn't even know we had until two weeks ago.

Sigh. Whatever.

We'll just keep on truckin'.

And in the meantime, I'll remember my happy place:

*This sentence sums up why my life freaking KICKS ASS.