Category Archives: economy

The Needy vs. The Greedy

In the past few days alone, I have come across some amazing stories on the internet. Really ground roots kind of stuff. It all started when a person put a tip cup on their page asking for readers to pay for a luxury item. Anyone who has been reading me…or many other people for that matter, know where I stand on the issue.

However, something really amazing has come out of it. Something bigger.

In the past few days, I have been getting some incredible emails. People who I do not know, or are mutual blog friend with someone else that I know, emailing me to tell me about their financial burdens and troubles. Are they asking me for handouts? Absolutely not. What they are asking for is a sympathetic ear. They relate to the fact that my husband and I just lost our home to foreclosure. They understand what it is like to have to go out of town just to get a decent job. My husband flies every, single week to California to his job because Florida wages are for shit. I am running into people who have sick kids. REALLY sick kids, who require chemo treatments on a daily basis and need financial help. I have come across a blogger who started a letter writing campaign for a friend of his who was in a terrible, debilitating accident.

My eyes are really opening back up where the blog world is concerned and it took a big slap in the face to get my reality check paid in full.

What a great thing we have going here. What a deep connection we all share with one another. The ability to share your pain with a stranger can be the most liberating moment of your life. To free yourself of the burden and say “Hell, yeah. I totally relate to that”, is so freeing.

I absolutely encourage those emails to my inbox. I love reading them. I love responding to them. I love that I can reach out and share a cyber hug with someone and let them feel understood. No, I can’t afford to give away money to friends for luxury items. I simply can’t. But, what I can do is offer you my ear, my shoulder and perhaps a piece of wisdom or humor you can walk away with.

I take a little away from each and every one of you. Over the years, I have been blessed with having a great group of people around me. Supportive above and beyond the call of duty. And, while I have been housecleaning, I have also found some new friends who I am looking forward to getting to know a lot better.

There’s always room in my life for another good person. Even the questionable ones. Far be it for me to judge.

What the fuck is WRONG with people???

We’ve been living in the same house for nearly 3 years. We have a beautiful 3 bedroom, 3 bath house. A large great room and an equally large dining room with a spacious kitchen. It’s on a large piece of corner property in very close proximity to my sons school.

I love my home. Loved it from the moment I saw it.

How we came to live here was really incredible. We were living in a substantially smaller house with a landlord who was an absolute monster. Hotband and I were kicking around the idea of moving out for awhile, but never had the funds to do so. One day, my husband was speaking to a friend of his who had recently moved from my hometown to Utah. He was griping that his house in our town was still vacant and how hard it was for him to manage two mortgages. Kidding around, my husband suggested that we move into his old house and pay the rent there…equivalent to what his mortgage payment was.

Imagine our surprise when he LOVED this idea! So, we moved into his home. Everyone is now happy. We have this enormous house in a great neighborhood. We are actually friends with our landlord! The mortgage is reasonable and we drew up papers to rent the house with the intent to eventually buy it from them.

Ideal situation. Worked beautifully…until today.

I get a knock on my front door. A young guy, maybe in his twenties, hands me some paperwork and informs me that my house, my beautiful home…is being foreclosed upon.

What? I mean…WHAT???

Apparently, my husbands “friend” went through a nasty divorce with his wife. Why? Because “friend” is a crack addict and she threw him out. Since the house is in HIS name, Mrs. Crack Addict happily took our rent checks and never mailed them into the mortgage company to further fuck with Mr. Crack Addict. Now, his credit is shot…which is what she wanted, and in the interim, we have gotten fucked as well. All our payments for the past six months have gone to whatever the fuck she used them for. She never told us that HE was now the owner of the home, so of course, we dutifully continued making our payment to her as we have every month for nearly three years.

Everyone has advised us NOT to make any more payments to Mrs. Crack Addict. That’s obvious. Surely I am not going to support her with OUR money. So, I am setting up an escrow account with an attorney come Monday to make our rent payments to. You know, so we are showing good faith.

Who we are showing this “good faith” to, however, is unbeknownst to me.

I have twenty days to let the bank know what our intentions are with regard to the house. Do we intend to buy it or are we moving?

Well, shit. If I had known that I was going to have to buy this house outright from the bank, I would have stopped paying that rent a long time ago and parlayed it into our own mortgage. We aren’t financially in a position to put a large downpayment on the house.

“Don’t worry,” people have said. “It takes anywhere from six months to a year for a foreclosure to go through. You can live there rent free in the meantime.”

Right. Sound advice coming from a bunch of morons. I am so sick of listening to everyone try to find a silver lining in this mess.

We were not prepared for this. Caught us completely off guard. Blind sided us. I wrote the following message to Mr. Crack Addict on Facebook:

You’re a real piece of work, (Insert Crack Addicts Name Here).

When exactly were you going to let us know that you were letting the house fall into foreclosure? We are going to be evicted out of here by the bank. We pay our rent religiously every month. Where has it been going, because it sure as hell hasn’t made it to the bank.

We have CHILDREN, (Insert name here). A family to take care of. How could you be so insensitive to another family who has only supported you and your ex wife in friendship and kindness? Tell me, how do you sleep at night???


I know it isn’t going to mean shit to him, but it made me feel better writing it. Moreover, I didn’t use the words “douchebag”, “asshat”, “cocksucker” or “crackhead ball sucking dickwad”.

I am proud of that.

Anyway, Mr. Crack Addict got my message on Facebook and called the hotband.

“Dude, I am SO sorry. I had nothing to do with this. This was all Mrs. Crack Addict. I trusted her to make the mortgage payments even though the house was in my name. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you guys get to stay in the house.”

Really, fuckhead? Like what? Get us a mortgage? Find us a nice fat downpayment hiding under a rock? Really. What the hell do you think you are going to do for us at this point in time.

My husband convinced him to write us a “recommendation” letter for the bank, stating that we have been good tenants and have always paid our rent on time for the past three years. Yes, thank you for that. That and a piece of toilet paper will wipe my fat ass.


I am so glad there are NO PILLS in this house right now…because MAN, would I love to do some and just go away for awhile. This is the time I miss doing drugs the most…when shit like this comes up. Instead, I have to put myself into “pitbull” mode and just start barking up every tree and see what comes down. I am really trying NOT to freak out. My mother is a real estate agent and knows the ins and outs of a short sale on foreclosure homes. My father is a mortgage banker and is going to do what he can to get us in a more eligable ready position to take on a mortgage. It’s going to be a bitch because I am not working. We can’t count any income from me at all. However, I have good credit. My husband on the other hand makes an excellent salary…but his credit sucks ass. And it’s not as if the banks are handing out loans with this shitty economy. Short of me sucking some banker dick, I don’t see how we are going to pull this off.

I am hoping Dad can pull a miracle out of his hat.

I am hitting an NA meeting first thing in the morning. 7am…just to be able to get all this off my chest. I gotta release some of this steam I have building up.

I hope I am never in Utah. I would feel compelled to fuck up some Crack Addict ass.

Changes in the air…

There’s something going on in the world today. Something bad.

I have found that, as of late, people are losing a lot of respect for one another. Perhaps this was always the case, but for me, it is far more prevailent now. What were once courteous situations are turning into tirades and I find that it is affecting my mood.

There’s definately something in the air.

Yesterday, at my group therapy session (a pretty way of saying “yesterday, when I was in a room full of addicts…”), there was conversation about how each one of us became addicted to our drug of choice. I told my story and discussed my addiction to percocet. Another nurse in the room began to question my story…explaining that just because I took some pills home from my job, that I was not to consider myself an addict. After all, she continued, nurses bring things home in their pockets accidentally all the time. Ah, I said…the key word there being “accidentally”. I didn’t do this by accident. It was very pre-meditated and done quite purposefully. Just because I chose to turn myself in instead of getting caught doesn’t make what I did any less a crime…or make me less of an addict.

Basically, I feel like I am always defending my position to this woman.

Finally, I blew up.

“Are you going to challenge me EVERY time I speak?”

“Huh,” she replied.

“I said, are you going to challenge everything I say everytime I speak. Let me know now…so I can gear up for battle every Tuesday.”

“I wasn’t challenging you. I was asking you a question.”

“Yes, but you only seem to ask questions when it is me who is talking. I haven’t seen you question anyone else about their meds, their motives or their means. It seems to me you have taken an unnatural interest in me.”

“Well obviously,” she says, “I must be a stupid fucking asshole, because I don’t get what you say most of the time. I need things repeated to me.”

“Now THERE is something we can both agree on,” I said, quite flippantly. Then, I realized that I was being just as malevolent as she was being. Nope. Not going to go there. This is supposed to be a safe haven; a place where I can focus on staying clean. Stressors and arguments are triggers for use and frankly, I am not ready to walk that road again so soon after a relapse.

And it dawned on me that I allowed someone else’s bullshit to take over my day. I walked around pissy and angry for the remainder. People who were just trying to do their job got the wrath of CP all day long. No one was safe. I even got bitchy with my kids.

I realized that I was contributing to the not so nice attitude that seems to be going on in the world lately.

I think it has to do with everyone being so on edge with the uncertainty of this economy and the new administration. People are trapped in their own heads and there is no room for anyone or anything else. The first thing we tend to forget are our manners and civility. And it’s understandable. These are very precarious times. People are walking around scared and confused. Where’s my next dollar coming from? Will we be able to keep our roof over our head for another month? How am I going to possibly afford college for little Suzy someday?

We’re all preoccupied.

So, with that in mind, I am pledging to be part of the solution as opposed to the problem. I am going to wear a smile on my face every single day that I stay in recovery. I am going to say hello to strangers, even if they snub me. I will be a little kinder to the kid in the McDonalds drive thru. I will remember the basics of “please” and “thank you”.

Hell, I might even start calling my mother more than once a week. Oy.

The change is gonna do me good.