Update on the Housing Situation or Why I Stepped on a Nail

The real estate agent, Patty, and I went out to my father's house this past Saturday.

In preparation for our visit, I asked for the new keys along so that we could get in. My father has a set. I also had Patty let TheLoser know that we would be there Saturday evening.

The key that was supposed to get us in the front door did not work. Fortunately, I am neither stupid nor without resources. We went around to the side of the house. TheLoser only changed the locks on the front door; I am still able to get into the house through the garage.

There was a bunch a stuff piled inside the garage in front of the door leading into the garage. I pushed and shoved and got in anyway. I noticed a strip of wood on the floor, but I did not think much of it (more on this later).

There appears to have been some damage done when TheLoser moved in as there are some holes in the walls that were not there before. I asked Patty to make a note of it and have the handyman produce a separate invoice for the repairs so that we could charge TheLoser for the damage.

I pointed out the final repairs that need to be made; there are not many. Patty took back her silk plant, which TheLoser had appropriated as his own.

We then turned off the lights and exited the home via the garage. I wondered aloud why there was a strip of wood on the floor. I stepped on it by accident, and felt a nail go clean through my shoe into my foot. If you heard any screams this past Saturday, that would have been my howls of pain.

I checked my foot; it was not that bad. There was only a little blood and I just finished the antibiotics my Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor gave me so I am not too worried about infection.

We limped over to the neighbor's house. This is the minister who lives in the property behind my father (not to be mistaken with TheLoser who is also a minister), and is interested in buying the property. We told him the house was for sale.

He is a nice man, but rather chatty. He and Patty talked a bit about Jumbo Loans and Upside Down Mortgages. We were there well over an hour because the conversation totally went onto a tangent. I am glad he is interested in the house, but my foot hurt and he kept chatting away about inane matters. I kept trying to leave and he kept cutting me off when I gave my "I'm about to be outta here," speech. Finally, I escaped. Hopefully, I was not too rude in my bid for freedom.

Scary Happenings

I encountered something Friday night while I was driving home from work that truly shocked me. I was less than a mile from my home, when I saw several boys (perhaps 5 or 6) beating up on one other young man. There were several adults standing around staring at the fight and doing abosultely nothimg.

I slowed down my car, honked my horn, and screamed that I was calling the police. That seemed to have little concern for the bullies as they just kept pounding away.

Having been the victim of several school yard pranks as well as having been tormented by the "mean girls" on several occassions, I have very little patience for bullies. Six against one is unfair and really angers me. I struggled with whether or not I should get out of my car and try to break the fight up. Unfortunately, I don't think the odds of one woman against a bunch of young teenagers are very good so I stayed in my vehicle.

I called the police who asked me eleventy million questions (although, in reality, I may have been on the phone with them two minutes or so) before they sent out a squad car. The whole thing was quite upsetting and does not give me much faith in other adults.

Next time, I'll ask

A few weeks ago, I attended a birthday party for a coworker of mine that I have become good friends with.

The party was a potluck (not something I have done since I was fresh out of college, but everyone's financial situation is different), and was held in the condominium of the birthday girl's bestfriend. People were assigned everything, and I do mean everything, to bring right down to the paper napkins and the cheesy picnic table cloth. The hostess supplied an enclosed room with a carpeted floor, electricity, running water, and not enough chairs for every butt.

The first problem came as I walked in the door. I walked the 2006 Los Angeles Marathon. The training left me with some injuries. One of which, a heel spur, makes it quite painful for me to walk in bare feet. I need to wear my orthotic insert. Most of the time, when visiting someone, I will remember to ask about this as I will not step foot in a house where I cannot keep my shoes on.

The hostess had a no shoes policy. Not only that, but I was required to remove my trouser socks (thank God that I believe in keeping my pedicure current at all times.) and put on those damn cotton things with the individual toes that I hate. Seriously, why was this even a requirement? I don't see how nylon can damage a carpet that, from the style, was installed in the early 1970s. The carpet in my town home is old too, but you do not see me demanding that people levitate across it to keeping from mussing it up.

I arrived just in time for the dreaded sales presentation. In addition to having us supply the food for her bestfriend's birthday party, the hostess (and I use this term loosely) also intended for us to fund the gift. The hard sale was on for the guests to purchase a collective amount of $x dollars in product so that the hostess would get a bonus she could then use to purchase a birthday gift for her bestfriend.

It's my pet peeve when people invite me to a party and then spring a sales presentation on me. People who cannot afford to host a party - and I am aware rising gas prices along with the declining housing market are crunching many a budget - should not throw parties. I also think that people should be upfront about what something is. If I want my friends to help fund my colored lint business, then I'll invite them over for a sales presentation to hawk my goods and not disguise it as a housewarming party.

Fortunately, I left my checkbook at home and I am not in the habit of handing my credit cards over to just anybody. As I also carry limited cash and am allergic to cheap crap, I had to politely decline the opportunity to purchase anything. This decision was met with much eye-rolling. It's as if the hostess equated spending an evening eating my own food, wearing footwear I detest, and sitting on the floor in a cramped space with a night at the Bellagio Hotel and decided to charge us accordingly. Bah!

Next year I am going to skip the party and take my friend to lunch.