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February 18, 2018 / memoriesofagoldfish

My Friend Debby

Today was a hard day.  I had to say an official goodbye to a friend.  I won’t say permanent, because I don’t believe it is.  And it hurts like a bitch right now.  My world and about a zillion other people’s has little less light in it.

I don’t think anyone knows why I loved this woman as much as I did.  But I’m going to tell you right now.

When my mom was terminally ill, I was a 26-year-old kid and I had NO idea what I was doing.  Thinking back, none of us did, really.  My sister was 14, my brother was 20, in the Navy and he had the highest hopes that mom would go into remission and be fine.  That didn’t happen and she continued to decline.  I was faking it, pretending to know what I was doing and attempting to take care of everyone, but I don’t think I was.

Fast forward 2 years, I was 28 and I had just gotten a job where I traveled every week and I’d get home on Friday and immediately drive from Indianapolis to Ft. Wayne to be with my mom and family, including my stepdad.  He also had terminal cancer and had just had a full-frontal lobotomy so his tumor wouldn’t crush is brain.   The job came with the most amazing benefit but I didn’t know it.  Yet.

Spoiler:  It was Debby.

I have vivid memories from that time that I’ve been told are completely inaccurate.  The way I recall something either didn’t happen that way or happened a completely different way.  I remember being completely on my game and in control of every situation.  Apparently, I am wrong about a lot of that.  Probably something my control-freak brain did to save my sanity.

What I’m not wrong about is Debby.  That memory is crystal clear.  I didn’t know her very well, but she seemed like the sanest, wisest person.  Rock-solid.  Like there was no life experience that she hadn’t faced, conquered and documented.  It almost seemed like she did it so she could share them with the rest of us.

She was always kind and honest.  She talked to me a lot and gave me stuff to think about and books to read about grief and loss and made me think about everyone else in my life, too.  I still have 2 books she suggested on my bookshelf today.  I’ve recommended them to other people countless times.  Whenever I’ve tried to give advice to anyone about loss, I always think, “Remember how Debby helped me?  What would she say?”

I don’t think that I needed rescuing, exactly, but I definitely needed some damn direction.  I have been told that I have a strong personality and it’s hard for people to coach or teach me, I’ve been told that more than once.  I don’t do it on purpose, honest.  I also intimidate people without trying and sometimes that is off-putting.   But not for Debby.  She was so fearless and it didn’t matter that I was a dick and struggling with everything from laundry to breathing.  She just appeared.  She just told me how it was and I believed her, without question.  There wasn’t any reason to argue or put up a fight, she was just right.  She gave me the map, pointed me in the direction and kicked me squat in the ass…after she pulled my head out of it.  It was a gift.

I told her this story once, and this is it almost word for word.  I’m so glad I did.  I’m so glad I got to tell her why she meant so much to me and why I’d kill for her without needing a reason.  She saved me a lot of money in therapy just by being her and sharing her love and her light.  I know she would have done it for anyone, but it meant so much to me at a time when I didn’t even know I needed it.

And that is why I love that woman and I always will.  She’ll be a part of us all, because she gave of herself so freely.

Godspeed, friend.  Thank you.

September 26, 2017 / memoriesofagoldfish

I bet you think this post is about you. Don’t you?

It probably isn’t.

Remember when you were a kid and adults would tell you that crap about counting to 10 before you did something and how that translated to adulthood where you should never send an email while you were angry?  I’ve never been able to apply that.

Instead, I think, “I should do the thing while I’m all juiced up on adrenaline and anger right now, before I lose my nerve.”  Translation:  “This is a mistake that you’re going to regret, or you’re going to be enjoying a huge helping of filet of foot for dinner.”

This also applies to blog posts, though I have the sense to go back and change them when I know I’m wrong.  But you just can’t unsend an email or text.  Thank you, vodka.

When I was a kid, a certain adult in my life would get mad at me for stuff and say mean things to me.  It was a thing and I’m not really damaged because of it.  And I never cared unless in my 10 year old mind I was playing a wounded bird.  Said person is also the travel agent for guilt trips.  I have learned from the best.

Having said that, I am the same way.  DAMMIT! And if I’m mad and you keep pressing me, Ima do my best to hurt your feelings.  It’s a really shitty trait I have that I don’t care for and I want gone from my traits.  I want a better trait…like willpower.  If I had it, this whole post wouldn’t be here and I’d be a normal weight for my height.

I know better than to do this this.  I’m an adult with advanced reasoning powers.  I know that if I just don’t do the thing, I’ll be better off and letting it go is really letting it go.  But it feels so good to respond in the moment.  RIGHT?!  OMG, so good.  Until it doesn’t.  Short-sightedness is another advanced gift from the universe.  Sometimes I do not see the big picture.

A good example being, I was pissed off about a job thing that happened back in May.  I wanted so desperately to tell them exactly what I thought of them and their treatment of a potential candidate.  Because, I’m standing up for candidates everywhere, right?  FIGHT THE POWER!   I’m like a gay Rosa Parks. Except that’s not really the case and this job thing is just the shitty hand that fate dealt me.  So I just kept my mouth shut, and moved along.  Which is good, because I’m back on their table.

I digress.

I don’t always make the best decisions in the heat of the moment and it haunts me.  I’m working on being more patient, empathetic and less selfish.  It also doesn’t help that I’m super protective of people I care about and I take any slight or attack on them personally and I want to kill the slighter/attacker with spoon.  Somehow, in my warped mind, that has translated to, “Since you didn’t kill that person, you must hate me.  I will have to yell at you.” That is so ridiculous.  Please feel free to call me out on it.

This was an issue that I brought up in therapy and ,y therapist and I decided that I would practice “disengage.”  It’s where I say “Disengage,” and make a hand-motion when no one else is around, lest they think I’m being rude or I’m insane.  It’s been very effective and helpful when I remember to do it.  Ahhh, enlightenment.

How do you become more enlightened?  Count to 10 before you answer.

August 9, 2017 / memoriesofagoldfish

This post is about nothing

This is going to seem like a rambling post, but I swear I have a point.  Maybe not.  I’m rereading this and I think my point is, “Who is going to run the country when the old people that are there now die?”

I’ve never done any research on Millennials, and I only know what the news media tells me and what I read on IMGUR ( so I’m not an expert.  But I’m stuck in a weird place where the generation before me doesn’t like them because they’re lazy and my generation created them.  I don’t feel like I have a stake in the game at all, because I didn’t make any myself.

I have no idea what to think of them, or for them or about them.  I’ve had both, good and bad experiences with them.  But that can be said of any group/race/religion/person. And look how people felt about Gen Xers.  We were also unliked, but we could be studied and marketed to.  Millennials?  Not so much.

But here’s why I bring this up…

I was discussing with a friend today about the state of politics and how old so many of our politicians are.  Like…they just won’t die.  Think about Pam from Payroll and how fucking old she seems and how talking to her about anything taxes your ability to remain calm and not throw her out of a window.  She’s not fast, she hasn’t been in college since the 70’s, so computers weren’t a “thing.”   She has absolutely no idea that she can just hit the ‘TAB’ key to get to the next field instead of going for the mouse and taking 13 seconds to zero in the field/okay/yes/print button.  And it is MADDENING because you have to be nice and respect her because she’s 63 and she’s seen some shit.  Imagine her at 83 and still trying to process your payroll.  Totally trust her with your direct deposit info, huh?

I guess I could have summarized that paragraph above by asking you to remember the last time you stood in line behind an octogenarian at the self-checkout.  I digress.

I was going to type a bunch of shit out, but look at this:  OLD POLITICIANS  Don’t get lost in the “Age at taking office” vs. “Current age.”  Some of them have been in office for almost as long as I’ve been alive. Without being offensive, I don’t trust 80 year olds to make political decisions.  Especially when the rest of us have to retire at 65.

Now for my dulled point…the aforementioned friend and I were talking about the values Millennials have and we were speculating that in the next 5-10 years, Millennials would be our lawmakers.  Except…do they want to be?  It’s a lot of work and if Millennials value relationships more than things, they really don’t care about working a bunch, huh?

To that end, who here only works 40-hour weeks?  Aside from the last 4 months, I didn’t work less than 50 and I was on call “24 by 7,” and that is a direct quote from my manager.  I say that because I never understood why she couldn’t just say, “24/7,” like humans.  I don’t know that my body wouldn’t reject a 40-hour week and I think that many Millennials are of the same mind.  Again, I don’t know for sure because I don’t have one and I don’t want to date one (read:  they won’t answer my messages on Growlr) so I don’t really have a good frame of reference.

I guess this whole post is about where we are headed as a country.  I’m concerned, who isn’t?  But I have pictures of me in Halloween drag, so I can’t run for office.  I don’t know what the solution is and currently, everything seems bad.  Even my therapist said that she’d never seen people so affected by a political office before.

God, this post is going nowhere.  NOWHERE!  I usually wrap everything up nice ‘n tidy with a witty remark or a positive ending, but I gots nothing.  Is everyone like this right now? Can we start a support group or a drinking group?  Book club where we don’t read but we talk about how to impact change going forward?

Help, I need an adult!

June 6, 2017 / memoriesofagoldfish

The Hard Stuff I Don’t Understand

I will never understand why people abuse animals.  Every cat I’ve ever had has owned me and the thought never crosses my mind.  When I adopted Daphnie in 2001, I had no idea what I was getting into.  What a fool I was.  She was the best cat.  Smart, pretty and funny.  She was always around and she was my first unconditional love and I don’t think that I would understand that concept at all, without her.

You all know how this goes, you’ve been here long enough.  When I met Mark he had Nike and Ezri and they were completely different cats than Daphnie.  They were just like cats.  Aloof and fussy and HUGE.  They weren’t exactly love bugs, like Daphy, but they were good kitties and I loved them.  They were so soft and fluffy!  Mark rescued them from the landfill where he worked and they traveled from IN to CO with us.  Ezri left us in CO and Nike made it to PA diabetes and all.

Then came Wooley, whose story was well-documented on the Facebook.  I had always wanted a smooshy-faced cat and I fell completely in love with him at Pet Smart.  He was 12 and he had such a sob story I couldn’t understand why no one had rescued him.  I wrote the lady a check for $50 and said I’d be back to get him just as soon as I tricked my other half into adoption.  There was some convincing and I took him to see him and that was it. Wooley cast his spell and Mark was a goner.

Sidebar:  I found him and I rescued him and he should have pledged his everlasting love to me!  Alas, he became Mark’s cat and while I pretended it was a bone of contention, I was really just happy to have him around, safe and loved.  He was so SMOOSHY!

We do so many special things for our pets that people without pets may not understand.  If you’re not a pet person, we probably won’t get along for long.  I don’t care what kind of pet, honestly.  But there’s a bond between man and beast that makes you understand unconditional love in its purest, truest form.  They just give what they have and it’s so enchanting.  So in return, we help them with their diabetes and special diets (look at feeding Wooley and Daphnie wet food mixed with tuna, because it was good for their fur and stuff.  Cut to their elder years where we added fish oil and glucosamine in because it was good for their joints and skin and hair and nails…whatever.)  Because I did/do it for my own pets, I completely understand why you do it for yours and if I ever pet-sit for you, I will do it, tirelessly.

Moving back to Indiana without Daphnie was tough, but I didn’t want to bring her here without having a place to bring her and I was sure that I’d go back for her.  Too much up in the air and for whatever was between Mark and I, he was really good to our chirrens.  I might have made the decision to leave her there with him permanently if the Brother Husbands didn’t have 9 dogs.  She was never a dog person, so I rescued her from that hell.  I know Mark loved her and missed her, she was truly special among the special.  I know what it’s like to have a special cat, because I had a REALLY special cat.

Fletcher is Vicki’s fault, she found Fletcher on PetFinder.  She showed me a picture of him and I emailed the shelter immediately.  I was still living with her, but I WANTED him soooooo bad.  Look at his smooshy face!  He needed me.  Who else would take care of him like me?  Who would abandon him at 11 and leave him at the Home for Wayward Cats?  Some fucker, that’s who.

I contacted Barb a THfWC and I arranged to get him after Daphy and I had settled into the new apartment, which was July 18, 2014.  He was smart and polite and had ZERO trouble with the litter box.  A complete gentleman.  But he was not a cat person.  There was a period of adjustment and thankfully, Daphy was the smarter cat.  She would figure out how to keep him from abusing her and when I was around he left her alone.  We made it work.

When Daphnie passed in 2015, I really think it was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.  I had to actively make the choice to end the life of “someone” who’d brought me nothing but happiness and love.  I’ve lost many people over the years, and this is completely different.  It’s not better, not worse, just different and hard to reconcile.  Logically, you know you did the right thing…but, what if?

Now here I am again, waiting for lab work to confirm what I already know.  My vet is a good vet and he really hates to put an animal through anything that they don’t understand if there’s no benefit to the animal.  He’ll tell you straight up if he thinks you’re being selfish.  He was honest and straight forward when we talked and he said that what was likely was that Fletcher would need 24-hour care in a hospital until he died.  Basically, catspice.

I can’t do that.  He knows me and he sleeps with me every night, curled up in my arm.  I’m a side-sleeper and when I move, he moves.  He wants to be curled up against me.  That is perhaps the best compliment I’ve ever received in my entire life.  How could I leave him alone in a strange place, not knowing anyone, wondering where me and my warm arm are?  It breaks my fucking heart and it’s not an option.

As I sit here drinking wine, crying my balls off, I am fully preparing for this to be his last night with me. I’m not trying to be fatalistic or macabre, just honest.  I hate false hope, it’s cruel.  Tonight I will sleep on the floor of my office, close to him and his litter box and the food and water, not high up off the floor, so he doesn’t have to waste energy he doesn’t have trying to find me and my arm.  I will talk to him and rub him and love him and make sure that what could possibly be his last night on Earth is comfortable, safe, warm and he will spend it curled up in my arm, where he belongs.

April 30, 2017 / memoriesofagoldfish

School Daze

Thinking about finishing school thing has been the bane of my existence since I stopped going in 2008.  What I told myself:  Mark is the better bet for completion, I’ll stick with him and help him get through as best I can and I’ll finish when he’s finished.  After he’s done doing his thing and becomes a fancy professor, then I can go back.  So I followed him to CO and then to PA, where I could have had free tuition!  I picked the wrong horse.

But  let me tell you why. I never doubted that he would finish and become a fancy professor.  I know other people in his life did, because they talked about it with me.  I never doubted it, I never questioned it.  I was behind him 100%, as best I knew how to be…while still trying to have a job and a relationship with him.  Never give up on your dreams, kids.

When that didn’t pan out and I moved back to Indiana in 2014, I thought I’d get settled and carry on with my life and finish school.  But the job threw more money at me than I’d ever seen and I became obsessed with building a stable foundation and I wanted to have everything that Mark and I had made plans to have.  A house, a yard, a camper and places to take it.  Mmm…white picket fence.

So I did it and while I lived within my means, I should have been concerned with what to do when the job ended, because I knew it would and without a real education to back it up, I’m just a pretty decoration in the unemployement line.  Besides, that organization could fuck up a one-car funeral.  The gist of it is that I never did any one thing there for long enough to get good at it.  All 3 of my reviews from there said the same thing.  And I quote, “Your job has been in a constant state of flux with the high turnover in our department.  This year we’re going to focus on stabilizing your position.”  That never happened, and for the first 2 years I worked like a slave.  The last year?  Not so much.  I would work my 40 hours and go home.  Peace, homies.

Then my boss lost her daughter to questionable circumstances and that was devastating.  I tried to fill in the gaps with the other full-time employee, who is AMAZING.  I don’t know what sorcery they employed to trick her into coming on board, but they don’t deserve her.  They deserve scurvy.  Instead of actually helping my boss cope with the loss and providing her the support and resources that she needed, her boss said, “The best thing she can do right now is to get back on the horse!”  Meaning, she needed to stop being such a pussy about loosing her 28 year-old daughter and start working again.

Um.  Okay.  Copy that.  I’ll just let her know she’s fucking around with this grief thing and trying to raise her grandson at 50 years old, when she should be struggling with empty-nest syndrome instead of incomprehensible grief that she is COMPLETELY ill-equipped to handle.  Capital idea.  You’re an asshole, I sincerely hope your ulcers cause you to shit blood.

So that started the few months of the stress that made me think I needed better meds, when it turns out I needed less stress.  C’est la vie.

The only regret I have about being let go is that I 100% thought that it would be HR that did it, you know…like you do.  Instead of the Blood Ulcer.  I was unprepared.  If I’d known it was him I would have been prepared.  When he showed up at my desk I would have exclaimed, “Finally!”  Instead I just smiled smugly.  “Your job is being eliminated.”  Okay, thanks!  Do you have any boxes lying about so that I can collect my belong….never mind, that shit was packed up months ago, just in case.  See you at the garage exit where you can have the best part of this job back…the free parking.

I digress.  So with this new time off and a few dollars in the bank, I decided that I could coast through the end of April and explore my school options.  I was sure that it would take a few semesters to finish the one class that I have left, because I needed to “brush-up” on my math skillz.  And by “brush-up” I mean, “create them from noting, out of thin air.”

School:  You will be starting over with $74,000 in student loan debt because your credits expire after 10 years.

Me:  *faints*

Fine, bitches.  I’ll finish elsewhere.  Cut to an online university that will take 2.5 years of my credits, is accredited and will give me my PMP, RHIT and some other junk that I want.  YES!  Okay, fine…it’s an online university and I think that I would do better with some structure and some classmates to talk to, but whatevs.  Done.

Except I’m maxed out on student loans.  I’ve hit my aggregate limit and I have no fucking clue where to get the $3900/semester to pay for school.  Yes, yes, grants and scholarships.  I know.  That’s a lot of shit to weed through, even though I’m unemployed and have unlimited time about me.  I’m still trying to get my house in sellable shape in the event that I don’t have a job by the end of May, and that is if it would even sell. Whole other anxiety attack just waiting to happen.

I’m researching other loans and as many scholarships and grants as I can right now, but the internet of things is not helpful and all of the articles talk to you like you’ve just graduated high-school and you have no experience.  I’m 44, just help me help myself.

Surely there’s another 44 year-old, displaced, gay divorcé with insurmountable student loan debt, desperately seeking a job that will pay enough to live direct deposit to direct deposit that can give me some pointers.  Right?

Until I find him, I’m going to switch to alcohol for all liquid intake and garnishments (olives) as solid food.  It’s what Betty Ford would have wanted.

April 13, 2017 / memoriesofagoldfish

Chapter 44

I’ve been calling this life reboot “Chapter 44,” since I started FMLA in February.  It has stationary, a playlist and a font.  Do you ever get to a point in your life and you look around and think, “What the hell is going on here?  Where have I been?”  Chapter 44.

Whathadhappendwas…My doctor put me on a really high dose of an anti-depressant.  I don’t believe I need an anti-depressant.  I have anxiety issues.  Excessive rumination, mostly.  So I was on that for about 5 weeks when we discovered (I was tweaking my balls off and losing time and not able to remember simple instructions, comprehend reading, pee and my anxiety was OFF THE CHARTS) that it was the wrong med for me.  I get it, results may vary.

So we decided to take me off of it (detox), but it’s a process and I felt like hammered shit for the better part of 4 weeks (in Texas.)  When we decided to do that, we decided that I might benefit from a break from work and some therapy, which I heartily agreed to.  I was off work for 6 weeks and I successfully “detoxed” from the med and got some great advice from a therapist.  Honestly, if you’ve ever said, “I should talk to someone about that,” you should.  It’s not just for hipster douchebags and rich people.  Anyone can do it.

It wasn’t a vacation, it was a reorganization.  Work was killing my brain.  Every day it was something new that wasn’t really.  Leadership was/is terrible and I was always exhausted and I never felt like I ever made progress.  Every day was like Groundhog Day.  I was burned out.  I needed a break to reset and this felt like the best way.  When I brought the note from my doctor in that morning, I knew that I would not be returning to work there.  I know them.  I know how they operate, I knew they would figure out a way to terminate me.  I did not think that they would let me sit at my desk for 5 hours with no computer access because my boss’s boss is such a chickenshit leader that he couldn’t even tell me not to bother coming in and HR was unaware, as in, not present for my termination.  “After some reorganization, we’ve eliminated your position, sign here.”  K, bah.

I am, however very thankful for Short-Term Disability insurance.  It gave me time and resources to pull my head out of my ass and see that job as toxic.  Those people are living their lives so crooked they have to screw their socks on.  My therapist and I laid out a nice map of the toxicity.  So toxic, was  the environment and why do people stay there?It is some sort of witchcraft.  I only worked there for 3 years and I think that the 6 weeks of FMLA helped me detox from there, as well.  I’m ready for whatever comes next.  I will go after it with a club if I have to.

During my time off I decided that I would go back to school and see about completing this, now useless, degree.  Turns out credits expire.  If my credits expire, can my student loans expire?  Seriously, $74,000 worth.  I’d also like for Betsy DeVos to consider resigning…just throwing that out there.

After some research, I found another school where my credits will transfer (Seriously, how can a 100-level English Writing class expire?)  I’m 100% pursuing that.  See above,  Club.

Ultimately, I couldn’t quit them, I couldn’t leave.  I tried in the past, but it was just an exercise.  Some part of me wanted to stay there and help fix it.  The broken is so many layers deep that even the layers have layers and an outer crust.  It wasn’t for me, it never would have been.  I learned so much and hit a plateau where there was no more to learn without help or guidance.  There wasn’t anyone to help me move forward after I got stuck and they don’t pay for anything, so I just sat stagnant.  I got great yearly reviews and maxed out on my raise and bonus 2 years in a row.  Whatever happened did not happen because of performance.  Maybe my boss figured out that she’s not my favorite?  I don’t know how Karma works, but it appears it front-loaded on her.  She’s a bit of a disorganized mess, just not mine anymore!

Overall, I am glad they let me go.  It is a chance.  A chance to escape, or stay.  I’m thinking about my choices and I think that whatever I do next will be a much better adventure with much better results.  Come along, gentle readers, won’t you?

I. Am. Free.

February 23, 2015 / memoriesofagoldfish

House Hunters Made You an Asshole.

You’ve seen them. You know who they are. “This kitchen needs updated.” Uh…but the kitchen has new floors, a backsplash, granite and stainless appliances. But…you don’t like the faucet, so you’re going to demo the entire space and start over. And, it’s already $25,000 over your budget. If it’s that much over, I don’t think you mean “budget.” Because mine is written in the blood of a sacrificed virgin and can’t be compromised so whatever yours is may just be a guideline. Or a target on a dartboard.

House Hunters makes you think that it’s okay to talk to your designer like they’re your personal manservant and to change your mind 400 times on where you want your stove. Yeah, okay. No. If your shitty behavior causes me distress when I go shopping for countertops at Lowe’s because they say that I should buy 3 samples and take them home to see how they work in the space, um…no. I picked the color I want, please send someone to install it. I’d prefer they have a strong back, because I’m a little out of shape.

My biggest beef with this search is that everyone and their dog is telling me to buy a house.  I appreciate the feedback ,but when have I ever listened to advice like:  look at 100 houses. Okay, but now I’ve missed the good house that I wanted that was all updated and had everything in it that I wanted and now I’m trying to find that house again. I’ve been looking for 6 months. It’s just that I didn’t have a pre-approval before.

Now I’m all approved after fawning over a cute, total gut and remodel flip in Lawrence that was the cutest thing EVER. I heard that I couldn’t buy a house, so I got pre-approved. Now I’m hearing that I haven’t looked at enough houses. It’s the age of the internet and HD pictures, I assure you I can see ugly carpet from here and Zillow knows me…like, really knows me.

I can also find a house, fall in love and then go look at it and decide I never want to see it again. That cute, total gut and remodel flip only had accommodations for a stackable washer and dryer. Remember when I posted pictures of my ginormous new washer/dryer on Facebook? Yeah, not happening. Dealbreaker.

Two bedrooms and two bathrooms would be ideal, but I can deal with 2 and 1. If I could get 3 bedrooms, a full finished basement with 2 bathrooms and a new kitchen and freshly refinished floors and a small fenced in yard I’d be in heaven. I’m talking to you 8th street bungalow. Pending sale, indeed.

“It’s the biggest purchase you’ll make in your life.” No, I’m pretty sure that will come next. This is a starter house. It will probably end up a rental. My next house will be the one where I fuss over the details and leave no stone untouched or have the money to have all the details and stones touched.

“You have to look at a lot of houses. Don’t buy the first one you see.” No shit. I’d be a fool if I did that, but I have to fall in love with the first house and go look at it, and fall back out of love. If I look at 15 houses, I can pick one that I like in an area I like.

“Your agent works for you.” Until today, he’s driven me around sketchy neighborhoods, made me carsick and asked me to repeat myself about 100 times to the point that I don’t want to talk to him. Get a damn hearing aid and stop making phone calls to your tenants. I know you’re a slumlord. I can tell because the woman you were talking to on the phone was named “Candy,” and she pays you rent in cash.

I have a list. I’m checking it off as I go and when I get everything checked in, I’ll pull the trigger. I just wanted to look at 3 houses, be an asshole about the one house, buy it and move in. DING DONG…Two months later…And I’m done.  It’s how it happens on TV and those people never have to write 700 words on a blog that gets very little traffic complaining about themselves. But…here we are.