Adopting a child is very serious business, not unlike buying a car. There's a big financial investment involved, it includes a lot of paperwork, and you can't return it after it's been used. Then there's also the fact that since adopted children are pre-owned, they also come pre-named right out of the box. Maybe whatever the previous owner chose is fine, and maybe it's King Kong, Pikachu, or Tim. This is why it's so important to think everything through before beginning the process.
Whenever I'm about to make a huge decision like adoption, I always put together a list of pros and cons. This method is much more thorough and respected than going with your gut or flipping a coin. I know that now. On the pro side of the adoption equation there's things like companionship, life fulfillment, and bigger tax returns. On the con side however, there's the fact that I don't know if I'll be a good parent, but I also don't know if they'll be a good kid, which brings us back to the fact that they're non-refundable. If I get a bad kid but I'm also a bad parent then I don't have to worry because we both got what we deserved. But if I get a bad kid while I'm a good parent then I want a refund. That's the dilemma.
Now that I have my list compiled I can clearly see that I need to do a coin toss. A quarter may not buy much but boy is it good at making decisions. If it comes up negative then there's nothing I can do but try again in the morning.
Eventually, as I consult my decision making tool, it'll come up positive. This is both exciting and terrifying. It's exciting because I'm about to add a new family member, and terrifying because I used a coin to do it. Add that to the fact that the kid could be a lemon and I've got myself some interesting prospects.
Throwing caution to the wind, I grab my car keys and head to the nearest adoption center to pick out a kid. As I'm browsing through their most recent catalog I remind myself to keep an open mind, though I know I don't want a child who is too old, too young, or looks too much like that Chucky doll. Everything else is fair game.
As I'm leafing through the pages I'll usually come across a child who just screams, "I'm the kid for you!" but I convince myself to move on because I don't like screamers. Other pictures seem to stare innocently into my eyes as if to say, "If you raise me right, I'll grow into a respectable, upstanding citizen" but I move along because that's a lot of pressure. Then, once I'm about to give up, I'll happen upon the most precious little child who just radiates, "I'd be the perfect kid for you in every way! I'm kind, caring, and will always be respectful" but I continue on because they look too much like a Tim. I glance at the last few pages of the catalog but all of those kids look refurbished.
Trying to pick out a child is tough work. I wish I could take a few home to test out but there's a policy against that clearly written all over the face of the agent who I've just asked. It's like, excuse me for trying to find the perfect match. Half jokingly, I take a coin out of my pocket and say, "I suppose you'd rather I just flip for it?" Then, I fully seriously start flipping. After a few flips I get frustrated, though, because it keeps landing on Tim.
Once I've spent the better part of half an hour at the adoption agency I decide that adopting is for the birds and I go get a dog instead. At least they come with a more lenient return policy. I'm sure I'll try my hand at adoption again one day, but according to my quarter, not today.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Attending a Funeral
Going to a funeral is often one of the saddest things we have to do in this world. Whether it's for a friend, a family member, or yourself, it always proves difficult to get over.
Whenever I'm invited to be a guest at a funeral I always feel honored and humbled. This is the deceased's final get-together and everyone wanted me to be a part of it. To show my gratitude I like to make sure I dress appropriately. I know many events have very strict rules when dealing with dress code; no white at a wedding, no hats in church, no yamakas at a rave, etc. Then there's the more intricate regulations like you shouldn't wear a ski mask on a date, but you should for a robbery. It's almost impossible to keep them all straight.
After thinking about how many ways there are to violate dress code, I finally throw on a tie-dye bandana and a pair of swimming flippers and head out the door. There is no rule against these items to my knowledge.
Upon pulling into the cemetery I'm finding it difficult to stop my car without first hitting every other vehicle in the parking lot. Flippers may be great for swimming and funerals, but driving is a whole new ballgame. Once I've cleared the last car I make my way into the cemetery where I begin plowing over all of the head stones. It'd be interesting to stop and mingle with the funeral folks, all of whom seem more curious about my goings ons than the funeral itself, but off the top of my head I can't think of a way to get my flipper out from under the gas pedal. Thinking outside the box, I reach my hand into the bag of apples that I brought for a dish to pass and start chucking them at the brake pedal. Every little bit helps.
I finally manage to bring the car to a halt through a skillful combination of throwing it in neutral, pulling the emergency brake, and crashing into a tree. Getting out of my now totaled car, I waddle in my flippers up to the ceremony feeling completely ridiculous that I no longer have a dish to pass. And by the way everyone is gawking, it's obvious they were expecting some fruit.
Once I'm standing with the congregation I let out a few bellows to convey my sadness. Then I jump into the hole they've dug for the casket to make sure it's regulation depth. Everyone just kind of gasps and looks around at each other as they anxiously await my findings. Usually the plot is the right dimensions, but if it's a bit shallow I may do a little digging.
After I'm done digging I often find it difficult to get back out of the hole. I try asking for help but everyone just stands there like they've seen a ghost. I just laugh and say how we're here for a funeral, not a haunting. Then I dig foot holds into one of the soil walls to use as a makeshift ladder. As I begin my ascent the side usually gives way burying me beneath earth, rock, and the funeral director. Wrangling my way out from underneath everything I can't help but feel ridiculous once again about the whole dish to pass thing. I tell myself to let it go, but it's hard. It looks like everyone would kill for an apple right about now.
As I collapse a few more walls I finally manage to scramble back up to the surface. Once I'm on my feet I'm usually confronted by someone who screams, "Who are you?! What are you doing here!? You've ruined the funeral!" To which I calmly respond, "Come on, it's only fruit." Then I push the casket into the hole to keep things moving along.
When all is said and done and I'm being lead away by police officers, I can't shake the feeling that something isn't right. Why did they ask who I was? There was an ad for the funeral in the obituary section of the local paper. Of course I was going to attend. I just laugh as I think about how some people are really bad at marketing.
Whenever I'm invited to be a guest at a funeral I always feel honored and humbled. This is the deceased's final get-together and everyone wanted me to be a part of it. To show my gratitude I like to make sure I dress appropriately. I know many events have very strict rules when dealing with dress code; no white at a wedding, no hats in church, no yamakas at a rave, etc. Then there's the more intricate regulations like you shouldn't wear a ski mask on a date, but you should for a robbery. It's almost impossible to keep them all straight.
After thinking about how many ways there are to violate dress code, I finally throw on a tie-dye bandana and a pair of swimming flippers and head out the door. There is no rule against these items to my knowledge.
Upon pulling into the cemetery I'm finding it difficult to stop my car without first hitting every other vehicle in the parking lot. Flippers may be great for swimming and funerals, but driving is a whole new ballgame. Once I've cleared the last car I make my way into the cemetery where I begin plowing over all of the head stones. It'd be interesting to stop and mingle with the funeral folks, all of whom seem more curious about my goings ons than the funeral itself, but off the top of my head I can't think of a way to get my flipper out from under the gas pedal. Thinking outside the box, I reach my hand into the bag of apples that I brought for a dish to pass and start chucking them at the brake pedal. Every little bit helps.
I finally manage to bring the car to a halt through a skillful combination of throwing it in neutral, pulling the emergency brake, and crashing into a tree. Getting out of my now totaled car, I waddle in my flippers up to the ceremony feeling completely ridiculous that I no longer have a dish to pass. And by the way everyone is gawking, it's obvious they were expecting some fruit.
Once I'm standing with the congregation I let out a few bellows to convey my sadness. Then I jump into the hole they've dug for the casket to make sure it's regulation depth. Everyone just kind of gasps and looks around at each other as they anxiously await my findings. Usually the plot is the right dimensions, but if it's a bit shallow I may do a little digging.
After I'm done digging I often find it difficult to get back out of the hole. I try asking for help but everyone just stands there like they've seen a ghost. I just laugh and say how we're here for a funeral, not a haunting. Then I dig foot holds into one of the soil walls to use as a makeshift ladder. As I begin my ascent the side usually gives way burying me beneath earth, rock, and the funeral director. Wrangling my way out from underneath everything I can't help but feel ridiculous once again about the whole dish to pass thing. I tell myself to let it go, but it's hard. It looks like everyone would kill for an apple right about now.
As I collapse a few more walls I finally manage to scramble back up to the surface. Once I'm on my feet I'm usually confronted by someone who screams, "Who are you?! What are you doing here!? You've ruined the funeral!" To which I calmly respond, "Come on, it's only fruit." Then I push the casket into the hole to keep things moving along.
When all is said and done and I'm being lead away by police officers, I can't shake the feeling that something isn't right. Why did they ask who I was? There was an ad for the funeral in the obituary section of the local paper. Of course I was going to attend. I just laugh as I think about how some people are really bad at marketing.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Having a Wedding
Getting married is one of the most memorable occasions in life. It's right up there with buying a new home, having your first baby, and going bankrupt. All are unforgettable.
Preparing for a wedding is a lengthy process that involves a lot of steps; the first and arguably most important of which is deciding on a partner. This is generally someone you know, are close to, and can picture yourself having a harmonious divorce with. Once you've found that special someone all the other pieces seem to just fall into place, as if by court order.
After finding a person of marriage quality, it's time to plan the wedding. To make sure I cover all of my bases I like to go through all the what, where, why, and whens of the joyous occasion. What is the date? Where should it be held? Why am I doing this? When will I learn?
Once all of these questions are answered I can feel confident that I'm ready to postpone everything. But, since I'm told that isn't an option, I move on to phase two: sending out the invitations. This part is tricky because I run the absolute certainty of offending everyone I've ever met. Friends, family, my first grade teacher's Great Dane's adopted step-puppies; they're all going to be upset for one reason or another. If they didn't get an RSVP they'll be upset that they weren't invited. If they were invited they'll be upset they're not in the wedding party. If they are in the wedding party they'll be upset they're not the best man. If they are the best man they'll be upset that I'm marrying their fiance. I just can't win.
Now that I have the invitations sent and everyone offended, it's time to prepare for the big day. One important step in this preparation is the writing of the marriage vows. This is my chance to show my partner how much they mean to me, to let them know I'll stay by their side even when they themselves, their family members, and the law don't want me to. This is true love. And the last time I checked, true love trumps restraining orders. I need to make sure they know that.
After I have my vows prepared, which the priest has been so rudely prodding me to finish as we stand at the altar, it's time to take a deep breath, put on my tux, and turn and face the wedding congregation. I think doing things at the last minute is good sometimes, especially when you didn't do them beforehand.
Eventually, as the ceremony proceeds, it'll come time to read each other our vows. This is what my partner and everyone else has been waiting silently for an hour and a half for, so I have to make it good. As I look deeply into the love of my life's eyes, I read, "To my best friend, lover, and former mistress, I will always be there for you. Through thick and thin, I'll be there. Even when we have our spats, as spouses sometimes do, just look beside you, and I'll be there. Even when you change the locks on the doors, as spouses also sometimes do, just look out your bedroom window, and I'll be there." After this I give a pause as the room erupts with silence, then I continue, "If eventually you decide to pack up your car and move across the country, just think about all the good times we've had, then look deep within your trunk, and I'll be there." At this point, if the cockles of her heart aren't quite warm, I'll finish her off with a romantic, "There is no one else I'd rather be with, not even your sister."
I'm so pumped upon finishing my vows that I wipe the tears away from my eyes and proclaim, "I'm kissing the bride now!" I then go on to rigorously consummate the marriage. Once that's done I go over to the bride's maids and scream, "If they're good enough for my wife, they're good enough for me!" Then I make out with all of them as a form of acceptance and good will.
When everything wraps up and I've made out with all of my wife's friends and family, I feel this tremendous sense of belonging. And I know everyone else feels it too by the way they're taking turns giving me bear hugs and love punches to the stomach. Eventually, someone will become so overwhelmed with love that they can't help but drop-kick me in the face. I would say, "Right back at ya!" but I'm just too tired and unconscious from all of the festivities.
Once I awaken in the ER a big smile goes across my face because hey, I've got something good. Then I crawl off the gurney, down the street, and into my wife's trunk to see where we're going. I hope it's someplace warm.
Preparing for a wedding is a lengthy process that involves a lot of steps; the first and arguably most important of which is deciding on a partner. This is generally someone you know, are close to, and can picture yourself having a harmonious divorce with. Once you've found that special someone all the other pieces seem to just fall into place, as if by court order.
After finding a person of marriage quality, it's time to plan the wedding. To make sure I cover all of my bases I like to go through all the what, where, why, and whens of the joyous occasion. What is the date? Where should it be held? Why am I doing this? When will I learn?
Once all of these questions are answered I can feel confident that I'm ready to postpone everything. But, since I'm told that isn't an option, I move on to phase two: sending out the invitations. This part is tricky because I run the absolute certainty of offending everyone I've ever met. Friends, family, my first grade teacher's Great Dane's adopted step-puppies; they're all going to be upset for one reason or another. If they didn't get an RSVP they'll be upset that they weren't invited. If they were invited they'll be upset they're not in the wedding party. If they are in the wedding party they'll be upset they're not the best man. If they are the best man they'll be upset that I'm marrying their fiance. I just can't win.
Now that I have the invitations sent and everyone offended, it's time to prepare for the big day. One important step in this preparation is the writing of the marriage vows. This is my chance to show my partner how much they mean to me, to let them know I'll stay by their side even when they themselves, their family members, and the law don't want me to. This is true love. And the last time I checked, true love trumps restraining orders. I need to make sure they know that.
After I have my vows prepared, which the priest has been so rudely prodding me to finish as we stand at the altar, it's time to take a deep breath, put on my tux, and turn and face the wedding congregation. I think doing things at the last minute is good sometimes, especially when you didn't do them beforehand.
Eventually, as the ceremony proceeds, it'll come time to read each other our vows. This is what my partner and everyone else has been waiting silently for an hour and a half for, so I have to make it good. As I look deeply into the love of my life's eyes, I read, "To my best friend, lover, and former mistress, I will always be there for you. Through thick and thin, I'll be there. Even when we have our spats, as spouses sometimes do, just look beside you, and I'll be there. Even when you change the locks on the doors, as spouses also sometimes do, just look out your bedroom window, and I'll be there." After this I give a pause as the room erupts with silence, then I continue, "If eventually you decide to pack up your car and move across the country, just think about all the good times we've had, then look deep within your trunk, and I'll be there." At this point, if the cockles of her heart aren't quite warm, I'll finish her off with a romantic, "There is no one else I'd rather be with, not even your sister."
I'm so pumped upon finishing my vows that I wipe the tears away from my eyes and proclaim, "I'm kissing the bride now!" I then go on to rigorously consummate the marriage. Once that's done I go over to the bride's maids and scream, "If they're good enough for my wife, they're good enough for me!" Then I make out with all of them as a form of acceptance and good will.
When everything wraps up and I've made out with all of my wife's friends and family, I feel this tremendous sense of belonging. And I know everyone else feels it too by the way they're taking turns giving me bear hugs and love punches to the stomach. Eventually, someone will become so overwhelmed with love that they can't help but drop-kick me in the face. I would say, "Right back at ya!" but I'm just too tired and unconscious from all of the festivities.
Once I awaken in the ER a big smile goes across my face because hey, I've got something good. Then I crawl off the gurney, down the street, and into my wife's trunk to see where we're going. I hope it's someplace warm.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Going Clubbing
Going clubbing is not one of America's favorite pass-times. But it should be. With its offerings of flashing strobe lights, blaring music, and binge drinking, you're sure to achieve your goal of going blind, deaf, and dumb all at the same time.
Whenever I go clubbing I'm always prepared to leave ten bucks and all of my five senses at the door. After that the world better watch out, because I can't. One of the first things I like to do upon entry is feel out the scene. You usually have the wallflowers standing at the back, sipping their drinks, the ladies up near the front, sharing gossip with their girlfriends, and the bimbos in the center, sharing their insecurities and underwear. All ready to have a good time.
Once I've got the scene scoped out I usually grab a pair of underwear and head to the bar. As I'm walking I like to put out the vibe that I'm ready to party; then I pull out a 750 piece puzzle to prove it. Grabbing a stool, I empty the puzzle pieces onto the bar and give the bartender a look of, "Yeah, this is happening now." Then he gives me a look back of, "What are you even thinking?" This always intimidates me a little. But then I remind myself that I've completed 750 piece puzzles before.
After I've completed the puzzle I'm ready to tone it down a notch. Looking around the club I decide to go mingle with some of the wallflowers hanging out in back. As I stroll I'll usually spot some interesting fellows who are just standing around, looking into the crowd and preparing their roofies. I like to start up some light conversation by saying something like, "Hey guys, here on business I see!" Then I do a quarter turn and pull out my walkie-talkie and say "Yeah this is Officer Miller. We've got a 10-30 down here at the Night Owl." I'll start turning back to laugh with my new buddies but they're usually pretty late for something and go running out the door.
I start walking back up towards the bar but that's often when some tipsy clubber pulls out the underwear that were sticking out of my pocket and starts waving them around. We both have a good laugh, after which they ask if I want to do some Ecstasy with them and their buddies. "Ecstasy!?" I say, "I've got something even better!" They all watch in anticipation as I pull a bottle of Pepto Bismol out of my pocket and take a swig. Everyone stares at me like it's some kind of joke, but I just stare right back like, "And my stomach isn't even upset." Then I laugh to myself thinking how I was supposed to be toning it down.
Once 8 O'clock rolls around I figure it's getting pretty late and I ought to head home. As I walk I smile and think about all the wild stories I'll be able to tell my children someday. "You were a party animal!" they'll say. "And you always managed to stay regular!" With a sigh I climb into bed, shoot up some heroin, and fall fast asleep.
Whenever I go clubbing I'm always prepared to leave ten bucks and all of my five senses at the door. After that the world better watch out, because I can't. One of the first things I like to do upon entry is feel out the scene. You usually have the wallflowers standing at the back, sipping their drinks, the ladies up near the front, sharing gossip with their girlfriends, and the bimbos in the center, sharing their insecurities and underwear. All ready to have a good time.
Once I've got the scene scoped out I usually grab a pair of underwear and head to the bar. As I'm walking I like to put out the vibe that I'm ready to party; then I pull out a 750 piece puzzle to prove it. Grabbing a stool, I empty the puzzle pieces onto the bar and give the bartender a look of, "Yeah, this is happening now." Then he gives me a look back of, "What are you even thinking?" This always intimidates me a little. But then I remind myself that I've completed 750 piece puzzles before.
After I've completed the puzzle I'm ready to tone it down a notch. Looking around the club I decide to go mingle with some of the wallflowers hanging out in back. As I stroll I'll usually spot some interesting fellows who are just standing around, looking into the crowd and preparing their roofies. I like to start up some light conversation by saying something like, "Hey guys, here on business I see!" Then I do a quarter turn and pull out my walkie-talkie and say "Yeah this is Officer Miller. We've got a 10-30 down here at the Night Owl." I'll start turning back to laugh with my new buddies but they're usually pretty late for something and go running out the door.
I start walking back up towards the bar but that's often when some tipsy clubber pulls out the underwear that were sticking out of my pocket and starts waving them around. We both have a good laugh, after which they ask if I want to do some Ecstasy with them and their buddies. "Ecstasy!?" I say, "I've got something even better!" They all watch in anticipation as I pull a bottle of Pepto Bismol out of my pocket and take a swig. Everyone stares at me like it's some kind of joke, but I just stare right back like, "And my stomach isn't even upset." Then I laugh to myself thinking how I was supposed to be toning it down.
Once 8 O'clock rolls around I figure it's getting pretty late and I ought to head home. As I walk I smile and think about all the wild stories I'll be able to tell my children someday. "You were a party animal!" they'll say. "And you always managed to stay regular!" With a sigh I climb into bed, shoot up some heroin, and fall fast asleep.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
House Hunting
Buying a house is one of the most important and exciting decisions one can make in life. There are so many different things to consider. Do I want a three bedroom or a four bedroom? How much can I afford? In case of hard times, how does a cardboard box sound? If it sounds good, would I mind being murdered and stuffed into a dumpster at some point, or would I prefer a friendlier neighborhood? These are all tricky questions.
Buying a house certainly can be a scary proposition. If I'm not careful I run the risk of ending up with more bedrooms than I need. This is why it's important to have a knowledgeable real estate agent at my side.
Once I've decided to get an agent, I have to be sure to find one who has my best interests in mind. To do this I usually pretend I'm from the CIA. Now we'll have a sense of camaraderie since we're both agents. Another benefit is that I get to use the whole "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you" routine to break the ice. Though, I'd probably make sure they knew that even though I'd be required to kill them, I'd enjoy it too. This way they'll know they have a fun guy on their hands and not just a stick in the mud.
As soon as I've found the ideal real estate agent, the exciting part begins. While he drives me around to look at properties, I have to make sure I don't miss anything. If I think we've driven past something worth seeing I'll just politely reach my leg over and slam on the brakes. I may even climb into his lap if I feel he has a better vantage point. Usually, after I've brought the car to a screeching halt for the seventeenth time, I'll decide the house is either too big, too small, not for sale, or not a house and we continue on for another few feet.
Not long after we've hit the streets my agent starts getting fussy and tries to persuade me to pull over. But I'm not giving up that easy. And besides, as luck would have it one of those trucks with the "Wide Load" signs just drove by carrying a brand new house, still in the plastic wrap. This was obviously meant to be. We need to catch up to that thing and schedule a tour before someone else does. As I steal the wheel away from my agent and put the pedal to the metal I have only one thing in mind, determining how many bedrooms the house has. I swerve in and out of traffic like I'm some kind of crazed lunatic as the tires squeal, people's horns blare, and my trusty agent sits beneath me and cries with what I bet is joy. "Oh yes!" I say, "We're house hunting now!" Then I pull out the pistol I usually carry with me and begin wildly firing it out the window to release some excitement.
As we approach my potential dream home, with police sirens roaring behind me, all I can think of is how I'll decorate the bathroom. Pulling up alongside the truck which carries the object of my affection, I motion for them to pull over, then I shoot out one of their tires to let them know I'm really interested in seeing the house. After this I watch in disappointment as the truck loses control, jack-knifes, and goes plunging off an overpass.
Standing at the edge of the overpass, I stare down at the wreckage in utter disbelief as I realize the house was only a two bedroom. Hardly worth getting all worked up over. Needless to say I no longer planned on setting up a tour. Now I just have to shake it off, reload my pistol, and jump back in my agent's lap for round two of house hunting.
As it turns out, however, my agent is usually pretty spent at this point. I can tell by the look of sheer terror on his face. And I know how he feels. That last house was such a big letdown that I'm half afraid to continue looking myself. No matter, I'll just put him in the trunk for safe keeping and continue my search.
When all is said and done I can pretty much guarantee I'll find the perfect home. And I don't care if it takes all year and a trunk full of agents to do it. When you are house hunting it is persistence, determination, and marksmanship that win the day. Luckily I have all three.
Buying a house certainly can be a scary proposition. If I'm not careful I run the risk of ending up with more bedrooms than I need. This is why it's important to have a knowledgeable real estate agent at my side.
Once I've decided to get an agent, I have to be sure to find one who has my best interests in mind. To do this I usually pretend I'm from the CIA. Now we'll have a sense of camaraderie since we're both agents. Another benefit is that I get to use the whole "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you" routine to break the ice. Though, I'd probably make sure they knew that even though I'd be required to kill them, I'd enjoy it too. This way they'll know they have a fun guy on their hands and not just a stick in the mud.
As soon as I've found the ideal real estate agent, the exciting part begins. While he drives me around to look at properties, I have to make sure I don't miss anything. If I think we've driven past something worth seeing I'll just politely reach my leg over and slam on the brakes. I may even climb into his lap if I feel he has a better vantage point. Usually, after I've brought the car to a screeching halt for the seventeenth time, I'll decide the house is either too big, too small, not for sale, or not a house and we continue on for another few feet.
Not long after we've hit the streets my agent starts getting fussy and tries to persuade me to pull over. But I'm not giving up that easy. And besides, as luck would have it one of those trucks with the "Wide Load" signs just drove by carrying a brand new house, still in the plastic wrap. This was obviously meant to be. We need to catch up to that thing and schedule a tour before someone else does. As I steal the wheel away from my agent and put the pedal to the metal I have only one thing in mind, determining how many bedrooms the house has. I swerve in and out of traffic like I'm some kind of crazed lunatic as the tires squeal, people's horns blare, and my trusty agent sits beneath me and cries with what I bet is joy. "Oh yes!" I say, "We're house hunting now!" Then I pull out the pistol I usually carry with me and begin wildly firing it out the window to release some excitement.
As we approach my potential dream home, with police sirens roaring behind me, all I can think of is how I'll decorate the bathroom. Pulling up alongside the truck which carries the object of my affection, I motion for them to pull over, then I shoot out one of their tires to let them know I'm really interested in seeing the house. After this I watch in disappointment as the truck loses control, jack-knifes, and goes plunging off an overpass.
Standing at the edge of the overpass, I stare down at the wreckage in utter disbelief as I realize the house was only a two bedroom. Hardly worth getting all worked up over. Needless to say I no longer planned on setting up a tour. Now I just have to shake it off, reload my pistol, and jump back in my agent's lap for round two of house hunting.
As it turns out, however, my agent is usually pretty spent at this point. I can tell by the look of sheer terror on his face. And I know how he feels. That last house was such a big letdown that I'm half afraid to continue looking myself. No matter, I'll just put him in the trunk for safe keeping and continue my search.
When all is said and done I can pretty much guarantee I'll find the perfect home. And I don't care if it takes all year and a trunk full of agents to do it. When you are house hunting it is persistence, determination, and marksmanship that win the day. Luckily I have all three.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Landlording
Being a landlord can be a very rewarding experience. You get the opportunity to provide a place for someone to live, and in return, they get to give you all their money. It's a wonderful relationship.
Before I become a landlord, however, I first need a place to rent out. I've tried renting the back seat of my car and the old baby crib in the backyard, but people usually want more. This can actually work to my advantage. By throwing in some luxury items like air conditioning and a warm, cozy ceiling, I can charge top dollar for my space.
Once I have a place to rent, it's time to put up an ad to try and attract tenants. This part is critical. I want to make sure I find responsible people who will pay the rent on time, be respectful of my property, and not bother me over trivial things like blown light bulbs, drafty windows, or missing toilets. I need to find people who are problem solvers and can think for themselves.
After I have applicants interested in renting from me, I need to perform rigid interviews to ensure they'll be the right fit. To accomplish this I usual do my interviews in a meat locker. I don't know when the furnace was serviced last and I don't want to find out halfway through the lease that my tenant can't handle the cold.
If the applicant seems to be doing alright in the meat locker I usually take it a step further and dump a bucket of ice-water over their head. This let's me see how they might react to a leaky roof. Most likely they'll understand that all of this is just part of the interview process, but if not I'll have to tell them it's not going to work out. Then I'll light them on fire to warm them up. This will show that all the other stuff was just business and I'm really not a bad guy.
If the applicant is still in the running after the first tests then I need to continue on and check their level of patience. Sometimes I can't get to a problem right away and they need to be able to take this into consideration. This is why I keep them in the meat locker until I'm done with my impression of them. As I stand over them shivering and chattering my teeth they usual grow furious and have a look of, "I don't think I want to rent from you." This is when I know I need to turn them down. They may even say things like, "You're insane! I'm calling the cops when I get out of here!" But I just let them know that threats aren't going to land them a room to rent.
Sometimes, after I'm done with my standard interview routine, I'll be on the fence about an applicant. Perhaps they broke out of the meat locker before I was finished, or maybe they're unconscious on the floor, making an assessment difficult. In this case I usually take the interview a step further and test their pain management skills. I don't make ceilings like they used to. One good storm could send the rooftop of my rental caving in. I need to make sure the applicant is OK with that. As a check I'll hit them over the head with a baseball bat to simulate falling beams. Three or four whacks should do. After this it's important that I monitor their body language. You can tell a lot about a person's mettle just by the way they fall down. Was it smooth and quiet, or abrupt and whiny?
Needless to say, when all the interviewing is over I can almost guarantee I've found the right tenant. It's a good feeling knowing that not only will I get the rent on time, but I also won't be hassled every time a stiff wind blows the house over. As a landlord, that's the kind of peace of mind worth going the extra mile for.
Before I become a landlord, however, I first need a place to rent out. I've tried renting the back seat of my car and the old baby crib in the backyard, but people usually want more. This can actually work to my advantage. By throwing in some luxury items like air conditioning and a warm, cozy ceiling, I can charge top dollar for my space.
Once I have a place to rent, it's time to put up an ad to try and attract tenants. This part is critical. I want to make sure I find responsible people who will pay the rent on time, be respectful of my property, and not bother me over trivial things like blown light bulbs, drafty windows, or missing toilets. I need to find people who are problem solvers and can think for themselves.
After I have applicants interested in renting from me, I need to perform rigid interviews to ensure they'll be the right fit. To accomplish this I usual do my interviews in a meat locker. I don't know when the furnace was serviced last and I don't want to find out halfway through the lease that my tenant can't handle the cold.
If the applicant seems to be doing alright in the meat locker I usually take it a step further and dump a bucket of ice-water over their head. This let's me see how they might react to a leaky roof. Most likely they'll understand that all of this is just part of the interview process, but if not I'll have to tell them it's not going to work out. Then I'll light them on fire to warm them up. This will show that all the other stuff was just business and I'm really not a bad guy.
If the applicant is still in the running after the first tests then I need to continue on and check their level of patience. Sometimes I can't get to a problem right away and they need to be able to take this into consideration. This is why I keep them in the meat locker until I'm done with my impression of them. As I stand over them shivering and chattering my teeth they usual grow furious and have a look of, "I don't think I want to rent from you." This is when I know I need to turn them down. They may even say things like, "You're insane! I'm calling the cops when I get out of here!" But I just let them know that threats aren't going to land them a room to rent.
Sometimes, after I'm done with my standard interview routine, I'll be on the fence about an applicant. Perhaps they broke out of the meat locker before I was finished, or maybe they're unconscious on the floor, making an assessment difficult. In this case I usually take the interview a step further and test their pain management skills. I don't make ceilings like they used to. One good storm could send the rooftop of my rental caving in. I need to make sure the applicant is OK with that. As a check I'll hit them over the head with a baseball bat to simulate falling beams. Three or four whacks should do. After this it's important that I monitor their body language. You can tell a lot about a person's mettle just by the way they fall down. Was it smooth and quiet, or abrupt and whiny?
Needless to say, when all the interviewing is over I can almost guarantee I've found the right tenant. It's a good feeling knowing that not only will I get the rent on time, but I also won't be hassled every time a stiff wind blows the house over. As a landlord, that's the kind of peace of mind worth going the extra mile for.
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