Fighting Bank of America or How to Become the Owner of Your Husband’s House


Dearest readers, here we are again. The drama with the Bank of Asshat-ery may almost be at a close. A quick catch up. When Fix-it-guy died August 24, 2015, we owed $4711.90 on our house. You will also remember that Incompetent Dumbass Lawyer told me not to make any  payments on the house. I dutifully did this, because he’s the expert, he should know the thing that I am supposed to do, right? Oh dear reader, you are obviously just as deluded as I am about experts. So Fast forward 19 months and a new Bright and Shiny Lawyer. We had our settlement conference with the Bank of Asshat-ery’s lawyer.

So, it must be a rule that you must send your most cunty lawyer to do a job. She is dumpy looking and self important. Actually looked as if she might have just rolled out of bed. She wasted 15 minutes complaining about having to drive an hour to my county because our county doesn’t allow these sort of things to happen over the phone. Once in a conference room she proceeds to hand me a Harry Potter novel of paperwork to “assume the mortgage”. Now, dear reader, we have made it abundantly clear that I have no intention in the universe of assuming the mortgage. I have wanted to pay it off since the beginning. That has always been the plan. To finish what Fix-it-guy started. And Bright and Shiny Lawyer told Cunty Faced Lawyer this. Cunty Faced Lawyer gave the longest most audible sigh and then asked me if I even had the money to pay it off. I damn sure do, bitch, let me write you a Nightmare Before Christmas check. What was that amount again?

Then I find out it’s a process. Bright and Shiny Lawyer encourages Cunty Faced Lawyer to call the bank for a payoff amount which is somewhere hovering between 2 times more than the original and 3 times more than the original. They think I should pay for their foreclosure attorney. And here’s another kicker, I get to pay for the imaginary escrow balance that consists of the taxes that aren’t due until April and the house insurance that isn’t due until August. So I’m fine. Let’s walk over to my bank and transfer the money since you only take certified funds. No, it’s a process, they will email the actual payoff amount on Monday. So Monday comes and so does an email from Bright and Shiny Lawyer, somehow the amount of the payoff has jumped almost $2000 dollars from the amount quoted on Friday. What the fuck changed? No one knows. But we are now very solidly closer to the 3 times amount than the 2 times amount.

On Wednesday I trudge down to the bank. My heart is breaking. I feel like I can’t breathe and I’m trapped in a cyclone of hell. I do meaningless things all morning because my brain needs some repetitive thing that I have to concentrate on slightly to feel calm. Nothing works. I am in tears. To the bank I go.

And the bank teller hassles me about my name on my account. This is a 20 minute process and I am barely hanging on with my fingernails to the edge of sanity that is suddenly asking me if I really care about hanging on to it. I do not. Finally they decide that this transaction can be made. Another 10 minutes to figure out the paperwork. And then some hassle over where the physical address is. For. An. Electronic. Transaction. I’m pretty sure that I don’t have to provide any other person/entity with their own address when completing a transaction. I asked the girl to please not fuck with me today and just do the damned transaction. My fingernails are slipping and I can no longer promise that I will remain calm for the ride we are on.

Finally the transaction is processed and I’m presented with a receipt. Oh joy. I bop to the post office to mail off complaint against Incompetent Dumbass Lawyer with the state and then on to Bright and Shiny Lawyer’s office to give him receipt of payoff.

I go home exhausted and in a flood of tears again. I do not real relieved to have this done. I feel apprehensive and awful. It feels like I’ve chipped off the last bit of Fix-it-guy. I feel like he will be gone and he is already starting to feel like less than a picture. The memories of his voice are gone and I can no longer imagine his gentle kisses or the way he held me. It is the last thing in my life with his name on it. It feels wrong and awful and horrible to change it. I know that I have to. But it feels bad. Everyone assures me that it was always my house too. But see, I never wanted to own a house. That was his dream. And I feel as if I am still living it. Without real purpose. Now that he’s gone. That dream was beautiful with him. Unpurposeful and surreal without him. I am starting to feel like an episode of “Legion”. Minus the Pink Floyd references.

Despite my exhaustion, I did not sleep a wink that night. I lay there in the bed staring at the ceiling. Flipping channels. Trying to figure out what happens next. Because there are still more bits of this to do. Just fragments of things to settle. I have no more energy for these fights. I am angry and don’t know who to be angry at. I can’t be pissed at Fix-It-Guy. He obviously never planned to die. So my anger get directed askew at  the Bank of Asshat-ery, Life in General, Incompetent Dumbass Lawyer and the Universe as a whole. I wish I had fireballs or some other cool super power to throw at all of these things. But, no. I do not.

Dear Reader, a cautionary tale is to be found in all of this. Do not choose Bank of America as your mortgage company. I don’t care how many sparkles they put on their unicorns. I don’t care what the incentives are. Stay the hell away from them. They are a bunch of insensitive greedy bastards.

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