Prince William, Princess Kate, and the four MILLION pound remodel

You know, I don't begrudge rich folks their riches.  I don't.  I am a bit put off by the gratuitous extravagance I see, but hey, I'm sure someone could look at me today and find something wrong with my spending habits.  However, when the following story came across my news feed, I admit, the bitterness rose up in a big way.

Buckingham Palace defend spending £4m on refurbishing Kate and Wills' flat

Why bitter?  Because this isn't some busted up, broken down, run-into-the-ground hovel requiring a from-the-floorboards-up renovation.  The place isn't in tatters.  And that Wills and Kate paid for their own curtains?  Doesn't really appease my sour heart.  

We are in SUCH a bad way here, and we're about to drop an application fee and deposit on a place we almost certainly won't get.  The hundred bucks is a throw-away--we'll never see that again, either way.  And the deposit?  If we don't get the place, we won't see that money refunded for weeks.  That's weeks we don't have.  And if we DO get it?

Well, we don't have the rent and truck money.  We're operating on pure hope here.  Hope that folks will come through for us.  Because the alternative is us being utterly toast.

So hey, Prince William?  Princess Kate?  Do you think you could spare .001 % of your remodeling budget?  That would be all we need and more.  It would be enough so we could have someone help us with the heavier furniture, AND we could keep our boy's dog!  So how 'bout it?  Please?  Pretty please?  Just .001% would totally SAVE us, and you might be out one fancy brass spittoon.  

Twitter? Hardly. Help? Please!

So, I signed up for my first Twitter account yesterday.  Figured it was time, there is now ZERO chance of anyone thinking I joined up just to be cool (wink).  I signed up, chose my moniker, followed a couple of friends, and made one small, silly little tweet (said "guess this would be #myfirsthashtag.").  Probably not too original, but also not offensive by any stretch.  I sign on this morning to find THIS dangling over my now-SUSPENDED account:

Hey Krista XXXXXXX,

Twitter has automated systems that find and remove multiple automated spam accounts in bulk. Unfortunately, it looks like this account, @XXXXXXX, got caught up in one of these spam groups by mistake.

We apologize for this inconvenience. It’s possible your account posted an update that appeared to be spam, so please be careful what you tweet or retweet. You might also want to review our help page for hacked or compromised accounts://support.twitter.com/entries/68916. You will need to change your behavior to continue using Twitter. Repeat violations of the Twitter Rules may result in the permanent suspension of your account.

And that's that.  No more Twitter for me, I guess, because I have done the idiot "CAPTCHA" thing a dozen times to "recover" my account, but each time my page comes back up with the "been suspended" banner and I still cannot use the account.  So blow up, Twitter.  You're mean.

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Feeling bitter.  Been seeing all the uproar about the handsome, wildly tattooed felon, Jeremy Meeks?  The one up on weapons and gang charges?  The scary guy with the Esquire face?   Well, thus far, women across the country have donated over 100,000 bucks to spring him (his bail is a million).  

ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS to spring a member of the Crips gang.  A guy with a rap sheet replete with charges from gun offenses to identity theft, grand theft of a person (that's a step down from robbery) to drug charges.  $100,000 dollars raised to spring a dangerous felon because he's easy on the eyes (and he is), but here we are, scared to death we're going to wind up homeless.  Yes, a little bitter.

Because that somehow inspires charity and giving more than this:

I don't understand.  All I know is this--the guy up there stole, lied, and poses a clear threat to people.  And Charlie?  None of those things, but if we can't find a place, we may lose him.  Which would break my heart, break hubby's, too.  And it would shatter our boy.  

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We have found another place.  It's smaller than this, and the neighborhood's a bit dodgier, but it's certainly good enough.  No yard, and I'll miss my gardening, but we really can't be picky right now.  Fact is, it's a roof, and it's not a terrible one.  The rent is only 100 a month more than here, and, while 1600 a month is steep, it's not steep for the DC area.  In fact, it's practically low-budget.  

The scary part?  100 dollar non-refundable application fee, and having to tender the deposit in advance.  If they turn us down (which they might, our credit is in the solidly "fair" category, despite no delinquencies, no late payments, no judgments, and a pristine rental history),  that's weeks with that money tied up and inaccessible, plus the hit to the credit score for the inquiry, and we're out the 100 bucks permanently.  We are NOT where we can afford this, so the risk is terrifying.

Sadly, we're almost certainly going to lose it unless we throw caution to the wind and post the deposit and application fee without having the money to move in.  We'll lose it like the little house in Old Town; this is going to get snapped up by someone else before we have the money in hand.  Right now, we have the money for the deposit.  In a week, we hope to have enough for the pet deposit and the truck.  Which still leaves us down 1850.  So here I go again--please.  Please, anything you can spare.  If you've ever said to yourself "I wish there was something I could do," you CAN.  Ten bucks would be something.  It would help us.  If every person who reads my blog in a month gave a few bucks, we'd be that much closer.  If every person who reads my blog SHARED our link?

You'd be saving us.  Quite literally.

So please.  Please help, please share.  

Just a note--we made our goal, the donation campaign has ended!

And here it is

So, the move we can't afford and don't know where we're going is screaming headlong toward us.  I'm packing, even though I don't know where we're going and I don't know how we'll pay for it.  Our dear friends J & C lent us a grand, and oh, I can't tell you how amazing that is or how grateful we are.  We thought we were good, because a relative stepped up and offered three thousand.

You read that correctly.  Three grand.  She offered, she wasn't asked.  She understood that it would take us a while to pay back.  She said that if you can't help family, what's the point?  I cried my eyes out in gratitude, felt part of this crushing weight lift.  It was the most amazing thing.

That was May 28th.  She said she'd have it to us the following Monday or Tuesday.  I last heard from her June 4th, and she was still very upbeat and reassuring.  Multiple Facebook messages, a post, plus text messages, and nothing.  Fifteen days of silence.  She's stopped even signing onto Facebook, and has not read even one of my messages since the 4th.  I don't want to believe that she's left us hanging, but I'm not sure what else to think.  In the meantime, the clock is ticking, and we're watching the few places we can get go to other people because we don't have the money to put down the deposit and rent.

And what if she does come through?  What if this is just a hiccup, and, because she knows we don't absolutely have to be out until the end of next month, she figures there's no huge rush?  What if she IS going to come through?  I want to believe that.  I love her, and I don't want to think that anything has gone wrong.  But the lack of communication is scary and I don't know what to think.  But what I DO know is this: we are running out of time, and every day that passes is another apartment or house that rents to someone else.

Plus my Mom offered up 800.  Again, that was weeks ago, and no show.  But my mom turns 80 next month, and sometimes she makes offers when she can't follow through because she really WANTS to be able to.  I love her, and I understand that. My Mom is almost 80.  Which makes me almost 50, and this is where I am.

At this point, my stomach is so bad that I am actually worried that the ulcer is going to go totally south.  I can't sleep more than a couple of hours, and I find myself gasping and sighing every time my mind goes there.  Which is often.  And our boy?  Oh, he is beyond panic-stricken.  He knows we may wind up far away from his friends at class.  He knows we may wind up in a place so tiny and so scary that our stuff all goes into storage and we wind up not being able to go outside for walks.  And he knows there's the very real risk of losing our dog.   Charlie.  Oh, man, just typing that has me crying.

And so, the crowd-funding page I set up back in May but never went live with?  Well, here it is.  I didn't go live with it because it looked like we were covered--between J&C and my relatives, plus what we can save, we'd have it.  But now we clearly don't have it, and we're not sure what to do other than this.  I mean, we are stuck, we have to be out.

So here's the page.  Anything helps.  Five bucks.  If every friend on facebook gave five bucks, we'd be okay.  We're not looking to get rich here, we're not looking to take advantage.  We're looking to survive, to have a place to land when this is over.  Anything helps.

We made our goal!  Donations disabled!



We made our goal!  Donations disabled!

This is embarrassing beyond words.  And the terror that my relative DOES mean to come through, but will see this on Facebook and withdraw the offer?   Indescribable.  But if we keep waiting, what if she can't come through?  What if something has happened and she's unable?  And we let all this time pass?  That's where I can't stop going--what if we just keep waiting and it turns out something's happened and she can't help?  Every day is a day closer to the deadline, and every day we wait is a day lost.

We didn't see this coming.  It's not an eviction, the landlord is giving us a glowing reference.  Says we're the "best" tenants he's ever had.  But he has to sell, and that means we have to go.  Being great tenants who always pay on time doesn't really count for anything in this situation.  Please help.  Please share.  And please, no mention on my Facebook wall.  Not yet, anyway.

So much, but not a lot.

Spent the day doing parental maintenance.  My mom will be 80 this summer.  EIGHTY.  Damn.  She needs a new physician in a big way--her current doctor is a peer, and it's showing.  She was complaining about her hearing a few weeks ago (it's hit the point that her TV is cranked beyond gun-range decibels), and he said "Well, old lady, you're going deaf--you are getting up there!"  However, a trip to the local clinic showed that, rather than going deaf, she had a TON of wax impacting her ears.  Clinic blasted the wax out with water, and suddenly she can hear like a twenty year old again.  Unfortunately, she's also staggering around a puking like a twenty year old at a frat party.  Happens sometimes, and her balance is now completely shot.  Yes, she lives alone.  2,200 miles from here. Thankfully, my sister does see her most days, takes her to the store and spends time.  Without that, can you imagine?

Damn.

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Came across the concept of "Micronations" here in the States, and our boy was absolutely entranced by the ridiculousness of the idea.  In particular, we read about "The Republic of Molossia."  We were researching something else entirely when we came across a photo.  Just a patch of land, but I looked at him and said "That's got to be Utah or Nevada--no where else looks like that."  But the picture was labeled as some National Park in "Molossia."  Which, of course, I'd never heard of.  I was right--it's in Nevada.  And it is terribly silly.

Yeah, silly.  Its own post office (which serves Molossia), its own currency, an ongoing war with East Germany (LOL!), and the requiring of passports for those not citizens of allied nations.  Cute, but also very silly.  My boy, however, thought it was terrifically cool. So thank you "President" Kevin Baugh of Molossia for capturing my boy's imagination.  

The above image is a link to Molossia's website

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Heading up to Shenandoah tonight, it looks like.  If I can stay awake that long.  There's a brand-spanking-new meteor shower in town called "Camelopardalids," and they're promising from 200 to 1000 meteors an hour.  The meteors will appear to radiate from near the North Star, and we're in a prime viewing area. 

 Meteor showers have been a family tradition since our boy was very small.  We used to haul sleeping bags up to Pineview Reservoir in Huntsville, Utah and lie flat on our backs, looking up.  Heck, hubby and I used to do it even before there was a boy.   Since we have an annual pass to Shenandoah, the only thing this is going to cost us is the gas.  And that's more than we should be tossing out, but this is something new--a brand new meteor shower!  But the money aspect does bring me to my scary news . . .

The landlord.  I feel like I should type that in all caps, you know?  Like so:

THE LANDLORD

< insert ominous chord here >

emailed last Thursday.  In his usual way, his greeting was . . . hang on.  I need to start from the beginning.

You may remember that last September, our lease expired.  Reading over the lease in advance, I found a clause stating that, if either party intended to not renew the lease, at least 60 days notice would be required.  Well, I gave almost 90 days notice that we DID intend to renew, and he gave no notice whatsoever.  Which was scary, but when the lease expiration date came and passed, we figured we were okay.  Then, a few weeks ago, a flurry of snail-mails showed up, addressed to him, from various mortgage companies.  That was scary.  We bundled them up and mailed them to him.  And then he emailed.

Now, back to where I was.  The landlord emailed, with a jovial "Hey, there!" greeting in the subject line.  The kind we've learned to fear, because this guy is only jovial when there's something he wants us to do to his benefit.  He's otherwise either silent or somewhat unfriendly. So the very title shook me just a bit.  I opened the email, and oh.  Hell.

He announced he's looking to sell the place.  Wants to know if we want it.  There are a few problems with that:

1. We don't want it.  We're looking to move in 16 months, when the lease is up.
2. We can't get the financing.  Not without a down payment, and we do not have a down--in fact, we have no savings whatsoever.  
3. Our credit is still a disaster from the move out here--no delinquencies, and our rental history is pristine, but our "available credit to debt" is a mess--not enough available credit.

That third one (along with the no savings) is what's possibly going to land us homeless.  Literally.  See, we have no money for a deposit on a new place.  We have two grand of deposit in THIS place, but even if he did give that back to us, that's months after we leave here, which doesn't help at ALL.  This place is in as good a shape as when we moved in, but he's requiring we have the chimney professionally swept (even though it wasn't when we moved in), the carpets professionally cleaned (even though they weren't when we moved in), and the place sprayed for fleas (even though there are no fleas--the dog is on meds to make sure of that).  In other words, he wants us to drop 500+ dollars we don't have to get back our two grand.  So we have credit that'll get us turned down by potential landlords (never mind the pristine rental history), and no money.  

I don't have to tell you just how terrifying this is.  And once I told him we didn't want to buy, he fell silent.  Utterly silent.  It's what he does when you don't give him what he wants.  

I know, right about now, you're probably saying to yourself "But you have a lease!  No worries!  You're protected from this sort of thing!"

Well, it turns out not really.  Because, you see, hidden deep in that lease is another clause.  One that reads something like this:

"Should this lease be renewed, either party can end it by giving the other 60 days notice."

Yeah.  I didn't spot that one.  I'm not a lawyer.  What I am is an idiot.  So fact is, he only has to give us 60 days notice.  Plus, he can send real estate agents and potential buyers through here at any time.  

You're probably thinking we're stupid for not having the money to move.  What can I say?  We expected to have 16 more months to save up for a move.  And in 16 months, we'd have had the money.  What we really need is a consolidation loan for our bills, which would take our payments down from almost 900 a month to about 300.  That extra 600 a month would enable us to save money hand over fist.  Of course, no one will lend us that money, so it's pure fantasy.  

So, here's where we stand:  No money for first and last plus deposit and rental truck (between four and five grand).  Possibly as little as two months to find that money (and no way to do so--we don't even have four grand worth of stuff to sell).  No one to float us a loan or act as guarantor on a new rental (if we COULD come up with the first and last plus deposit and truck).  

Our boy is scared to death.  What if we can't find a place that will allow our dog?  No exaggeration, I fear for him if we lost our dog.  Hell, I fear for me.  For my husband.  What if we cannot find a place to live?  What happens to people who can't find a place to live?  I'm almost fifty years old, this is not how life is supposed to be.  I am terrified.  

I'm considering crowd-funding.  Yes, that's begging.  I am horrified.  I am so ashamed and embarrassed.  But we're caught.  I'm trying not to completely down myself because we DID think we had 16 more months to have this saved up.  But ultimately, I feel totally responsible.  And I don't know if we have any option other than crowd-funding.  

I need to call my Mom.  Tell her I didn't mean it when I said I was considering taking a dive off a rooftop.  

Even if I did.