Un-titled

Two months later, we’ve finally heard back from our title company.  The news ain’t good.  I guess it isn’t horrible, either.  First, let me back track and catch you up.

Many years ago in a magical land called Washington Heights, our hero (I won’t use the feminine version in case Thom reads this – you know his affection for the white lady – Mom, it’s a joke – breathe) decided she needed to get the hell out of Dodge and embrace her inner bridge and tunnel girl.  After searching for nearly a year, she and her faithful sidekick (now husband) found an adorable condo in the ‘Boken of Hos.  They made an offer through their realtor (plucky comic relief with a jersey accent far thicker than her stiletto heels).  The people that lived in the condo accepted our hero’s offer and all prepared to live happily ever after.

Not so.  It seems an angry wizard had once ruled the entire block of condos with an iron fist.  When he decided he was done renovating the buildings, he sold off the condos one by one then moved to Germany.  The wizard was angry for a reason – because he completely lacked any attention to detail.  He got confused over every little thing, like real estate titles for example.  Yes Internet, when the wizard sold the two condos on our floor, he switched the deeds.  It seemed we were trying to buy our apartment from the people that lived in it, not owned it.

Six months, excessive legal fees, and several landlord bribes later, we finally straightened out the whole hullabaloo, closed, and moved in.  Or so we thought.  Wait, there’s more…

As we went through the farcical sale, purchase, and move that nearly happened a few months ago, I got a rather frustrated call from my lawyer.  Apparently the master deed for the building had never been corrected.  A year after we moved in, the guy across the hall had taken out a second mortgage on OUR apartment – which means there’s a second lien on our home.  I can’t tell you how very good I feel about this.  Screw massages, yoga, or tai chi – the ultimate method for relaxation is finding out that if the dude across the hall defaults on his loan, you’re going to be homeless – oh P.S. you should probably start unpacking ’cause things aren’t exactly going to plan.

Fuckers.

While dealing with all the fun of canceling our contracts on both the purchasing and selling side, we’ve had this little issue biting at our heels, nipping in the back of our minds.  We filed a claim with the title insurance company, but like everyone else in this frickin’ economy, they’ve been laying off people left and right so we keep getting assigned a new person every other week.  Now two months later we finally have a response and it’s simply “The lien happened after we insured your title so it’s not our fault.”

Total fuckers.

So they won’t be giving us any money or any assistance in rectifying the situation.  Nope, I get to find a whole new lawyer then figure out who to sue.  I don’t remember taking a “till death do we part” oath to Hoboken.  I could have sworn that was just to Rocco and Simone.

Sorry Maplewood.  It looks like we’ve got a ways to go.  Good thing I’ve got two cases of wine in the trunk…


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