How I Became My Own Consumer Credit Counseling Service And Bounced Back From My Bad Credit Nightmare (part 9, continued)
Iceland, yeah, that was the ticket!
I knew that I hadn't confronted any of the consequences of my actions yet, but I'd managed to push my awareness that the worst was yet to come into the background. We push a lot of stuff into the background, don't we? To be aware, or not to be aware, that is the question. This feeling of living an unencumbered life lasted about a week. Then reality reared its unattractive head.
I needed to move. My wife and I had leased this tiny 3-bedroom house in Woodland Hills. One bedroom was supposed to have been converted into a nursery when the baby arrived (no baby arrived - fertility issues). One bedroom was supposed to have been her office for a home-based business (she never got around to starting it). And one bedroom was, well, the bedroom.
I figured I could save myself a lot of money by ditching the house and getting a 1-bedroom apartment. Besides, whoever heard of a young bachelor living in a staid three-bedroom house? I was about to hit the streets again, get back in the game, and I needed the kind of seedy, disheveled, film-noir-like apartment that some single women saw as being the only authentic habitat of the Sexy Bad Boy Type.
I applied for three apartments and was turned down. I pushed the owner of the third place to tell me why, and he told me that with my credit, I'd be lucky if I could find anybody who would agree to rent me a shredded pup tent.
Of course I knew all along that declaring bankruptcy would screw up my credit history. But this was the first time the whole bankruptcy mess had aggressively asserted itself ... (consumer credit counseling, to be continued)
I knew that I hadn't confronted any of the consequences of my actions yet, but I'd managed to push my awareness that the worst was yet to come into the background. We push a lot of stuff into the background, don't we? To be aware, or not to be aware, that is the question. This feeling of living an unencumbered life lasted about a week. Then reality reared its unattractive head.
I needed to move. My wife and I had leased this tiny 3-bedroom house in Woodland Hills. One bedroom was supposed to have been converted into a nursery when the baby arrived (no baby arrived - fertility issues). One bedroom was supposed to have been her office for a home-based business (she never got around to starting it). And one bedroom was, well, the bedroom.
I figured I could save myself a lot of money by ditching the house and getting a 1-bedroom apartment. Besides, whoever heard of a young bachelor living in a staid three-bedroom house? I was about to hit the streets again, get back in the game, and I needed the kind of seedy, disheveled, film-noir-like apartment that some single women saw as being the only authentic habitat of the Sexy Bad Boy Type.
I applied for three apartments and was turned down. I pushed the owner of the third place to tell me why, and he told me that with my credit, I'd be lucky if I could find anybody who would agree to rent me a shredded pup tent.
Of course I knew all along that declaring bankruptcy would screw up my credit history. But this was the first time the whole bankruptcy mess had aggressively asserted itself ... (consumer credit counseling, to be continued)
posted by Consumer at 9:51 PM
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