March 21, 2011

Where do I live again?

Ak.  Six showings in nine days.  I'm pooped, and barely remember where I live these days.  I'm having to pack up the dogs and vamoos from my house just about every night of the week.  However, this is not entirely bad.  It's a pain, yes.  It's hard on having any sense of normalcy, but it means that whatever this real estate agent is doing, it's working!

Flash back to the first time I put the house on the market.  I'm doing so because the bank tells me that I can't do a deed in lieu until the house has been listed 90+ days.  Ok, here we go.  Clean up the place, spit and polish what I can, donate or trash the items  I don't need or want, and hang a shingle out.  This is when I heard crickets.  Not a single bite on the place until the very last week it was listed.  Color me discouraged.  It was at that point, I was resigned to letting the house just go back to the bank.

Fast forward to earlier this month.  My new boss, who has been wonderful thus far, suggests a new tack.  (We've had some growing pains, but nothing that makes me think I can't work for the guy.)  I'm talking about all the crap going on in my life outside of work and he tells me he went to high school with an agent who could sell igloos to aborigines.    What do I have to lose?  So, a quick facebook message later, I have a new agent by the name of Jennifer Morgan, who is an absolute firecracker!

The first thing I came to learn is that the last person who listed my house had no concept of how to sell a short sale, or how to deal with someone in chapter 13.  Jennifer threw around all kinds of terms that I had never heard before.  But, that's ok.  I'm just glad she knew what she was talking about.  I can be taught.  Three days later, I had all the paperwork, forms, and phone calls made.  We're on the level with the bank and the attorney for the bankruptcy.  I have yet to write my hardship letter, but something tells me that I'll be able to knock that out once the muse that inspires my dramatic side decides her vacation is over.

A hardship letter is pretty much an emotional plea to the bank for why you can't afford to keep the place.  I never wanted to live in the neighborhood, I'm a recent divorcee, I'm in chapter 13, I have a bad back and hips that makes a tri-level difficult to maintain, and my house has seen the demise of not one, but TWO marriages.  Yeah, I've got this. 

So, the house went on the market a week ago last Thursday.  It's Monday, and I'm sitting in a Panera Bread with  my laptop and a smoothie, waiting till I can go home after the latest showing.  Don't get me wrong, I love the fact that I'm getting such a response.  Six showings in nine days is a big deal.  It's five more than the last woman got me.  But, this having to not plan anything until you know if you're going to have to abandon ship, make sure someone had the dogs for the night, and not leaving a trace that you're living in the house is wearing thin.  I don't know how long I'll be able to keep this up without cracking.

I'll admit, when I got a showing request yesterday at 2:50 for a 3:30 showing, I was a little angry.  Sure, I know that you have to live your live around others' schedules when you're trying to show a house, but really?  How is this ok?  I had to decline though since I'd settled in with a nice cold adult beverage and was watching mindless action movies at the time.  Might have been different without the suds, but as it was, nope.  Not getting in a car. 

I'm just hoping I can get working on an offer here soon.  I love that my house is getting attention, but I'd also like to get back to having a bit of a life.  Anybody want a house, cheap?

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