Your Rent's Due Mother F*cker

Gone

2007-05-10T00:28:00.000-04:00

I have decided to leave blog land for a while, maybe forever. I don't know if anyone still cares. But just know I go out with a smile. Remember me fondly.
--The AML

Up To The Challenge

2007-03-15T20:18:00.000-04:00

I am admittedly a fan of movies. I enjoy them and have seen perhaps too many. I am not someone who studies them and knows the name of every actor who starred in every movie. I do, however, have a good memory for what I see. Things like plot and dialogue stick with me. For those of you that know me, or those who have been around here for a while, this is no big surprise. Therefore, when a few posts back I casually asked if anyone could guess the movie reference that matched my inside-out-sock-thing, I'm sure most of you didn't think twice. After all, it was sort of a random reference to a movie that never made it very big. Therefore, I wasn't all that surprised when no one even offered a guess.

No one, that is, until Runner Girl stepped up and nailed it. Even though she was a full post behind, as she said, it was better late than never. Somehow she knew that it was Sean Connery playing the title role of a reclusive author in Finding Forrester. I am both impressed and frightened by this channeling of the trivial. She was of course rewarded handsomely with the promised, inconsequential 500 points. Congrats Runner Girl, try not to squander those 500 points frivolously.

Now, all of this movie randomness made me start to think. The thinking made me have to take a nap. After the nap, I wondered if anyone knows the movie that contains the quote that is the title of my blog. In fact, I wondered how many people even knew that the title of my blog is a movie quote. Beyond that, I wondered how many people even give a crap.

Regardless, I figure I'll offer it up and see if anyone knows. The first person to guess the movie and scene wins a whopping 1,000 points. Plus, they may even be rewarded with some of my personalized Photo Shop goodness. I ask that the small handful of people I may have told long ago not spoil the fun.

I am not one to go without giving a clue. And while the top banner of my blog containing the lovely Rosario Dawson is NOT a clue, the title of my first post is. That title is the next line in the same movie.

Oooh, can't you just feel the excitement?

Some Like It Hot

2007-03-07T20:48:00.000-05:00

While my lovely wife has been urging me to post pics of the movie room construction process, I am trying to hold off for the finished product so as to give you the full beginning-to-end view. This is the second time I have created a movie room, but in our old house I just built it to fit the room. This time around I have more space to play with and have decided to do it up right. Therefore, the whole process is a bit more extensive and takes a while to complete. So, be patient and I'll get some pictures up soon.

On to a completely different subject, there has been something that has been bothering me for a while. During this time of Lent, Fridays bring about a search for fish. While I have pretty strong feelings about man's rules pertaining to God and organised religion in general, the Lenten season is one I choose to participate in. For me, it is less about doing what the church tells me so that I don't go to hell (I think the church has shown they are a little lost in this arena themselves) and more about me joining the self-sacrifice, however small. It serves as a little reminder to myself that there are bigger things at play than just my little world.

But I digress. It is not my intent to bore you with my philosophies or sway you with my personal practices. My beef here is more of the truth in advertising nature. On a recent Friday, my daily running around brought me to an Arby's. Now, most fast food places cater to the Catholic crowd this time of year and offer some sort of fish special. Arby's is no exception. They have a two fish sandwiches for $4 deal. They even claim you can get the sandwiches with "spicy Cajun sauce." This second part is what drew me in, and here-in lies the problem.

Now, I have been known to enjoy spicy food on occasion. I'm not talking about needing the spices to burn my mouth. I just like certain foods to have an extra flavor kick and I'm not afraid to "kick it up a notch" in that pursuit. While I will not claim Squid's expertise in the hot sauce realm, let's just say I have to be conscious of whether or not I'm cooking for someone other than just me. So, as a spicy fan, I am drawn to new things which claim this title. Likewise, I am disappointed when they don't live up to this claim. Let me just say that Arby's spicy Cajun sauce is anything but spicy or Cajun. In fact, I can picture many a Cajun rolling over in their bayous at being associated with that sauce.

I'm not picking on just Arby's here; this has happened more times than I can count at various restaurants, fast food or otherwise. And I'm not stooopid, I realize that sometimes these places try and appeal to a broader audience and therefore cozy up to what is safe. But, it has been my experience that most people who do not favor spicy food will not go anywhere near a dish with the words Cajun, spicy, hot, blackened, or the like. The people who do like this kind of thing are the ones who venture over. And as long as you have our attention, you might as well do it right. That's all I'm sayin' really.

I'm back... from where I don't know

2007-02-18T22:47:00.000-05:00

Here I am, at long last. Sorry to worry you, and after I promised I wouldn't stay away so long. I've just been keeping busy and taking a break from blog land. But I'm OK, and all is well. I'm still looking for the right position to take the place of the others. In the mean time I've been working on putting some business deals together and getting closer to finishing the movie room project (pictures to follow soon).

For now, let me do the little meme that I was tagged with some time ago. It is the one called 6 Weird Things About Me that has been around for a while. But I've never done it, and I said I would, so here it is.

1) Socks
I wear my socks inside out. All colors, always. I believe that socks are made wrong with the seam that runs across the toes being on the inside. Therefore it is more comfortable to wear them inside out. Plus, there are some cultures that say it is good luck to wear a piece of clothing inside out. Who knows, but it can't hurt. 500 points to whoever knows what movie character agrees with me on this.

2) Jeans
Not only do I not wear them, I don't own a single pair. I used to just because everyone else did, but I have never thought that they are very comfortable. I don't like pants that start out stiff and have to be loosened up. I think pants should be comfortable without me convincing them to act right. Also, I think jeans come with an inherent sense of being casual. They are even the bottom marker of how casual an event is, as in "It's not a dressy place, but I wouldn't wear jeans." So, sometime early on in college I made a conscious decision to give them up and I've never looked back. I'm not against them on anyone else, they're just not for me.

3) Cheesecake
Speaking of things that aren't for me, add cheesecake to that list. I know, I know, it seems downright un-American. I get the same reaction from people whenever they learn this about me, like there is something wrong with me, or maybe I just haven't tried the right one. Trust me, I've tried many different types, never with success. And I don't mean that I just prefer other things, cheesecake almost makes me feel a little sick. Even if it's hidden in some other evil dessert, I'll know with the first bite.

4) Iced-tea
So, let's move on to something I do like: iced-tea for example. I love it, all different types and kinds from green tea to sweet tea to raspberry tea, you name it. The weird thing is that since I like it so much that I'm very picky about it. I can taste if a restaurant hasn't cleaned their tea machine in a while. I can taste if the tea has been sitting around too long. And I can't stand tea that hasn't been brewed. You know, a drink that is tea flavored but put together like a cola (one part syrup and one part carbonation). This is something that I have in common with Asians and people from the southern part of the U.S., we all take our tea pretty seriously.

5) A kitchen
For me, it has to be clean. I enjoy cooking and food in general, and I think that where it comes from should be clean. Now, I don't get all obsessive compulsive about it, but a camera in our house would catch me giving the kitchen a good night-time wipe down after the day's various activities. This may stem from my childhood when I used to wipe my high-chair tray clean onto the floor. Apparently back then as long as I didn't have to see the mess it was OK. It also may stem from having to see far too many nasty kitchens in the apartments of my tenants. Again, I'm not here to pass judgment on other people's kitchens. Unless of course that person is making something they would like me to eat, then I may think twice.

6) Facial hair
My German/Irish heritage does not lend me to being a particularly hairy guy, although my facial hair tends to come in pretty thick. I have to shave every day, or twice a day if I'm going out in the evening. This is not a strange thing, what is weird is that the hair grows in a spiral pattern. I only know this because as a young man when my peach fuzz was growing in I could see it. I had the distinct feeling that if I had let it go I would have had two cones growing out from under my jaw bones. The fun thing about this is that I have to shave both down and then up to even look like I shaved. If I really want to be smooth, I have to shave every which way. Good times.

So there you have it. Even a handsome, intelligent, modest guy like me can think of six weird things. And like usual, no tagging, just steal if you'd like.

Time to Dish

2007-01-25T22:04:00.000-05:00

Wow, has it really been that long since I last posted? I am far from being a daily poster, but this gap is even big for me. Well, I suppose I'll let the cat out of the bag and fill you in on what has been going on with me lately. First off, my bonus this year came less than two weeks before Christmas: being laid off. And since two of the companies I worked for are owned by the same person, it was like loosing two jobs at the same time. For the past few years he had been making some poor business decisions and ignoring the advice of those around him. So, it ended up that he could no longer afford to pay my salary. And since I was basically just an extension of him, I was the expendable one. Merry Christmas, no more job for me. OK, I still have my real estate dealings and what-not, but these other positions were my steady income. They were what let me breath easy and pay bills. Besides, I'm someone who is used to being quite busy, so this was a big hit in the grand scheme of things.

Combine this with the fact that my lovely wife is fighting with her own personal demons, our good friend was going to suddenly be moving seven hours away, and there was some drama with the foreign exchange student living with us. All of the above then added up to relationship struggles. Good times, good times.

But it seems that even clouds filled with poo have silver linings. While I have not yet found a proper replacement, I know that I will in time. The upside is that now that I am away from there I realize just how unhappy I was. Sure, I've known it sucked for some time, but I didn't realize how much it was affecting my life. I wouldn't say that I was depressed, or maybe that is as depressed as I get. From the outside I seemed fine, but the few people who really know me could tell something was gradually different. My motivation was way down because the damn place was sucking my energy. When I came home I didn't feel like doing any projects, I didn't feel like working out, I didn't even want to talk about my day. I was so unhappy all day that all my energy was used up.

Now I am feeling like the old me again. I am finally tackling a huge project at the house and I can't wait to get back to it. I want so badly to finish it so that I can move on to the next one. I am excercising faithfully again and feeling great. The longer I am away from that place the better I feel. I pledge to never let a job make me feel like that again. Even though I am thick skinned and can put up with a lot, I am going to be aware of when enough is enough.

Plus, things have smoothed out with our exchange student and our friend decided not to move away. And while the battle between light and dark rages on, there is strength even when all seems lost.

So as I said in my last post (if you can remember back that far) life can bring it on. Now that my energy is back there's nothing I can't accomplish. Plus, I'll try not to stay away so long again, I know you missed me.

Bring It

2007-01-09T18:55:00.000-05:00

Although this is not one of my comic drawings, it is done by one of my favorites, Mr. Berkeley Breathed. He originally did the daily strip, Bloom County. Then he did a few variations of a Sunday only comic which came and went and now currently shows up as simply "Opus" (which is the name of the big nosed fella above). While I mourned the loss of Bloom County, I certainly can't begrudge a guy for wanting to only work 1/7th as much.

Anywho, I have this little comic posted above my desk at the house. It is pretty good advice, of which I am trying to take to heart. 2007 is continuing the trend of 2006's end though, so my glass is still not quite half full. Part of the problem is that every time I peak my head out to see if it is safe, life keeps poking me in the eye. I'll get there, maybe I just need some goggles.

I hate being this person. It is not like me at all. I am normally the person whom you never know if anything is bothering them. I am the fortified one, I'm not used to feeling the effects of upheaval. So I say, screw this. The next time life tries to come at me in a threatening way, I am going to give it a swift kick to the chops.

I am going to do my best to keep my eyes open and to take advantage of any opportunity that presents itself. You just never know where the good stuff might come from.

I am going to loose myself as often as I can in a world that I enjoy, the land of movies. Good movies, bad movies, new ones, or ones I've seen a hundred times. It is my escape, my relaxation, and one of my favorite down times.

I am going to tune into the ol' boob-tube from time to time. I don't get the chance to watch TV all that often, and I get the sneaking feeling that I may be missing some good stuff. New shows, new episodes, even some of the old shows may be changing it up a bit. And to steal a by-gone slogan from one of the networks: if I haven't seen it, it's new to me.

And, while I am still going to focuss on eating right and exercising, I am going to enjoy what I eat and treat myself to tasty splurges from time to time. (damn you Taco Bell and your evil goodness)

That's right, life ain't keepin' me down. I laugh in the face of adversity! I spit in the wind of change! OK, maybe that one isn't such a good idea, but you get the point. Bring it on life; I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere! Ow, my eye.

NSFW Holiday Post

2007-01-02T00:09:00.000-05:00

Sorry I haven’t been around much lately. I’ve been in a funk due to the end of 2006 shitting on me and many people I know. I’ll not go into details now, save to say it’s just crappy crap. I’ve done my best to stay positive and generally I’m a pretty good actor. But even I have my limits.

I celebrated the holidays, and they were fine; nothing really to complain about there. In fact, I love this time of year. It is one of my favorites. So, it ticks me off even more that crap would try and overshadow it.

I couldn’t even enjoy cheering the Bengals on lately because they decided to suck the last three games and miss the playoffs.

I have decided to make a conscious effort to work out more though. It’s not really a new year’s resolution, since those never seem to stick. It’s just something I need to do and have put off for far too long. It may even help my mental outlook too. Who knows, it’s just time.

So, for lack of wanting to share anything more, here is a Christmas themed video that made me smile. Beware, for like my pictures were, this guy’s language is NSFW. Enjoy.

Fear not, I’ll be back to sharing inane stories soon I’m sure. Bear with me, for I know 2007 is going to be better.

Except for you, you can touch me

2006-12-21T22:08:00.000-05:00

I fear that my last post got a little too deep. Even though I shared some of my comic strip drawings, I still ended up getting a little seemingly profound. So, in an effort to ensure an equilibrium of silliness, I offer the following idiocy. A few posts back I mentioned that I enjoyed breaking it down when the mood was right. Someone then challenged me to prove it, so feel free to click here to see me breaking it down to a holiday jig.

Then, for no reason except to carry on the dancing theme, check out my buddy Peter doing his own little dance.

There, I feel balance has been restored. Happy holidays.

What's with the face, man?

2006-12-18T23:41:00.000-05:00

This post was inspired by the "scribbles" of fellow inward-looker and blogging buddy M.

P.S.: I was tagged with a strange meme, curtesy of both Doc and Baba Ganoush. I am to pick up a book that is close by, tell what it is, turn to page 123, skip to the fifth sentence, and type the next three sentences. Then I'm supposed to tag, but I don't tag, I'll just offer it up. Strangely enough, the quote almost fits with this post. Here it is:

Awakening The Buddha Within by Lama Surya Das...
"We don't want to reinforce any form of mood addiction or mental fixation. When you experience your own doubts- and almost everyone has doubts- you will wonder what to do and where you go with your questioning. In my own spiritual practice, I have several times struggled with doubts and about what I was doing, and I would like to share some of my experiences."

AML, The Babysitter

2006-12-11T00:47:00.000-05:00

A few nights ago I went out with a friend of mine. I was lured out of my busy schedule on a weeknight with the promise of free food and an open bar. It was a party being thrown by a guy who owns a mortgage company. He was throwing it for people who work for him and, I thought, Realtors. As it turned out, my friend and I were the only Realtors there. Apparently, my friend sends the guy a lot of business.

I had met this guy before; in fact he has taken me out to lunch. This may sound strange until you realize the dance that goes on. You see, Realtors prospect to the general public while loan officers prospect to Realtors. This prospecting often comes in the form of taking a Realtor out to lunch. It's not a bad deal, since for the price a meal they may be sent thousands of dollars worth of business. I am not bought this easily. Anyone I would recommend to a client has either come highly recommended from someone else who has done business with them, has done well for my clients, or both. However, if a loan officer would like to take me out to lunch while spewing their sales pitch to me, I am not going to stop them: I've made no promises. Who said there was no such thing as a free lunch?

So, my friend invites me to go with him to this dinner thing. He is all excited about it, partially for the free food, but mainly for the open bar. My buddy has what you might consider a slight drinking problem.

We're going streaking, up through the quad!

I'm not talking about the sit home alone and drink type of thing. He is more the go out at least twice a week and get hammered every time type of thing. And I do mean hammered, not a little tipsy. It has gotten him into trouble and some embarrassing situations to say the least. But, ever since his DUI, he is very conscious of how he gets home. This is where I come in. Now I'm not saying the only reason he invited me was to be his designated driver. I know he would be very offended if I thought that. His plan is always to take a cab home, which he does on the normal occasions that I'm not out with him. He even keeps the number of "his guy" (translation: regular cab driver) on speed dial in his cell phone. However, he does know that he can trust me, and that I vary rarely drink when I'm out with him. It's not that I don't drink, but on the scarce times that I plan on getting drunk I want to know there is going to be at least one responsible person around. And I know that this is never going to be him.

We arrive at the place and I scan the crowd. I know no one other than the host and my friend. This stands in stark contrast to my friend, as he is what I affectionately term as a "social slut." The man knows everyone, and not just at this function, I mean in general. He is the type of guy it takes forever to walk across the room with because he has to stop and talk with every third person.

"Our" first priority was to find the bar. Once we had our drinks in hand (he with his Jack and Coke, me with my Jack and Coke hold the Jack) we found our way to the free food. The night then progressed with meeting people and various mingling. I quickly learn not to mention that I'm a Realtor after being harassed for business by a few loan officers. As my buddy is getting more and more drunk, I amuse myself by watching him being pulled around the place by some unseen divining rod from female to female. He has gone from happy drunk to horny drunk. The trick is to get him out of there before we reach angry drunk. I talk with people while keeping a close eye on him. I know this role and I play it well. At this point his eyes are mere slits and then I see him do the standing stumble. That is my cue. There is no way I am carrying his ass to my car, so I have to make my move while I can. I suavely convince him to set his drink down, work him towards the door, say a quick thank you to the host, and make our way outside. A young couple is unfortunate enough to be going out the door the same time we are and my friend acts like he is going to pick a fight with them. Luckily they ignore us and we make our way to the car.

The next 30-minute car ride is filled with a constant barrage of "you 'k to drive?" "where we goin'?" "I love you man" "how're you not drunk?" I started out answering him, but then ended up just telling him to be quiet until we got home. The next day is followed by the inevitable phone call of thanks and me filling him in on the things he doesn't remember.

He is one of my dearest friends. I'd do anything for him, and he for me. I truly enjoy when we get together. So, he often wonders why I don't go out with him more to the bars. And while I have fun when I do, I'm just not always in the mood to be the babysitter.

The real me

2006-12-01T01:05:00.000-05:00

I realize that I don't often post pics of myself. In fact, I think only one has slipped in around here. So, inspired by Evil Spock, I've decided to give you a glimpse at some snapshots of me. Hopefully they will satiate your curiosity and you will leave feeling more fulfilled. In order for there not to be any confusion, I'll walk you through them.

This first one is of me when I visited the kids of South Park not long ago. Handsome fella, eh? Anyone who knows me would agree, that is pretty much my normal look: button-up shirt, khaki pants. I've kind of turned it into my own little uniform. You'll never see me in jeans, not often in suits. It is a comfortable look that can be professional without being intimidating.

Now, don't get me wrong. If the occasion calls for it, I'm all for kickin' it up a notch. Here I am feeling slick.

On the other hand, I'm probably most happy during some precious down time. Here I am in what my Japanese friend refers to as "change wear:" T-shirt and sweatpants. Maybe I'm about to do some project around the house, maybe I'm about to watch a movie, or play around on the computer. Who knows, it's all good.

That relax time is important, for sometimes at work it feels as though I've been through battle.

Some days I'm a little bit this...

Other days I'm a little more this...

Most days, I'm just a healthy combination of both.

Whoops, hey, how'd that one get in there? I don't look like... who took that... OK, that's enough pictures. Hopefully you now have a mental image while you read on. BTW, if you're interested in wasting time too, click here and knock yourself out.

In this way it's OK to use me

2006-11-27T01:15:00.000-05:00

Hey AML, aren't you a Realtor too. How come we never hear any tales about that?

Well, I wouldn't say never. I did tell you about the time I was caught between the old man and his ex-wife. Plus there was the story about the guy who didn't show up at his own closing. But, mainly the reason I don't say much about it is, well… the stories aren't that interesting.

Most of your stories aren't that interesting.

Yeah, yeah, piss off. I guess as long as we're thinking about it, and it's the onslaught of the holiday season and all, let me tell you about real estate as it pertains to family: my family to be specific.

When it comes to friends using me as their Realtor to buy a piece of property, the only excuse for them not to use me is if they have another Realtor in their family. When it comes to family, there is no excuse not to use me. It's not like I'm new to the game; I have many satisfied clients to give me cred. Plus, I am the smartest man alive, so I got that going for me. Keep in mind also that a buyer does not pay a Realtor anything; the buyer's Realtor is paid a part of the selling Realtor's commission. Now, when it comes to selling your house, my view changes a bit. Since it is then that you actually have to pay me, I never just expect friends or family to give me business. I do expect, however, for them to at least talk with me about it. If you don't like what I have to say, or I don't effectively sell my services to you and you decide to use someone else, well then that's on me.

I don't assume that people inherently know this, so I've done my best to educate those in my life to these facts in one way or another. Most of my friends and family understand and I thank them for the business. Although apparently some people just cannot be taught.

Case in point, I have one uncle who is all but dead to me. Now, I don't say this lightly, but this particular fellow really added insult to injury. He is a savvy, intelligent enough guy who runs his own company. If anyone should understand the importance of loyalty in business, it should be him. He started out fine, by slowly looking for a new house. My aunt was really more motivated than he, so I showed them about eight houses over the course of a year or so. Whenever they found one they liked they would call me and we'd go take a look. Then my uncle would think up reasons not to like it and we'd move on. One time we found a place that even he couldn't find something wrong with, so he offered such a low price that the deal just never went together.

Let me now fast forward the events, since they actually took place rather rapidly. First, he suddenly bought a house that was for-sale-by-owner (FSBO) without me. OK, since a Realtor didn't have it for sale it wasn't as bad. But still, normally a FSBO will deal with a buying agent for at least partial commission. Since my uncle didn’t bother to include me, I got paid zero for all the time I spent working with him = strike one. Then, he decides to put his current house for sale by himself. Since he is kind of a tightwad, I didn’t blame him for trying. Going FSBO has a very low success rate, so when he decided to give up I'd take over, right? Wrong, he listed the house with another random Realtor without talking to me = strike two. The final piece-de-resistance was when I found out he then purchased an investment property (which was on the market with a Realtor) without me. Apparently he would rather have a guy he doesn’t know get paid double than have his own nephew get paid at all. He is a very impulsive person and in his warped little head he probably thought he would get a better deal that way somehow. Plus, I'm sure he figured I'd never find out. I'm a Realtor, I can find out anything in regards to property. So I did find out = strike fucking three.

Yoooou're out!

Now, this all happened a little while back. It came to mind recently due to spending Thanksgiving with my family. No, there was no confrontational food fight. That uncle wasn't there, so it would have been pointless. I did, however, find out some news. I have been working with one of my cousins and he just recently had his offer accepted on his first house. Then, during the course of Thanksgiving conversation I hear that another cousin, the brother of the one I'm working with, just bought his first house too. Although, he didn't use me. This guy is two years younger than me. We grew up together. And, even though we don't hang out much, we have a very cordial relationship. Yet, when it comes to one of the most important things he'll do at this stage in his life, he doesn't even call. I don't want it to sound like I'm pissing and moaning. I do just fine with or without my family's business. It's not about the money; it's about principle. I am a very loyal person. If you do right by me I'll stick by you until you give me reason not to. And if you're family, you are first in line no matter what. Unfortunately, not every one thinks this way.

Mine Eyes Have Seen the... Glory?

2006-11-18T14:28:00.000-05:00

As a kid, life was a blank slate. It seemed as though every turn of events was surprising and fascinating. People would surprise me and curve balls could come around any corner. It was a confusing time, but a carefree one. My glasses were rose colored and ignorance was bliss.

Now, as I get older, I am surprised by less and less. Not to say that I’ve become hardened and cynical (well OK, I am generally rather cynical). It’s just that I’ve seen a lot over the years. Life has presented itself in surplus, and I am pretty observant.

Most people who have met me would say that I’m a laid back, fun-loving fella. I’ve tried hard to not let life change this. Back in the day when I was still considering going for my doctorate in Psychology, I made sure to observe as much of the field as I could. In that, I saw a good friend of mine change over the years. I always knew her as someone with a gleam in her eye; someone who was quick to flash you a smile and laugh at life. But years of being a Psychologist have broken her. Day after day of dealing with other people’s problems has brought a sadness to her that is undeniable.

I did not want this for myself. It ended up being one of the reasons I went a different direction. Granted, I deal with a lion’s share of idiocy on a regular basis. The difference is that it is not my job to save them. From this standpoint I make sure their residential experience is as pleasant as possible, and I make sure they pay their rent. Other than that I can stand back and mock them at will. I believe this to be my mental salvation.

So, that is me in a nutshell.

Look at the size of this nutshell. How did I get into this huge nutshell?

I am still willing and able to laugh at life, I can just read it better than I used to. This ability to read life is important to my daily work. I need to be able to judge who is being honest with me; to determine what people’s ulterior motives are (if any). This is never more true than when I am taking an apartment application. I don’t just hand applications over. I fill them out myself, thereby turning the process into a sort of interview. I use this opportunity to get a feel for them. I pick up on when they stumble over an answer or look away. I probe deeper when they try to gloss over. I also do things to amuse myself, such as trying to guess the answers in my head before they tell me. Things like age, or what they do for a living.

Not long ago, a guy came in to look at an apartment. Now, it’s not often that someone makes me feel physically small. Trust me when I say, this dude was big. He was no taller than me, but he was easily two of me thick, if not more. He had a huge barrel chest and wide shoulders. His neck was like a tree trunk that came straight down from his head. Not just muscle, not just fat, he was a hefty combination of both. So, when he said his occupation was “security,” it seemed to fit nicely. I was going with either that or professional midget tosser, but security is more common.

Another guy came in who was a little tougher to gage. He was a well-built man with scruffy clothes and the hands of a laborer. He seemed intelligent enough, but there was just something off about him. He would lose his train of thought, he would repeat himself, and he would repeat himself. At times he would be saying something and then trail off until he was just staring at me. When he said he was a general laborer in construction it still didn’t fit completely with what I saw. I have known many construction workers who are very talented and on the ball. It wasn’t until I asked him the question “do you have any income other than your primary” that the riddle was solved. His response was:

“Yeah, I’m an amateur boxer too. I make a grand here and there when I have fights.”

Yes, this made sense. Apparently he had had his bell rung a few too many times. He never said he was a good boxer.

Aren’t you feeding into a negative mind frame of stereotypes and generalization?

Perhaps, but it’s entertaining for me. And as life opens my eyes more and more, it’s important that I continue to laugh at it. If not, I may start to loose my fight with sanity. It is a slippery slope and at times there are landslides.

The AML has gone nuts

2006-11-12T00:52:00.000-05:00

I returned home from the office today, my mind running free about nothing in particular. I walked up the steps to my side door and began to work through my keys. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a streak of color. It was enough to make me turn my head just in time to see cat #2 go flying by. He had been chasing cat #1, and they both stopped abruptly just as they reached the street curb.

Now cat #1 is the local tomcat.
I wasn't talking about you Tom, so piss off. This cat doesn't seem to belong to anyone in particular. He has a habit of hanging out by our side door in an attempt to drive The Doc's cat bonkers on the inside. He likes to waltz around across the street from our yard, making sure he is in eyesight of my dog in order to drive her crazy.

Now cat #2 lives in the house next door. I think he is more of an inside cat, but he does hang around outside a fair amount as well. On this particular occasion I assume cat #2 decided he had had enough of cat #1 in his yard, thus the ensuing chase. By the time they had reached the street, cat #1 realized he was going out like a punk and decided to stand his ground. At this point they were both sitting under the front end of a parked car, about a foot from each other.

Next came the most bizarre sound I have ever heard an animal make. Now, I've owned animals my entire life, cats included. I have never heard them make this sound. It seemed to start from cat #2, but they both were chiming in and taking turns as far as I could tell. It was not like a hiss or a growl. There was no purr and not a trace of meow. Imagine a loud haunting siren, like a ghost had just called an ambulance.

The sound made me stop cold and just watch. OK, I was waiting for the catfight to take place. After all, at only ten feet away, I had a ringside seat. A few moments later, another sound chimed in, this one coming from above. I looked up to see squirrel #1 in the tree by the curb. Now, I've witnessed a fair share of squirrels in my day. I've even had one throw nuts at me when I was in college (shut up, he did too). But, I've never heard a squirrel make a sound, at least not like this one. That squirrel started in making a noise like a whistle caught in a blender. He was dancing around on his branch causing it to sway back and forth.

The cats, meanwhile, were undeterred by squirrel #1's antics. They continued their staring match, whirring away. Every so often one of them would move a shoulder or twitch a paw, but otherwise they were completely still. Enter squirrel #2. She(?) comes running across the electrical wire towards squirrel #1. She is making a similar, although slightly less aggressive noise.

So there I stand, surrounded by this bizarre cornucopia of sound. Now these sounds as I described would be how a normal person would have heard them. I have never claimed to be normal, so I'll let you in on how it was translated by my Dr. Dolittle ears. I forewarn you that these are city animals and their language is a bit dicey. You might have to consider the following contents rated R…

Cat2: Oh hell na, I know you not even traipsen' up in my yard again. I'm gonna kick your ass. Oh yeah, bitch, you betta run. Don't let me get hold a ya.

Cat1: Say what? I know you aren't even talkin' shit. See, I was gonna bounce all peacefull like, but now you gone an crossed the line.

Cat2: Line my ass. You crossed the line when you stepped into my yard, ho. You best be shakin' that ratty-ass tail in a different direction. Ain't nobody wanna smell yo shit.

Cat1: Whose tail you callin' ratty houseboy? You don’t know me. I'm from the street, you betta recognize and back off with your little prissy self.

See, at this point they are just name calling, which is never constructive. The squirrel's additions didn't help matters any.

Squirrel1: Oh shit! Oh shit! You gonna let him talk to you like that? You gonna hafta check that bitch. Break him off sumptin' proper like. Let him know how we do on the outside.

Cat1: So what then? You gonna just sit there and twitch, pussy? You want it, it's right here. Come gets you a taste.

Cat2: Don't nobody want a taste of yo dirty ass. What's wrong, didn't you momma teach you how to clean yo'self? Oh, what's that? You don't know who you momma is?

Squirrel1: Oh damn! Now he talkin' 'bout yo momma! If you don't do nuthin' soon I'm commin' down there and plant my little foot in his ass!

Squirrrel2: Simon! That ain't got nuttin' to do with you! You bes' get yo nutty ass away from there 'fore I shows you what pissed off looks like.

Squirrel1: Be still woman! You know I carry the nuts around here. That punk ass is messin' with my boy down there.

Squirrel2: Oh! Oh! Fond of yo nuts are ya? Well, if you ever want me to touch them again you'll keep yo nose outta other people's bidness.

I know, I was surprised the squirrels used so many nut clichés too, but I'm just telling you what I heard. The entire scene came to an anti-climatic end when one of the cats finally realized I was standing there watching.

Cat1: Oh shit, it's the man. Be cool, play it cool.

Cat2: Yeah, you best be goin' over and lickin' his boot 'cause he just saved you from an extraordinary ass beatin'.

The crowd dispersed and I went on inside, my mind racing with thought. I was a little disappointed that I didn't get to see any fur fly. But mainly I was disheartened by how atrocious nature's language has gotten. Are they getting it from us? Are we being terrible influences and not even knowing it? Or, perhaps it is the other way around. Maybe they are subconsciously affecting us with there dirty little mouths. Hmmm, well, fuck if I know.

The Wiggly Wii

2006-11-09T11:31:00.000-05:00

This has been sent to me by two of my friends recently. Apparently they thought it would be something I would appreciate. They, of course, thought correctly.

As the battle between the new Playstation and Nintendo game systems heats up for the holiday season, Nintendo comes with the following offering. In the tradition of the popular Mac vs PC commercials, it is a personification of a Playstation 3 and a Nintendo Wii. The commercial is simple, funny, gets the point across, and has a cute/wiggly/scantly-clad girl. In short: contender for best commercial ever.

If you have read anything about these two systems, you will pick up on the refferences. If not, you still have the visuals. Enjoy.

PS3 vs Wii

No Bandwagon Here

2006-11-06T18:35:00.000-05:00

To ensure clarity, even for my non-American friends, for the purposes of this post when I say football I am referring to American football of the oblong ball-lots of pads- hit you on purpose-variety. When I say soccer I mean European football of the round ball- few pads- hit you not as much on purpose- variety. I would also like to preface, before loosing any of my not-interested-in-sports-readers, that I promise not to get all technical here; please bare with me.

What, another post already? I just barely got through your last thesis-sized one.

I know, but after the events of yesterday, I felt the need to share. So, gather ‘round close kids as I impart some words of non-importance.

Regardless of what message my current physique may send, I’ve been an athlete most of my life. I played baseball; I dabbled in basketball; I did track. As a kid I was an avid soccer player, at least until I was old enough to play football. Once I was, I never looked back. Sure, other sports co-existed, but they became just ways to past the time or stay in shape for football. Football was my athletic love and I was hooked. People often told me I had a football build, whatever that means; but I guess it was just meant to be.

When a friend of mine, gained later in life, learned this about me she said, “Oh God, you were one of those jerks on stage wearing a jersey during pep-rallies?” Yes, I was, although I was far from the stereotypical jock. I took advanced classes, specialized art courses, and was editor of the school paper. But, I think most importantly, I got along with pretty much everybody. Who I hung out with transcended groups or clicks.

So, where am I going with this? My only point is that I am a fan of football. Now that I no longer play (aside from the in-frequent pick-up game), I watch. Although here, also, I am slightly abnormal. I have friends who watch SportsCenter religiously. They know the outcome of every game, mainly since they watched most of them. They follow players from College into the NFL and know their history. One buddy of mine even remembers numbers (like phone numbers, etc) by relating them to player’s jersey numbers.

I am not this guy; never have been, never will be. I think for some guys this becomes a way of relating to their fathers early on. And since primarily my mother raised me when I was younger, I never felt this need. Of course that could just be the psychologist in me speaking, who knows for sure. I do know that when I’m in a group of guys and the topic changes to sports, I normally don’t contribute all that much. I know enough to play, teach others, and thoroughly enjoy any game. But when people start in with “Did you see Smith was traded to Denver? You know he ran 1,500 yards for USC right?” I turn to the nod and smile.

In fact, when it comes to football, there is only one team I watch: The Bengals. They are my hometown team and I have been rooting for them for as long as I can remember. Back in the days before Boomer wore a suit and just read from a teleprompter. Back when Icky was still doing his shuffle instead of selling carpet; when Anthony Munoz was crushing linemen instead of the competition in furniture sales.

The Bengals have not made it easy to be a fan of theirs over the years. They earned the nickname “Bungles” whole-heartedly for quite some time. I would make an effort to watch them each Sunday, though normally without much expectation. I learned early on not to become too emotionally attached. They were an unreliable mistress, and my heart had been broken many times. Still, I stuck around. No paper bag on my head, I openly rooted for my team.

“Daddy, The Bears aren’t even that good this year. Why is that man wearing their hat?”
“No, honey, that’s not a Bears’ B, that’s a Bengals’ B.”
“Who, Daddy?”

For years I asked for the team to give me something to cheer for. They didn’t need to be good, just don’t suck.

Now is a new day. Over the past few years the Bengals have taken a new turn. Suddenly it is cool to root for them. Their merchandise flies off shelves and it is trendy to wear one of their jerseys. The other day, while enjoying my lunch at a local sub-sandwich establishment, I overheard four teenage girls having an argument over who their favorite Bengal player was.

So, yesterday as I watched them loose for the second straight week (this time to the team they needed to beat to stay tied for first place) I realized that many a fan were sure to be crestfallen. “I thought they were supposed to be this powerhouse of a team. They just look average to me.” How quickly they forget that we are lucky just to have something to cheer for.

The moral of the story is this: don’t ride the bandwagon. Decide what you care about and stick by it. Even if it’s not popular at the time, stake your claim proudly. This can be applied to politics, relationships, any number of things. And who knows, with a little consistent support, even the underdog may surprise you.

1363 Spooky St.

2006-11-03T01:44:00.000-05:00

I hope everyone had a great Halloween. I realize that I'm a little late with this and that I'm now on the ass-end of the holiday. An interesting side note here, I wanted a graphic to go with my comment. And, while the picture jlee used would have been perfect, I didn't want to steal from her. So, I went looking for my own. I am often amused at what the search engines come up with when I search for pictures. This time I was just confused. I found out that while searching for pumkin ass, the first picture to come up on Yahoo is this:

Not that I'm complaining really. It's just that there is no rhyme or reason. On second thought, I could probably give an explanation… but I digress.

I also realize that some of you were hoping for some scary, ghetto Halloween story pertaining to my tenants. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your vantage point) I don't really have one. Halloween was relatively uneventful as far as my tenants and properties are concerned. I will, however, tell you about something that freaked me out a bit today. There are some other stories to tell, but they can wait. This one is as close to seasonal as I can muster, plus it ties in and wraps up my last post.

Last week I finally had time to get an estimate on the damage done to my car. I called the guy who was driving the truck, we'll call him Ted, a few days ago to let him know.

Now, on the day of the accident I had met both Ted and his business partner (who must have been following behind in another vehicle at the time). Even though they gave me their insurance info, they had asked me to just let them pay me out of pocket so that their insurance rates didn't go up. I told them sure; that I didn't care how it was taken care of, as long as it was. This was actually a good thing. Dealing with insurance companies can be a pain, and they usually take a while to get you your money. Besides, I have been on the other side of this coin before considering our construction guys run into or drop crap on people's cars from time to time. We like to not involve insurance for small claims, as it would be more expensive in the long run.

So, I get a call from Ted today. "I wanted to see when we could have a sit-down and settle up," he says. Great, he had to say sit-down. He obviously doesn't realize I've seen far too many movies for that kind of talk. Most sit-downs I've watched don't normally end all that well.

I shake my head to try and do an Etch-a-sketch erase of the Tony Soprano image in my brain and answer back, "sure, what's your schedule like during the week?"

We decide that I would meet him at his work after I leave the office. His place of business is in a shady part of town, but is actually not far from my apartment complex.

Wait, there are shady parts of town around your complex?

Yes, hard to believe, but it's true. So, at this point I figure he either wants to pay me my money or hit me in the head with a lead pipe. Either way he'd be done with the situation, but I'm hoping for the former. I told The Accountant where I was going after I left the office and she tried to get me to take someone with me. Nah, but at least now someone knows where I was going in case I don't show up again.

Later, after assuring Yahoo Maps that I really did want to go to that part of town,

I had my directions and was on my way. As I drove I thought back to the day of the accident. I tried to remember everything I could about Ted and his partner. At that point I realized I don't even really know what these guys do for a living. While gathering information from them, I had asked what the name of their company was. "Well, we don't really have a name, we're in like the salvage business." What the hell does that mean? It almost sounded like a bull-crap type of answer.

Uh, yeah, I'm in the waste management business.

No, get out of my head Tony, you're not helping here. The area was full of old, run down commercial buildings. I found the street and slowly worked my way along looking for the address. The fact that it was almost dark at this point was not helping me see the numbers; it wasn't helping the creepy feel of the place either. The street became a dead end, but the last building before it did was the one I was looking for. I parked on the street behind a flatbed semi and surveyed the building. It was old red brick and maybe five or six stories high. Some of the doors and windows had been bricked up as its use had changed over the years. The windows that were left had bars and wire mesh covering the glass. I guess this was a good thing as some of the glass was broken and laying all over the sidewalk.

There was seemingly only one entrance and I made my way towards it. It was a simple glass door, two steps off the sidewalk, with only the street numbers on it. The only things I could see inside were a small hallway, a steep set of stairs, and a camera facing the door. I tried the door, but it was locked, so I called Ted on his cell phone. "Ted, It's The AML. I'm here, where do I go?"

"Oh, come down to the end of the street behind the building," he says. This was not the answer I wanted, but I figured screw it, I had come this far. As I made my way around the end of the building, I still couldn't figure out what the hell this place was. There were random trucks and cars parked all over, none of which looked in good shape. In fact only one looked drivable, and it stood out like a sore thumb. It was a big black Cadillac parked amongst the rubble. It looked bizarre sitting there, but played nicely into the fantasy I had going in my head. I worked my way up a decrepit set of steps that led to a back door. The door was solid, dirty, and adorned with ancient looking mailboxes. I found a weird little doorbell and gave it a push.

After a few moments Ted comes walking up from behind a truck. "Oh, we have that area over there." He smiles and motions to somewhere off in the distance behind him. I couldn't really see where he meant, but at that point I didn't care. It was cold, dark, and I just wanted this to be done. He looks about how I remember him looking. He is smaller than me in both height and stature. He is dirty and scruffy, but I think his hair was longer last time. His hands have the thick, ground-in dirt look to them that comes with years of manual labor. From his jacket he pulls an envelope filled with almost $1500 in cash. It is slightly more than what I'm due and he says, "I didn't have any change. Do you have any on you?"

"I try not to carry any cash on me if I can help it," I say truthfully.

"Oh, we try to deal in only cash," he says with a smile. I pull out the eleven dollars I had and he shrugs his shoulders. "That's fine."

At this point we are using the hood of the afore-mentioned Cadillac as a sort of desk. He counts the money out and hands it to me. "Can I have the estimate so my partners know where the money went?" he says.

"Well, I don't want to give you the original so that I can make sure the place gives me the same price. We could make a copy, do you have a copy machine?" He just smiles at me. "Alright," I continue, "what if I just write you a receipt?"

"That'll work," he says with a shrug. So I proceed to write him out a receipt. In hind site it was most likely way more than he needed, as he didn't even look at it and just shoved it into his pocket.

"You know, we check the axels of the trucks every day now since that day. I still can't believe it happened. I had never seen it before, and I hope to never again," he says shaking his head.

"Yeah, hopefully my incident will save it from happening again to you in the future when someone could get hurt." At this point I'm trying to wrap the conversation. I am still cold and am now carrying way too much cash for this part of town. We shake hands and part ways. Looking over my shoulders, I make my way back to my car and waste no time getting out of there.

I'm home safe now.

Wrong place, wrong f*cking time

2006-10-24T23:03:00.000-04:00

Chicago was great. We had a blast. We spent too much money shopping and we ate delicious food. RR not only survived the big race, she did terrific and bested her last marathon by an hour and a half. My good buddy came down from Madison, WI to help me cheer on the Rabbit, and we were able to hang out for the day. I met some new people and drinks were drunk. In short: mission accomplished. For more on this feel free to visit RR and her faithfull ghostwriter.

Then what's with your title, Mr. Doom & Gloom?

For that story we have to go back in time two days before leaving for Chicago...

doodely-do-do, doodely-do-do, doodely-do-do

I had just left my office to pick up lunch for the Accountant and myself. I don't have much to choose from for lunch, so I headed down the hill to Wendy's. It is clear that this Wendy's does not have enough competition in the area, for when I arrived the drive-through line was wrapped around the entire building. I figured it would be quicker just to park and go in to get the food, so in I went.

As I was walking out into the parking lot I was being carefull not to spill the large iced-teas in my hands. A guy came driving around the corner of the building and saw me just in time not to make me his hood ornament. He waved me by with a friendly smile, and I continued toward my parked car. I walked around to the passenger side and set the teas on top of the car. My plan was to set them safely on the passenger floor for their commute back to the office. As I was about to unlock the door, I hear someone beeping their horn at me. I realize that it was the same guy that had almost hit me a few moments earlier. At this point he had pulled out onto the side street and was waiting to turn onto the main street. I thought to myself, "What now, Mr. Friendly?" But, as I saw his face, I noticed he was wearing a very strange expression. It was shock and almost fear.

At that point I noticed the huge tire that had just rolled past the front of his car. The huge tire that was headed towards me, towards me and my new car. I stood there and thought to myself, "What do I do? Do I kick it? Do I try and block it with something?" It was then that I realized that this was not "a" tire, this was two tires connected together. This was a set of dually tires off of a semi-truck, still attached to the rim. It was traveling along at about 30 miles an hour like it was on some mission. It slowed down a little when it hit the curb, but not much. I wasn't sure how much it weighed, but I figured blocking it with any part of my body would not be a good idea.

So, there I stood, watching helplessly as this thing smashes into the front of my car; with me only inches away. Yep, that's it there, still smoking from it's daring axle escape. The image quality is not great since I took the pictures with my phone, but you get the idea. From this picture it is hard to tell just how big the thing is.

Seeing it there next to my car gives you a little better idea. Yeah, I guess it's a good thing I didn't try to stop it. My Superman complex has gotten me into to trouble one other time, but not here.

So, after the initial shock of what had just happened passed, my next thought was "where the hell did it come from?" I looked around and saw a semi driving back behind the Wendy's building. I focused in on it and sure enough, it had 18 wheels minus 2. So, I took off running after the truck. The last thing I needed was this to become some sort of bizarre hit and run. At this point the truck had pulled into the parking lot of a small strip mall. I think he realized who I was as I came charging towards his cab. He opened his door with a befuddled look on his face.

"I can't believe that happened!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah, that makes two of us," I said.

"The flibbity-floble must have broke free from the jigerty-floop." At least this is what it sounded like to me. It all made perfect sense to him, although he admitted that he had never seen it happen before. Lucky me, as long as lightening was striking, maybe I should have played the lottery.

He was a nice guy and made sure I had all of his information. When I told him that I had thought about kicking it away he said, "I'm glad you didn't. It would have broken your leg at least. I'm just so glad it didn't hit you." This was true. No one was harmed and my car actually had very little damage under the circumstances. Fortunately it hit with the edge of the tire instead of head-on. And how it managed not to break my headlight and turn signal I do not know. Plus, there are about 30 airbags in the car; thank goodness none of those bitches went off.

So, I guess there is a silver lining to my story. I'm happy with how the VDub held up under duress. Besides, she made it to Chicago and back without further incident. Still, I can't wait to get her fixed.

Blowin' in to the Windy City

2006-10-19T01:14:00.000-04:00

Well, I'm off to Chicago until Monday night. Ah Chicago, home of Harry Caray, Mr. Jordan, Ferris Beuller, and for the purpose of our trip, the Chicago Marathon. RR will be one of 40,000 runners and I'll be one of 1.5 million spectators.

Hey AML, why aren't you running the marathon?

Because if I need to go 26.2 miles, my car will take me. Yes, in this instance fellow readers, I am an athletic supporter. Wait, that doesn't sound right.

Anyway, Sunday is the big day. Until then, there will be much shopping and eating and shopping. And did I mention eating? Oh, I think I did. The Magnificent Mile won't know what hit it.

I'm not sure if I'll have internet access, so try not to miss me too much. I'll be sure to visit upon my return. And there will be stories to be told. In fact, I have a few to tell you now, but there just isn't the time; just never enough time.

Good bye 'Naty, hello Chi-Town. Look out all you crazy Chicago drivers, here we come. It is going to be a mad house, and we're going to love every minute of it.

P.S.: My apologies if you have not seen Ferris Bueller's Day Off; the rock you've been living under must have been heavy.

The Fascinating AML

2006-10-14T12:59:00.000-04:00

I don't feel like talking about work right now, and I'm not feeling particularly philosophical. So, I'm going to take a cue from Tense Teacher and do a weekend meme. I have done a meme one other time, and I bitched about doing it. So before you start yelling "hypocrite!" I'll point out the difference. The first one I did was passed on to me as a sort of blog-tag. I viewed it along the lines of a forced e-mail forward, and I'm not a big fan of that concept. This time I'm doing it of my own initiation. I have willingly stolen the questions from Tense's blog. Likewise, I will not pass it along to anyone, but offer whoever wants it to feel free. OK, enough pre-text, let's get started because I know you are dieing to find out some inane details about me.

Do you snore?
RR claims I do, although she has a penchant for exaggeration. She can fall asleep in a matter of moments. If ever it takes her longer than 5 minutes and she can hear me breathing, she says I'm snoring. If I have a head cold I know I do though.

Are you a lover or a fighter?
I guess I would say I'm more of a lover, or maybe a rationalizer. I can pretty much talk my way out of anything. But if it comes to the point that fighting is my only option, I'm willing to do what it takes.

What's your worst fear?
"Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our greatest fear is that we are powerfull beyond belief." --Nelson Mandela
I could give you an entire disertation on how significant I think this quote is... buuut I bet I won't.

As a kid, were you a Lego maniac?
Well, maniac might be a bit strong, but I loved any toy that I could create something with my hands. Legos, Linken-logs, erector sets, I even had one kit that came with a motor and a bunch of pieces to build electronic stuff. I was one of those goofy kids that would take crap apart to see how it went together. Legos would piss me off sometimes though as one section would always fall apart as you tried to apply a different section.

What do you think of reality TV?
Generally, I'm not a big fan. Although, I do like Survivor as I get into the strategy and mind games.

Do you chew on your straws?
No, I think this is more of a nervous thing, and I'm generally pretty relaxed.

Were you a cute baby?
Yes, but I don't know what happened since.

Is the single life for you?
I am someone who is comfortable being just with me, and I meet and get along with new people pretty easily; so being single never really bothered me. However, I am more happy sharing my life with someone else, so I prefer my life the way it is.

What color is your keyboard?
Black, but I don't know why we have to get all racial.

Do you sing in the shower?
If the mood strikes me I've been known to belt out some songs. I've even taken a few requests, but mainly just to quiet down.

Have you ever bungee jumped?
Technically no, but there is a thing at the local amusement park that is similar. It straps you (and up to two other people) into a harness, pulls you 150 feet into the air, and drops you. Instead of the snap and bounce at the end of a bungee jump, you swing back up the other side. Therefore, after the initial pissing of your pants, you then feel like you are flying until they reel you back in. Since I worked at the park when I was younger, I've done this more times than I can count.

Any secret talents?
Yes, but if I told you it wouldn't be a secret.

What is your ideal vacation spot?
Generally: a beach; specifically: Sanibel Island, FL

Can you swim?
Like a fish.

Have you seen the movie Donnie Darko?
Yes, I've seen a lot of movies. This one doesn't make my top ten.

Do you give a damn about the ozone?
"Where's all this global warming I keep hearing about? Screw the kids, I'm cold now. Psssssssst (spray's arosole)"--Drew Carey

How many licks does it take to get the center of a Tootsie Pop?
Who licks those, seriously? I'm more used to sucking and biting. Wait, what are we talking about?

Can you sing the alphabet backwards?
No, I can sing it forwards while walking backwards, does that count?

Do you prefer electric or manual pencil sharpeners?
I couldn't tell you the last time I used a pencil, but I guess electric. Work smarter not harder.

What's your stand on hunting?
I don't stand on hunting; I don't support it either.

Is marriage in your future?
Another one? I hope not. I'm happy with the one I have, thanks.

Do you like your handwriting?
Yes, I write in big and small caps for some reason. It is relatively neat, for a guy.

What are you allergic to?
Stupidity, I break out in fits of sarcasm.

When was the last time you said "I love you"?
About 20 minutes ago.

Do you cry at weddings?
Not since since there was a stabbing at The Onion wedding.

How do you like your eggs?
Stirred, not shaken.

Are blondes dumb?
No, but I think some use the stereotype to their advantage.

Where does the other sock end up?
Bend over, I'll show ya.

What time is it?
GAME TIME! Oh sorry, old habits are hard to break.

Do you have a nickname?
Not since High School. Back then it was Head because they had to buy a special football helmet for my large noggin. It was said in an endearing way. There was a guy who said it in a mean way once. Once.

Is McDonalds disgusting?
Eh, not disgusting, but one of my last choices for fast food.

When was the last time you were in a car?
An hour ago.

Do you prefer baths or showers?
Showers, unless maybe it is a sponge bath.

Is Santa Claus real?
Yes, why? What have you heard?

Do you like to have your neck kissed?
By the right person, yes.

Are you afraid of the dark?
No, it is afraid of me.

What are you addicted to?
Nothing really, I like movies, but it's not much of an addiction.

Crunchy or creamy peanut butter?
"I was thinking that if you were going out anyway, anyways, maybe you could bring Bobby to the hospital. And if go to the store, don't get crunchy peanut butter, get smooth." --Brian Regan

Can you crack your neck?
Yes, but I can crack my back easier. All I have to do is turn and push a certain way. RR hates the sound, but it feels great.

Have you ever ridden in an ambulance?
Yes, after a bicycling accident. My knee was swollen and they were afraid I hurt my neck. I was fine.

Is drug free the way to be?
Psychotropics are good when needed; illegal hallucinogenics, not so much.

Are you a heavy sleeper?
I used to say yes, but somehow if ever my dog needs me in the middle of the night I wake up.

What color are your eyes?
Most people would think brown, but hazel is more accurate.

Do you like your life?
I can't complain, although sometimes I still do.

Are you psychic?
I knew you were going to ask that.

Have you read Catcher in the Rye?
Considering that it is listed as one of my favorite books on my profile page, I am going to say yes.

Do you play any instruments?
No, I never learned to read music.

Have you ever stolen money?
No

Can you snowboard?
I've never tried.

Do you like camping?
I don't do it all that often, but I do enjoy it.

Do you snort when you laugh?
Not unless I am mocking someone else.

Do you believe in magic?
I believe that we have powers that are beyond our understanding, but I wouldn't call it magic.

Are dogs a man's best friend?
Non-judgemental, unconditional love; yes, yes they are.

Do you believe in divorce?
I am a child of it, so yes I know it exists.

Can you do the moonwalk?
Oh yeah, I can break it down for a big man.

Do you make a lot of mistakes?
I never make mistkes.

Is it cold outside today?
A little bit, but the cold has barely even begun around here.

What was the last thing you ate?
A breakfast bar.

Do you wear nail polish?
Only on the weekends.

How many people do you like right now?
A handfull, just because I'm nice to you doesn't mean I like you.

What's the most annoying TV commercial?
Any that they feel the need to shout the entire time (I'm looking at you used car dealers).

Do you shop at American Eagle?
Yes, amoungst many others. I've told ya, I like to shop.

Favorite song at the moment?
I've been enjoying the new BNL album lately.

That's it. Man, that took a while. I think I'll just stick to normal posts.

My water broke

2006-10-04T22:13:00.000-04:00

The other day I was greeted by the news that at around 7 am an underground water main had broken just up the street from my apartment complex. Apparently at one point there was water gushing down the street making it look like a giant water slide. Since then the city had turned off the water to the area so they could fix the break.

So, do you know what that meant? That’s right, dozens of phone calls of the “Ummm, my water isn’t working… ummm, why do you have my water off… ummm, what’s wrong with the water?” variety. Evidently most of my tenants don’t watch the news (it was on there) and don’t bother to look out and see the cones and trucks and giant hole with the ladder sticking out of it.

That’s all fine. I don’t mind the phone ringing, even if I have to keep saying the same thing over and over. In fact it gave me the opportunity to harass one tenant who is behind in his rent. My answer to him as to why his water was off was, “Because you haven’t paid your rent. Without it we couldn’t afford to pay the bill and it was turned off.” “Oh, really?” he said sounding ashamed. “No, not really, dumb ass.” OK, I didn’t say dumb ass, but I thought it.

Another tenant came down to the office to see what was going on. After being told, he thought about it for a second and then said, “Does that mean I can’t use the washing machine too?” “Not unless you want to stand there and spit into the machine, but I don’t recommend that,” was my reply.

This went on all day until around 6 pm when the water finally came back on. Yes, it sucked. Yes, it was an inconvenience. It was no good for us either as we had to strategize going to the bathroom amongst my staff. Most of the tenants handled it in stride. In fact, all but one did.

If any one of you has anything else to say, now's the fucking time!

This particular tenant has been around for a while. For the most part you rarely saw her. She was quiet, polite, and kept to herself. The only strike against her is the ass-clown boyfriend who comes to visit her on occasion. He has a major case of little-itus (defined as a person who tries to compensate for being small in size by being big in attitude) and appears to have doing drugs on his list of favorite activities. Now, unfortunately, I think that lately she has joined him in this past time. All of a sudden she is looking very unkempt and has gotten into arguments with the maintenance staff.

This day I had already spoken to her earlier in the morning about what was going on. Then around 4:30 she came blasting into my office.
“Look, you need to do something about my water. I haven’t had no water and I can’t do nuthin.’ The room in another building has water, but I don’t. It aint right! I need to have water!”

I wasn’t sure what she was talking about with the other building. The most I could gather was that she had gone to one of the utility rooms and turned on a sink. When she saw a trickle of water come out as it bled through the system, she assumed that she was the only one without. The paranoia was kicking in.
“First of all, settle down,” I say in my usual calm tone. “I can’t help you when you’re yelling.”

“Settle down! I don’t got any water!” I’m not sure what the big concern was, it looked as though she hadn’t showered in days.

“I understand that, but as I explained to you earlier, water to the entire area has been turned off. None of us has any water. When I last spoke to Water Works they told me it normally takes them 7 to 8 hours to fix a main brake. That would put their finish time at late afternoon, early evening.”

“So, you saying I can’t have any water? You saying I can’t even have water trucked in or nuthin’? I want you to put in writing that I can’t have no water and you won’t truck any in!”

I didn't even want to know what she thought trucking water in meant. “I’d be happy to put in writing everything I know. I’ll even give you the number to call so that you can hear for yourself. If you’d like you can walk up the street and yell at the people working on the pipe, but I don’t think it will help,” I say, now aggravated, but still calm.

“I don’t need to talk with them, I need their supervisor. I just want you to write down that I can’t have water.”

So, I do. I write a letter, to no-one in particular, spelling out the situation in detail. As I am typing she is sitting in a chair across from my desk. She is rocking back and forth and says to herself, “Oooh, I need to take that kickboxing class so I can get rid of some of this ANGER!”

I finish typing the letter and hand it to her. She reads it and exclaims, “Oh, you wrote it all legal-like! I like that! I like a bully, it turns me on!” She heads out and slams the door on these last words. I’m not sure who she thinks the bully is here. I assume she means me, and I shudder to think I am turning her on in any way.

Perhaps I was inspired by one of Deb's recent posts, but I decided to say a little prayer. "Please God, help this tenant stay away from drugs. If it turns out she can't do this, please give her knee a loud popping sound so I'll hear her comming and know to lock the door. Ahmen."

The moral of the story is this:
1) Don’t get mad at someone who isn’t to blame for your problem, especially if that person is experiencing the same thing.
2) Don’t do drugs, kids.

Cute Kid

2006-09-30T14:30:00.000-04:00

I often talk about the tenants I would like to slap around, but I think you deserve to hear about some good ones too. For example, the other day a tenant asked to have the locking door knob on his bedroom replaced as the old one didn't lock anymore. Now, it is not very cost effective to have me do much manual stuff, so normally one of the maintenance guys would just go take care of it. But the guy I had lined up ended up having a family emergency and had to leave early. I had promised the tenant that it would be taken care of on Friday, so I just went to do it myself.

When I showed up at his apartment, the tenant expressed his surprise at the fact that I was the one doing it. "I didn't know you could do fix-it stuff," he said. "Yeah, no one is supposed to know, so keep it to yourself, " I replied with a smile.

The knob was on his son's door, and his son was in his room playing video games. He is a cute kid who must be around 4 or 5, but it's hard to tell because I think he is small for his age. He knows me well because he often stops by my office to raid the candy dish I have set out. He's at that stage where his speech is sometimes hard to understand, but it sure isn't for lack of trying.

As soon as I enter his room he starts in, "I'm payin' games, Mista Boss!" I'm not sure where he gets the Mr. Boss thing, but it makes me smile.

"I see that, what are you playing?"

"It's the snow scate... the board snow, scate game. I'm gooood 'cause I pactice. Watch this move, watch me do this one, Mista Boss. Can you watch?"

I lean over so that I can see his TV while I'm unscrewing the lock. "Very nice, you are good."

"You want to try? You try this game? Can you stay in my house, Mista Boss?"

"No, if I stayed much later you might have to serve me dinner. You just keep practicing."

It never ceases to amaze me how something so small can make even a crap day smell better.

Apparently, I'm trendy

2006-09-25T23:54:00.000-04:00

I've never considered myself a trendy person. I don't really try, nor am I interested in various fads that roll in and roll back out. Generally, I just have a pretty good idea of who I am and what I like, and take it from there.

I dance to the beat of my own drummer boy

Yeah, pretty much. Although, from time to time I come to realize that a particular trend coincides with what I'm already doing. I'd like to say in those instances that I am the inspirational trend setter, but somehow I doubt it. This was the case when I recently came across an ACB News story. The story was entitled "Macho Men with Small Dogs" (can anyone say slow news day?). Apparently "the pairing of macho men and toy sized breads is sweeping the nation." It says that men are realizing that they don't have to walk a big dog to look manly. Everyone from Hulk Hogan, to Steve Schrippa (The Sopranos), to P. Diddy, is down with small dogs. To see the video of this story click here.

Now, I am an animal lover in general. I have owned dogs my entire life. I've had big dogs, little dogs, and everything in between. It just so happens that the dog I have now is a Bichon Frise. It was less let me pick you out of the litter and more let me rescue you from a family who has no clue how to take care of you. They were a wealthy family we knew who bought her because they caved when the oldest daughter insisted. Even with the best of intentions, they quickly realized they didn't know what they were doing, and just kept her locked in their laundry room (the dog not the daughter). The poor pooch's only real reprieve was when I would come to visit. Finally, they gave up and asked my wife and I to take her; we gladly accepted.

Everything happens for a reason, because she is the coolest dog I have ever owned. My wife still says I look funny walking her, but I could care less. She is smart, loyal, loving and playful. Plus, she doesn't shed, which is always nice. Anyone who meets her falls in love after 5 minutes. Therefore, in her honor, I present a day in the life of Daisy...

Look, I don't know what this work thing is you always go on about, but some of us are still in bed.

OK, I'm up, time for my nap.

Alright, new spot, and nap number 2.

Dude, I'm happy you're home too, but easy on the hugs.

No, seriously, did someone say something about dinner?

I'm rested, I'm fed; enough pictures, time for ball.

Drama, its what's for dinner

2006-09-21T18:39:00.000-04:00

I know that every relationship has its ups and downs. I realize that if you spend enough time with someone you will eventually, occasionally rub each other the wrong way. I don’t care if it’s a man and a woman or a same-sex couple, your best friend, a relative… whoever it is. From time to time you are going butt heads and, in your own way, “throw down.”

Bring it on bitch!

In fact I’ve heard it argued that couples who never fight are doomed to failure because they don’t care enough about the relationship to get mad. Or maybe they are too afraid to express their true feelings to the other person, which isn’t good either.

So, this is all very natural. Then what is my point? The point is that during these episodes of relationship non-bliss, is it really necessary to alert every neighbor in your surrounding area? Now, God knows I’ve had my share of passionate verbal bouts. I am a pretty laid back person, and therefore there are only two people in my life who can actually upset me. One is my mother; the other is my wife. I still say this is because they are the two people I care the most about, so they are the only ones I feel are worth getting upset about.

On the rare occasions I do get riled up, I unleash a pack of spoken daggers wrapped in painful sarcasm. If it goes on long enough, I may even raise my voice to the point that our little dog hides under the bed and tries to find her happy place.

I have not, however, gone outside of my living space calling my partner every foul name I can think of at the top of my lunges. I have never knocked on a neighbor’s door during the heat of the fight, whom I barely know, to profess how my partner has wronged me. I have never taken my partner's clothes and thrown them at (not in) the dumpster outside of my living space. I have never done a dance on the said clothes while they lay in the parking lot. Likewise, I have never called the cops on my partner after she broke the back windshield of my vehicle with a hammer during the argument, only to be told that since her name is also on the vehicle title that she has the right to do anything she wants to it.

I have never done these things my fellow readers, but then again I don’t live in the complex I manage either.

Trust Issues

2006-09-15T14:08:00.000-04:00

This was the note that was left for one of my maintenance guys inside the apartment he was working in. Now, in all fairness to the tenant, we do normally give at least 24-hour notice before entering their apartment when it comes to something they didn’t request. But when it is an emergency call, we have to do what we have to do. That was the case here, as we received a call from the tenant living below saying that there was water coming through her ceiling.

Now the tenant who left the note really is a good guy, but there are a few screws loose. He served in the armed forces in his past, so he must have been all there at some point. I don’t know at what point things got off track mentally, but they did and he’s never looked back. Again, for the most part he just works and keeps to himself. He does have a very low tolerance for those who live around him and tends to think everything anyone else does is to spite him. You know the “The guy below me keeps closing his front door loudly because he’s trying to upset me,” type of stuff. Then there was the time he came into the office and asked me if I was the Arch Angel Gabriel. I told him, “not that I am aware of,” and he never mentioned it again.

Now for some reason he had it in his head that he didn’t like the maintenance guy. There was never any reason given, but he made it pretty obvious. On a previous occasion he had told me, with the maintenance guy sitting in the same room, that he would rather fix the problem himself than have the guy go in his apartment.

The maintenance guy has since worked his way into the tenant's good graces and the two of them have buried the hatchet, even though only the tenant knew what the hatchet was.

Part Three

2006-09-08T14:53:00.000-04:00

In my former life I thought I wanted to be a psychologist. I worked both with adults who had mental illness and with kids who had severe behavior handicaps (SBH). Every day was a challenge, which I liked. What I didn’t like is the fact that there never seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel for most of them.
What if this is as good as it gets?
One of the schools I worked in was pretty rough. I found out that all of the kids, which the other schools had trouble with, were shipped to this one school. I’m not sure who the genius was that thought this would be a good idea. But, when the school eventually closed, no one was all that surprised. The kids there would fight pretty regularly. If someone said the wrong thing, or even looked at them funny, it was on. I even had one kid whose socialization skills were so low that he would pick fights just for peer interaction.

Why am I telling you this? Well, because I had a pretty serious flashback at work yesterday. It started with yelling coming from outside of my office. I was in the back room, and before I could make it to the front I hear Skinny-hoe yell,
(she calls me by Mr. and my first name, then) “you betta come get her. She’s crazy.”

Apparently Bug-eyes had been over visiting Thinks-with-prick. Actually Bug-eyes has a patch over one eye for some reason, so we’ll call her Bug-eye to be more accurate. Anyway, she was in one of the back rooms of his apartment when Skinny-hoe came over. So, as Thinks-with-prick is out spittin’ game to Skinny-hoe in the living room, Bug-eye comes flying out of the back, mouth going. This whirlwind of yelling and cuss words works it’s way out to the front of the building. The Accountant wanted to call the cops, but I told her no, that as long as it was just verbal and not physical that I would deal with it.

So there I am standing between these two little women who were not happy with each other. Now very few people in this world have ever heard me yell. Normally the amount of physical space I take up, combined with my calm-sternness usually means I don’t need to. This was no exception. I had Skinny-hoe go back upstairs while I walked Bug-eye back to her apartment. After getting Bug-eye to stop exchanging insults with Thinks-with-prick:
“You think you a playa, don’t nobody want your old ass.”

“Then why you down at my apartment, you crazy trick?”

I was finally able to talk with her. “He thinks I’m stupid, trying to run game on me,” she said, more to herself than to me. Now to clarify, she is a little slow, but I guess he’ll have to be slicker than that.

“I don’t know about that. What I do know is that he’s not worth losing your apartment over. Do you understand what I mean?” I say.

She does, and apologizes as she goes back into her apartment. “It will never happen again, I promise.”

One of my workers yells, "You tha man!" to me as I walk back to the office, but I'm in no mood.

This whole scenario is clearly Thinks-with-prick’s fault. He won’t just be straight with Bug-eye and lets the situation string along. He knows this; I think he just likes having two ladies fight over him. But not even he likes this kind of drama, and he comes down later to apologize also.

I didn’t know there was going to be a part three. If there is a part four I fear it will end with me strangling someone.

--I realize that the pictures I use don't always match the right part of the movie from which the quote came. It's for illustrative purposes only. Besides, piss-off, quit being so picky.-- AML

Thanks Mr. Obvious, you're a life saver

2006-09-03T20:40:00.000-04:00

That little guy is the young raccoon that was hanging out in front of my rental office. The day before, he was sitting under the apple tree on the complex having a snack. I don't think he is doing all that well. He wasn't acting sick, but they are not normally out during the day. They are more of the nocturnal, scavenger type. Yet here he was, two days in a row, in plain sight.

Coons? When we got coons on the porch at home Momma would just run them off with a broom.

A few of the tenants were freaked out by him, but he didn't seem to mind. And since he didn't mind, neither did I.

Hey, Doctor Doolittle, enough with the nature crap. Get back to the tenant silliness.

Oh, right, sorry. Well, as long as we were talking about spiders last time...

I said enough with...

No, no, this is a tenant story. A tenant walked into my office with an inquisitive look on her face. She is a relatively new tenant, having lived in the complex only a few months. Overall, she is a nice lady, but leans towards the needy side. There always seems to be one issue or another. Plus, when she first came to look at the place she tried to haggle with me over the price. This annoyed me a little, but I can't fault her too much for trying. Then, when she came to sign her lease she tried to trick me into giving her the apartment cheaper by telling me I had said something that I hadn't. This pissed me off. I keep things professional for the most part, but I've never thought much of her since.

"I need your help and recommendation," she began, as she made herself comfy in one of the office chairs. "I saw a big spider sitting in the middle of my living room floor. What should I do about it."

Without saying a word, I leaned over, removed my shoe, and held it up.

She smiled and said, "No seriously."

"I am serious. That's what I do when I see one in my house," I said without a smile.

"Well, I killed it with a broom, because I didn't want to get close to it." She then launched into a long winded story, recalling the event play-by-play. I sat and listened to her, but I couldn't get past the thought: if the damn thing is already dead, then why are you telling me. In fact, even when she finally stopped talking, I still never figured out the answer to that question. As she was walking out the door, she said she was going to go to the store to find something that kills spiders. I made the facial expression equivalent of a sarcastic thumbs-up and shut the door. Sometimes I think people are just lonely, and I am the definition of a captive audience. Lucky me.

Where am I?

2006-08-30T23:54:00.000-04:00

What the hell is that?

That is the spider that was camped out on the side mirror of my car. He rode with me all day today. It made we wonder what insects (or arachnids) think when they land on a car that ends up moving. I've had bugs sitting on my windshield when I start up in the morning that somehow have hung on until I get to work. Do they look around after we stop and wonder where in the world they are? They don't understand what a car is. All they know is that it was very windy and now they're far from home.

I don't think we're in Kansas anymore

Take this spider for example. Now, I don't know all that much about spiders, but I swear he was asleep all day. He (or she, I didn't check) did not move from that position since I first noticed him this morning. We traveled over 50 miles total today, and he slept through the whole damn thing in his cozy little mirror nook. I'm assuming he's awake now as I'm typing this and earning his keep by eating bugs. But, when he woke up, was he a little befuddled? Now, after all the places he could have potentially seen today, he merely ended up on the other side of the street. Still, did he think to himself, "Son of a bitch! I had some weird-ass dreams. There were all these strange noises and shit. Damn!" I'm not sure why the spider's language is so bad, I apologize on his behalf.

You see, I juggle enough stuff during the day to make a normal person nauseous, yet this is the crap that occupies my brain. You realize it's all fun and games until I go out tomorrow morning and the entire side of my car is covered in web. Stupid stow-away, free loading spider.

The love triangle...er square... pentagon, whatever (Part Two)

2006-08-26T11:18:00.000-04:00

Now, Thinks-with-prick owns two big-ass Cadillacs. One is from the mid seventies, the other from the mid nineties. They are his babies. He keeps them cleaned and tuned and running right. The only catch: he can’t drive them. I’m not sure what the situation is, but he hasn’t been allowed to drive since I’ve been in the picture. I know this kills him, but he finds ways to get by. He’ll start one of the cars up from time to time and just sit there listening to the radio. He’ll have other people drive it to and fro, with him as the passenger. He’ll even drive it to the end of the complex and back every once in a while.

I’m an excellent driver.

So, on this particular day, Skinny-hoe is the driver and Thinks-with-prick is the passenger. Just as they are driving away, Bug-eyes is coming down for a visit. She sees them leave. She is still sitting on the stoop when they get back. The impending, inevitable confrontation ensues.

“Wacha doin’ wit my man?!”

“Who you think yo talkin’ to? He ain’t yo man or my man. I ain’t wit nobody around here. You betta get up out o’ my face!”

“You need ta stay away from him!”

“You need to be stayin’ away from me!”

blah, blah, blah

This goes on for a surprisingly short amount of time. It is capped with Skinny-hoe coming in to my office to inform me that “the crazy lady” is outside giving her a hard time.

“I don’t know what that lady is talkin’, I ain’t wit’ him. I just braid his son’s hair and stuff.”

Don’t care, don’t care, don’t care.

Later that evening, Bug-eyes decides that the best method is to drown her sorrows in some form of narcotic. We know this because at around 11pm she is out in the parking lot, wearing very little, and propositioning the maintenance guy as he comes home from shopping. She is workin’ it pretty hard with her best high-smoothness. Something to the extent of a Joey “how YOU doin’” escapes her mouth at various intervals. Then, when she realizes that the maintenance guy is sitting in his vehicle with his girlfriend, she changes it to “Oh, how you BOTH doin’.” Oh yeah, ménage-ghetto anyone?

Now apparently she hadn’t wanted to get high alone. So, she chose the neighbor who lives below her for company… the married neighbor below her. He emerges from his apartment looking just as high. He is followed by his wife, now home from work.

The wife starts in (or most likely continues on):
“So that is what you want, some hoe-ass-trick? Fine then, go be with her. Go on, stay your stupid ass out of my apartment. Better yet, maybe I’ll just run your ass over.”

The wife, keys still in hand, proceeds to hop in her car. She pulls out, makes a relatively lazy effort to run him over (he is, after all, at this point a lanky, wobbling, high, easy target), and continues on out of the driveway only slightly through the grass.

Later still, Bug-eyes, down off of her high and remembering the troubles of life, decides to go and key one of Thinks-with-prick’s Caddies (translates to scratching the side of the car with a key). I know this because he is in my office the next day to tell me.

“That crazy bitch scratched up my car! You’d think she would wait until a day when she didn’t just go off so it would be less obvious. But no, she gots to go an’ do this. Now I know it was her. She did this before too, and I got mad at her then. She’d betta watch herself, or I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Apparently what he’ll do is leave a threatening note on her door. Into the office enters Bug-eyes:

“Somebody left this note on my door and I don’t know who it was, but I don’t like it,” she says waiving the note.

“You don’t know who it was, eh? Well, I’ll give you three guesses and the first two don’t count,” I say as sarcastically as I can. She gives me a blank bug-eyed stare.

“Call the cops if you think that is the best way to go,” I follow-up, tiring of the situation rapidly. She mutters incoherently and walks out of the office. I make sure the door hits her in the ass on the way out.

See, I told you it was a long story. Hopefully it was worth the gap.

The love triangle...er square... pentagon, whatever (Part One)

2006-08-23T11:44:00.000-04:00

Aside from the normal concerns I deal with on a day to day basis, occasionally I am faced with the burden of tenants' relationships amongst themselves. They do not complain to me about their dealings with those on the outside world, but for some reason if it is another tenant they feel I should be the moderator. On more than one occasion I have told a tenant that I am not running a club house, that this is in fact an apartment complex. I remind them that they are adults. Therefore, if they are not getting along with someone, they need to either stay away from them or figure out a resolution.

One tenant was notorious for this. She had a coarse personality and could not get along with anyone. She would be in the office complaining about this or that tenant on a weekly basis. And I'm not talking about the legitimate noise-type of complaint. I'm referring to the "She looked at me funny," "I don't like the way he spoke to me," "That person said something to this person about me," type of complaints. My threshold for this was eventually reached and she is no longer one of my tenants. Well, that and the call center/prostitution she would perform from her apartment.

Go sell crazy some place else, we're all stocked up here.

But this story is not about her. Lets talk about another tenant who still lives in the complex. In fact he has lived there for quite some time. He pre-dates me and most of the other tenants. For the most part, he is a great guy. He goes to work, raises his toddler son on his own, and doesn't bother anybody. His one vice is "dating" various women throughout the complex. We'll call him Thinks-with-prick.

Recently he came to the office to complain about one of these women, let's call her Bug-eyes.

Oh my, that is so rude to say something like that about a person.

Oh, I'm sorry, if you were looking for compassion you're in the wrong place. Feel free to go elsewhere. Besides, have you seen her eyes? I didn't think so. Anywho, he had been seeing Bug-eyes for a little while, but had lost interest and no longer wanted to be with her. Apparently she had not gotten the message and continued to come over. His complaint was that she would not leave him alone.

"I mean, she would come by and cook for me and what-not. You know, we would watch movies because she doesn't have any. It was all cool. But she doesn't know when to leave and can't take a hint."

I don't know what he wanted me to do about this, but I didn't ask. If he assumed I would take this information and make a move, he assumed wrong. I just nodded and smiled, as if knowingly understanding, until he left.

Now this grey-area of a relationship continued for a while, until Thinks-with-prick found another tenant he was interested in. This new girl, um... Skinny-hoe, started showing up on a regular basis. But, apparently Bug-eyes didn't notice, even though they all three live no more than 100 yards (meters for my non-American friends) from each other. That is, until one day last week.

The Amazing Appearing Closet

2006-08-17T22:52:00.000-04:00

O.K., so it's not all that amazing, but the closet project is done none-the-less. I decided, mainly out of necessity, to build another closet in our house. I suppose you can never have too many, especially when you have a wife who can take up a large closet, and then some, on her own. Also, since we have developed a habit of hosting people from foreign lands in our home.

So, this new closet was created in the room that we use as our office, which you walk through to get to the room we use as our bedroom (it is a weird old house). This puts the closet just outside of our bedroom, which is as good a place as any. That particular corner of the room used to look like this:

Then, after relocating the wall-o-cds and file cabinets; moving the phone jack to the other side of the room; and a series of sawing, banging, and dust; the corner now looks like this:

TADA! Finished closet. Well, almost finished. I still want to build a few shelves and a shoe cubby inside, but that won't take long. And yes, I'm comfortable enough with my sexuality to say shoe cubby. Now, if only this would motivate me to finish a few larger projects throughout the house. Where does the time go when it's not around here?

Car Luvin'

2006-08-13T18:57:00.000-04:00

Indulge me for a moment, if you will, while I talk with you about a subject that is very close to my heart: my car. What, you were expecting something more deep? Not in this post.

I will start by pointing out that I am a car guy. I don't mean this in the... let me check under the hood to diagnose the problem... here, I'll change the oil myself... pardon the grime under my nails- type of way. I am talking about the... read car magazines... shop for cars when I'm not actually looking to buy... hey, did you see that '04 Ferrari 360 Modena Spider just drive by? I wonder if it is the F1 or standard style- type of way. I love cars for their form and function. I enjoy looking at them, driving them, and thinking about them. Even my wife joins in on the fun of appreciating cool cars that go by, or at least she doesn't roll her eyes at my excitement anymore.

So, imagine my joy when I recently went looking for a new car for real, and finally. By finally I mean I was looong over due. Back when I first decided to go back to school to get my real estate license and start my new business, I knew money was going to be tight for a few years. That meant that I needed to sell my everything-you-do-to-me-is-expensive-but-I'm-worth-it baby and buy the uber-practical-and-reliable Honda Accord. The Honda was a fine car, low miles, one owner who treated her well (I knew them). She was nothing fancy, but I was sure I wouldn't have her for too long. Just until I had my business foundation set. Seven years later, she was still with me. This is mainly because, for all of my dreaming, my fiscal sense normally wins out. I sometimes have trouble spending money on something that won't make me money. Plus, I had bought the car outright, so not having a monthly payment was nice too. Then over the past year or so, I started playing the step game. You know, after this step happens, I'll get a new car; no, after this step happens I'll get a new car. Finally near the end, besides really showing her age, she started having one issue after the other. It got to the point where it was just time.

So, after much researching, searching, and hagling, I have a new car. I ended up with an '06 VW Passat:

The color of the picture isn't right. Mine is more of a steel blue than the baby blue above, but you get the idea. I've had her for a little over a month now and I couldn't be happier. I am so glad I ended up where I did. I looked at some fancier cars, but again ultimately my practical side won out (by the way, did you know the fancy-pants guys don't like to hagle as much?) Am I going to pay more for an Audi when this car has the same engine and interior (VW being the parent company to both)? Nope, not at this point in my life anyway.

I hope you don't think that I'm doing a la la la, look at what I have dance here fellow readers. I am just very excited to finally have something I'm proud to drive again. I want to share my excitement with the world. As Ron Burgundy put it:

I am so happy that I wanted to shout it from a mountain.

But, I didn't have a mountian, all I had was this.

Sometimes it's the little things that make me happy. Other times it's a car.

Back in action

2006-08-07T11:31:00.000-04:00

O.K., I'm back from paradise. It was nice and relaxing. Just what the doctor ordered, so to speak. But, even though I can chill with the best of 'em, I couldn't help being a little anxious in one regard. When I have time to relax, the creative juices start to flow. In this instance I started getting the feeling that I needed to get on board. The feeling that I am missing out on a prime opportunity. Now, when my mind starts cooking up stuff, it is not always real estate related; but this time it was. The real estate in Southwest Florida is going crazy. And over the next ten to fifteen years as the baby boomers start to retire and look for "year-round living" prices are only going to soar higher. I just need to figure out how to get my piece of the pie.

Mmmm, pie...

Anywho, let me share the story of a closing I went to right before I left for vacation. Now as a real estate agent, my role at the actual closing of a house is really minor. Basically I am there for moral support and to pick up my check. It is the culmination of a few month's work and ends with a sense of relief by all. There is nervousness up until the final moments however, as you never know what kind of wrinkle can crop up. Just as with the rest of the process, no matter how hard you try and prepare, all it takes is one little glitch to throw the whole thing out of whack.

Normally my closings average around 45 minutes, but Thursday's was over 2 hours. How could it take more than double the amount of time? Oh, how indeed. After getting stuck in traffic, I arrive a few minutes late. The festivities had already started, as I'd hoped they would have. I am greeted by the other agent who is outside of the closing room. "There is a little bit of an issue, but we're taking care of it," he says.

As I enter the closing room, I see what the problem is: only one of my sellers is there. Now, even though the house is technically in her name, he still needs to sign stuff since they are married. We have gone over this before, and he has been signing everything so far in the process, so I thought this point was clear to them. Apparently not.

"Where's your husband?" I say.

"He didn't think he really needed to be here. He went to the hospital to have some tests done," she responds.

Now I know he has various health concerns, so it is hard to be mad at someone for needing to go to the hospital. That is until the next words came out of her mouth: "He's stayed out of the hospital for four months, then he picks today to go in."

To add to the fun, the buyers are from Vietnam. I knew they were asian, but I didn't really think anything of it. Then I realized that the person sitting next to them was their translator. So everything the closing agent said had to be explained to the translator, then explained to the buyers by the translator. To make matters worse, the husband buyer at one point spoke up to point out that his name was spelled wrong on the documents. His name, which looked more like sound effects, was a series of syllables made up of two and three letters and put together with hyphens. Apparently they had missed one of the syllables.

After what seemed like a lifetime, all issues were resovled and we closed. Vacation came not a moment to soon.

Are you gunna run tell yo' mommy too?

2006-07-27T18:24:00.000-04:00

On Sunday I return a call from a tenant saying that there is a small drip coming from the ceiling above her bathtub. She said she had noticed a spot on the ceiling, but that it had just started dripping today. She admitted that it wasn't too bad, just annoying. I assured her that we would be out first thing in the morning to figure out what was going on.

Monday morning the maintenance guy goes to asses the situation. He opens up part of her bathroom ceiling to get a look. We then call and arrange for our plumber to come out on Tuesday to fix the problem stemming from the apartment above. We notify both tenants of the proceedings.

Tuesday morning the plumber fixes most of the problem but needs a few parts.

Wednesday the plumbing is finished and the hole in the ceiling is patched.

This is really boring, is there a point to this?

Yes, I'm getting there. Then, in Wednesday's mail is a letter from the Health Department. It is from the tenant that originally had the leak in her ceiling. Apparently she reported that she had mold on her ceiling. WTF? Sunday was the first I heard of it. We couldn't have rendered the problem any quicker than we did. I look to see what the date was that she called it in: the previous Wednesday. That was five days before she called me.

Now this seemed shitty and confusing, until I thought back to what also happened on that Wednesday. That was the day that I scolded her for all the noise and disruption complaints I had been getting in regard to her apartment. I had also handed her a letter threatening her with eviction if things didn't change.

So, what does this mean? It means that I can almost picture her going, "Oh yeah, well I'll show you."

By the way, did I mention that this is The Pot Head Tenant from a few posts back? Why yes, yes it is. Now, I've not smelled a thing or heard a peep since she got my letter, but the damage has been done. We may be beyond eviction and into missing person territory. You didn't hear that here.

"WAAAA, he won't let me smoke pot, scream cuss words in the hall and outside the building, or blast my music at 2am! He is soooo mean!"

Happy Flung Monkey Poo

2006-07-19T22:32:00.000-04:00

I have touched upon this in the past, but due to a barrage of forwards I received today, I felt it was worth another look. I think it's funny that you can always tell when someone first gets into e-mail. They quickly become the forward sender. I don't mind since some of them are neat to look at, or are funny. The only time I don't like it is when the e-mail threatens me if I don't do what it says. "Send this to everyone you know or there will be a pox on your first born!" Seems a little extreme just to pass along a waiving monkey picture.

It's not even the pointless time it would take to send it to everyone I know. It is more the principle of being threatened by a faceless person who the only thing I know about them is that they enjoy monkey humor. In fact, whenever I get one of those e-mails, not only do I not pass it along, I take a moment out of my day and try to visualize the person who started it in the first place.

Normally they are pathetic little people, just barely above those who send out computer viruses. Sure they don't go after my hard drive, but they go after my lineage. And that is just wrong. They only differ from the evil of virus spreaders with the fact that they have some sense of humor. Now, normally I would be the last person to browbeat someone who is both evil and funny, but they cross the line when they threaten me and mine.

So, once I have them firmly in mind, I send them a little hex. "No, no, a pox on you sir!" Then I realize that I'm not even sure what a pox is. The only thing that comes to mind is chicken pox and that seems a little weak. Besides, maybe he already got them when he was young and it wouldn't even work.

So, then I sit back and try to gear up for something better. Let's see, not an insult, a curse... "May your love of funny monkeys someday come back to haunt you in a way you never dreamt. May you one day be at the zoo, enjoying your beloved monkeys at their exhibit when you notice a beautiful girl standing near you. This is the type of girl who would never be interested in you, but as it so happens she catches you looking at her. But, instead of the normal look of disgust you have grown accustomed to, she sends you a smile. You think to yourself that maybe this is your day. Maybe hell has frozen and a girl like this is into geeks. Then, just as you start to slip into fantasyland and your eyes begin to glaze over, you are snapped back into reality when a glob of poop slaps you in the head. You quickly realize by their hoots of laughter and chatter, that the monkeys who were the perpetrators of this action think that it is hilarious.

By the way, so does the girl. This extreme embarrassment causes you to piss yourself. O.K., now the girl gives you the look of disgust you are more familiar with. You are so stunned by this series of events that you can only stand there and cry. Some of your tears mix with the poo dripping down your head and gets into your mouth. Then, a few weeks later you die from a rare strain of monkey pox." There, I guess I did get to work in the word pox. I'm still not sure what it means, but it sounds better this way. I suppose the moral of the story is this:

e-mails from loved ones = great
forwards = O.K. to a certain extent
forwards that threaten = infuriating
originators of these threatening forwards = death by monkey poo.

Wow, I can't believe I made it through an entire post without a movie quote. I'm really proud of myself, I mean it.

Anybody want a peanut?

Damn.

You can put your weeed in there

2006-07-14T22:36:00.000-04:00

So I recently moved a new tenant into an apartment that shares the hallway with my leasing office. She is young, cute, soft spoken, and pleasant mannered. She had just moved into town from Chicago and this is her first apartment. She has a decent job and is the niece of one of my other tenants. He is a good guy and has been a great tenant, so this is a nice reference to have. Still, my spidy-sense was tingling about moving her in right by the office. I have learned to trust my instincts in this job and it normally serves me pretty well. But, as it turned out, this was the only apartment I had ready at the time and she was in somewhat of a hurry to move in. So, in she went.

All was well. For the first few weeks I didn't hear much out of her and very rarely saw her. This is a good thing by the way. Some of my favorite tenants are the ones that I barely know their names. Why? Because I don't have to hound them for their rent and they don't complain about crap.

Back to my story. La la la, life is good. Then one day I smell it. It starts to creep under my office door at first. Then, when I open the door it punches me in the nose. The smell of pot is undeniable. I have never partaken myself, but I lived in a college dorm long enough to know it well.
"Dude, he's rockin' the ganja!"

Now, I'm no prude. Far be it from me to get in the way of a little "relax time." But across from the leasing office, and in the middle of the day? Come on for crap's sake!
Hello and welcome to the apartment community. That smell? Why, that's just the way we roll around here.
I opened the hall window, spayed some odor neutralizer and hoped this would be an isolated occurrence.

About a week later the hall fills with what smells like burning shit. My maintenance guy, who was a user in a previous life, informs me that the smell is Jamaican skunk grass. Who knew? Remember the time when I told you this job teaches me things I never wanted to know? Well, this was one of those instances.

Now, the maintenance guy can speak to the tenants from an "unofficial" standpoint; whereas I am seen as a direct representation of the company. So I have him mention the situation to her in a casual way. He informs her that the smell is going into the hallway. She seems surprised and almost embarrassed. He even gives her tips on making it less obvious. Does this solve the situation? Hells no. Next comes the following letter from me:

Dear (tenant),

This letter is regarding the smell of an apparent illegal narcotic coming from your apartment and filling the building hallway on a repeated basis. This occurrence must come to an immediate end. Please know that this is taken very seriously and is putting your tenancy at risk. We enjoy having you as a tenant and would hate to see you lose your apartment for this reason. Thank you in advance for your prompt attention to this matter.

The next phase is for Captain Brilliant (aka The Pot Head Tenant) to... stop smoking weed in her apartment you ask? No, no silly reader. She sticks a lit stick of incense in the doorbell outside of her door. That's right, lit on the outside of her apartment. That way it can ash down onto the hallway carpet below. After a quick bang on her door she opens with a surprised look.
"You can't do this," I say holding up the incense.
"I'm sorry, I wanted it to smell better," she says sounding all hurt.
"I appreciate that, but I'd rather not burn the building down in the process," I scold back.

Her days are numbered.

All work and no play makes one healthy, wealthy, and w...wait that's not how it goes

2006-07-11T00:43:00.000-04:00

Friday started off in my office. Most of the day was going to be spent out of the office, so I was busy wrapping up loose ends before I departed. As I sat at my desk, I realized I was going to have to drop the kids off at the pool before the day went any further.

Oh my, what a crass euphemism.

Now, my landlording office is a small one. It is basically one of the studio apartments with an opening to the attached utility room for the building. My desk is in the front room. Then there is a kitchen, a bathroom, and the utility room which is separated by a cubicle divider. The latter is where the company accountant's and owner's desks are. So, as part of your visualization, keep in mind that the bathroom and the accountant's desk is about an arm's length from each other. Therefore, unless I have the office to myself when the catcher calls for the #2 pitch, I choose to take care of business elsewhere.

My elsewhere of choice is the model apartment I keep across the hall from the office. I have adopted this method because it is clean and close by. Therefore I can normally be done and back before anyone even realizes I was gone. When I go I take the key to the model (which is normally sitting on my desk) and my cell phone--> just in case they realize I'm gone and a panic ensues. I go over, lock the apartment door behind me, and commence with the task at hand. Now, just as things are wrapping up, I get a call from the office on my cell. I don't answer because, well, things are wrapping up and I'll be there in a second. Then, just as I'm crossing the main room to leave the apartment, the owner unlocks and opens the front door. He apparently had gotten the secondary key out of the key box. He hits me with a surprised look (as I'm sure I did him) and says, "someone is here and wants to see the model." CRAP--pun intended--of all the damn times to get a walk in showing appointment! The prospective tenant walks into the model and I take over acting like nothing is out of the ordinary. Why yes, I often lock myself into the vacant, unfurnished apartments. And that odor? Why it is the Ode De Ass colone we spray in each unit for that comfy, lived in feel. The owner shoots me a knowing smile as he leaves the room. It is never spoken of again.

Now, to change the subject, I don't want you fellow readers to think my days are all working and pooing. I realize I hit you mainly with work stuff here, but I assure you I have my enjoyments too. Case in point, the rest of the day Friday was spent on the golf course. This doesn't happen all that often, but from time to time we put together a golf outing for the construction guys as a type of morale booster. Now, me on the golf course is sort of along the Happy Gilmore "I'm a football player playing golf today" lines. But even though I can count the number of times I've actually played on two hands, I can usually hold my own. I did in fact hit my very first birdy ever (A birdy is when you shoot one under par. Par is... well never mind. If you don't know you probably don't care).

"Step right up and take a look at the amazing golf-ball-whacker-guy!"

Then, that evening the wife, some friends, and myself went out to one of our favorite Mediterranean restaurants for good food and belly dancing...

She was enthralling, and the whole sword balancing on the head thing was pretty cool. So, from pooping to eating, it was a pretty good day.

"I eat pieces of shit like you for breakfast."
"You eat pieces of shit for breakfast?"
"NO!"

An ass chewing? Well, your house or mine?

2006-07-06T17:41:00.000-04:00

So, it's Wednesday morning and I head to court. This is one of my least favorite ways to start the day. It's five 'till nine in the morning and I'm about to stand in line waiting to enter the courthouse. Most court sessions start at 9am, thus making the pre-nine line a long one. I know this, and I realize that getting there earlier would make the line shorter, but that still doesn't mean I do. So, here I stand with the dregs of society. The lawyers and cops don't have to stand in this line. They get to cut through a special entrance. Everyone else gets to wait and go through the metal detector. This means the prosecution and defense stand side by side as we slowly move our way through the cattle-style procession. I am surrounded by the smell of body odor and pot. I get the occasional dirty look as my preppie little outfit has a way of standing out in this scene. No matter though, this is far from my first time here. I'm not new to the game, and my demeanor over-rides my look.

I finally make my way through the metal detector...

"the man with the rubber glove was surprisingly gentle"

and up to the room where eviction court is starting. After a quick look at the docket hanging in the hall to see how far down the list I am (damn-near the bottom, great), I make my way inside. It is a relatively small room crammed tightly with chairs. People are packed in and there is a quiet sense of discontent in the air. I quickly scan the room to find an empty seat, for there will be NO STANDING IN THE ISLES. Apparently standing in the isle is almost as bad as talking, but not quite. The courtroom is treated like a classroom where the judge is the teacher, and this teacher is definitely in charge of the class.

As the cases are called, the defendants and prosecution make their way to the front of the room to stand in front of the judge. Occasionally one or the other is accompanied by an attorney. The rest of the room has nothing to do but sit back and watch until their name is called. It is generally a pretty cut and dry routine. The prosecution runs through their little list of things to say (basically this is my name, this person lives there, they haven't paid rent, I want them to leave). The defense is then asked, assuming they are even there, if they have anything to ask or say. Then, regardless of their response, they are given 7 days to move out. What can they say really, if they haven't paid rent there is very little defense (which is why many don't even show up).

Now, in this particular instance the landlord did not have an attorney, but the tenant did. The landlord goes through his little routine speel, and then it's opened up to the tenant. The tenant's lawyer starts in on the landlord as if he is on some daytime court TV show. He starts yelling at the landlord basically saying how dare the landlord put his client out since she has a kid and is also pregnant. After a few minutes of the landlord's shocked stumbling and the lawyer's constant browbeating, the judge finally yells, "STOP! THAT'S ENOUGH!" He then sits there in silence for a moment looking at the lawyer as if trying to make his head explode with telepathy. The judge then calls a recess (weee, dodgeball) and yells to the lawyer to meet him in the hall. When they re-enter the lawyer proceeds to his seat with his tail between his legs. The judge informs the clients that he will continue their case at the end.

"Your honor I object!"
"On what grounds?"
"It's devistating to my case."

For the rest of the morning, the judge is in a pretty pissy mood. He does his job just fine, but god forbid anyone who is not at the stand open their mouth in his courtroom the rest of the morning. At one point someone in the back of the room had the balls to talk on a cell phone. Now, I was closer to the person than the judge and I couldn't hear them, but I thought the judge was going to crap himself. "You had better not be on the phone while this court is in session! Get out of this room!" The judge then turns his attention to the lawyer from before, "I think that is one of your clients. You had better get out there and tell her to stay in the hall until her case is called. You stay out there too, and when you come back in you may need representation yourself the way this day is going!" The lawyer hurried out of the room while sheepishly saying, "yes your honor, yes your honor."

Now regardless of how you feel about lawyers, to see that big of a jackass put in his place so sternly was a beautiful thing to behold. It almost made the whole crap morning worth it, almost.

--sorry, I had Jim Carrey on the brain I guess-- AML

Pardon the mother f*ckin' interruption

2006-07-02T00:17:00.000-04:00

O.K., so one of my good buddies got married this weekend. I will leave out the details, but if you search blogland hard enough I'm sure you'll come across some. Let's just say I was in the wedding and fun was had by all.

Hey look, a picture

Anywho, let me back up for a minute (this is coming full circle I promiss). Since the begining of the year I have had to fire two maintenence guys. The first one turned out to be an undependable shmuck, the second one decided it would be a good idea to buy personal groceries and gas on the company credit card (to the total tune of about $700). Helloooo, we cross check the bill with the receipts duuumaaass! He is a deserving canidate for a Carlos Mencia style "DEEDEEDEE" if I ever saw one.

So, aside from me getting to be the hire guy and the fire guy, I am also the trainer guy too. That's right, every time I hire a new person I have to get them up to spead as soon as I can. It's not so much, "This is how you swing a hammer," but pretty much everything else. Then, when I fire them a month or so later, I get to start from scratch. Weeee!

Why don't you do a better job finding someone to hire, jackass?

Yeah, piss off, it isn't that easy. To add to the fun, now that we've been burned twice with the last one effectively stealing money, we apparently can't trust anyone. Or at least that is the adopted mindset. Even yours truely was suddenly under scruteny.

"Hi there, remember me? I'm the same guy who's worked here for years. I'm the one who caught and fired the bad man who was stealing. Oh, but I was also the one who hired him. So, I guess it does make sense to suddenly crawl up my ass. My bad, continue."

In the mean time, I have found another person, seemingly far more suitable than the last two. He has been working for us in this sort of limbo position (don't ask) for a few months now. But, he seems reluctant to sacrifice his first born son, so I don't know if we can actually trust him enough to hire him on.

"Are you pickin' up on the sarcasm? Good, 'cause I'm layin' it on pretty thick"

Until we do actually hire him, I get to carry the emergency pager. Goody! I like doing my rendition of a drug dealer by carrying both a cell phone and a pager!

"Wait, who has drugs?"

Settle down Kate, I said it was just a rendition.

Fast-forward now to me being in the wedding this weekend. Fortunately, I train new tenants comming in pretty well as to what constitutes an emergency, so the pager doesn't go off all that often. That is apparently unless I am in a wedding.

I happened to look at my phone during the reception to see what time it was. It was then that I noticed a missed call. Upon listening to the message, I realized it was a service guy from the gas and electric company. I checked the pager and yep, five pages.

"We smell gas, blah, blah, blah."

"The girl who lives in that apartment may be passed out inside, blah, blah, blah."

Long story short (too late), my night was interrupted by a blown out pilot light. Oh the joys.

Fun With Quotes

2006-06-28T11:40:00.000-04:00

Actually, no, I'm not talking about movie quotes right now. Although that is normally where my head is. The following are some of my favorites things actually said to me by my tenants over the past week:

“I ain’t trying to be on a diet. I like being fat.” --> said in reference to the replacement refrigerator we were going to give him being a little smaller than the one he had

“I’ve got ticks in my carpet and they’re biting me!” --> an emergency call

“Is my butt too big to be wearing these shorts?” --> asked while stopping by the office after her shopping excursion

“I had to change because I couldn’t hold it coming back from the bus” --> the classic over-share

Now kids, let's put them together as if it was one conversation and all comming from the same tenant...
---
Tenant (busting through the office door): “I’ve got ticks in my carpet and they’re biting me!”

Me: "Ticks eh? Well, I'll send someone down and we''ll see what we can do to take care of it. You look nice today."

Tenant: “Is my butt too big to be wearing these shorts?”

Me: "I don't... um... those shorts are nice. Why, did someone say something to you?"

Tenant: “I ain’t trying to be on a diet. I like being fat.”

Me: "So... are your shorts new?"

Tenant: “I had to change because I couldn't hold it coming back from the bus.”

Me: "Alllrighty, have a nice day."
---

Hee hee, that's funny to me.

By the way, I'm not sure what was going on in this apartment...

...but as long as it continues their rent is free.

Not sure how I became "IT" when I wasn't even playing

2006-06-25T22:26:00.000-04:00

O.K., anyone who knows me knows I'm not a fan of the forced forward (click here for more thoughts on this). This game of blog tag is no better. But I said I would, so here it is:

Four Jobs I have had in my life:
I am occasionally teased about how many different jobs I've worked in my short life so far. Hell, I'm teased about how many jobs I work currently. What can I say, you don't become a Renaissance Man by sitting on your buttocks. Here is a sampling...
1) drywall hanger/finisher
2) person who changes the event-hall floor from ice-hockey to basketball, and vise-versa, in the middle of the night
3) the runner of games at an amusement park "So, it's a profit deal eh? That takes all the pressure off."
4) manager of a furniture store wharehouse
5) short-order cook
6) grocery bag-boy
7) video store employee
8) dock worker unloading trucks on a forklift
Oops, I was supposed to stop at four. Well, there were plenty more, but you get the idea (and I'm just talking before I graduated from college).

Four Movies I watch over and over again:
Oh God, I am an admitted movie fan (not a movie snob, trust me there is a difference), so this is a hard one for me to keep at four. Here goes...
1) Forrest Gump --> seriously, you can't even watch this one with me, I will annoy you to death saying the lines in my best Gump voice (sorry RR)
2) The Princess Bride --> yeah, I'm not as bad as I am with the one above, but still not good
3) Monty Python and the Holy Grail --> "run away"
4) Ferris Bueller's Day Off --> just classic

Four Places I have lived:
I moved a lot when I was younger, but it was all in the tri-state...
1) The Naty East-side
2) The Naty Northwest-side
3) The Naty South-side
4) Maysville, KY (nope, I never met George Clooney)

Four TV shows I love to watch:
I don't have much time for TV, but when I do it's...
1) The Sopranoes
2) The Simpsons
3) Family Guy
4) various Comedy Central goodness (Chappel, Mencia, South Park...)

Four Places I have been on vacation:
1) Sanibel Island, Florida --> ah, my home away from home
2) New Orleans, Louisiana --> drinks, bussoms, and architecture; my kind'o place
3) Daytona and Panama City, Florida --> various college spring breaks
4) Phoenix, Arizona --> daddy, is that you daddy?

Four Web-sites I visit daily:
1) make my blog rounds
2) College Humor.com
3) I Don't Like You That Way.com
4) the multiple listing service --> hey, I have to work too

My Four favorite foods:
1) lasagna
2) filet mignon --> especially when my man Jeff Ruby does it
3) salmon
4) chocolate chip cookies

Four Places I would rather be right now:
1) any beach
2) a Bengals' game
3) shopping --> yes shopping, no not gay
4) my big comfy bed with the two females in my life (one fuzzy, one not so much)

Four Favorite Bands/singers:
1) BNL
2) Jack Johnson
3) Led Zeppelin
4) Kanye West

Four Bloggers I am tagging:
none, zip, zero. Sorry, I said I would do it but not pass it on. It's just a matter of principle really.

I Ain't Signing It!

2006-06-24T14:01:00.000-04:00

O.K., I promiss, no more Jim Gaffigan style external dialogues.

So, I've teased you with a glimpse of the landlord goodness. But, before we fall too deap into that rabbit hole, let's take a look at being a real estate agent.

I was contacted by a guy who wanted to sell his house. After a quick scan of the list of things I do, sure enough, that's one of them. So, I set up a time to meet with him. Now these meetings, or "listing appointments" in Realtor Speak, can go many different directions. Most of the time they are in the nervous-creepy-strange realm.

Like going on job interviews so much that you want to do it on a continual, consistant basis? Then this might just be the profession for YOU!

Anyhow, with some experience, I've gotten pretty good at determining over the phone which direction they are going to go, and therefore the strategy I'll take. This particular gentleman seemed like he was pretty motivated to sell his house and willing to do what it takes to make it happen. Normally, this is a good way to start out. Truely motivated sellers are often more willing to listen to advice and to price their home realistically. So went the meeting according to my prediction. We were flying right along until I was hit with one tidbit of info: The Ex-Wife.

Yes, apparently his ex still has partial rights to the house. DAMN! I should have asked on the phone, therefore having all responsible parties together at the same time. I know better, but it is surprising difficult to throw the question, "So... you ever been divorced?" into a conversation with a complete stranger. No big deal, it just meant that the deal was not getting done right then. We set up a time for the three of us to meet at the house, after he assured me that they had an amicable relationship. I offered to meet with her seperately, but he said, "No, no, we're not friends, but we get along fine. I'll call her and let her know. She wants to get the house sold as much as I do."

Skip to the next day. He is standing outside the house as I pull into the driveway. My timing is impecable as, no sooner did we exchange a few pleasantries, The Ex-Wife pulls up. As she is parking her car on the street, she starts shouting "I ain't signing it! I ain't signing it!" Now, this demure little old man, whom I've yet to hear speak louder than a virtual whisper, yells back, "What! What you say woman!" Lovely.

A period of time passes filled with random shouting. Five, ten minutes maybe. I'm not sure for I had gone to my happy place at that point, rocking and sucking my thumb. Statements like:

"The lawyer told you not to call me about the house, he would deal with it."

"Fine, then, get back in your car and go away."

"You always trying to trick somebody, now you trying to trick me out of my money."

are imprinted on a dark place in the grey matter that's between my ears. Finally she did leave and he gave me the lawyer's info to contact. I'll leave you with one of his final comments: "Good luck dealing with that lawyer. He's as crazy as she is. They were made for each other." Lovely.

Yeah, you’ll love it, it’s a real shit-hole

2006-06-22T15:37:00.000-04:00

Is he going to keep quoting that same movie? He’s really running it into the ground.

Let’s set the scene. Here I sit in my little office. The pale green walls and fake plants stare blankly back at me. Just over one hundred units look to me for attention. They need to be redone, filled, or collected from. The complex itself really isn’t that much of a shit-hole, it’s more the location that is shitty.

And his language is atrocious. Does he have to keep cussing?

I have worked hard to up the clientele level, so to speak. But I’ve come to realize that there is only so much you can do when you have to drive past two of the largest housing projects in the city to get here. Sure, sure, I’m close to a few local universities, on the bus route, and within easy access to an interstate highway. The challenge continues to be just getting good people to even come here and consider us.

Is he going to continue doing this external dialogue? It’s really quite distracting.

The apartments are clean, the rent is cheap, but that doesn’t help the three most important things in real estate: location, location, and location. So I end up with a mix of people. I have the young people who are just starting out in life and this their first apartment. This includes the college students who are looking for cheap off-campus housing. Then there are the professionals who aren’t around much, they just need a simple little place to crash. The rest are what I call the neighborhood people. This has nothing to do with race or ethnicity, before you start waging your finger and calling me names. Besides, piss off, you don’t know me. Sorry, didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m laid back and edgy, it’s a strange combination I admit. I never used to be on edge, I think this job has done it to me.

Where was I? Oh, the neighborhood people, yeah. These are people who have lived in this area for a while, if not most of their lives. They bump from complex to complex as they get sick of the place or are kicked out. Some are on disability, some are not. The only real trouble with them is whom they choose to associate with. Now, the young people can be guilty of this from time to time because, well, they are young and dumb. But the neighborhood people are notorious for this, and one would think that they would eventually catch on after being kicked out of their last apartment. This is not the case however, as history has a way or repeating itself, repeating itself. They end up hanging out with the un-rentable neighborhood people. You know, the abusive ex (or current) relationship; the drugged out friend or relative; the girlfriend who turns tricks for extra cash. And when I say tricks, we’re not talking about sit up and beg (although maybe for the right price, if that’s what you’re into).

These are the people who help keep my life interesting. By interesting I mean the grey streak in my hair is getting bigger. Stay tuned and maybe I’ll spin you a story or two.

And don't give me that falling down the stairs crap, I know you're conscious

2006-06-21T00:50:00.000-04:00

Another day, another dollar. Do I like driving to the hood and shaking people down for their rent? Eh, it's a living. It's no dream job, but at least it's a steady paycheck. This is more than I can say for being a real estate agent. Just like anything that is based on 100% commision, that is a do or die type of gig. One day I'm a rich man, the next I'm a pauper. It's tough to budget on a financial rollercoaster. You can very easily become stressed in this type of a cenario, even for a laid back fella like myself. Enter the landlord job.

It has taught me a lot about things I've wanted to know, and even more about stuff that I never did. For the most part it is relatively painless, so I really can't complain (although sometimes I still do). Some days my psychology background comes in handy, while other days I'm the most over-educated cleaning person in the city.

Oh yeah, and aside from these two things I also help run a commercial construction company owned by the same guy who owns the complex. Plus, I am always on the lookout to aquire more property for myself to gradually build my empire. That's right, empire. Go big or go home. Or as Buddha put it, "The body cannot achieve what the mind cannot conceive." You know, I'd be willing to bet that it's not often you'll see Buddhism and a generic, sports-themed colloquialism back to back like that. But, throw in a healthy dose of movie references and you'll start to get an idea of how my mind works.

It may be a slightly strange trip, but try and keep up.