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Lady of the House

Josh The Pilot and I have undertaken the first of many and many moves.  This took us three miles across town (in Virgina, towns are three miles across), and the next one could be another three. Could be thirty.  Could be many multiples of three.

What's happened here is that we were under the impression that we'd be staying in the DC area for ever an' ever, and then the FAA informed Josh that is going to be transferred.  We don't know where.  We don't know when.  Because telling us would make sense, that's why.  We've heard possibilities ranging from Lexington (KY) to Fairbanks (AK) to Daytona Beach (FL) to Charleston (WV) to Detroit (Hell.)  We just know we're going, that there will be a stop in Oklahoma City at some point (possibly before heading to the new location, possibly after, possibly for two and a half weeks, possibly for three months.)  It makes me awfully glad I once stopped cold a budding relationship (okay, a date) (okay, he bought me a drink) (okay, I made eye contact with this one guy in this bar once) with a Marine because I didn't want the instability of life as a military spouse.

This meant we had to sell our house.  This was a problem, because the real estate market waited a polite four and a half seconds after we closed before plummeting to pre-Ice Age levels.  We owed more, much much more, on our home than it was worth.  And that is what the housing biz calls "underwater."  And I call "really, really f-ing terrifying."

Well.  It did sell, after several days of curling in a very small ball in my office as various strangers trooped past, making such tactful pronouncements as "THIS IS WAY TOO SMALL FOR THE PRICE THEY'RE ASKING."  But, of course, it sold far, far short for what we paid for it only a couple human gestation periods earlier.

The bank was okay with this.  The bank had given up long ago.  The mortgage insurance agency covering the bank against situations like ours, well, it was not okay.  It would like forty thousand dollars, please, in small bills and by the time people really are flying around in rocket jet packs.  And so yesterday I sat a a big oak table and signed a promissory note, which I previously thought only existed in the cardboard bank of Life.  But as it happens, they're out here beyond the roulette wheel as well, and they totally aren't a pretty red color.  They're pages and pages of tiny Arial font long, announcing that the note would be due in full if I miss a payment, or become incapacitated, or fart in the wrong direction, or fall into some sort of puddle inhabited by piranhas -- which is really best case scenario, because then I probably won't be caring about the Arial font too much.

Our temporary rental house is very nice.  My office has a window seat.  It has a roof and a door that doesn't wham the enterer between the cheeks because the previous owner couldn't afford to fix the springs.  We are grateful that we've found it, this home with a larger square footage than our first home at nearly half the monthly price.

It is not, however, the threshold my husband first carried me over, and because Josh and I chose the best possible time to move-- the day after New Year's, with highs soaring to sixteen degrees--the bay window where I first pointed and said, "That's where the Christmas tree will go" remained dark this year.  I don't know where we'll stand it up next year, if at all.

In the meantime, I am filling the ice cube trays.  Because the icemaker is broken.

bubble wrapped at:  mbe@drinktothelasses.com

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Reader Comments (13)

[...] it happens, promissory notes actually exist outside The Game of Life.  Unfortunately. Share and [...]

I have a lot of bad things to say for Josh's employers, but I'll refrain.

This thing of not telling you where exactly are you going, does it have to do with some paranoid Homeland Security procedure, or is it plain old bureaucratic incompetence?

January 21, 2010 | Unregistered Commenterred pill junkie

PS: What's with the punk-like green lock of hair? Has Cindy Lauper's Rock Band game come out and nobody bothered to let me know? ;-)

January 21, 2010 | Unregistered Commenterred pill junkie

That's the tail end of a hairband. But now that you mention it, fuchsia might be a good look for the back of my head.

January 21, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterMB

Apply Occam's Razor. You have your answer.

January 21, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterMB

So, seriously - for the privilege of being able to sell your house, you are now saddled with a $40,000 bill???

January 22, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterJulie

Ahhh the FAA. The best 16 billion tax dollars ever spent... last year. This year they will spend $1,488,540 on "organizational excellence." I fully expect a much better organization next year :)

January 22, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterLostUpNorth

Yes. Seriously. The insurance company-- which exists to cover the mortgage in the case of short sales-- is refusing to cover the mortgage in case of short sales. It knows it has us over a big ol' barrel of s--t, and it's making sure we know it, too.

January 22, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterMB

Oh-- it gets better. Pending the transfer, Josh has been pulled from the scopes. This means he is receiving full tax dollar pay for eight daily hours of playing Wii in the union lounge. Nice scam if you can get it.

January 22, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterMB

*Rendered speechless*

Which is unusual for me.

January 22, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterJulie

Doesn't Uncle Sam cover up to 90% of the loss for you...since he is making you move to begin with? You should look into it. My brother in law is in the Airforce, and they made him move from Hawaii to Alabama. He also took a bath on the Hawaii home he bought 3 years ago at the peak, and just had to sell. But the Government reimbursed him for almost the entire loss...

January 26, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterEric

Long story short? Nope.

January 26, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterMB

[...] Wednesday, February 10, 2010 · Leave a Comment Oh, and by the way, I’m moving to Alabama. [...]

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