The Return Of The Storm

March 14, 2008 at 9:50 PM | Posted in Journal | Leave a comment
  It all began with an ominous phone call.  One that I made.  I brought this horror upon myself, and upon the others with whom I work.  I did it.  It was I.  I alone am to blame.
  Pressure from Bunny to get this refi done on my house led to the phone call.  I needed her to sign a quit claim deed.  In turn, I would sign one for her on her house.
  The ensuing conversation was fruitless, but she agreed to "think about it."  Never mind that it was part of the divorce decree.  Never mind it was something I had to do in order to not lose my house.  Never mind any of that–she thought I was trying to "pull something."
  Yes, what little of my hair is left I want to pull out after talking to her.
  Later, she calls back.  Okay, she’ll sign.  She had to talk to some of "her own" people, because she couldn’t trust anyone where I work at–even though I work at a bank…in the mortgage division…that even in these hard lending times our business is booming because we are the best in the business.  (And that’s not just me bragging.  I work at a small local bank that does more mortgages in the metro STL area than ANYONE.  And we don’t do sub-prime.)  Because it was where I worked, we were not to be trusted.
  Initially, she stood by her line that she didn’t need to sign a quit claim deed.  Her divorce attorney said all she would need is the divorce decree.  I said, "Does your lawyer work for a mortgage company?  Then she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.  We don’t practice law here.  She shouldn’t try to be a mortgage expert." 
  But I don’t blame the lawyer; it was just her way of getting The Storm off her back when she asked questions, and in a very vague and general sense it might be true, but not when you get down to the technical details of the mortgage and property.  Compound that with The Storm not understanding the context.
  So The Storm says she’ll be in after lunch, because she was taking half a day.  Originally I was trying to figure out how I could maneuver this.  She works near a branch of her bank; I could have mine notarized here and go down there and have hers notarized there so she wouldn’t have to come here.  Or I would drive 50 miles up to Troy on a Saturday morning and have it done at one of the banks there, and possibly have to pay.
  This worked out the best possible way for me, her coming here.  She rolls in–and maybe it’s just me–but an aura of negativity just flows with her like a fuckin cape.  She’s a superhero (or villian).  And that’s why I call her The Storm.  I go grab the first person who says "I am." when I say "Who’s a notary?"  I work in a bank–it’s kind of like asking, "Who’s drunk?" in a bar.  Abby comes over to the front counter.  I have two docs:  one is for me to sign, quitting on her house.  The other is for her to sign, quitting on my house.
  Right away, The Storm notices a mistake.  "It’s ‘Drive,’ not ‘Lane,’ referring to her address on the doc.  Abby says, "I can get that fixed."  I said, "I made them.  I have them saved in Word.  I can reprint real quick."  I come back with the new ones, and she has a problem with the wording.
  I know she was looking, really looking for something.  But on each doc it says:
  "To have and to hold the same, together with all rights and appurtenances to the same belonging, unto the party of the second part, and to the heirs and assigns of such party forever."
  I see that now, and realize she was fucked in the head for what she thought she read.  She thought it meant her, and her heirs–meaning the kids–giving up all rights to ownership in my house.  She didn’t want to do that.  They should have the right, or claim on the house at some point in the future.
 I explained that, first of all, ALL quit claim deeds were worded this way, and secondly, the kids were still MY heirs–or have you forgotten that, you bitch?
  I didn’t say that, of course. 
  As I look at it now, what it actually means is the heirs of the person who gets the house gets dibs on it.  Dipshit.
  But Abby left when The Storm got loud with the discussion, and when it was finally resolved, I retrieved her.  So Abby (and my friend Serena and another girl) was there to hear The Storm call me a moron under her breath.  This in addition to other disparaging remarks and general ignorant attitude.  But she signed.  I got her copies of them, and said I would pay to have them recorded– ("Damn right you’ll pay!" she says)– and then give hers to her when they come back.
  She said, "We need to talk.  Outside."  I handed the paper work to Serena, because I feared at this point The Storm getting pissed and ripping them out of my hand and tearing them up.  No, she’s not above doing that.  I go outside.
  The Storm gives me a mini-lecture about how the kids still hate me.  Really?  because I thought they were talking to me–  Then she says, "You know, I’ve been being nice to you for the sake of the kids.  But I want you to know:  I hate your fucking guts."
  I wanted to bust out laughing.  It was hard to control.  My smile got bigger and bigger as she walked away.  "Don’t look at me with that smile, asshole.  Someday, the gloves are coming off."
  All I could think of was, "Wow, I put up with that cunt for 19 years."


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