Thursday, July 29, 2004

I closed my first escrow last night. Hooray for me. That's $4,000 that will go straight to critical debt. I'm thinking of declaring bankruptcy. I'm hustling for clients, but I have no other real expectation of money coming in. You know what's weird though? I'm a whiz at finding property for people. I swear. No matter if they're like okay, I need a single family residence with over 2,000 square feet East of Redondo and South Fourth for less than $800,000. Hmmm, presto, majesto, bingo! and here it is. Of course, you'll have to rebuild the garage and septic system and replace the roof, a little paint, a little sanding and refinishing of the hardwood floors, but there you go. What's that? Immaculate condition? Well, let's see genius. For that I can put you into the place across the street, but you'll have to cough up at least another $400,000. I'm good, but no one's that good. You can't have the Taj Mahal for a WalMart price.

People irritate me. I'm done writing my most recent short story. I'm about halfway through my short script. My full length post grad angst screenplay is two thirds written, but done in my head. My car is limping along on a bum leg and howling all the way. I need money and clients and closed deals. I'm bored with boys. I liked Funny Boy a lot. I wish that had worked out, but when someone's an asshole, what can you do? Anyway, my rectum's working just fine so there's no need for another in my life. I'm not even into meeting anyone new. I hope that spell I messed up has worn off. I think Mercury is retrograde again, so everyone watch your electronic equipement and communication devices. That includes the way we communicate with each other. Be like the moon.

Would anyone like to buy a 12 unit building with six garages a block from the beach for the low, low, unbelievably low price of $1.5 million bucks? Hurry, hurry, hurry, this deal won't last. The seller is motivated, so bring your fussy buyers!

I'm going on a drunkard's cruise tonight. Maybe I'll kiss some cute boys, maybe I'll sit in the lounge with other girl's and talk smack about how dumb boys are. Boys are so dumb. I'm so glad I chose to be born a girl. I think that if I'd been born a boy, I'd still be a girl. I'd be such a flamboyant gay, probably a decorator or celebrity stylist. It's good to be a girl.




another mad ramble of The Shadow * 3:20 PM
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Friday, July 23, 2004

Well, I finally broke the car. It needs over $1,200 worth of work and I only have a budget of $80. What's a girl to do? I don't have money for a car. Actually, I don't have money for anything. I'm so screwed. I'm just waiting and waiting and waiting for this escrow to close so I can get a dollar and it's taking sooooooooooo fucking long. Even when it does close, it has to be funded and approved and recorded and then my office has to do their little thing and cut me a check. I'm looking at a week from Monday, earliest possible. Heavy sigh.

Swiss Boy moved to Connecticut to help a friend with his company. He wanted to see me one more time before he left. I like him. I'll never see him again, but I hope he does well.

I wish someone I knew and trusted would tell me everything is going to be okay.  I need to hear it from someone credible and reliable.

I keep thinking maybe I should just get a part time job, but I have clients. I just don't have any open escrows. I need quick happy escrows to open and close.

I'm sad. I'm tired. I'm discouraged. I'm frustrated.

But, at least I have Henry Rollins to make me happy every Monday from 1900-2100 hours.

 



another mad ramble of The Shadow * 1:33 PM
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Tuesday, July 20, 2004

I'm having an open house on Sunday. Please everyone come and bring your checkbooks. I'll have to figure out a way to feed the people, because I don't think it would be appropriate to serve Jenny Craig Sourdough Snacks. I don't know why my listing hasn't sold yet. Maybe it's because they're doing new stucco and paint on the building and people are afraid to come and take a look. The HOA president keeps calling my seller and telling her how many people came for viewing or if there are flyers in the box. What a pain.
 
I'm going out with Swiss Boy again tonight. He's moving back to the East Coast on a week from Friday. Such is my life. I finally meet a guy who loves my curves and he's moving a million miles away from me to live right next door to the center of the known universe aka my sister.
 
Okay, I have to go find some qualified clients now. I have to sell 7 properties before the end of the year or I'm in big trouble, Betsy.
 
 


another mad ramble of The Shadow * 4:21 PM
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Friday, July 16, 2004

I'm trying to make a baby. It's not an easy thing. Maybe I should ask one of these 15 year old ghetto hotties how they do it. I went to Costco and bought the economy pack of EPT pregnancy tests. I'm sick of peeing on sticks. I didn't at all appreciate the glaring contempt for possible new mothers in the instructions, either. They actually had arrows pointing to the thumb grip and the cap.
 
It's all right. I'll get knocked up. As long as my baby keeps fucking me like a madman, it'll hit and we'll be cool. In the meantime, being Enoch's foster mom is hard enough. He got a barking ticket. Ben called and left a message on our machine and it sent Enoch over the edge. He also made friends with a hot Scotty dog at Peet's coffee. Scotty's owner actually approached me about a doggie playdate. It was too much for me. I told her I couldn't deal with the fact that my dog was gay and she cooly informed me not all Scottys are male. So what, sweetheart. I know Enoch's a stud but I ain't pimping him out. People annoy me.
 
I want E to have his fun, though. We let him have the old cat post and he's been humping the hell out of that. What if I had a kid with an outrageous sex drive and my kid starting having sex in the 7th grade? Or what if my kid was the homeliest kid in the world? I'm not just talking about a late bloomer, but I mean what if the kid looked like Mick Jagger in drag? What if my kid wasn't hip? What we had a kid who just couldn't groove with us at all? What if our kid craved Brittany Spears? What if we have a kid who was a bully? What if we had a Strohmeyer? Remember him? He was adopted and his biomom was a schizo and everything seemed cool until he went to Vegas and lured some little girl into the restroom so he could violate her and then stuff her into the toilet. What if my kid hated to read? What if my kid is just stupid? What then?
 
I don't know. This unconditional love gig seems kind of harsh. I mean I say I love Jimmie unconditionally, but when reality hits the fan, I'd have to admit that if I found out he was a child rapist I'd turn on my beloved faster than a mafia snitch. What if I give birth to a little Lyle or Erik Menendez?
 
I guess when I get all this shit figured out the peestick will have two lines instead of just one.Until then, boys and girls...Thanks for listening.
 
 



another mad ramble of The Shadow * 2:19 PM
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Wednesday, July 14, 2004

Life is kind of sucky right now. I don't think I like my life right now. I don't know if I like real estate. It's a lot of hustle bustle gogogo. I had a client who was really cool at first, but now I realize that he's just a giant freakshow. He was really complimentary at first about my earrings and we talked about The Ramones and all that.

I encouraged him to put a back up offer on a million plus property he wanted. I told him hey, you've got a 20% chance until it closes escrow so if you really want this place then go for it. I did everything for him. I made him into the best buyer anyone ever had. I helped him with the financing, not that he needed it because he's got terrific credit and resources. I updated him not just daily, but pretty much five to six times a day because that's how much he called me. Just so I could tell him the same things over and over and over again. Well, he didn't get the property even though they did cancel escrow on with the first buyer. At first they wanted him because he looks so good on paper, but because he kept having me call the listing agents and then went and called them himself, they figured out that he was a giant freakshow and told me they would accept no offer from him no matter which agent put it through.

He's crazy. He left crazy messages on my phone telling me to do my job and that if I wanted my commission I needed to get on the ball. What an ass. Then when I answered the phone to explain to him that I couldn't talk because I was with other clients he asked if they had more money than him. I told him that didn't matter, everyone deserves my attention if they're my client. He wanted me to be at his beck and call. Then he called my manager six times today to complain that he got shut out of the property. What a freak. He told my manager that I wasn't grateful enough for his business.

Here's what really happened - He's a 44 year old possible virgin who mentioned his mother to me more than twenty times and I'm just his realtor. He wanted to fuck me. I did become a little stand-offish with him, but only in a professional way. I didn't snub him like I would a freak in a club. I was still sweet and professional and businesslike attentive with him. He's just a baby. He's just throwing a huge tantrum because he can't have the property he wants and I'm never going to go out with him. I don't discuss business over margaritas. Okay, I do. But not with freaks like him. And I would never date or mingle or sleep with a client. Even if it was Henry or Ian or Ewan MacGregor. I would wait until our business was concluded, and then pounce.

Okay, I've vented. The money was never there. It was imaginary. I don't know if I like doing this unrewarding job. I think maybe I'll look into property management instead. I don't know. We'll see. In the meantime, could everyone send me some coupons for drinks and snacks and carwashes and dry cleaning? I'm starving.



another mad ramble of The Shadow * 5:32 PM
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Thursday, July 08, 2004

I am in such a funk today. I don't know what's wrong with me. I read all my horoscopes and they all say to wait it out. I'm having a horrible time. I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm making deals. I'm doing my work. I'm following up and following through. I just feel like I'm walking a tightrope in spike heels while wearing one of those huge Herman's Habidashery hats, no less.

As soon as I got to work I wanted to cry. Last night I took a check from a client for $15,000. Wanna hear how I got the deal? He called on a property that had fallen off the board, or the listing had expired. I told him about some other properties and he drove by. He fell in love with one of them and called back. I made a meeting with him and I wasn't really sure how it was going. He's kind of hard to read, this client. Then during the meeting my cell phone rang. My ringtone is The Ramones, Blitzkrieg Bop. It was the only ringtone I like. My messagetone is Cab Calloway's Minnie the Moocher because they didn't have St James Infirmary and for some odd reason there's no Black Flag, or Rollins Band, or Dischord songs available for ringtones. Anyway, my client recognized it and we talked for about a half hour about The Ramones and Rollins' new radio show. So by the end of the meeting he'd agreed to make a backup offer on the property and he gave me the check so I could find more properties for him in case this one went sideways.

But as soon as I woke up this morning I wanted to cry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I have a raging bilateral ear infection that I have no other treatment for than au naturel detox. That's always lovely. I've been taking all the detox herbs and drinking the beet juice for two days now and it's just so gross. I just didn't want to get out of bed. Even to make a sweet offer on a million dollar property. I dragged myself out of bed and my day broke from there like a purse falling open as it crashes down the stairs. Things went flying, and I've been running around like a headless chicken trying to gather everything again. I hope I haven't missed something.

My senior agent told me I needed Margarita Therapy and took me to Acapulco, or as we say in the LB Puke My Alco. We shared a pitcher of Cadillacs and a Fiesta Platter. He said welcome to real estate. You never know if the deal's gone through until you've cashed the check. A check in hand means nothing. Cash in hand is all that matters. Buyers are liars and sellers are snakes. Take care of your money and it will take care of you. He told me several things that I really needed to hear. Because let's face it: I'm a retard with money. The only thing I know to do with money is spend it. Hopefully, I spend it wisely. So, I'm a professional shopper. I shop for property. I can sell property, too. I can help people spend their money on property. Hopefully, I'll help them spend it wisely. Hopefully.

I made a deal with a guy and it looks like it's gone South. Now I have to find him and the man he works for and explain to them both, very nicely, that it would better not to fuck me on this deal. Thing is, I'm desperate. I'm starving and my bills are all going to be shut off without this deal, and I've held up my part of the bargain. They did something dumb, something not agreed upon. Now they're frustrated because the transaction is delayed. Not my fault. I did everything I was supposed to and I was very accommodating. If they fuck me on this deal, not only can I not do business with them in the future, but then I have to make sure no one else gets burned either. The only way to do that is to spread their business all over the world, which would be very bad for them because discretion and confidentiality is their number one concern in this transaction. I don't like hitting below the belt or going for the jugular or carotid, but I will. I'm too hungry to let them push me without coming back and knocking them down. I hope they don't fuck me. I'd so much rather do business with them in the future. I hope they contact me soon and make the right decision.

In the meantime, I just need to chill so all good things come to me. I need to make my heart light and happy and cleanse my house and myself with sage. I need to meditate and envision all that I want and need dropping into my lap from the cornucopia of the Goddess. I need to take an oil and infusion bath. I need to take my mind off the fact that all my friends are leaving soon. Leaving Memorial, leaving Long Beach, leaving me. I know they will still be my friends and that we'll be seeing each other again and all that, but it's only a bandaid on a weeping wound. Life won't be the same. The energy will change and without everyone here to bounce and rebound, the energy will fade.

It's all because of Ben. Rachel may have come back if Ben were here to bug her about it. Ben left and we all fell apart and now we're going our seperate ways to walk into our infinite destinies and I don't know where we'll end up. Mr Steve is right, we're all on a road to nowhere.

I hate being in a funk. I was so looking forward to getting out of this financial slump. I put new clothes and shoes on hold and dropped off my suits at the alterations place. I called all my bills and told them I'd be making payments this week. I was so looking forward. Now, I don't know what's going to happen.

I have a date with Swiss Boy. I'm only going to see him from now on. I'm cutting my string and all those other boys can float away. I don't have time for them or their idiocy right now. I have to make money and take care of myself. Who will do it if I don't? Exactly.


another mad ramble of The Shadow * 5:23 PM
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Tuesday, July 06, 2004

Ian MacKaye's mom died. I could tell Henry was sad on the radio last night. But, then again. What better way to die? At home, in your own bed, with everyone you love surrounding you, and people coming from all over just to see you once more before you go? She must have felt so loved. I'd like to die like that. I'd like to fall asleep for the last time knowing that everyone loved me and that I was good to go. She'll be very missed. She'll be longed for and there will be a hole in the hearts of her loved ones for a long time. I'd heard she was the coolest lady ever. I wish I'd ever had the chance to meet her.

I wonder when Ian and his wife are ever going to have a baby?

another mad ramble of The Shadow * 10:49 AM
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Monday, July 05, 2004

I went out with everyone last night and saw our favorite band. Last night they called themselves the Half-Off Botox Injections. They played a lot of really really cool songs all punk. It was so great. I wish you'd all been there. They played Daniel and Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me, by Elton John. They did I Can't Live If Living Is Without You, by Nilsen (sp?). They did some mellow gold from the 70's, Wildfire, I'd Like To Teach The World To Sing, Brandy, and The Wreck of The Edson Fitzgerald. Then they played songs for the troops. It was kind of bittersweet. They did Billy Don't Be A Hero, When Johnny Comes Marching Home, Our Country Tis Of Thee, and America The Beautiful. I love that band, whoever they are. I'll have them play at my wedding.

That is if I ever get married, which it certainly doesn't look like I'm ever going to. I don't care. Only probably like less than a half percent of all married couples are really happy anyway, right? So why should I make such an elaborate, expensive mistake? I'm pretty good at making all the other mistakes, can't I just avoid that one? I mean I'm pretty good at being broke, lonely, vaguely melancholy, and sexually bored all by myself. Why should I have to get married to do that? Anyway, I don't even like housepets.

I went to the Spirit Faire on Saturday and had my Tarot read. It's pretty obvious that Funny Boy is a fuck bandit and thinks I'm just a dirty whore. I'll never hear from him again. That makes me a little sad. I wish I'd met him under different circumstances and that he'd fallen in love with me from across a crowded room and that instead of sleeping with him right off, even though it was so so so good, I wish I'd made him work for it.

So, back to square one. I had an argument with a guy I used to go out with a million billion light years ago, who's now married to a friend of mine. He was saying that I should just realize what a great chick I am and put myself out there. No fucking duh. I know what a great chick I am. I am cute, and funny, and smart about some things, and spiritual, and a good, loving person. I just can't find any guys who agree with me on that. I know I can be having sex like every night of the week if I wanted. I could become the female version of Mr Steve, if I was so inclined.

But that's not what I want. I do want a relationship. But only if it's going to feel good. I know how to feel disappointed and at a loss all by myself. If I'm going to have anyone in my life, if I'm going to bother to shave, it had better be good. It better be someone who I can be with like I'm with The Crew, and who can make me laugh and feel good about myself. It had better be someone who brings something to me like perspective, or knowledge, or insight. It better be someone with whom I can have an actual intellectual conversation and wake up to some of the mornings.

Anyway, apparently Funny Boy doesn't like the way I put the toilet paper on the roll. What The Fuck Ever is all I have to say to that. I stupidly bought him a really cool vinyl in the heat of the moment. My little sister told me he was in Afghanistan and if ever a boy had a reason not to call...And then I was vinyl shopping and saw this never opened LP from a blind jazz gospel harmonica player by the same name as Funny Boy. It seemed like a blessing from the Goddess so I bought it. I thought that when I saw him again I would give it to him, maybe for his birthday that's coming up. But now I'm lucid and I know I'm never going to see him again. What, am I in junior high? Is this a one page puppy love story in the back of Seventeen magazine? The Crew and I decided that Henry Rollins should have the honors of opening the vinyl. It could be complete crap, but what are the odds it'll stink? C'mon, a blind jazz gospel harmonica player? No way. There'll be something great on that vinyl. Henry will find it. He'll probably digitize and archive it. Rock on, Hank. His loss is your gain.

I'm putting my pussy back on the shelf for a rest. Boys are so dumb.



another mad ramble of The Shadow * 9:54 AM
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