On Monday, I made the prediction that I would receive another offer on my house this week. I've had two showings since, but no written offers. My prediction is quickly running out of time.
Since many of you are probably wondering what kind of feedback I'm receiving from the showings after 64 weeks on the market, I figured I'd post one here.
Interior -- General Condition? Good
Exterior -- General Condition? Good
Curb appeal (lot/landscaping)? Good
Staging (cosmetics, updating)?
Appropriately Priced? Yes
If no, what would be appropriate? No Response
This buyer is considering another showing of this property? No
General comments/suggestions:
My buyer is looking for something to "wow her" This is a great house, but it didn't do that for her.
Ugh ... I don't know how to "wow" a buyer at the sub-$200k price point. Buyers are picky right now, really picky. Six more weeks and I'm throwing in the towel. Something about 70 weeks on the market says "RENT ALREADY!" I'll try my luck with a property management company and go from there. Here's to hoping, if that day comes, I don't end up with a scumbag renter and dirty family who likes dog fighting. In case you're wondering, that already occurs just one block down the street at a rental.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Brothers Marking Their Own Achievements
This month marks two full years I've been cutting my own hair. It's quite the achievement. Kind of like graduating with an MBA while working full time. OK, not so much. Congrats Dan on your MBA from Carlson School of Management, we're all proud of you. We can't wait to see where the second half of your career takes you. Skies the limit bro! Don't hesitate to ask if you need any graphic design for any future projects.
Back to the haircuts because that's more important, er something like that. It all started by a combination of factors: I'm cheap, I hate paying for bad haircuts and the waiting rooms at Fantastic Sams, Cost Cutters and Great Clips are just plain dirty nasty. That, and I always got that rather large lady whose fat rolls rested on my arm when she was working her way around the chair. Mmm...fat rolls resting on my arm. Neat.
Here's how my haircuts usually went for $17:
"Oh, I'm sorry sir. Did you say you wanted it a No. 2 half way up?"
"Yes, in fact I told you twice!"
"Sorry. The good news is hair grows back quickly."
"Thanks for the military cut but I'm not enlisting this week."
"Funny. My cousins in the military and he loves my haircuts."
Then I walk out wondering why I just tipped the fatty for a crappy haircut.
After one particularly terrible Not So Great Clips cut and experience, I decided to give it a shot trimming my own hair. 735 days later and I've been cutting it ever since. I'm not the greatest at it, but I'm not that bad either. Hopefully Tracy hasn't been biting her lip every time I ask her how it looks. Worst part is clean up, best part is I have nobody to blame but myself if my haircut sucks. I used to get my hair cut every three weeks. At $17 a pop with tip and roughly 17 haircuts a year, I figure I've saved $575 doing it myself. Now, if only I could start brewing my own beer. I bet I'd save $2,000 a year doing that!
Back to the haircuts because that's more important, er something like that. It all started by a combination of factors: I'm cheap, I hate paying for bad haircuts and the waiting rooms at Fantastic Sams, Cost Cutters and Great Clips are just plain dirty nasty. That, and I always got that rather large lady whose fat rolls rested on my arm when she was working her way around the chair. Mmm...fat rolls resting on my arm. Neat.
Here's how my haircuts usually went for $17:
"Oh, I'm sorry sir. Did you say you wanted it a No. 2 half way up?"
"Yes, in fact I told you twice!"
"Sorry. The good news is hair grows back quickly."
"Thanks for the military cut but I'm not enlisting this week."
"Funny. My cousins in the military and he loves my haircuts."
Then I walk out wondering why I just tipped the fatty for a crappy haircut.
After one particularly terrible Not So Great Clips cut and experience, I decided to give it a shot trimming my own hair. 735 days later and I've been cutting it ever since. I'm not the greatest at it, but I'm not that bad either. Hopefully Tracy hasn't been biting her lip every time I ask her how it looks. Worst part is clean up, best part is I have nobody to blame but myself if my haircut sucks. I used to get my hair cut every three weeks. At $17 a pop with tip and roughly 17 haircuts a year, I figure I've saved $575 doing it myself. Now, if only I could start brewing my own beer. I bet I'd save $2,000 a year doing that!
Thursday, May 14, 2009
More DMV Fun
That DMV is a tough nut to crack. Today I arrived on a co-workers motorcycle so I could pass the driving portion of the test to get my motorcycle endorsement. After 10 minutes of back and forth with the clerk, and a DMV supervisor, they decided not to let me take the test. I guess my co-worker is using dealer plates on his bike, and dealer plated bikes are not allowed to take the test even with proper proof of registration and insurance. I guess the plates are only for test riding, and they really aren't fully legal to use on a daily driver. I have until Aug. 28 to get it done before my temporary paper CA ID is expired. Oh joy, another trip back to the DMV. That place just makes me feel like I need a shower.
Naturally, I wanted to register my truck at the same time. Here's what I needed: Lien release, title, smog test papers, official weight of vehicle, truck insurance, old registration card from Minnesota and a two-page form filled out. That's a lot of work just to switch plates. It's probably easier to get a Green Card! Of course, I could only get a temporary license for my truck because they needed to physically inspect and validate that it was the same truck as the 30 papers I had to prove it was. So, I had to hop back on the bike and ride back to my co-workers house (I have a permit after taking the motorcycle written portion) and get my truck. Once I got back, I sat in the validation line behind an old 62 Bel-Air that needed a lot of validation. That car was just lucky to start.
Once the old red truck was validated I got to go back inside the DMV building and sit in line again. Then, I learned of the damages. $125 for a weight fee ... my truck weighs 5,112 pounds, which is not a good thing in the State of California. Add that ridiculous weight fee plus my plates and the total was $264. Hard to believe these crooks here in California approved those fees to double starting May 19. That means 2010 is going to cost me $528 to register a truck that is 10 years old. Can you believe that ... highway robbery quite literally. Add my $264 to the $10 weight certification fee, $50 smog fee (with coupon no less ... again trucks cost more even though it's the same emissions as cars) and $28 to get my ID. Good old $350 just to live here and drive. There goes that money I was saving for a flight home!
Naturally, I wanted to register my truck at the same time. Here's what I needed: Lien release, title, smog test papers, official weight of vehicle, truck insurance, old registration card from Minnesota and a two-page form filled out. That's a lot of work just to switch plates. It's probably easier to get a Green Card! Of course, I could only get a temporary license for my truck because they needed to physically inspect and validate that it was the same truck as the 30 papers I had to prove it was. So, I had to hop back on the bike and ride back to my co-workers house (I have a permit after taking the motorcycle written portion) and get my truck. Once I got back, I sat in the validation line behind an old 62 Bel-Air that needed a lot of validation. That car was just lucky to start.
Once the old red truck was validated I got to go back inside the DMV building and sit in line again. Then, I learned of the damages. $125 for a weight fee ... my truck weighs 5,112 pounds, which is not a good thing in the State of California. Add that ridiculous weight fee plus my plates and the total was $264. Hard to believe these crooks here in California approved those fees to double starting May 19. That means 2010 is going to cost me $528 to register a truck that is 10 years old. Can you believe that ... highway robbery quite literally. Add my $264 to the $10 weight certification fee, $50 smog fee (with coupon no less ... again trucks cost more even though it's the same emissions as cars) and $28 to get my ID. Good old $350 just to live here and drive. There goes that money I was saving for a flight home!
Friday, May 8, 2009
Got Stanky Legg?
This video was probably the best thing ever. Do you have stanky legg? It's a new hit. Tonight Tracy's friend Amber introduced us to the Stanky Legg saying after we saw a group of guys doing the dance on a car's hood (that definitely wasn't their's) after dinner. As the KTM ATV Product Manager, I'll have to push to have our ATVs in the next video.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Hey Maggot, Give Me 20
I felt like a worthless maggot on his first day of boot camp today. It was the usual routine at work ... put 10-plus hours in, check off to-dos and add more to-dos to the list. Usually by the end of 10 hours my brain starts to ooze out my ears and I'm ready for a distraction. That's where biking comes in.
About three times a week, four if I'm not completely worthless, my co-worker and I put in 20 miles of pedaling through dry desert air and car fumes paradise. It's neat. After 25 minutes of exercising in this stuff your tongue starts to swell like one of those crazy foam animal capsules.
Just as my tongue was starting to swell into an elephant shape I came to a sad realization, I haven't been pushing it hard enough. Lance Armstrong I'm not. I decided it was a good idea to have a little pedal off against my co-worker Hinzy. You could say I'm at a distinct disadvantage riding a mountain bike versus his road bike, but that shouldn't be an excuse.
We raced up one of the lovely smog hills here and I nearly spit out a lu
ng. Thankfully that swelling elephant tongue of mine did a tremendous job holding my lungs in. I thought I might have seen Jesus at the top of that hill, and He was glorious. Needless to say, I didn't win and was still just the worthless maggot set for latrine duty. I thought I had Hinz soundly beat three-quarters of the way up the hill but I faded faster than the brakes on my truck during rush hour. Hinzy passed me toward the top and managed to put two bike lengths on me. It was at this point that the remaining spit on my elephant tongue turned in to drool on my face.
It took 3 miles to start breathing normal again and get back into a rhythm. I'd like to blame my pathetic defeat on the smog / mountain bike but in reality it was because my legs got caught on my skirt at the top of the hill. Hinzy commented, "You gonna cough up one of your ovaries." It's never cool for somebody to call out your manhood, especially a co-worker. I decided I better man up and pretend my heart and lungs were still somewhere in my chest and not rolling down the hill screaming mercy.
Moral of the story, I'm still not in shape and I need to get over the mental aspect telling me I can't go faster and I can't push up the hill in top gear. There's no point going 20 miles if you aren't pushing hard for at least 15 of them. It's time to man up. Before I know it I'll be 40. And I think the 40-year-old version of me would kick my ass for not trying harder. I've only got one more year of the 20s, it's time to ditch the ugly body for a beach body.
About three times a week, four if I'm not completely worthless, my co-worker and I put in 20 miles of pedaling through dry desert air and car fumes paradise. It's neat. After 25 minutes of exercising in this stuff your tongue starts to swell like one of those crazy foam animal capsules.
Just as my tongue was starting to swell into an elephant shape I came to a sad realization, I haven't been pushing it hard enough. Lance Armstrong I'm not. I decided it was a good idea to have a little pedal off against my co-worker Hinzy. You could say I'm at a distinct disadvantage riding a mountain bike versus his road bike, but that shouldn't be an excuse.
We raced up one of the lovely smog hills here and I nearly spit out a lu
ng. Thankfully that swelling elephant tongue of mine did a tremendous job holding my lungs in. I thought I might have seen Jesus at the top of that hill, and He was glorious. Needless to say, I didn't win and was still just the worthless maggot set for latrine duty. I thought I had Hinz soundly beat three-quarters of the way up the hill but I faded faster than the brakes on my truck during rush hour. Hinzy passed me toward the top and managed to put two bike lengths on me. It was at this point that the remaining spit on my elephant tongue turned in to drool on my face.It took 3 miles to start breathing normal again and get back into a rhythm. I'd like to blame my pathetic defeat on the smog / mountain bike but in reality it was because my legs got caught on my skirt at the top of the hill. Hinzy commented, "You gonna cough up one of your ovaries." It's never cool for somebody to call out your manhood, especially a co-worker. I decided I better man up and pretend my heart and lungs were still somewhere in my chest and not rolling down the hill screaming mercy.
Moral of the story, I'm still not in shape and I need to get over the mental aspect telling me I can't go faster and I can't push up the hill in top gear. There's no point going 20 miles if you aren't pushing hard for at least 15 of them. It's time to man up. Before I know it I'll be 40. And I think the 40-year-old version of me would kick my ass for not trying harder. I've only got one more year of the 20s, it's time to ditch the ugly body for a beach body.
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