Archive for the ‘Beotch & Moan…Woe is me’ category

Christmas Miracle!

October 17, 2011

I can’t believe it. If you were here, I’d ask you to pinch me… in a nice way, of course.

1+ year, 1 messy contract, 9 Addendum, tons of back and forth, four letter words, laughing, crying, yelling, begging, countess hours in email and phone time, and the hardest deal of my life as an agent has finally closed AND funded.

Everything literally came down to the last-minute… 6 minutes before a deadline and a possible blow up of everything I’ve worked so hard for, and not only did my deal close (last week), but it actually funded this afternoon. Which means IT IS OVER! I’ve never put so much of myself into my job like I did on this sucker. I worked and fought hard for my client, and definitely earned every penny. Think of it this way: the last two months has been like an endless root canal, and today I just strolled out of the dentist’s office.

For those people out there who think real estate agents just fall arse backwards into money, let me tell you something… I WISH! Agents play not only the role of real estate expert and professional, but also wear the hat of friend, reality check-er, therapist, lawyer, thug and arm twister, negotiator, contractor, secretary, babysitter and hand holder. Seriously, it’s a lot of hard work, especially these days. The time of easy deals is over, and they are harder to come by and a lot more work than even 5 years ago, when I began. The good thing about all of this is that it was an educational experience that money could never buy, and I had to get through it to learn these pretty important lessons.

It still hasn’t totally hit me that I can take a deep breath and celebrate. I’m grateful to have such a great broker who was a great source of support and advice, as well as my tolerant husband who put up with my busy schedule and nights spent putting out fires. I’m looking forward to volleyball tomorrow night with the girls, and plan on taking any pent-up anxiety out on the ball.

So give me a “Whoop whoop”. Sweeeeeet.

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It’s Gotta Go Wednesday

September 7, 2011

I don’t love grocery shopping. I’m typically a get in and get out sort of girl.

Last week when I was doing my weekly run, I noticed a phenomenon that I hadn’t noticed before. I’m naming it the people are total nimrods phenomenon.

I had to get a few things out of the produce section. As I approached the veggies on my list, there was a woman standing directly in front of the particular lettuce that I needed, and I noticed that she was texting. I stood behind her for a few seconds, and then softly said, “excuse me”. She gave me a look of death, as if MY SHOPPING AT A GROCERY STORE was ruining her stupid, lame, 45-year-old social life. I was irritated enough to say something, but wimpy enough to say it softly, “Oh gee, don’t let me get in your way. That’s a really convenient place to stand”.

OK, fast forward 30 whole seconds, and the same damn thing was happening merely 15 feet away (by the cucumbers, if you must know). There was an older couple, the husband talking to the wife while she was texting. They were probably in their mid-sixties, and I’m wondering if there is some law which forbids that kind of activity. Anyway, having 4 of my 5 kids with me AND just dealing with the rude lady 30 seconds ago, I was feeling much less sheepish and much more get-the-hell-out-of-my-way-ish. Luckily when I said “excuse me” this time around, the couple apologized for blocking my precious greens and moved to the side.

Yeah, the later of the two people texting experience was acceptable, but after what happened this particular day in the store, I’ve been paying more attention to texting that occurs in all public places. I’ve realized that this wasn’t an isolated incident. There are so many dorks out there! Walking around the streets, eyes down, texting like it’s their last night on earth, walking slowly in a way that is guaranteed to create a line behind them.

Texting is great. I love texting! It’s a great way to communicate without having to stop what you’re doing to actually talk. I text with family, friends, clients as well as co-workers. So it’s not about texting. What’s gotta go is clueless morons walking around (or even worse, driving around) with their heads lodged somewhere unmentionable, but let’s just say it’s dark. People, pay attention to what is going on around you. Yes, technology is great and I’m sure that it will totally work out with guy you’re texting who you met on adultfriendfinder.com. HOWEVER, please remember that there are actual living people in your vicinity that may have actual things to do. If you MUST text in public, find a bench and sit, stay in your car until you’re done typing your message, or hide under a display table so you don’t get in people’s way. Because blocking me from my veggies and giving me the stink eye, it’s gotta go.

It’s Gotta Go Wednesday

August 31, 2011

I may offend a few with this post, and I care. I really do, it’s just super deep down inside. In fact it’s so deep that it’s in a place that I can’t really feel it.

ANYWAY, on to this Wednesdays rant.

When I go to a fast food drive up window (which rarely happens these days, but every now and again I do it for my kids), I have this crazy expectation that I will actually be able to understand and be understood by the person on the other end of the intercom.

Oh stop… get off of your politically correct horse and quit crying. I have nothing against those from other countries OR the languages they speak. I do, however, think that in the United States, where English is still (I think) the first language, when in a customer service position, ESPECIALLY when 80% of your job is listening to and speaking with the customer, speaking English, even if it’s just enough to get you through, is kind of an important skill.

When I was in France, I spoke French. Really bad French, but French nonetheless. I didn’t expect the natives of Paris to speak MY language. And when I was in Mexico, I pretty much didn’t say much at all because, well, I don’t speak Spanish. But I DID let those I was with who COULD speak Spanish talk with the locals. And they spoke Spanish because, well, that’s the primary language spoken in Mexico.

I don’t want to debate you on the issues surrounding immigrants, tolerance, same-sex marriage, or why dogs are better than cats (or vice versa). It has nothing to do with people’s rights, respecting different cultures, or where you were born. I just want to order my kids some damn fries and a cheeseburger without pickles AND get what I ordered. Because HOLY HELL, if (insert evil child’s name here) has to eat pickles, or catsup, or whatever life ending item is mistakenly put on their burger, the world will blow up and we will ALL DIE! Or I will have to listen to them cry and moan, and that’s even worse than death.

All of this being said, my beef isn’t with the employee who doesn’t speak English. Like most people, especially in this crap economy, they are probably just trying to support themselves and their family like everyone else. My ancestors were immigrants, as were most who were born in the United States, and I love that there is diversity in this nation. Come one come all! Frankly, I think becoming a citizen should be more accessible and a quicker, simpler process, but that’s an entirely different post. My issue is with the manager/owner that felt it was a good idea for any employee who cannot communicate effectively with a customer, whether because of a language difference OR because the person is a big jerk with a crappy attitude, to hold that particular position.

It’s Gotta Go Wednesday

August 24, 2011

I love taking the kids to the school playground after dinner on a warm summer night, and it’s always fun to walk a great mountain trail. What I DO not like is stepping in a big pile of dog crap. And I’m not sure what it is about my kids shoes and dog poo, but they are like magnets attracting each other… soul mates that are always in search of each other until they can unite. I, however, do NOT give my blessing to this relationship.

We’ve got a dog, and our dog happens to poop. When we take him on a walk, we typically tie a “poop bag” to his leash to clean up any gifts he decides to leave behind. It’s the socially responsible thing to do. I don’t particularly enjoy cleaning up my own dog’s poop, and I especially don’t want to clean up the crap of another dog. But worse than picking up dog poop is trying to get it out of the tread of my shoes.

It would be awesome if the Tooth Fairy had a second cousin named the Queen of Crap Karma. She would put a steaming mound of crap under the pillows of those who don’t clean up their dogs shiz. Maybe I’ve just discovered the answer to our unemployment problem.

Not cleaning up your dog’s poop… it’s gotta go.

It’s Gotta Go Wednesday

August 17, 2011

I’ve discussed sunburns, skin cancer, and sunscreen here a few times.

A couple of weeks ago I sent my oldest to his friends house. The mom did tell me they might play outside in their little pool, so being a responsible parent, I sent him with his swim shirt, sunscreen, and applied sunscreen before he left.

My son slept over at his friends house, so I didn’t see him until the next day.When I picked him up that morning, I was absolutely shocked at what I saw. Lobster red doesn’t begin to describe the condition of his back and shoulders. He had the worst burn on any of my kids that I’d ever seen. I was torn on what to do… Do I give him the idiot slap on the back of his head, or gently hug him and slather on the sympathy? I hugged him, but I made sure to let him know how dumb I thought he was for not reapplying the sunscreen but most importunately, NOT WEARING HIS SWIM SHIRT. My kids ALWAYS wear a swim shirt when they are in the water just so that what happened would NOT happen.

The mother of the other child called the next day to apologize  for the burned. While I do think that it was Ian’s responsibility to take care of himself, I was a little bothered that she didn’t make sure that they put on sunscreen and that she didn’t tell him to wear his shirt (what did I send it with him for if not to wear?!). Anyway, I think this was a very painful and uncomfortable object lesson for my son… one he will not soon forget. Here he is 1 1/2 weeks after the burn:

Yes, those are scabs. And every night for two weeks we got to hear about how it hurt, how it itched, and there were nights that he literally cried himself to sleep.

Kids not heeding the words of their parents because they are soooo darn smart, and parents not being proactive to protect others kids from themselves… it’s gotta go!

It’s Gotta Go Wednesday

July 20, 2011

There is nothing like opening the dryer door to a pile of warm, clean, fresh smelling clothes.

There is nothing like the mess created when a wad (or 10) of tissue paper are forgotten about in someone’s pants and it gets all over the warm, clean, fresh smelling clothes. It’s the gift that keeps on giving. And giving.

Washing my clothes separate from the kid’s clothing is no accident. It only took a few times of finding pens, lip gloss, more lip gloss, chapstick, crayons, etc., deformed and highly unstable after a cycle before I was cured of that.

Seriously people, is it that hard to empty your pockets? You can leave the money though… I keep that :).

Leaving messy crap in soon to be laundered pockets… it’s gotta go.

No Longer A Spring Flower

July 18, 2011

Not like it is any big surprise or anything, but I don’t need the reminders that I’m getting old.

(HA! Even more proof… I had to save this draft and go look at my last page because I couldn’t remember what I wrote. AWESOME).

The downhill spiral started after our late Thursday night (damn that Harry Potter). Both Greg and I were exhausted, and the prospect of not only a gallery showing but also a get together with friends seemed less like fun and more like work. But I refuse to lie in order to get out of something (I have this weird thing about honesty), and it felt like something we just needed to follow through with. My cousin’s photos were amazing and I’m hoping the rest of the night was as successful as it seemed while we were there. The dinner/ping pong/sunset watching/laughing/story telling with friends ended up being a great evening, and luckily I got a second wind sometime around 9 pm. That wind blew until 2:30 pm. Yeah.

Two nights in a row of getting 3-4 hours… it reminds me of when I was 18.Except my body didn’t made scary noises when I got out of bed in the morning.

Saturday was the b-day bash of my sister from another mother (which you would totally guess if you saw us side-by-side), Maree. It may not be written, but it still is fact: I never walk out of that house without having eaten amazing food. Even better than the food was the company. I don’t know what it is about these women, but I turn into a dorky teenager. These get togethers definitely fill my laughter quota until I meet with them again. If anyone deserves a year full of fun, laughter, blessings, a lil’ sumthin’ sumthin’ on the side, and all good things that can be, it is Maree. She is such a fun, generous, thoughtful, beautiful, amazing person, and I love her! She has been through some SERIOUS crap as of late, and I’m just putting it out there to the Universe… Give her a break!

This birthday celebration was so fun that I didn’t get home until after 1 am.

Another fun, and SUPER exciting news from Saturday night is that Sarah and Dave, two of our close friends, gave birth to their first baby. A BOY! Greg and I were able to go up and see the new family Sunday afternoon, and I was so impressed with how well Sarah was doing and how well she looked. Baby Ryan was absolutely adorable. I know that everyone is supposed to say that, but believe me, I’ve seen some pretty scary babies. This sweet boy is so perfect and wonderful, I could have held him forever! I’m excited for some serious baby holding in the near future and getting to know this cute little guy better. Congrats D and S… we love you!

Babies, birthdays, friends and fatigue. It was a great weekend, but I am definitely feeling it. What happened to the days when I could stay out late and not be worse for wear. Hopefully this week and some earlier bed times will be the my mini fountain of youth. Or not.