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Category Archives for ‘Advice’

A Ticket for Your Resistance

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I’ve recently debated with a couple of different family members, the value (or lack thereof) of extolling your political leanings on social media and declaring yourself part of a particular movement. The family members weren’t arguing against the political viewpoint itself, or even the motivations of the movement, they were really just asserting that being loud about it on social media is silly, a waste of time, and will potentially alienate people whose minds you have no hope of changing.

I don’t disagree that Facebook political arguments often devolve into messy, pointless name-calling that does nothing but piss people off, and I confess I have, in the past, been on the wrong side of situations like that. I’m trying to be better about knowing when my arguing has no value, and when it’s hurting people. I respect other human beings who have views that aren’t mine, and I would rather have a conversation than an argument.

That said, I DO think there is intrinsic value to proclaiming my beliefs in our current political climate.

I’ve been lucky to live, until now, in a society that was heading in the direction of equal rights for all. There have, of course, been setbacks, but in my lifetime we’ve made strides toward righting the imbalance against minority groups of all sorts, and against women. There is fairly significant evidence this new administration intends to not just halt the momentum of our progress, but to actually repeal equal rights legislation, propelling us backward on these goals. I believe, strongly, that the normalization of the tactics that have been unleashed will put our country in jeopardy and set us back decades with respect to equal rights. This is something I intend to actively resist.

As such, I declare myself part of The Resistance of this administration’s goal to withhold equal rights from all humans.

A friend, who is an extremely vocal part of this resistance, has tasked me with attempting to organize small-scale fundraising to support some of the organizations that support equal rights, and are under attack by the new administration. I am to host a small fundraiser, and those who choose to attend, will do so agreeing to donate $100 to the ACLU or Planned Parenthood (attendee’s choice). They make the donation at the event from their own mobile device, directly to the organization (I won’t collect any money).

Therefore, here is my offer to you: I’m performing, Saturday, February 18, at 7:30PM, in a variety/burlesque show in downtown Phoenix, called Tryst, put on by Spellbound Productions. There will be 4 aerial acts, 6 burlesque pieces, and a comedy skit. If you are interested in attending and will agree to donate $100 that night to either the ACLU or Planned Parenthood, I will buy your ticket to the event. I also pledge to donate $100 to the ACLU that night, in addition to purchasing the tickets of my attendees. My goal is to have 10 of us donating, for a total of $1000 raised. It’s small, but not insignificant.

So if you think you might enjoy a sexy, fun aerial/burlesque show a week from Saturday AND you’ve been thinking you’d like to put your money where your mouth is with respect to equal human rights, hit me up. As long as you commit to me you will show up and donate, I will buy you a ticket and have it waiting in your name at the door.

If equal rights are important to you, but you’re out of town, busy, or aerial/burlesque shows aren’t your thing, I encourage you to not only donate, but to reach out to your social circles and consider organizing your own small-scale fundraiser. Jason read to me last night about a fundraiser put on by small coffee shops last weekend that gathered more than $400k for the ACLU. Have a dinner. Host a movie night at your house. Do a wine tasting. Have a karaoke party. Or tap in to your own creative instincts. Just put your money where your mouth is.

*Important info: This is my personal political agenda and not related to Spellbound Burlesque. I did, however, get their permission to advertise the show in this way.

**Full disclosure: I will be performing an aerial tippy lyra act with my clothes on. Not everyone else will keep his or her clothes on.

***Additional clarification: It makes me super nervous to put myself out there like this, but I feel like it’s important. So I’m doing it. While sweating nervously.

ElizabethLyra-33

Photo by Nemec Photography.

Social Media Gaffes By Age Range

Navigating the ever-changing mores of social media can be treacherous for people of all ages. Should I use a filter on this selfie? If I like that photo will the poster think I’m a stalker? Is friending my neighbor hazardous to the harmony of our silent car-wave exchanges? Questions like these plague the comfort of our online relationships and fuel a virtual legion of lurkers, paralyzed by potential missteps, sentenced to a life of scrolling without interaction.

Don’t be a lurker. I’m here to help.

You can have a successful social media experience, without the embarrassments and humiliations we’ve all fallen victim to at some point in our online existence, if you simply avoid a few pitfalls. It’s important to realize the rules change as you enter new phases of your life. What’s socially appropriate online when you’re 16 is vastly different from what’s acceptable when you’re 38, I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you. I’ve compiled a (by no means comprehensive) list of the more common activities to avoid on social media, categorized by age range for easy accessibility. Just remember, don’t do this shit, and you’ll be fine! (Probably… unless you’re a total psycho.)

 

Teen social media embarrassments to avoid:

1. Posting anything on Facebook – Sure, you should have a Facebook account, I mean, you’re still human. And feel free to let your parents and other relatives friend you. And of course you should monitor their interactions just in case anything interesting happens, and so when your mom swears online you can reference the post later just so she knows you know. But never, EVER, post anything. Facebook posting is for the olds.

2. Not liking every post that comes through your feed on Instagram – Proper teen etiquette dictates that it is only polite to like. every. single. post. Wait, did you miss one? Go back and like it! Like them all. Every one.

3. Being snapchat friends with your parents – This one’s tricky because you don’t want to hurt the rents’ feelings (and they’re kind of sensitive). But over the age of 12 you also don’t want to be caught dead snapping with them. I suggest you approach this as a little bit of a long game. Once you turn 13, ease off on any and all snapping. Act like it’s a teen thing and you’re too cool for it now. Then, once it’s been a few weeks since you’ve snapped anything you can covertly unfriend your parents and they won’t even notice! After that you can go back to snapping all your random teen inappropriateness without them even knowing. Just don’t get so involved in your snaplyfe that you forget and mention a hilarious thing you snapped in front of them, because then the jig is up.

4. Not establishing a proper Youtube fan base by age 12 – I mean, if you’re going to have a hope of having a career as a Youtuber, you need to be proactive. My youngest is nine and he just got his first video camera to start his channel and I’m afraid he might have already missed the boat.

5. LOLing instead of LMAOing – I don’t need to tell you this, right? I mean no one under the age of 25 would ever even think about LOLing, right?

 

20s social media embarrassments to avoid:

1. Not vaguebooking vaguely enough – Sometimes you just want to vent that your life is hard. Sometimes you feel sad and like you’re not getting enough attention. Vaugebooking, when done correctly, is like a loud, dramatic sigh, so your boyfriend will pet your hair and tell you it’s going to be ok. It’s just a social cue that you need a little consoling. This can be slightly annoying to some people, but as long as you don’t abuse the privilege, you can get away with it. The problem comes into play when you want to call someone out for an offense, but you don’t have the guts to do it publicly, or the decorum to take care of your business in private like an adult. So instead, you post a long dramatic rant, simply omitting the names of the parties involved. This is annoying to EVERYONE. The people who know who you’re talking about can see the trainwreck speeding toward your life and are rolling the shit out of their eyes at you. The people who don’t know you well enough to know what you’re talking about are irritated they don’t understand the show. The people you’re posting about now feel vindicated in their own bad behavior because you’re acting like an asshole, too. Don’t do it, there’s just no benefit.

2. Posting anything but your best, most idyllic moments on Instagram – This is the place where 20-somethings #namaste and feel #blessed. Is your life not going great? Your outfit not perfect? Your trick not polished and gorgeous? Keep that shit off Instagram. Instagram is where people go to be inspired and feel bad about their own lives in comparison. Save it for Twitter.

3. Forgetting to block your new boss from all of your social media except LinkedIn – Despite the repeated real life examples the media loves to parade about in all their misery, you people seem slow on this particular uptake.

 

30s social media embarrassments to avoid:

1. Couple accounts – I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, STOP IT. You and your spouse are not the same person.

2. Excessive use of all-caps and exclamation points – This is a bad habit that snowballs. Once you’ve used them for emphasis enough times, it starts to feel like writing normally sounds monotone or like you’re bored or even mad; sort of like replying to a text with “Ok.”. But don’t get sucked into that mindset. It’s possible to show emotion through words, and not just capitals, punctuation, and emojis. Learn to do this, because if you’re one of the people who fall into this trap, the rest of us just kind of think you’re shouty and possibly incontinent.

3. Sharing your actual political opinions anywhere but Twitter – It seems like maybe you should do this on Facebook, because you could potentially make a difference and change someone’s mind, but you can’t. You’re just making the people who already agreed with you nod their heads and everyone who doesn’t unfollow you. It’s just not a good venue for political discourse, unfortunately. Not that Twitter really is, but the rules of polite society are looser on Twitter.

4. Never posting anything but the positives – You know the rule about Instagram for the 20 somethings? It’s the opposite for the 30 and above set on Facebook. You’ve got to mix it up or you stop coming off as genuine. I’m not saying you should invent drama or misery if your life is really great right now, but let’s be honest, everyone has bad days. Just make sure you’re letting your social media accounts know your grass has weeds sometimes, too, so we don’t write you off as inauthentic.

5. Drunk Facebook messaging – I know it feels like you have a funny story you just really need to tell that girl you haven’t talked to since 5th grade, but if it’s actually funny and relevant, it will still be tomorrow when you’ve slept off the 3 shots of Tequila you did at your girls night out. Just don’t. You’re too old for this. You’ll regret it. (I always do.)

 

40s social media embarrassments to avoid:

1. Only posting what your MLM/business recommends – I’ve seen this behavior from 30 somethings, also, although it’s more likely to be the only things posted from the 40 something set. However old you are, remember, we became friends with you, or followed you, because we like you and think you’re interesting. We probably don’t give a shit about your MLM. We might tolerate a post or two if you do it right and it doesn’t feel completely canned, but if it’s all you post about, this is the quickest route to Unfollowville, as far as I’m concerned, even if I really love you as a person.

2. Over-professing spousal love – You’re not fooling anyone. We’ve all read the psychology articles revealing how studies show the people who are loudest about how much they love their spouse are the ones whose marriages are most fucked up. Even if that’s not the truth, it’s what we’re thinking. Or we’re thinking you’re annoying for being so happy all the goddamn time, because we’re basically bitter, terrible people. I’m sorry. Ish.

 

50s and 60s social media embarrassments to avoid:

1. Signing your Facebook comments – You’re not old enough to get away with this behavior yet. Get it together, man! Your granddaughter knows it’s you commenting “That was beautiful, sweetheart!” on the video of her chorale recital, because your NAME AND PROFILE PIC are next to your comment.

2. Over-liking of people’s posts you don’t really know and who aren’t age appropriate – It’s possible you’re just being supportive, but you’ve got to watch your tenor online, just like you do IRL. You know that older guy in the office who always hugs the female coworkers too long? You’re being that guy.

3. Getting scammed by fake accounts – Repeat after me: I will not accept friend requests from people with fewer than 3 mutual friends who I trust, and I will not accept friend requests from people who I know I’m already friends with, even if the request I’m getting has the person I know’s profile picture. 

 

70s+ social media embarrassments to avoid:

You get a pass! Your social media engagement is adorable and we’re just proud of you for participating. You can drunk message all you want, Grandma! (Dear My Grandma Jean, please drunk Facebook message me, it would be so great.) Your couple account is endearing (we know who’s actually posting to it, and let’s face it, you’ve been married 50 years, so you’ve put in enough time you can speak for each other). We even think it’s cute when you sign your posts. You’re allowed to only share positive things if you want. Or to vaguebook not so vaguely. I can’t wait until I’m 70 and then you’ll all really know how I feel. (Just kidding, you already do.)

 

Go forth now with these lessons and socialize on the internet with proper etiquette and without fear of online humiliation.

Can I Make a Back-up Offer?

Let’s talk real estate for a minute. (Yes, I still do that, when I’m not hanging upside down.)

Here’s the scenario: You’ve been home shopping forever. I have you set up on an auto-search for the MLS. It emails you daily when a new property that fits your criteria comes on the market. We’ve seen every single house that could possibly be a match for what you need and want (and 307 others). Nothing was right. Nothing was perfect. You’re stuck in a holding pattern until The Dream House comes on the market. You’re frustrated. You have good money you’re willing to spend! (Or at least good money a bank is willing to let you to spend.) You just need the right house.

So you do a little online perusing. You know most of the Zillows and Trulias and Realtor.coms pull their inventory from the MLS, but maybe, just maybe, there’s something out there that slipped through the cracks for some reason. There’s no harm in covering all of the bases, right?

After some extensive online searching, a miracle occurs. It turns out the perfect house does exist and you’ve unearthed it! It’s the unicorn house. It has an amazing yard, backs to no major roads, is single-level, in an excellent school district, has a walk-in pantry, a closet with an amazing shoe rack, and an in-ground trampoline! Wasting not an instant, you call me. It’s 11:17PM.

Me: Hello?

You: OHMYGODIFOUNDTHEHOUSEWEHAVETOSEEITRIGHTNOW!!!

Me: Ok… well it’s dark right now. And I’ve had wine. Plus tonight is the finale of The Challenge and I’m watching The Shit They Should’ve Shown and folding laundry. But we can totally go tomorrow; what’s the address?

You (guiltily): Well, it’s not from the search. I know you hate Zillow, but I found it there…

Me: It’s not that I hate Zillow, it just is often misleading. But it’s fine. I totally get it. Everyone searches Zillow. Text me the address and I’ll pull it up and see what the story is.

You: OKGREATIKNOWTHISISTHEONEIHAVETOHAVEIT!!! I was looking at the pictures and I’m pretty sure the tree in the back is a special genetically engineered mimosa tree. I heard about them on NPR. And the floor in the kitchen is that new composite material made from the shavings of unicorn horns. And I’m sure this is the neighborhood I read that Santa visits first every year. I saw a rainbow earlier this week and I know for a fact it ended in the backyard of this house. This is the house!!!

Me: I understand. I would tell you not to get your hopes up too high before we’ve seen the house, but I think we’ve moved past that checkpoint.

You: I need to go. I’m going to paint my nails to match the interior color scheme of the house so I make a good impression on it tomorrow when we visit. I want everything to be perfect.

Me: Right. Sounds good.

0.4 seconds later my phone buzzes with the address of the most wonderful and magical house you’ve ever seen. What I didn’t tell you was that I’m pretty sure I know where this is going. Sure, it’s possible the house is 3 square feet under the required minimum we set up in the search, or a block outside of the search parameters. Probably, though, it’s under contract.

See, there’s a flaw in the system, at least here in the Arizona Regional Multiple Listing System (ARMLS). There are currently three statuses in ARMLS that will show up as ‘Active’ when pulled into any other system:

1. Active – Available for sale and no contract has currently been accepted.

2. UCB (Under Contract – Backups) – A contract has been accepted in first position and the seller is willing to consider holding offers in back-up position.

3. CCBS (Contract Contingent on Buyer Sale) – A contract has been accepted in first position, but it is contingent upon the sale and/or close of escrow of the buyer’s property, so there is either a first right of refusal clause in the contract that states the seller can continue to market for offers and if he gets something better give the buyer 24 hours to remove the contingency or he will cancel, or he is just marketing for backups because it’s a buyer situation that is statistically more likely to fall apart.

Additionally, although there is not currently a technical designation for this, many agents use the UCB designation on a short sale as an indication the seller has accepted an offer in first position, but the bank hasn’t approved this offer. Once the bank has approved the offer they change it to Pending to show it’s a more stable situation.

All of these cases show up on any of the searchable real estate websites as Active.

Me: So… your unicorn house is under contract.

You: WHAT???!! I can’t breathe… I think I’m dying.

Me: Get a paper bag. Try to think happy thoughts. The agent has it listed that it’s under contract but they’re accepting back up offers. So that’s why it’s showing that way on Zillow. But it’s been under contract for 3 weeks, so my guess is that it’s closing in a week or so.

You: NOOOOOOOOO. I drove by this morning and the next door neighbor was getting into his car. I’m pretty sure it was Ryan Gosling.

Me: I’m really sorry.

You: Ok, but if they’re accepting back up offers, than can I still see it? Because I want to do that. I want to write a back up offer! We will match whatever they have. So if that buyer backs out, then we’ll get the house! There’s still hope, right?

Me: Um… well… back up offers can be problematic. I’ll call and see.

***

Me: Hi, your listing with the mimosa tree-

Listing Agent: Yes, the one with the pot of gold on the side yard. It’s under contract.

Me: Yes, I know. I have a buyer who’d like to make a back up offer.

Listing Agent: Oh… well, we’re through the inspection period and the appraisal, soo…

Me: Ok, but you have it listed that you’re accepting back up offers, and my client would like to see it and write one.

Listing Agent: Um… well my sellers are actually packing to move. And they have 4 kids under the age of 5, so scheduling a showing right now might actually make them murder me.

Me: Why do you have it listed as UCB then?

Listing Agent: Well, I mean, back up offers can’t ever be a bad thing, right? I wanted to make sure I was still marketing the property as aggressively a possible for my sellers. We want to make sure all of our options are open.

Me: OK, so if we can’t see it, but my buyer still wants to write a backup offer, can you disclose the terms of the contract you accepted so we can match it or do better than it to have a contract suitable for your seller?

Listing Agent: Oh, I can’t disclose the terms of the contract until we’ve closed escrow. That would be showing our hand.

Me: Technically, you can if your seller consents to allow you to disclose. And if we don’t know what you’ve accepted, how can we write up something to match it?

Listing Agent: Let me talk to my seller and get back to you.

*10 Minutes Later*

Listing Agent: My seller has decided not to accept back up offers at this time. I’ve changed the listing to Pending. I will keep your information on file and contact you if anything happens to this buyer.

Me: Right. Thanks.

***

Me: *Relays conversation*

You: *Dies inside*

In summary: Back-up offers suck and UCB is stupid.

In a faster, more competitive market than we’re in right now, back-up offers can potentially be useful. If a seller gets 12 offers after 24 hours on the market, it might make sense to accept one and then accept another in back-up position, if two were similarly competitive. In 99% of situations, however, it makes more sense to go back on the open market if your buyer cancels or is unable to perform. Most of the successful agents I know keep a file of interested parties on listings that are currently under contract, and if it looks like things are going south, they contact the potential buyers/agents and let them know it’s time to put together their best offer. UCB is a silly, over-used, under-analyzed status that mostly makes buyers confused and allows agents who have listings under contract to continue to market the listing to gain new buyer leads.

Dear All Internet Real Estate Search Sites,

Figure out a better solution for this.

Love, Everyone in Arizona

 

 

 

Hanger: A Public Service Announcement

I’d like to take a minute to highlight a serious issue that affects millions of people worldwide every day, hanger.

I know we’re all familiar with hanger. Brave advocacy groups like Snickers have done enough to raise awareness in the last few years that it’s no longer a condition shrouded in secrecy and shame. Now, sufferers can take comfort in knowing their loved ones and coworkers will at least understand, if not respect their choice to respond to a question like, “Hey, Claire, how’s it going?” with “It’s 2PM, I haven’t eaten lunch yet, and your face is irritating the shit out of me.”

That said, I think there’s still a lot of work to be done educating the public about the dangers of hangriness and how to care for someone in the throes of a hangry episode. Now is not the time for complacency. Complacency will only lead to rage-filled omissions of inappropriate honesty and subsequently uncomfortable relationships. Who among us hasn’t wanted to tell Fred he needs to stop constantly interrupting your work to make small talk about his weekend Netflix binge-watching? But if Judy does it when she’s nearly blind with rage over her plummeting blood sugar level, she’s also going to mention his BO and that he wasn’t invited to the potluck barbecue at Cindy’s because he always stares at Sasha’s boobs and makes her uncomfortable. And then Fred will make everyone else feel uncomfortable by asking if this is true. No one needs this sort of unbalance in the delicate ecosystem of the workplace, right? We all just want to do our stupid, ultimately meaningless jobs and go home!

My nephew, Colby, was recently involved in an unfortunate incident at his Montessori that could have easily been avoided if only his teacher had been sensitive to the needs of the hangry child and had helped him open that banana. That banana didn’t need to end up trapped, mashed beyond repair. Though she may have deserved it, the teacher could have avoided the name-calling and tears she was subjected to. Education is the key.

This is why now, more than ever, it’s important to share our stories and continue to get the word out about hanger and what we, as a community can do to help.

I, personally, have both seen and felt the ravages of hanger. This is my story.

Yesterday morning an ill-fated sequence of events led me to leave the house at noon after a 2.5 hour hike, without eating anything. I was on my way to a title company in Scottsdale to drop off an earnest money check, and I thought I’d grab something to eat on the way, or after. Unfortunately, even though I’m a 37 year old woman who has been suffering with hanger my entire life, I forgot that sometimes, with the right combination of exercise and attempted rehydration, the hanger will skip the initial symptoms of growling stomach and shaky hands, and go straight for the brain.

I pulled away from the house in a fog, and tried to formulate a plan of action. The title company was 25 minutes north and west of my house. There were lots of restaurants between here and there… where should I stop? My brain hazily struggled to come up with some possible options. A BLT sounds good. Lot’s of places have BLTs… bacon is pretty. And chips. Chips are happy things. Maybe if I just pull off at the next exit and knock on someone’s door they’ll make me a BLT?  This was when my gas light went on, snapping me back to reality and inserting a further sense of urgency into the situation.

I know, I thought, finally coming up with a solution, I’ll call Jason and ask him where I should eat. He always knows stuff like this. 

Me (slurring): Hey.

Jason: Hey, what’s up? I’m just getting back to work from lunch.

Me: Oh. Ok. Um… oh right. I need help. 

Jason: Ok? 

Me (taking a deep breath and trying to keep it together): I… am driving to Scottsdale, and I almost died with the 10 mile walk and no water and now I need to find food. I don’t feel super hungry, but I think I need to eat. I want a BLT and I don’t know where to go. So… can you tell me where to go?

Jason: Um… well, there’s this place Mandy said she was just at the other day in Tempe, it’s called Nocawich. It has lots of sandwiches and it’s supposed to be good.

Me: Yes. Sure. Where?

He texted me the address and I reset my GPS, feeling more secure about a plan in place to secure nourishment.

My relief, however, was short-lived. As I drew closer to the restaurant, I realized, with growing horror, that it was located directly on ASU’s campus. I turned down College Ave and was suddenly surrounded by meandering 20-somethings in crop-tops and on long boards. There were buses vying for a spot in my lane. Cars honked behind me. Nocawich was a storefront with no visible parking and a line out the door. This was not a situation I could possibly navigate in my current condition. My overworked, starving brain began to melt down. I forgot how to drive. I considered putting the car in park right there, turning on my hazards, and laying down to die in the front seat.

Gradually my misery shifted and I began to see red. THIS WAS JASON’S FAULT. I took a deep breath and made a U-turn in front of a service vehicle and narrowly missed flattening three jaywalking coeds. He had obviously sent me here ON PURPOSE, knowing it would be hell-on-earth, just to torture me! That bastard!!

As I sat through three cycles of a green arrow, trying to extricate myself from the congestion of the campus, still food-free and running even more low on literal gas, I let fly with a series of furious voice-text messages to my husband, beginning with, “This was a terrible fucking idea” and finishing off with the dramatic, “I really really hate my life right now”.

Jason, being well-versed in the signs of hanger, knew he could do nothing from his vantage point, and minimized provocation by only responding in sad faced emojis.

At that point, I decided just to continue on to the title company. I would stop somewhere in Scottsdale that looked empty with parking close by. And somewhere with wine.

Getting off the freeway, I remembered that Scottsdale is a landscape barren of gas stations, and if I didn’t want to run out and be forced to hitchhike to the nearest Taco Bell, I needed to stop at the first one I could find.

The Shell station on Indian Bend and Hayden was where I exited my car for the first time since the morning’s walk from hell. It was also where I discovered my leg muscles were revolting from over-use and in utter misery. I limped to and from the gas pump and cursed my life even further.

Finally, at 1:15pm I pulled up to the title company building. Of course it wasn’t in a strip mall where I could park right in front, walk 10 steps in and hand the check to the receptionist. It was in an enormous, three story office building with 8 separate entrances and no indication whatsoever which was closest to the title company I was looking for. I circled the parking lot once and wept furious tears before sucking up every ounce of will I still had to offer, and limped, miserably, toward the building.

Once I entered the door of roulette I’d chosen, it was clear I was in some 7th circle of real estate hell. The downstairs housed at least three different real estate sales companies, and I could see three title agencies upstairs. My poor, feeble brain could not compute. I looked down at the check in my hand to remember where I was trying to get, and hobbled over to a touchscreen directory.

Eventually it became clear I’d need to climb a set of winding stairs to get to the title company. Of course. I cursed every stupid, fucking step as I slowly, deliberately climbed it. I’m sure the other people in the building thought I was disabled or was autistic. The steps infuriated me. The receptionist was a raging twit who deserved capital punishment for her laugh. That lady who passed me on the stairs on the way down and gave me a sideways look had no idea how lucky she was she was to be just out of tripping range at that moment.

When I got back to my car, after laying my head on my steering wheel for a minute, I resolved to stop at a “pizza and wine” sign I’d seen a mile or so back toward the freeway.

The restaurant was almost empty at 1:45pm when I entered, but at that point I gave zero fucks as to whether this was an indication of the quality of food. I sat down at the bar and ordered a glass of wine, a salad and an individual pizza. I still wasn’t shaky or even traditionally starving, just sore, exhausted, and furious with all people and inanimate objects within a 2 mile radius (and my husband, of course).

Four bites into my arugula and white bean mediterranean salad my vision started to clear around the edges. Breathing became easier. I realized my husband probably wasn’t a stupid selfish asshole who didn’t care about me or my well-being at all. He was just trying to help. It was good I hadn’t told him all of the stuff I’d been thinking. Things… were going to be ok. By the time I finished the pizza, the world looked like a giant double rainbow had appeared over the horizon, and I was really, really glad I hadn’t committed homicide in the last 2 hours.

You, too, can avoid being the victim or perpetrator of hanger violence by arming yourself against this common, but dangerous condition. Carry snacks. Near mealtimes, speak in soothing tones. Make and always have on hand a list of restaurants you, or your hangry-afflicted loved one has enjoyed in the past, to refer to during cloudy-brain episodes. And always apologize to a hangry person, even if it’s not your fault.

Spread the word!

10 Things I’ve Learned in 10 Years of Real Estate

Last week I opened two escrows and closed two escrows. It was a fruitful week in real estate for me, which is nice, because it also marked my decadiversary as a Realtor. That’s right, I’ve officially been a Professional Lunatic for 10 years of my short (Ok, medium) life. I was going to announce it online and wear a special sparkly outfit or something to commemorate the occasion, but then I had to go to inspections and signings and deliver keys and before I knew it, the official date had come an gone. No matter, we’ll celebrate now. To mark my 10 years in this nuthouse of a profession, I have for you 10 things real estate has taught me in the last 10 years:

1. Get that shit in writing.

Sure, we’re all gentlemen here. Sure we can shake hands and agree. You can totally trust me. We’re all mature and trustworthy right up until we’re searching for a loophole. It’s never a deal until it’s signed, sealed and delivered.

2. Success is about properly managed expectations.

Buying and selling houses is, generally speaking, an enormous clusterfuck of unknowns, risk, compromise, and paperwork. You will not (WILL NOT) get through a deal without becoming at least slightly irritated about signing your own name. In my experience, the success of the transaction hinges on everyone having his and her expectations firmly within achievable bounds. If a buyer who’s qualified for a loan up to $120k is expecting to get a 2000 square foot house with a pool and granite counters in Chandler, she’s going to be extremely disappointed with the 1200 square foot fixer-up townhouse she can afford. If a seller has the idea he should have multiple full-price offers in the first week his house is on the market, he’s not going to be pleased with 5% under after four weeks.

50% of a real estate agent’s job is to assess the situation and get everyone’s expectations in a place where we can hope to satisfy them, every step of the way. Which is why I regularly tell my clients: This is going to be an enormous pain in your ass for at least the next month. Get used to it. 

3. Real Estate Voodoo is a legit thing.

I’m an atheist and a skeptic to a fault. I don’t believe your grandma’s house was haunted by your uncle who died as a young child. I think your essential oils smell nice, but they aren’t curing your chronic pain disease. I feel confident you and your husband didn’t fall in love at first sight. Just walk away from me with your homeopathic meds, right now.

BUT, if you tell me you calculated your commissions on the three deals you have in escrow and you’re going to spend them getting your kitchen redone, I will cross myself, throw salt over my shoulder, knock on wood and run far from you because you just totally jinxed all your deals. You can’t count your chickens before they hatch! Dude. That is Rule One; what are you thinking?

Real estate is as much about luck and good juju as anything else. A deal that’s ugly from the start is only going to have 87 more abnormal problems with it before it closes. A house that’s sat on the market for two months with no offers will bizarrely have 3 offers come in within 4 hours. I recommend regularly sacrificing a gold jacket on the altar of the real estate gods to keep them happy.

4. How to calculate showing timeframes.

This one won’t matter to 99% of anyone, but I’m pretty proud of my algorithm and maybe some rookie agent will come across this and get some use out of it.

Part of the job of a buyer’s agent is to set up a series of house showings for the buyer. Generally, some of the houses will be occupied. It’s customary to give the sellers a one hour window in which you will show up to view the house, so they don’t have to spend an entire day wondering when you’ll stop by. This can be a challenge to narrow down if  you have, say 12 other houses to show. How can you know how long each house will take to look at? And driving times? They do not teach you this shit in real estate school.

After 10 years, I’ve come up with a pattern that works 90% of the time if I’m showing houses within a 25 miles radius (so it’s not going to be good if you’re showing in both San Tan Valley and Surprise). I’m pretty sure it’s brilliant and I’m a genius. I start by putting the houses in a logical order by area. Then, I give the first two the same one hour window, starting at the time we’re meeting. After that, I bump the window forward one half an hour every two house until we’re done. It looks like this:

  • House 1: 9-10AM
  • House 2: 9-10AM
  • House 3: 9:30-10:30AM
  • House 4: 9:30-10:30AM
  • House 5: 10-11AM
  • House 6: 10-11AM
  • House 7: 10:30-11:30AM
  • House 8: 10:30-11:30AM
  • House 9: 11-12PM

And now that I’ve typed all that out, it’s really dumb and obvious. You’re welcome.

5. It’s not personal.

Some people choose me as their agent because they’ve known me their whole life and they trust me. Some interview me and pick me because they like my information the best. Some come by me because a coworker personally recommended me. Some saw me on the internet and believe that thing about how people who swear are more trustworthy. Some want a front row seat for when I’ll embarrass myself next.

Some people don’t choose me because their mom is a Realtor. Some have a family agent they’ve all been using for years. Some prefer to keep their business separate from their friends. Some don’t like the numbers I gave them. Some think blue hair is unprofessional. Some are over my #circusshit.

The point is, some people will use me, and some won’t. Getting worked up over-analyzing why someone decided not to ask me to represent them is an enormous waste of time and emotional energy. Which is why I Let It Go, Elsa-style.

6. Always carry the keys from the lockbox with you when you’re showing a house.

Because this could happen. Don’t be all, Oh that wouldn’t happen to me. You’re just tempting the real estate gods.

7. Always be ready to apologize and potentially write a check.

Mistakes will be made. Things will be over-looked, or misinterpreted. In my career, so far, I like to think I’ve been careful, and that I’ve made good choices and well-represented my clients. That said, I’ve also gotten really super-duper good at apologizing. Sometimes, I apologize even when nothing is my fault, because it helps to hear someone is sorry for what you’re going through. Real estate is hard.

I have also written my share of checks. In a business with a million moving parts, it would be impossible to never miss something. Just a few months ago I paid for an appraisal out of my own pocket, before close of escrow, because I missed that a very-rarely marked box for the seller to pay for the buyer’s appraisal, was marked, and I hadn’t advised my clients it would be something they’d have to pay for. It was my fault, I paid for it. I remember buying a fridge for a listing back before the contract was clarified and the buyer’s agent and I weren’t on the same page about whether it was to stay or go.

If you can’t admit when you’re wrong, this isn’t the business for you. You’re going to be wrong.

8. People have strong feelings about Arizona Rooms.

I wrote this post more than four years ago about why I think Arizona Rooms (walled-in patios) are generally a terrible idea out here, and I still regularly get comments on it ranging from indignant to furious. Sorry guys, sometimes the truth hurts.

9. Sometimes you’ve done everything you could and it still wasn’t enough.

Real estate isn’t a business where you are always in control. Sometimes there’s an amazing house for clients you really love that you know would be just perfect for them. You were in the door the first day and you put together your strongest offer, but you’re up against two others. Situations like this used to keep me up nights. I felt like the world would end if we didn’t get the house. I stressed over clients who wouldn’t take my advice. I wrung my hands when the market got dry and I was left pacing, waiting for the next client.

It’s possible I’ve become desensitized to the constant stress of unknowns, but in the last few years, I’ve learned that at some point, you take a deep breath and say (out loud, in front of your bathroom mirror after splashing cold water on your face), “I’ve done all I could do.” And then you move on.

10. Don’t take pictures of people’s puppies in their houses you’re showing (regardless of how cute and photogenic they are) and post them on the internet without asking permission from their owners. 

I saved this one for last just so you know I’m always learning new lessons here in the wacky world of real estate.

Here’s what will happen if you do: Even though you only have like 400 Instagram followers and really only ever post pictures of your circus selfies and kids skateboarding, the daughter of the sellers will somehow (curse you, real estate gods!!!) see the picture of their puppy you posted with the hashtag about how you wanted to steal him and be super creeped out by this invasion of privacy. They will call their agent, who will call your broker and ask you to remove the photo. You will be both personally and professionally mortified by your misstep. And, of course, the clients you were showing the house to will want to buy that house, so you’ll need to put all of the skills you’ve learned over the years pertaining to number 7 to use, just so the sellers don’t think you’re a psycho with no personal boundaries and hold it against your clients who couldn’t be nicer.

So, you know, don’t do that.

 

How to Buy a House Without Getting a Divorce

Buying a house can put pressure on many things: your bank account, your sanity, your liver, and possibly your marriage. Like pretty much anything about sharing your day-in/day-out life with a single other flawed person, who has a unique make-up of opinions, quirks, bodily functions, pet peeves, and irritating habits, the biggest purchase of your life can make you want to throttle your spouse. And I mean literally wrap your fingers around his neck and squeeze until he passes out or he agrees to let you have a walk-in pantry in the kitchen, whichever comes first.

It’s a scenario I’ve seen time and time again. A happy couple hires me to find them a house. At the first meeting it’s all smiles, hope, and cocktails. By the time we’ve seen 30 houses it’s clear they are actually shopping for two separate and distinct houses. Their Venn diagram doesn’t overlap. After 75 houses and 6 months the husband is pantomiming a hanging noose when we pull up to every listing and if the wife could roll her eyes any harder they would fall out of her head. They aren’t holding hands anymore. Their posture is defeated. All hope has drained out of their faces. Cocktails are merely to dull the misery.

The point is, being hauled away to county lock-up for suspected murder, or filing for divorce while you’re in escrow, could potentially hamper your home-buying dreams. Additionally, if you successfully make it to the escrow finish line and receive your keys, but in the process come to loathe and resent everything about your spouse, it will make living in the house you worked so hard to buy sort of awkward. 

In order to avoid the awkwardness of murder and divorce in this complicated situation, I’ve put together a list of tips on how to navigate the difficulties of a real estate transaction while avoiding pitfalls that could lead to lots of nights on the couch watching Skinemax alone.

1. Keep carbs and sugar on hand.

Seeing 8 houses in one day is both mentally and physically exhausting, but sometimes necessary. Low blood sugar in addition to exhaustion is basically a recipe for hating everyone and everything you’ve ever loved. At 1pm, after 6 houses in July, if I haven’t had lunch, I could be married to Ryan Gosling and I’d want to knee him in the junk if he suggested I could maybe live without a gas stove because he really needs an RV gate. It’s not rocket science, people: Granola bars save marriages.

YES, RYAN, I REALLY REALLY DO. DO YOU REALLY NEED YOUR STUPID FACE I HATE YOU *sobs incoherently*

2. Carefully monitor your tone of voice.

Imagine saying, “You like that?” while looking at a beautiful flower. Now imagine saying, “You like that?” while looking at a terrifyingly large spider. Now imagine saying it the second way while looking at hardwood floors you’re not in love with, but it turns out your husband thinks are really cool. And now he’s never having a decor opinion again because you hurt his man-feelings. Don’t you feel like a jerk? Inflection matters, yo.

3. Try to see things from your partner’s perspective.

At some point, it’s pretty likely you’ll come to an impasse (whether it be small, or large) where everyone starts losing his and her collective shit. She is adamant on living in a particular area, and he is adamant the prices are too high in there. She’s starting to wonder how she never noticed he’s such a cheap, insensitive prick. He’s questioning when she turned into such a snotty, uncompromising bitch.

Woah, WOAH, guys. Take a deep breath and think about your spouse’s motives. Is she really just wanting to live the high life outside of your means? Is he seriously trying to control you by pulling the ‘I make more money’ card? Or is her long-ass commute killing her hour by hour, in long lines of creeping traffic while she gets an ulcer with worry it will be the day she doesn’t get to daycare on time to pick up the kids, and this other neighborhood would shorten her commute enough to make life worth living again? And is he feeling the stress of being the one who looks at your finances more often and down deep is utterly terrified of becoming house-poor and unable to pay the Total Wine credit card when it comes due?

In a household, everyone has different responsibilities. Sometimes it helps to remember the ones your spouse has been taking care of for you, and how it affects his or her life and needs… even if you’re pretty sure he’s kind of being a baby about it and needs to get over it.

4. Make a Pros and Cons list.

I feel strongly a Pros and Cons list can really help to distill why a house is going to work or not for your family. Here’s how I recommend going about it:

Step 1 – Go to your favorite happy hour spot (Joyride Taco works for me). Order a cocktail and appetizers. Do not move on to step 2 until the food and drinks have arrived.

Step 2 – Get out two pieces of paper. Each take one and separately, without sharing info, list the pros and cons of the house in question. Drink entire first cocktail.

Step 3 – Order another cocktail and while you’re waiting for it to come, go over your lists together. On a third piece of paper make a combined list of the pros and cons. Before you start the second cocktail (when math starts to get a little hairy), assign each of the items a number value based on how important they are. Like, a pro of, ‘in a cul-de-sac’ might be moderately important, so it gets a 4, but the pro ‘best yard we’ve seen’ could get an 11 because yard is something you’ve determined is high on your equal list of priorities.

Step 4 – Add up the column totals, have three more cocktails each and call an uber to take you home while it gradually becomes clear why you should or should not buy the house in question and that you still super love her because she’s such an adorable nerd when she’s drunk, and she totally still finds you super sexy.

5. Realize the process isn’t about beating the seller.

Contract negotiations are often competitive and can bring out the need to win in certain personality types. If you’re one of these, it’s good to remind yourself in 10 years no one will remember you got the seller to throw in the old ratty patio furniture he wanted to take, but your husband might never forgive you if you lose the house completely over shit you don’t really want anyway. Which brings us to #6…

6. Ask yourself if this particular house/feature/neighborhood is worth having your spouse hold it against you for the rest of your marriage.

You know there are things you’ve done your spouse will never forget. Things your spouse feels like crossed the line, and if you could go back and undo it, you ABSOLUTELY WOULD JUST TO SHUT HER UP ABOUT IT FOR CHRISSAKES, IT’S BEEN 11 YEARS. That time he refused to stand up to his mother for her… When she bought a car without even consulting him, shit like that.

At some point, you may feel like you are so desperate for a particular house or feature, and so convinced your spouse will eventually agree you were right to want it, you decide to use all of your spousal weight to wear him or her down, rather than making the decision mutually. I’m not saying this is never the right way to go. It’s possible you really do know your husband, and he just needed you to make that extra push in the right direction. But I’d caution, before doing this, to ask yourself if it’s worth it to have him hold it against you forever if he’s not happy. It’s one thing to make a bad decision together, it’s quite another to be left holding the bag alone when it goes wrong. It’s how the kind of resentment that will ruin a relationship is born.

7. Sit down and write out a budget. 

Like a Pros and Cons list, writing a budget together (probably over fewer cocktails because math) can help both clarify and relieve fears. Often one partner has a better idea, going in, of what the money situation looks like. Getting everyone on the same page, and agreeing together what concessions can be made as a household to allow for more expenses, is a great way to relieve tension, pressure, and resentment.

8. Have sex.

I always like to end all relationship advice with this one. It’s not particularly related to buying a house, but I’m pretty sure it cheers almost everyone up, and as your Realtor, I like cheerful clients.

So there you go! Go forth and happily buy houses!

 

How to Catch the Halloween Spirit

Halloween is a pain in the ass. Pumpkin carving is messy and time-consuming and mostly just reminds you you’re terrible at arts and crafts. Your kids really only want to dress up as whatever costume comes with the biggest and most dangerous looking weapon. A trip to the Spirit store makes you feel like you’ve just exposed your children to the most degenerate elements of humanity: stripper slut from Sons of Anarchy costume around one corner and realistic looking human organs covered in red slime around the next. Sure, this is where you go to get the TMNT costume your five year old has been begging for, but it’s right next to a chainsaw dripping with blood. Also, watch where you step. You don’t want to accidentally activate the enormous animatronic spider that will jump out and kick off a lifetime of arachnophobia in your 3 year old. Add to all that the fact that brainstorming a costume for yourself that’s fun, not offensive and doesn’t have the word ‘sexy’ in the name seems futile. Oh, and finding candy wrappers in the laundry for weeks after you thought you eradicated the candy supply makes you want to strangle someone.

Yep, Halloween is kind of the worst. Except: it’s also totally the best. Don’t worry, it’s ok if you’ve gotten bogged down in the minutia and lost the Halloween spirit. It happens to the best of us. I’m here to help.

Five steps to remembering why you LOVE Halloween:

Step 1: Buy your favorite Halloween candy JUST FOR YOU. 

Remember when you were a kid and you had to just hope someone in your neighborhood wasn’t a cheap ass and would be handing out full Butterfingers? Well now you’re an adult and you can buy your own goddamn Butterfingers! And this time of year it’s seasonally acceptable to just have a bag of your favorites in your drawer at work. You’re not a fatty, you’re in training for the big day.

Step 2: Dig out pictures from Halloweens past and post them on social media.

This year is a particularly special Halloween because it falls on a Friday (which I read in a Meme only happens once every 777 years). So not only do we not have to worry about being hungover at work the next day, but the day before is Throwback Thursday! We can spend all day posting pictures like this:

Halloween TBT slutty WWW

 

And remembering when it was age-appropriate to dress like a slutty Wicked Witch of the West.

Step 3: Bust out the weird gothy accessories you occasionally randomly purchase.

Spiderweb fishnets you have no idea where you got?

spiderweb fishnets

 

This is the week to wear them!

Awesome skull scarf you once considered wearing to a funeral but then decided you’d be the only one who would think it was funny?

skull scarf

 

It’s totally not weird the week of Halloween!

(Don’t wear them together, though. Then you just look like you put on your slutty pirate costume a day early:

slutty pirate

 

It’s not ok.)

Step 4: Watch a marathon of Roseanne Halloween episodes on the TVLand channel.

This is one of the more important steps to regaining the Halloween spirit and is not to be missed. If you can watch three episodes of Roseanne, Dan, Jackie and the kids dressing up fantastically and elaborately and being assholes to each other and everyone around them in sadistically hilarious ways without feeling moved by the Halloween spirit to share it with everyone around you… well then you’re dead inside (and not in the cool, zombie way) and I can’t help you.

Step 5: Last, but not least, read this entire thread of scary stories.

I read half of them yesterday and the other half today while I was home alone. I had to take breaks because it started to be terrifying to go into the garage or upstairs by myself. It seemed clear there were like 80 ghosts hiding in both of those places. Even though we’re the original owners of this house.

Some of the stories are lame and some are horrifying. I think it makes them all so much more fascinating that they’re all told by people who believe what they’re telling implicitly (but I’m also kind of a voyeur).

I’m a fairly firm skeptic, so I don’t really have any spooky stories, but I do have in my possession the Ouija Board we used when we were 16 to contact the spirits in my BFF’s house. It’s possible we got in touch with River Phoenix once, after he ODed. I swear it wasn’t me pushing the pointer thing, despite the fact everyone suspected me. I think it might have been Amanda, though. I also one time did Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board at the 9th grade cheer sleepover and I was the person being lifted. I had my eyes closed the whole time as they chanted and felt them lift me off the ground. After a few minutes of the feverishly whispered chanting, I peeked, saw the ceiling inches from my face, screamed bloody murder and they dropped me. But I think that was physics, not poltergeists.

Those are my only paranormal experiences. But if you have any good ones, feel free to leave them in the comments. Even though I’ll be sure there was a logical explanation, I assure you they’ll make me check behind the shower curtain in the bathroom before I pee.

That should do it: Go forth and spread the Halloween cheer!!

Schizophrenic Intervention

Me: So, we need to talk.

Also Me: Uh oh… this sounds serious. It’s not about the drinking, is it? Because that’s totally under control. It’s not that I have to drink, it’s that I like to drink. Two totally different things.

Me: It’s not about the drinking. But dude, you sound like an intervention waiting to happen when you talk like that. Work on your rationalizations.

Also Me: OK, then what is it?

Me: I want to discuss your goals. I’ve been doing some thinking and I feel like you’ve lost sight of your dream.

Also Me: Which dream?

Me: Your single biggest  lifelong dream, dummy.

Also Me: Joining the circus? Cause I’m totally working on that, yo. It takes time.

Me: Not joining the circus! First of all, that’s an unrealistic fantasy and you know it. Secondly, it’s been your dream for like 10 minutes.

Also Me: At least 3 years-ish! And it hurts my feelings when you say it’s unrealistic.

Me: *Snort*

Also Me: My dream to have a threesome with Christian Slater and Winona Ryder on a croquet court?

Me: Not that one either. But I think you could potentially make it happen now. I’m pretty sure neither one of them is doing much right now.

Also Me: The one about breaking the Guinness World Book record for consecutive days napped?

Me: OH MY GOD, NO. Your dream from the time you were 6 years old to write novels! Hello??

Also Me: Oh, totally. You’re right, that is my lifelong dream. I forgot.

Me: See, that’s the thing. If writing a book is really something you want to do, it needs to be one of the main focuses of your life. Instead, you’ve mostly just been telling yourself for the last 30 years it’s something you’d be really good at if you just put your mind to it, and you’re totally gonna… one of these days.

Also Me: Well… I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I’m just really super busy right now. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I have three kids and this whole time-consuming real estate career-

Me: And a million working out hobbies. Plus you read a ton of Jezebel/Gawker articles and still manage to have time to drink wine and watch god knows how many MTV shows at night. You have time for what you want to do and you know it.

Also Me: I’m working up to it. I’ve been writing this blog fairly religiously for four years now. That’s progress.

Me: It was progress. You’ve learned a lot about voice, pacing and cutting fat from the story to get to the action. And you’ve still got lots more to learn. But you plateaued long ago. You’re paralyzed by the idea of long form.

Also Me: I think about it all the time. I have all these ideas, but I’m afraid I don’t know enough about perspective and point of view to even get started. What if I get going and commit all of this time and energy to a project and it sucks ass because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing? What if it turns out I’m not cut out to write novels at all and I have to completely rethink my entire identity? I know I’m the only one who thinks of me as an Eventual Novelist, but it’s a fairly ingrained state of mind. If I’m not ‘Meant to Write’, I’m not even sure who I am.

Me: You need to get over that and come to grips with the fact that it is going to suck ass.

Also Me: That’s super helpful. Now I totally want to devote a large chunk of my life to a project we all know is going to be terrible.

Me: When you started running, almost exactly three years ago, was it your goal to be the best runner? The fastest?

Also Me: No, I just wanted to be able to do it.

Me: Right. And it was super hard at first, right?

Also Me: Yes. I remember the first time I got through 2 miles in intervals of running and walking. I thought I was going to die. It felt like the supreme amount of effort.

Me: And is it easy now?

Also Me: No. It’s definitely easier than it was, but it’s still, for the most part, an enormous pain in my ass to get out of bed early and I spent nearly all of most runs try to talk myself into continuing. But now I know it will be worth it in the end, and that I don’t want to lose my momentum, so there’s way less mental work on the front end to convince myself it needs to be done.

Me: Because you’re the fastest? You’re the best at it?

Also Me: No. I’m not fast at all. I’m not the super shittiest at running, but I’m not going to win any race. The physical and mental benefits are just worth it. I feel good. I feel proud of myself for doing it. I enjoy participating in events. I like being strong. I like seeing muscles in my thighs. When I want to murder/suicide my family and myself, going for a run helps. It’s a reset. It’s an accomplishment.

Me: And now, according to Map My Run (which doesn’t track your treadmill miles and you didn’t even start using until a couple of years ago) you’ve run more than 1,400 miles. You’ve spent hundreds of hours at this thing you’re only moderately skilled at.

Writing a novel isn’t one of those things anyone is just born knowing how to do.

Also Me: But S.E. Hinton-

Me: Was like 15 when she wrote The Outsiders. Yes. Some people are prodigies, but if you think she didn’t put any work into that, that it didn’t kind of suck until it was edited, molded, shaped, then you’re kidding yourself.

You’re good at lots of things, but were you fantastic at any of them the first time you did them?

Also Me: No.

Me: Your first circus class was fun, but you couldn’t even climb halfway up the silks. You were sore for days. You’ve been working at it for almost a year and you’re still only getting to where you have the stamina to do much at all in the air.

Also Me: True.

Me: So what makes you think you can write a decent novel without sucking hard at it repeatedly before you figure shit out?

Also Me: That was excessively vulgar.

Me: You know what I meant.

Also Me: Yes. I know. You’re right. If I’m gonna do it, I gotta really do it. I have to stop being so afraid to fail.

Me: You need to embrace that you’re going to fail! You need to take it to bed with you at night and get all cuddly with it and maybe even let it get to second base. Failing is how you get to succeeding! Failing is the casting director you totally have to bang if you really want to be a big star.

Also Me: Now that’s just wrong.

Me: It’s possible I got going down a road and I crossed a line. I apologize.

Also Me: Accepted.

Me: What was that running goal you were tossing around in your head the other day?

Also Me: I was thinking about how many miles I average a week normally and thinking it might be cool to make a point to run 1000 miles in a year. I tend to run 12-15 miles a week, and that would require me to average almost 20 miles a week. Which would be a significant bump, but accomplishable, I think.

Me: OK, so just for the sake of round numbers, let’s say you average 10 minute miles.

Also Me: Yeah, that’s not too far off. In the winter I’m faster, but not a ton. Like I said, I’m not what you’d call fast.

Me: So we’re talking about 10,000 minutes devoted to running for the next year, right? Which is like 167 hours, yes? You feel like that’s more than you’re doing right now, but not a ton more.

Also Me: Yes.

Me: So what if, instead, you make it your goal to devote 10,000 minutes to your novel in the next year. 167 hours with no internet or distractions, only writing, broken up into 200 minutes a week. Four 50 minute sections. That’s palatable, right?

Also Me: I guess so… although it’s hard to get 50 minutes straight without a kid/husband/client/Jezebel article bothering me.

Me: Bullshit. You already do it 3-4 times a week when you run. They can’t bug you because you’re out. You just need to make it a priority. It’s a reasonably short amount of time, you just need to schedule it in and figure it out. You might have to get up early or stay up later. You might miss a night of TV or two. You’re going to have to muscle your way through it and convince yourself, minute by minute, word by word, at first, to keep going. But it will get easier. It will become habit. You’ll start to see progress and growth. You’ll feel the benefits. It will be easier to keep going. It won’t ever get easy, but it will be worth it.

Also Me: Fuck you. Fine. I guess that makes sense. When do I have to start?

Me: Now, dummy. This week. No time like the present.

 

 

Project M.E.S.A. – An Open Letter

This is the letter I’m going to send to the principal of Red Mountain High School and the Mesa Public School District regarding Project M.E.S.A. (Mesa’s Education in Sexual Awareness):

Dear Mesa Public Schools Administrators,

I’m not generally the outraged letter-writing type. I come from a family of teachers and administrators and I know you people work hard, and for the most part put lots of thought into your leadership choices. I have been fairly happy with my own MPS education (Jordan Elementary, Hendrix Jr. High, Dobson High School) and that of my three sons (Zaharis Elementary and Mesa Academy).

That said, in reviewing the Red Mountain High School registration packet I was sent for my oldest son, who will be starting as a freshman in a couple of weeks, I came across the page describing the ‘Sex Ed’ program, Project M.E.S.A., and my head almost exploded.

project MESA

 

Apparently (at least according to this description), educating our kids about their sexuality has been reduced to a plea for abstinence? Oh, and scare tactics revolving around teen pregnancy and STDs?

Let’s break this down for just a minute:

Abstinence before marriage, while widely discussed and preached, is a lifestyle only a very small percentage of the population successfully lives. The large majority of Americans will have sex at some point before getting married (even if it’s only to the person he or she eventually marries). So I have to ask myself, why would the school district make the choice to not only recommend, but exclusively support (as the program is ‘abstinence only’) a lifestyle so far on the fringe of the community?

Because Red Mountain is a public school and there’s that whole “separation of church and state” thing, I’m going to give everyone the benefit of the doubt and assume the choice to subject the entire freshman population to this program is not based on religious reasons.  You guys wouldn’t try to indoctrinate my kid to fall in line with your personal religious beliefs, would you? Good.

Now that we’ve ruled that out, I can only guess you feel strongly our kids shouldn’t be having sex because it’s not safe. You know what dramatic, life-altering (and potentially life-ending) things can result from people having sex and you do NOT want that for the kids under your control. Kids having kids, kids getting STDs, kids feeling pressured into sex, YIKES. None of that sounds like anything you want them involved in, so you think the only thing to do is just tell them to stay completely away from it, right?

That, I can understand. We definitely don’t want our children exposed to anything potentially dangerous or in any way hazardous to their health. We need to protect them. They shouldn’t be around chemicals that could possibly catch fire or explode… except, you know, in Chemistry class. Where they’re taught which compounds are dangerous and how to properly handle them so as not to get injured. And we don’t let them put their bodies at risk by smashing them into other people… except on the football field, where they are given the proper equipment to minimize the risk of physical harm (which the school has deemed an acceptable downside to the benefit of physical activity and social interaction). Well, and we absolutely wouldn’t want to give kids access to a large, difficult to control weapon that kills thousands of people every year… I mean, except in Driver’s Ed.

Huh, so actually, I guess it’s our jobs as parents and teachers to educate our children about situations they’re likely to encounter that could potentially be dangerous or put them at risk, and help them understand how to navigate those situations in a mature, healthy and successful manner. Yet, apparently it’s been decided that even though we can all agree sex is something our kids are statistically likely to encounter sooner, rather than later (and almost definitely before marriage), the school stance is going to simply be: Don’t do it. It’s scary and you might ruin your life or die (which could totally also ruin your life). So you should just not do it and that’s all you need to know. 

I have to say, in my opinion, the biggest mistake of all of this isn’t the school dropping the ball on actually educating kids about how to have a healthy and safe sexual relationship (although it sucks. But, in theory, the parents should be capable of, and responsible for, conveying this information. Barring that, there’s always the internet). It’s not the flagrant waste of time and resources pulling the entire class of freshmen out for four days in a pointless attempt to shame them into not participating in an activity their bodies have been genetically hard-wired to do creates (although that is also horrifying).

The biggest mistake of this is it creates a wall of mistrust between us and our teens. They already think we’re old, weird, uncool and bad dressers. All trying to sell this fairy tale about how teens don’t have sex and people shouldn’t have sex until they’re married does is reinforce to our teens we’re not honest with them. They know everyone is having sex from TV, books, music, social media and just about every where they turn. They’re not stupid. They probably haven’t ever gotten over the whole Santa Claus ruse and now, here were are, lying to them again, not trusting them to make their own choices, just slapping their hands away from the cookie jar. What we’re doing is telling them they can’t come to us. They can’t talk to us about this scary and difficult topic they need our guidance on. We’re taking the control to parent and teach them out of our own hands and forcing them to find answers on their own.

It was my first inclination to rescind my parental permission for my son to attend this seminar, but I don’t want the poor kid to be the weirdo whose mom won’t let him take Sex-Ed. He’s intelligent and mature, and I know I can have a conversation with him to explain my disagreement with the stance the school has taken and open up a dialog between us regarding sex and any questions he may have. I trust him to recognize the error of the situation and resist any indoctrination I’m sure totally won’t be occurring (right?). Instead, I’m writing this letter to voice my unhappiness with the poor choices the school and the district have made in regard to Project M.E.S.A.

Let’s all take a deep breath and trust our kids just a little bit more. Shame and fear isn’t going to keep them out of trouble, but information and a relationship built on trust just might.

Sincerely,

Elizabeth Newlin, mother of Bennett Tolar, Freshman, Red Mountain High School

How to Choose the Perfect Swimsuit For a Pool Party

Step 1: Gather every swimsuit in the store you could ever possibly want, even the hot yellow one-piece with side cut-outs. You never know, it might not make you look like a bratwurst being sautéed whose casing suddenly splits and guts spill out the side. Options are your friend.

Step 2: In the dressing room order the suits from Likely Horrifying to Might Not Hate Myself In It to increase your chances of ending on a positive note instead of walking out the store and directly into oncoming traffic.

Step 3: Do a rapid try-on of all of the suits and drop each into one of two piles you’ve designated, Let’s Never Speak of This and I Didn’t Throw Up When I Looked in the Mirror. When you get to the reversible corset-style bikini you were sure was going to be adorable, but somehow manages to mash the small amount of boobs you have down under the cups, while simultaneous shoving all of your fat into the space between the top and the bottom in a way you’ve only previously seen on PeopleofWalmart.com, briefly consider writing a nasty letter to the designer but decide it’s not worth your time. When you’re finished, kick the rejects under the door out into the communal dressing room space. The sales girl will understand. Ain’t nobody got time for properly rehanging suits that just humiliated you.

Step 4: Perform a second round of judging on the ones that have ‘made it to Vegas’, if you will. This time really make them perform. Give them the 360 degree treatment. Jog in place. Do a couple of downward-facing-dogs, if the dressing room permits. Get rid of anything with twee ruffles or patterns that just aren’t you. Narrow it down to the two best candidates.

Step 5: It’s going to come down to either the one that makes you feel sort of whorish, or the one that makes you feel kind of old; it always does. Try both on again and do your very best to look at yourself completely objectively. Imagine you saw you at the pool. Which of the swimsuit judgement trifecta would you lean over to your best friend and say: Damn, she’s slutty, Damn, she’s fat, or Damn, I wish I was her?

Step 6: Determine you’re fat, slutty and incapable of being objective.

Step 7: Spend 10 minutes taking a selfie in each suit and framing them side-by-side so you can text them to two friends for their opinions. Make sure to send it to friends who will:

1. Text you back immediately.

2. Be bitchy enough to point out that the suit color makes you look sallow.

3. Not sabotage you to make themselves look hotter when standing next to you.

Step 8: Once each friend has texted you back picking a different one, because they’re useless, make an executive choice based completely on what you had for lunch. If it was a salad, pick the slutty one. If it was a burger, go with the one with more coverage.

Step 9: When you’re in line to pay, send the selfie of the one you picked to your husband so he can reinforce your choice with the ‘HOTTT!!!’ he would send back even if you’d sent him a picture of you wearing the horrible corset one.

Step 10: When you get home, lock yourself in the bathroom and try on the winning suit again. Take selfies from every angle because you read that’s the way to get a more accurate view of  yourself. Wonder if you have that wrong because you’re still taking a picture of the reversed angle of yourself. Feel confused and sad about your understanding of the universe.

Step 11: Find several possibly symmetrical lumps on your abdominal region and try to decide if they’re ab muscles or bumpy fat pockets. Flex your stomach as hard as you can, then jiggle the top layer with your hands. Decide they’re probably fat.

Step 12: Flex your butt cheeks and observe your thigh dimples. Pinch your back fat. Smush your tummy together so your stretch marks look like dog jowls. Have a long inner-dialog about flaws making you human, how photo-shopping is ruining the self-image of society and that not being proud of your strong body is setting feminism back 50 years.

Step 13: Pull out the swimsuit you bought 5 years ago that someone once took a cute picture of you in. Wear that to the pool party. Never actually remove your cover-up.

You’re welcome.