Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri
Read more Katy at...
LateBoomer.net
Most Recent Posts
- New Math
- International House Of…..Watch Out!
- Have Yourself A Merry Little Colonoscopy!
- Spell Check
- You Are Not Alone
- Don’t Know Much About The Big Three
- Why, Oh Why Didn’t I Take Home Ec?
- Really, Really Fun While It Lasts!
- In Defense Of Good Old-Fashioned Books
- Things I’ve Said That I’m Happy Someone Else Didn’t Say First, One In An Ongoing Series Of Several
- Do Depression Meds Work For This?
- The T-Shirt Off Our Backs
- For The Fallible Record
- Long Time, No Blog
- Droppin’ Gs
Syndicate
E me at katy @ ngenius.com
Anybody Wanna Make A Quick Five Bucks?
I’ve got five bucks that says we Americans are paying WAY too much for ATM fees.
I’ll tell you right now that I’ve never used an ATM machine, except for a few times in Europe and man, did we pay for the privilege. But this isn’t about the Old Country. This is about the good old U.S.A.
The reason I’ve never used an ATM machine is simple. It costs money, and it’s no more convenient for me (perhaps even less) than getting cash when I use my debit card at WalMart or Target or the grocery store. ALL of those places---and a gazillion more--routinely ask upon checkout if I want “cash back.” If I realize that I need a bit of green for walking about, I ask for a $20 or whatever. It’s a free service. FREE.
Here we are, calling into Idol Gives Back and contributing millions of dollars out the goodness of our hearts, helping the disadvantaged both in our own country and in Africa. Here we are, planning how to spend our rebate checks, or even planning how to get out of debt with that money or start a much needed emergency fund.
I’ve got an emergency fund for you, fallible ones! I just read how much Americans spent on ATM fees in 2007. I’m not going to link to the article just yet, but let’s just say the amount could pay off the national debt of a few small countries.
For the commenter who guesses the closest (and I’m trusting you not to search for the answer before commenting), I’ll send you a $5 bill via the US Postal Service. That should cover your next cash withdrawal, assuming you use an ATM not associated with your own bank, and get charged twice for the so-called convenience.
While I’m at the USPS, I’ll probably ask for a $50, just in case you’re wondering.
Looking To Connect With A Wonderful Agent?
Wanna get in on another fun (and not time consuming!) contest on my agent Rachelle Gardner’s blog?
Check it out! You may win your choice of a $20 Amazon gift certificate or a 5-page critique of your writing from Rachelle.
As of this writing, 89 people have entered the contest, and I’m thinking it stopped being about the $20 forever ago.
This could be your break, O ye fallible ones!
This I Believe
I BELIEVE in the sanctity of sock marriage. Socks are, by their very nature, knit together in monogamy. If the clothes dryer perchance puts them asunder, a pair of socks never pursues divorce. The missing mate is merely vacationing somewhere, such as on the vast white beach of that new sheet I got on sale at Target. Therefore, the sock which languishes in loneliness waiting for its partner’s return must never be cast away, for then it would surely lose hope.
I BELIEVE that the tube of mascara, the tube of lipstick, and the tube of toothpaste are veritable bottomless pits, but in a good way. Upon awakening from a deep and dreamless sleep on the morrow, I shall be blessed with the daily manna of one more portion from each of these tubes, for such is the strength of my belief. If upon arising I am unable to squeeze, extract, or dip one additional measure from one of my beloved tubes, I shall allow such a tube to lie fallow for a period of a week, at which time I shall give it another whirl.
I BELIEVE that emory boards that have lost the power of their emory shall, after reproof, be put to rest inside the linen closet, lo, even mixed in among those quality emory boards of which it could be rightly said that “iron sharpens iron.” Upon blindly reaching in to lay hold of a random emory board with my set of ragged fingernails in a fortnight or so, I believe that the smoothness of the affected emory board shall have been restored to the glory of its former abrasiveness.
I BELIEVE that an item for retail sale with a slogan emblazoned on the packaging in the upper corner bearing the fortuitous words “As Seen On TV” is verily 99.94% more likely to be effective. Therefore, I believe I shall buy it.
I BELIEVE that if I compose a fresh to-do list, all the items on my previous to-do list must have obviously been accomplished heartily, as unto the Lord, even if they weren’t exactly checked off. I believe I do not need to look back at the old list ever, ever again.
I BELIEVE that if I am faithful to apprehend a cumbersome piece of exercise equipment and drag it home, that I will have burned so many calories and built so much strength, it won’t much matter if I use it a second time. Kind of like Samson knocking down those huge pillars, but with a better haircut.
I BELIEVE that sour milk, if returned to the fridge from which it came, will thusly smell miraculously better the next day.
I BELIEVE that vengeance is not mine, but the Lord’s, and therefore that a multitude of ballpoint pens--no matter how poorly they produce ink--shall be saved by grace. Of course, if they fail to work after experiencing a merciful junk-drawer salvation quite a few times, I reserve the right to banish them into the abyss forever.
Beans And Rice, Rice And Beans
I feel sorry for nationally known financial advisor Dave Ramsey, I really do.
I love the guy. LOVE. I think he can be credited for getting more regular folks on track with their finances than maybe anyone out there.
But here’s the deal: He regularly advises those who are serious about getting out of debt to get “gazelle intense,” to start delivering pizzas in the evenings for extra money, and to go on a diet of “beans and rice, and rice and beans.”
Hello! Word is that the economy’s gotten so stinkin’ bad that Americans will be spending their so-called stimulus checks not on something exciting like electronic gadgets or Alaskan cruises, but on gasoline and FOOD.
It’s just that the food they buy might not be beans and rice, if stores keep up the trend of rationing these supplies. The food purchased with a stimulus check might not be flour, oil, or corn, either. And if you think you can rely on your old cheap standby for great protein--eggs--check that price tag!
So I’m proposing that Dave change his motto to “Rib-Eye and Cheesecake, Cheesecake and Ribeye.” If we’re all going to the Poorer House anyway, why not go in culinary style?
Now, THAT’S a stimulating financial plan!
There’s A Whole Bunch Of Stuff I’m Not Being Paid To Do--A Mild Rant
My husband and I are both self-employed, working from home. It’s been eight years since either of us worked for Someone Else’s Company, which suits us just fine. We even, usually, enjoy the fact that we’re together almost 24-7. If we can ever afford to retire, we’ll already have made THAT adjustment.
We’ve also gotten plenty used to the fact that we’re frequently called upon to handle duties that are difficult for those who must keep regular 9-5 hours. It’s not easy--since we are only paid for the hours we actually work, and not necessarily for all of those--but we deal. We really are the ones most available to handle the needs of The Moms during the work day, and in the middle of the night, too.
But what I’m coming to increasingly resent is the attitude out there in the world that not only should we be doing our own jobs and taking care of extended family responsibilities, but we should also be doing bits and pieces of the work of every clerk, salesperson, repairman, server, and admin assistant on the face of the planet.
Here’s my most recent example. I take several prescriptions on a regular basis. Every month, two days before I really need to, I call the automated line at my pharmacy to order refills. Occasionally, the recording informs me that the doctor must be called to authorize the refill, and to allow extra time. That’s precisely why I call two days before I really need to.
Two days after I call, I run into the pharmacy to pick up my scripts. The new habit of the pharmacy technician is to say to me, “One of them isn’t ready. The doctor still hasn’t called back.”
“But I’ve waited two days,” I say. “Your directions say to allow one day, unless the doctor must be called, in which case to allow two days. It’s been...” and then I look at my watch for effect, “...two days.”
Then she says, “Have you tried calling them? Because they never called us back...”
Starting a few days ago, this is my new answer: “No, I haven’t tried that. And I’m not going to try that.” Mind you, I say all of this with a very pleasant voice and a friendly expression on my face. When the technician looks at me like I’ve lost it, I add, “Because, you see, that’s your job. I’ve got a job, and calling my doctor to beg him to fill my monthly prescription is not it.”
“I could try calling again...” she says.
I smile. “I think that is an excellent idea.”
I really don’t get paid enough to do my job and parts of everyone else’s jobs, too. So I’m setting up boundaries. I’m betting that, if sufficiently challenged, there are a lot of workers out there who are capable of fulfilling every jot and tittle of their job descriptions. Far be it from me to deny them the opportunity.
Got any people who’ve tried to pass off parts of their jobs on you recently? How do you deal with it?
A Moment Like This
Now that I’m *ahem* the age I am, I gotta tell ya living in the moment is overrated. In fact, it’s darned near impossible.
I’m quite adept--and becoming more so every day!--at recalling even the most fragmented bits of minutia from the past. I can tell you precisely how much my wedding gown cost, down to the penny, and produce the receipt from Sherri’s Bridal to prove my point. I know how much it cost to deliver each of my three children. Heck, I even know how much my parents had to pay the hospital to produce the likes of me--$140, cash on the barrel.
When I worked for a major pharmaceutical company in the early ‘70s, I was coerced into believing that I could not do my job (data entry clerk) unless I memorized upwards of several thousand product stock numbers. I didn’t realize until much later that NO ONE had been asked to do this before or after my successful feat, but do you think I can forget those numbers to this day? I cannot.
I am able to recreate the details of my mother’s complicated medical history as if it’s child’s play. I know the doses of Valium she’s been prescribed beginning in 1964 up until, well, now.
I’m also quite nimble when it comes to planning for the future. I rarely need to record next week’s appointments on a calendar, though I do so anyway because it seems like the responsible thing to do. I don’t forget birthdays or the fact that we’re almost out of toilet paper. I remember to check our account balances online regularly and certainly don’t skip making a deposit on payday.
I never miss a meal, either, but I’m thinking you’d probably guessed that already.
So, tell me, why can’t I remember a SINGLE simple item long enough to turn off the water in the shower, grab a towel, and find a pen? It could be something REALLY IMPORTANT that needs to happen promptly, like reminding Doug to call his mother to tell her not to put her coat on yet because he’s not picking her up for lunch until next week, and I can’t remember it to save my life.
Many nights I have dreams that seem to hold special meaning for my life RIGHT NOW. I keep a pen and paper on my nightstand for just such purposes, but invariably when the dream occurs, I tell myself it is of such enormous significance that I can’t possibly forget it.
Two hours later, when the alarm goes off? I got nothin’.
So, if you’re one of those people who manages to live in the moment, would you mind clueing me in?
Until then, I’ll keep on reminiscing about the past and plotting out the future. Maybe somehow, with all of that covered, the present will take care of itself.
Twenty-four
Twenty-four years ago this morning, I dropped my two children off at my girlfriend Terri’s house and drove to the hospital to be with my critically ill father.
When I returned for Scott and Carrie eight hours later, it was to the open arms of a lifelong friend who offered me comfort, who mourned with me over Dad’s death and my deep loss.
This morning, Terri called. It is my turn to weep with her, my turn to care. For her own father died today, exactly 24 years after mine.
Every year that’s passed suddenly seems like no longer than a mere moment. Every detail of being in the hospital room as my father drew his last breath has come back to me in vivid memory as Terri told me the story of ushering her dad into eternity.
Sometimes, it can feel like an entire season has elapsed, when in truth only 24 brief hours have become history. Even now, time plays its tricks on me: Has it really been twenty-four years, or twenty-four hours, or twenty-four minutes?
But sometimes, when the passage of time means nothing at all, a hurting friend’s heart means everything in the world.
Just Don’t Tax My Romance
If you’re married to someone who’s romantic even on Tax Day, you know you’ve got it made.
When Doug awakened this morning, he put his arm around me and said, “I love you today.”
Never one to pass up an opportunity to tease, even when I’m sound asleep, I said, “So. How does that make this different than any other day?”
He kissed me then and answered, “It doesn’t. And that’s the point.”
I may have just parted with a huge chunk of change, but I’m never letting go of this man.
Too Much Fun!
Have you ever sat around (with too much free time, obviously) and googled first names, just to see how far down you are?
It seems to me that if you google the name George, either George Bush or George Clooney should be Number One. Instead, we’ve got George Washington. Then the president. Poor George Clooney rates Number Six, after George High Quality Pet Products and a web comic strip called George.
Does that seem fair to you?
I googled Jennifer, since several stars share that name. Jennifer Lopez came in at Numero Uno, but Jennifer Anniston trailed the company that makes sofabeds, Jennifer Convertibles. Weird, huh?
I figured either Nicole Kidman or Nicole Richie would take the top spot for that first name, but it went to a chick in The Pussycat Dolls. Heck, Nicole Richie didn’t weigh in until Number Five.
You’d think of all the Toms out there, Tom Cruise would be at the top of the heap, but no. Tom Anderson, the president of MySpace took the honors. Tom Cruise lagged behind at #4, after (I am not making this up) Tom’s Hardware.
And then there’s the name Katy. Now if I were named Katie, I’d have to contend with Katie Holmes and Katie Couric, among others. I realize that the spelling of my name is not the most common, but it’s not THAT unusual.
People! If you google the name Katy, you’ll get a couple of sites for Katy, Texas, and the Katy Trail, and the Katy Railroad. But of all the individuals named Katy in THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE KNOWN TO HUMANKIND, I am listed FIRST.
I don’t know what this means, honestly. It could just mean that I’ve been blogging longer than most users of facebook have been alive, and so search engines have no choice but to grudgingly acknowledge my longevity. But it is still fun, and if it constitutes my fifteen minutes, I’m sure not gonna turn it down!
Happy weekend, everyone!
D’Ann Mateer, You Are A Winner!!!
Of course, I already knew that. From the first time we met, I knew you were special and wonderful. :)
But now, in addition to all your other many sterling qualities, you’ve won a complimentary copy of Megan DiMaria’s book, Searching for Spice.
If you’ll email me with your postal address, I’ll ship it right off to you. Congratulations!!
Stuff I Learned While Watching KU Win Some Kind Of Basketball Tournament
OK, everyone knows the University of Kansas, my son Scott’s alma mater, won a championship of some sort. A national thing. I remember somewhere along the line there was a Big Eight, and then a Final Four. There might have been, previous to that, a Sweet Sixteen, but I could be mistaken on that one.
On Monday night, it all came down to two teams, of that I am certain. One of them was based in Memphis. In the audience sat a fellow who spent as many as fifteen years, if I recall correctly, as the beloved coach of the KU team. I feel sure that the team he now coaches is located in North Carolina, and I do believe KU squashed his current team in a Final Four game on Saturday night. The thing I don’t understand is why they call it Final Four if there are never more than two teams playing.
Anyway, Monday night, the North Carolina coach formerly known as a KU coach was sitting on the KU side of the stadium (or was it a gymnasium? an arena, maybe?), with a KU emblem attached to his shirt. I couldn’t help thinking his North Carolina team might be a little ticked at him for this, since I would imagine the sting of being beat soundly by KU on Saturday night wouldn’t have eased up quite yet. But the coach shrugged off any concern with a casual comment about how he had to get behind one of the Top Two teams, so KU was his choice.
The nature of loyalties and alliance-formation aside, I am now in possession of, if not the ball, an accumulation of basketball-related knowledge that I would never have acquired if not for Monday night’s game.
Evidently, there is more of a difference between a long and a short shot than a casual observer might realize. Did you know that if you are shooting a basket from outside a certain range, a goal is worth three points instead of a measly two? It made me wonder why players don’t take these “long shots” more often, especially when lots of their short shots look like the efforts of crazed sufferers of some disorder involving lots of pesky twitching.
My opinion on the matter was bolstered in the last seconds of what the announcer referred to as “regulation” play, which I quickly came to understand as all the stuff that happens before non-regulation play begins. As the KU guy was barreling down the field toward his hoop, the announcer said, “This would be a good time for him to make a three-pointer, but KU hasn’t been doing much of that tonight...” And then, as if on cue, the guy threw a long shot, and effortlessly earned the three points.
So, tell me. Why the heck wasn’t he doing that all night long? Anyone--even me--can see that there would have been no need for the non-regulation play if KU had just done the obvious.
A second thing I learned is that a shot can’t take more than a certain amount of seconds. There is a little timer that runs in the lower right hand side of the TV screen. If it runs out of time, that means the guy failed to throw the ball, and I suspect it also means that then the other team gets a turn. However, at the very end of “regulation” play, it seems to me that one guy will hold onto the ball for nigh unto forever, in order to “let the clock run out.” This seems wrong and unfair to me.
Why is regulation play not more regulated?
The final thing I’ve added to my ever-growing repertoire of sports knowledge is that fouling and being fouled increases a lot toward the end of the game. I think it is a way to help the losers get points by trying to make a free throw, but it seems like an ill-conceived plan. During the rest of the game, it’s considered a mistake to bump into an opponent in a manner which is against the rules, but when push comes to shove (so to speak), the referees turn a blind eye and act like they don’t even notice that players are throwing themselves into opponents, virtually begging to be fouled.
All in all, what I’ve learned from becoming the KU basketball aficionado I am today is that my husband really likes it when I watch the Top Two with him. Is there another one next Monday night?
Spice Up Your Marriage With A Fun Novel!
Today, I’m excited to introduce you to debut fiction author Megan DiMaria. Searching for Spice has just been released by Tyndale, and Megan is basking in the glow. If you’d like a chance to win a free copy of Megan’s heartwarming book, leave a comment on this post.
(For added enjoyment, click on Megan’s pic and see her sitting on one amazing front porch!)
Katy: Megan, I LOVE it that you’ve taken on the topic of romance in a long-term marriage. We all know that it makes no sense to let the devil have all the good music, so why should we let the youngsters (and the unmarried) have all the good smooching? Can you tell us how you came up with the idea for the subject of your first novel? (Unless it’s too personal, of course. In that case, DEFINITELY tell us. Ha.)
Megan: Searching for Spice was written as a response to a running joke I had with some girlfriends. You know, despite being long married, women still want romance in their lives. God hard wired us to crave closeness and a special connection with the men we love. Unfortunately, sometimes we need to remind them of that.
Katy: The main chick (Linda) compares her married romance to her best friend’s, and comes up short. She’s even a bit envious. But my mama always told me no one knows what’s going on inside a marriage except the two people in it. Is it the best idea in the world to look to our friends’ marriages when we’re “running the comps”?
Megan: It’s probably never a good idea to compare your marriage with someone else’s. But then it’s human nature to look and think the grass is greener on the other side of the fence.
Katy: But, of course, that’s where the septic field is located.
Megan: Exactly.
Katy: So Linda decides to take action by stirring up the spice with her husband, Jerry. The thing is, Jerry wasn’t romantic even when he and Linda were dating twenty-some years ago. I think he’s a pretty good sport when Linda decides to “search for spice.”
Megan: What she wants is a little more attention and a little more flirting. I think the surprising thing is that once Jerry starts to respond (although sometimes his response is misguided), they both enjoy the resulting boost to their relationship.
Katy: But what about that whole trying to make a guy over into someone he’s not thing? Why does that always seem to backfire?
Megan: I’m not sure Linda wants to change him as much as she wants him to focus on their marriage a little bit more. She wants to have an affair--with her own husband.
Katy: Instead, they end up having serious family problems, not to mention friend problems and issues at work. Plus constant, ahem, interruptions. Should Linda keep trying, or resign herself to flannel pajamas and weekly pecks on the cheek? Or are the interruptions actually romance in disguise?
Megan: I don’t think you should ever give up trying to make your marriage as special as you can.
Katy: Me? When did this start being about me? By the way, my husband will be thrilled to hear the news.
Megan: As much as women like attention, I think it’s flattering to a man to have his wife desire him and crave being with him.
Katy: Do your personal friends now think you and your hubby are on fire?
Megan: Ouch. I hurt myself when I fell on the floor, laughing.
Katy: I feel your pain! No, really. Are they coming to you for advice on how to put the sizzle back in their relationship? Are you considered a paragon of passion? How heavy a burden is THAT? :)
Megan: No, personal friends don’t think any differently about us than before Searching for Spicewas published. However, anyone who’s known me for more than 10 minutes knows how much I value my husband and our marriage. I take marriage very seriously, and perhaps that’s why mine is so blessed.
Katy: Can you tell us a bit about your next book?
Megan: My next book,Out of Her Hands, is scheduled to release this October. Out of Her Hands has the same characters as Searching for Spice, but the focus is more on the relationships Linda and Jerry have with their children.
Katy: Because the parenting never completely ends, does it?
Megan: Not totally. Like many parents of young adults, the Reveres want their children to be careful about making decisions that will impact the rest of their lives. As usual, there is always more than one situation clamoring for Linda’s attention. They’re helping Jerry’s father get on with life after he’s widowed, Linda’s best friend is moving out of state, and then their son decides he’s falling in love, but the object of his affection doesn’t share his Christian values.
Katy: Ah, the Sandwich Generation. I think younger people often underestimate the complexities they’ll face when dealing with the needs of their kids and parents at the same time.
Megan: I agree. And I’m a staunch believer that fiction is a wonderful way to convey truth. When people read Searching for Spice, I hope they come to the conclusion that they shouldn’t be caught off guard when they hit a bump in the road. The message I hope readers gain from Searching for Spice is to know you can trust God despite what your circumstances look like. That was a lesson I learned during a difficult valley I walked through.
Katy: So, are you trying to tell me that life isn’t perfect? Because I gotta tell you, that hurts…
Megan: At the time of my difficult situation, it looked like nothing good could come of it, but now I see the hand of God guided me. Equally important to me is the message that marriage is valuable and precious and should not be lightly regarded. And that friendship is priceless, and we should cherish the people in our lives.
Katy: That’s what I love most about your book. It really is all about relationships, which to me are the most important thing on earth. Thanks for spicing things up here on fallible, Megan!
Megan: It’s been fun, Katy.
Remember, O Fallible Ones, that you have a chance to sample Searching for Spice for free! I will let the comments accumulate for two days or so, and then randomly choose a winner.
Thanks A Latte
If you were to peek inside my husband’s wallet, you’d find a small but impressive collection of Buy Nine Get One Free punch cards from indie coffee shops around town.
I am so jealous of him I could spit.
I have coffee-shop punch cards, too. It’s just that they’re for coffee stands inside various hospitals around town.
Today I’m wondering what it says about my life that 1. I collect these punch cards with something approaching zeal and 2. I’m a wee little bit ticked off that my mother keeps getting discharged from hospitals right before I earn my free latte.
Any opinions?
Lord Of The Onion Ring
Doug knew I’d been craving PopEye’s Chicken, so he stopped on his way home from a day of meetings and picked some up. Not only that, but when he walked into the house, he had a separate box of my favorite feel-good food in the universe--onion rings!!
As much as I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into a piece of chicken, I grabbed that generously sized box of rings and opened it post haste. You should know I can make an entire meal out of a large order of rings from Sonic, so delighted am I with everything about them.
Inside this box, though, were three tiny, pitiful looking specimens. Cold and limp they were, too. My smile must have disappeared as quickly as it had formed.
“There would have been a LOT MORE,” Doug said, “if I hadn’t gotten stopped by a train.”
FICO NoMo
I’ve got a new goal in life. My intention is to go off the financial grid completely. To put it plainly, I am aiming for a FICO score of zero.
This won’t be easy, people. I’m not even sure how many years a person has to have no debt (including no home loan) before falling off the FICO radar screen. All I know is that I’ve had enough of the bizarre belief that a high score ensures my future security. All a high score does, in reality, is label me as someone who loves debt, is committed to it, and who, no matter how long she lives, can’t seem to get out from under it.
I’ve haven’t charged anything to a credit card since I don’t know when, but you wouldn’t believe how much credit I have available to me. Let’s just say that it’s enough to live high off the hog for several years, even if we were completely without income. Until now, I’ve been afraid to close any of these lines of credit. Somehow, they have come to represent an actual cushion to me, especially since Doug and I are self-employed. We have no vacation or sick days or matching 401K to fall back on. If Doug’s business were to fold, we sure wouldn’t have a severance pay to tide us over until the next position came along.
You know what’s truly pathetic? Elevating a FICO score to a godlike position in my life is like thinking of an available line of credit on my home equity as an emergency fund. The truth is, there is no substitute for having actual cash set aside in an interest bearing account, in an amount which could cover many months of expenses should life take an untoward turn.
Besides, the days of imagining that your home equity can save you are rapidly drawing to a close. Many HELOC (home equity line of credit) lenders are sending letters to their customers to let them know the gravy train has reached the end of the line. This morning, I read a story of a homeowner with a $160,000 line of credit on her million dollar house--a line of credit she had NEVER used--who was advised by the lender that, because of falling housing values, the amount she could borrow was being reduced to $10,000. Lenders are free to shut down your lines of credit (including credit cards) whenever they please, for whatever reason they see fit.
So, yes, we are committed to no more car loans and no more credit cards. But what if we were to purchase a different home? Wouldn’t we have to have a FICO score (and a nice high one, thank you!) in order to manage that with the lowest interest rate possible? The answer is no.
While four out of five mortgage lenders will not work with buyers in the absence of a FICO score (and, believe me, I doubt the issue comes up very often…), 20% still will agree to do a “manual underwriting” of a loan application. This represents considerably more work for lenders, since instead of using the customer’s FICO score as evidence of their creditworthiness, they must actually ascertain the character of the borrower (anyone remember character references?), make a rational judgment concerning collateral and capacity for repayment, and gather tons of supporting documents pertaining to income, length of employment, etc.
In other words, any company that agrees to a manual underwriting has to have employees who are capable of and authorized to apply logical thought processes to the transaction, as in the days of yore.
All my excuses for not taking my FICO to zero have officially disappeared. The last thing I want on my tombstone is “She loved her own life, even unto debt.” The best way I can think of to prove it is to eschew borrowing right down to the bone.
The skeleton upon which the bloated body of personal indebtedness is hung these days is definitely the cherished, almost hallowed FICO score. What should be considered vice is now considered virtue.
I say we turn the whole system on its head. It will take more personal responsibility and fiscal discipline that I’ve been able to muster thus far in my life, but I truly desire to join the ranks of those who can honestly say, “FICO score? We don’t need no stinkin’ FICO score!”
Anyone with me?
