Looks like the golden parachute failed to open for my neighbor.
Saw Price the other day. The appraisal for his 4,200+ square foot house came in much, much lower than expected: $310,000. He is now officially upside-down on his mortgage, which had ballooned from $165,000 to $375,000 over the past few years due to multiple refinancings (and cruises and dinners and concerts).
For several months now he had held out hope that the bank was going to bail him out -- give him a low fixed-interest rate of 6%, reduce his principal, and ensure that he and his family could stay in the house regardless of their past fiscally irresponsible decisions. He was advised that he could only do this if he was behind on his mortgage. So he stopped paying his mortgage several months ago.
Well, turns out he CAN stay in the house. If he comes up with the difference in equity: $65,000.
He shared that they've been looking at other homes in the area to rent. That his wife is adamantly opposed to leaving the house. That some tough decisions will need to be made in the next couple of months.
Price is still holding out hope that the Obama administration will use the TARP funds to buy everyone's toxic mortgage, including his own, enabling everyone to stay in their homes. It's a long shot... but mentally, I know he's already preparing for the worst.
"Renting is the best option right now," he said. "Let someone else take care of the home repairs. I'm going to focus on growing my business. In fact," he smiled broadly, "I just got a huge contract in the next county. Just the irrigation alone is paying $75,000. The whole project is worth $375,000."
I didn't ask the obvious question -- if your business is doing so well, why aren't you paying your mortgage?
But talk is cheap and next week may bring a different reason to crow or lament. So I told him to hang in there, keep his eyes open, and perhaps an opportunity will come his way.
Because a part of me is genuinely sad to see a family in this predicament. Despite the endless bragging and flaunting of borrowed money, I know that the dream is turning to dust. And squeezing so many children in a smaller home will certainly have an impact on their psyche.
Friday
It only takes one time...
Kelly's first love broke her heart. He seemed a nice enough guy at first - cute and smart, a year older. She adored him. Kevin was her first real boyfriend... and as the months went on, they seemed like they would be a long-term couple. They lost their virginity to each other, despite efforts by both sets of parents to make that as difficult as possible.
About a month before their one-year anniversary, he unexpectedly broke up with her over the phone. He wanted to do it in person, but she made him tell her. She happened to be grounded for poor grades, and his excuse was that he wanted to be with someone with whom he could spend more time.
Kelly was devastated. How could he do this to her? That night he went to a party hosted by someone at a rival high school. Word came trickling back that he was "all over" a girl at the party. That, of course, only added insult to injury.
Nearly a year has passed. He has since been dating Hannah, a girl that Kelly knows and likes. By the time Kevin and Hannah started dating, Kelly had mentally decided to move on, dating here and there, although nothing serious. I don't think she was ready to open up her heart to anyone else.
The other day Kelly said, eyes wide, "Kevin and Hannah broke up! You'll never guess why!"
"They broke up? Why?"
"Remember that girl that Kevin was all over at that party he went to after he broke up with me?Turns out that the girl from the other high school had an STD. Herpes. Hannah had asked Kevin if he had tests to prove he was 'clean' before they had sex and he lied and told her he was fine. Now Hannah has herpes!" And the entire school already knew.
I could see it in her eyes - sweet karma for Kevin, an unfortunate situation for Hannah.
"Well, I gotta do homework. But I was debating if I should send Kevin a text? It's his birthday."
I asked, "What would you text him?"
She grinned. "'Herpe' birthday."
We looked at each other and shook our heads at the same time. "Nah, I didn't think so either," she said.
About a month before their one-year anniversary, he unexpectedly broke up with her over the phone. He wanted to do it in person, but she made him tell her. She happened to be grounded for poor grades, and his excuse was that he wanted to be with someone with whom he could spend more time.
Kelly was devastated. How could he do this to her? That night he went to a party hosted by someone at a rival high school. Word came trickling back that he was "all over" a girl at the party. That, of course, only added insult to injury.
Nearly a year has passed. He has since been dating Hannah, a girl that Kelly knows and likes. By the time Kevin and Hannah started dating, Kelly had mentally decided to move on, dating here and there, although nothing serious. I don't think she was ready to open up her heart to anyone else.
The other day Kelly said, eyes wide, "Kevin and Hannah broke up! You'll never guess why!"
"They broke up? Why?"
"Remember that girl that Kevin was all over at that party he went to after he broke up with me?Turns out that the girl from the other high school had an STD. Herpes. Hannah had asked Kevin if he had tests to prove he was 'clean' before they had sex and he lied and told her he was fine. Now Hannah has herpes!" And the entire school already knew.
I could see it in her eyes - sweet karma for Kevin, an unfortunate situation for Hannah.
"Well, I gotta do homework. But I was debating if I should send Kevin a text? It's his birthday."
I asked, "What would you text him?"
She grinned. "'Herpe' birthday."
We looked at each other and shook our heads at the same time. "Nah, I didn't think so either," she said.
A Rough Year for Kelly... Part I
This past summer, my daughter Kelly got her first "real" job at a pizza shop. She had earned money before, washing cars and sweeping driveways and babysitting... but this was the first job where she actually was on a time clock and got paychecks with taxes taken out.
She was thrilled one night to be chosen to man the cash register at the front of the store. It was much more exciting than bussing tables and wiping down the salad bar. It was her first time doing the register on her own. She called me about 15 minutes before her shift ended to tell me that she was doing well and that she would be ready to be picked up at 9 p.m.
There were flashing lights bouncing off the glass and concrete as I pulled into the parking lot. Police cars surrounded the pizza shop. Through the glass I could see Kelly talking to two cops, who were listening intently to what she was saying. Oh geez, I thought. Is she in trouble? Did she try to take money out of the register?
A few minutes later, she walked out and got in the car. "What's going on in there?" I asked.
"Oh, about 10 minutes ago some guy came into the store, pointed a gun at me and told me to give him all the money," she said calmly.
Her demeanor was so ... unruffled. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to be held up at gunpoint. I quickly realized she was in shock and had not fully absorbed what had just happened.
"Weren't there customers in the store? And other employees?"
She nodded. "Yeah, but it all happened so quick that it took people a few minutes to figure out what was going on." The robber had told her to get the manager, who cleared out the safe and put it all in the getaway bag - a Nike backpack.
When a crisis happens, some people instinctively become very calm and are able to keep their heads in order to get through the incident. I never thought Kelly, who can be a typical high-maintenance teenager, would be this way. But she stayed quiet, following orders, doing what she needed to do to keep herself and her fellow employees safe, all the while taking close notice of everything about the man, from his clothes to his physical description (tuft of blonde hair peeking out from underneath the ski mask) to his exit strategy.
I don't think they ever caught the robber. It was a ballsy and well-coordinated theft. Kelly worked at the pizza place just a few more weeks before giving notice.
She was thrilled one night to be chosen to man the cash register at the front of the store. It was much more exciting than bussing tables and wiping down the salad bar. It was her first time doing the register on her own. She called me about 15 minutes before her shift ended to tell me that she was doing well and that she would be ready to be picked up at 9 p.m.
There were flashing lights bouncing off the glass and concrete as I pulled into the parking lot. Police cars surrounded the pizza shop. Through the glass I could see Kelly talking to two cops, who were listening intently to what she was saying. Oh geez, I thought. Is she in trouble? Did she try to take money out of the register?
A few minutes later, she walked out and got in the car. "What's going on in there?" I asked.
"Oh, about 10 minutes ago some guy came into the store, pointed a gun at me and told me to give him all the money," she said calmly.
Her demeanor was so ... unruffled. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to be held up at gunpoint. I quickly realized she was in shock and had not fully absorbed what had just happened.
"Weren't there customers in the store? And other employees?"
She nodded. "Yeah, but it all happened so quick that it took people a few minutes to figure out what was going on." The robber had told her to get the manager, who cleared out the safe and put it all in the getaway bag - a Nike backpack.
When a crisis happens, some people instinctively become very calm and are able to keep their heads in order to get through the incident. I never thought Kelly, who can be a typical high-maintenance teenager, would be this way. But she stayed quiet, following orders, doing what she needed to do to keep herself and her fellow employees safe, all the while taking close notice of everything about the man, from his clothes to his physical description (tuft of blonde hair peeking out from underneath the ski mask) to his exit strategy.
I don't think they ever caught the robber. It was a ballsy and well-coordinated theft. Kelly worked at the pizza place just a few more weeks before giving notice.
Monday
My Neighbor Just Got a "Golden Parachute"...
This morning, my husband blew a gasket.
I heard loud voices coming from outside my house this morning as I was rushing to fill my thermos with coffee for the drive to work. My curiosity was short lived as my husband stormed into the house railing at length after talking to our neighbor Price (Katie's dad, for those who've been around a while). Apparently Price was doing what Price always does – he runs over to our house to brag about something. Normally we patiently let Price share his good news and then he goes away for a few weeks until he has something new to brag about.
This morning, however, there was no way my husband was going to keep his mouth shut at Price's "good news." According to Price, his bank is "working with him to forgive a big chunk of the principal on his mortgage and get him into a lower rate."
Why was my husband so angry at Price's good news?
Price bought his house a month after we bought ours. We actually wanted to buy his house but crunched the numbers and decided that it would be a wiser decision to buy our house instead, which was about $25,000 less.
The money that Price used as a down payment came from an accident he sustained while in the Army. When he bought the house in January 2003, his mortgage was $165,000 – pretty good for a 4,200 square foot house on a road like Peach Street. With 13 children (yes, 13 biological children – his wife doesn't believe in birth control and yes, she knows where babies come from because she is an ob/gyn nurse), nine of whom were living in the house, it was a blessing for them to move into a home and have some room to grow.
Price and his wife refinanced later that same year for $226,400. They used some of the $61,400 they pulled out to make cosmetic changes to the house – then went on cruises, "date nights" and concerts. In January 2005, they pulled out another $40,000. More cruises. More dinners out. As property values soared, they upped the ante in January 2007, refinancing and pulling out another $110,400. Price started to brag about his weekly massages.
Each time they pulled out money, Price would run over to tell us about his new truck, or the next cruise they were going to go on, or how much money he spent partying with his buddies. My husband once asked him if he was concerned that he was pulling every penny of equity out of the house, and Price responded, "I don't care about leaving anything to my children. I am going to live life to the fullest and then sell the house when there isn't any more equity to tap." Mind you, he never takes his children on the cruises or out to dinner. They eat ramen noodles, hot dogs, peanut butter and jelly, and mac and cheese.
Price's mortgage is set to adjust in January. He's been trying for months to get a lender to look at him. But he is swallowed up in credit card debt and his credit scores are low. His last few loans were pushed through using (inflated) stated income – his wife works for a hospital and he, like my husband, has a landscaping business. There is no way he should have qualified for the loans if he 1) told the truth about how much income he made and 2) if the lender actually required proof of his income.
My husband to Price, incredulously: "You mean to tell me that you spent the last five years using your house like an ATM, and now I'M going to have to foot the bill for this?"
Now I have been following the arguments on both sides of the housing rescue proposals. I do believe there are folks who were deceived by unscrupulous lenders. But I do not believe that is the case for most of the people who are overextended. I received my mortgage broker's license in 2003, just as the housing boom was starting to peak, intending to do it as a side job for supplemental income. But I found I couldn't do the business – because people wanted me to put them into loans I knew they wouldn't be able afford after a year. But they didn't want my advice. They wanted that mega house, and I chose to leave the industry knowing that there were plenty of brokers who would get them into that too-good-to-be-true loan.
I have three homes, so I guess that qualifies me as a real estate investor. I put down 10% or more on all of them when I purchased them – money that my husband and I had saved over a period of years. The last home I bought was purchased in early 2004 – just before the home prices became ridiculously out of reach. Just before closing on that house, I was told that a $43 medical charge-off had popped up on my credit report and that the loan would now have to go through as a 3-year ARM instead of a 30-year fixed rate. After running the numbers, we still felt that it was a good business decision and proceeded to close on the loan, knowing that we would need to be sure our credit was in tip-top shape in order to refinance at the end of the three years.
The next several years had their share of challenges. Four months after we bought that home, we discovered that the house had a sinkhole. After a year and a half of wrestling with the insurance company, the sinkhole was fixed. We got the erroneous $43 charge removed my credit report and made sure every bill in our house was paid on time and our debt-to-income ratio was low, which made our credit scores jump. Our mortgage adjusted and we had to pay the additional $400 a month until we were able to get refinanced into a low, 30-year fixed loan – but we didn't complain, because we had prepared for that situation by squirreling away money to cover that increase. (We would have been able to refinance earlier but for the fact that we had tried to sell the house, and the lenders made us wait six months from the date we pulled it off the market.)
We have had three families in the home during that time. Last night, we had to say goodbye to the current tenants, both of whom lost their jobs and had to move in with friends because they had no way to feed their two small children. We knew they were having difficulty making ends meet and tried to help them by lowering their rent to below market value – all the while putting aside money in the likely event that they would have to break their lease and we would have an empty house until we found new tenants.
After weeks like today – my 16-year-old daughter was a passenger in a car accident on Monday and badly hurt her knees (we don't have health insurance – that's a story for another day), my tenants are leaving a house they loved, my husband is constantly sore from the grueling work he does – we often think about how nice it would be to go on a cruise. Or replace our 20-year-old mattress, so that he can get a restful sleep. Our teenage daughters would love to get their clothes at Hollister and Abercrombie like their Boomer-children friends. My oldest daughter watched as all her friends got $300 homecoming dresses and $80 hairdos as recently as last year – she borrowed her dress and I did her hair. We decided not to upgrade to a bigger vehicle, because the car we would have traded in is in great condition and will be paid off in two years. The entire family is conscious about our energy usage, and my teenage daughters can probably discuss the economy and credit better than many Americans.
So... we own three homes. Between them, we have earned more than $324,000 in equity. We had many offers and solicitations to tap into the equity in our homes, but knew that once the advertised teaser rates were up that we wouldn't be able to afford the loan, so we turned them all down. We will go on a vacation – when we can afford to pay for it and not charge it. We will buy that mattress when we have saved the money for it. The girls save the money the get for gifts and babysitting and buy clothes and trinkets when they can... unlike their friends' parents, we don't give them everything they ask for.
When and where do people who work hard and are fiscally responsible get rewarded?
We are not rich. We live within our means. We pay our taxes. (Can I just interject here and rant about the fact that Price does not have to pay his property taxes, which should be around $10,000 a year, because he is "disabled"... yet he lifts weights and runs 7 miles each day and works in one of the most difficult manual labor businesses in Florida – landscaping.)
Price is not the only one in my middle-class neighborhood who has lived foolishly and extravagantly. Is it an age thing? My husband and I are in our 30s. There are many other Boomers in my neighborhood who have done the same thing as Price. Every time the girls came home with a story about one of their friends at school who just got a new Blackberry or Hollister outfit or Louis Vuitton purse, we looked them up in public records and confirmed that their Boomer parents had pulled more money out of their homes.
Is this really true, folks? Are my taxpayer dollars really going to bail out the Prices of the world?
If so, I want out of this country. I want to go somewhere where my family is rewarded for busting our butts and being financially prudent and paying my bills and extending help where we can to people like our tenants. I don't want a golden parachute - I just want people to be held accountable for their decisions, as I am. I don't want to pay for everyone's party when I patiently toiled and waited for the playing field to be leveled after the free money was gone. I am not better than everyone because of the decisions and sacrifices we have made. We never felt that what we were doing was anything more than what people should be doing - working hard, not getting overextended in massive debt.
Or maybe the Price is right... and we were just too stupid to figure out how to game the system.
I heard loud voices coming from outside my house this morning as I was rushing to fill my thermos with coffee for the drive to work. My curiosity was short lived as my husband stormed into the house railing at length after talking to our neighbor Price (Katie's dad, for those who've been around a while). Apparently Price was doing what Price always does – he runs over to our house to brag about something. Normally we patiently let Price share his good news and then he goes away for a few weeks until he has something new to brag about.
This morning, however, there was no way my husband was going to keep his mouth shut at Price's "good news." According to Price, his bank is "working with him to forgive a big chunk of the principal on his mortgage and get him into a lower rate."
Why was my husband so angry at Price's good news?
Price bought his house a month after we bought ours. We actually wanted to buy his house but crunched the numbers and decided that it would be a wiser decision to buy our house instead, which was about $25,000 less.
The money that Price used as a down payment came from an accident he sustained while in the Army. When he bought the house in January 2003, his mortgage was $165,000 – pretty good for a 4,200 square foot house on a road like Peach Street. With 13 children (yes, 13 biological children – his wife doesn't believe in birth control and yes, she knows where babies come from because she is an ob/gyn nurse), nine of whom were living in the house, it was a blessing for them to move into a home and have some room to grow.
Price and his wife refinanced later that same year for $226,400. They used some of the $61,400 they pulled out to make cosmetic changes to the house – then went on cruises, "date nights" and concerts. In January 2005, they pulled out another $40,000. More cruises. More dinners out. As property values soared, they upped the ante in January 2007, refinancing and pulling out another $110,400. Price started to brag about his weekly massages.
Each time they pulled out money, Price would run over to tell us about his new truck, or the next cruise they were going to go on, or how much money he spent partying with his buddies. My husband once asked him if he was concerned that he was pulling every penny of equity out of the house, and Price responded, "I don't care about leaving anything to my children. I am going to live life to the fullest and then sell the house when there isn't any more equity to tap." Mind you, he never takes his children on the cruises or out to dinner. They eat ramen noodles, hot dogs, peanut butter and jelly, and mac and cheese.
Price's mortgage is set to adjust in January. He's been trying for months to get a lender to look at him. But he is swallowed up in credit card debt and his credit scores are low. His last few loans were pushed through using (inflated) stated income – his wife works for a hospital and he, like my husband, has a landscaping business. There is no way he should have qualified for the loans if he 1) told the truth about how much income he made and 2) if the lender actually required proof of his income.
My husband to Price, incredulously: "You mean to tell me that you spent the last five years using your house like an ATM, and now I'M going to have to foot the bill for this?"
Now I have been following the arguments on both sides of the housing rescue proposals. I do believe there are folks who were deceived by unscrupulous lenders. But I do not believe that is the case for most of the people who are overextended. I received my mortgage broker's license in 2003, just as the housing boom was starting to peak, intending to do it as a side job for supplemental income. But I found I couldn't do the business – because people wanted me to put them into loans I knew they wouldn't be able afford after a year. But they didn't want my advice. They wanted that mega house, and I chose to leave the industry knowing that there were plenty of brokers who would get them into that too-good-to-be-true loan.
I have three homes, so I guess that qualifies me as a real estate investor. I put down 10% or more on all of them when I purchased them – money that my husband and I had saved over a period of years. The last home I bought was purchased in early 2004 – just before the home prices became ridiculously out of reach. Just before closing on that house, I was told that a $43 medical charge-off had popped up on my credit report and that the loan would now have to go through as a 3-year ARM instead of a 30-year fixed rate. After running the numbers, we still felt that it was a good business decision and proceeded to close on the loan, knowing that we would need to be sure our credit was in tip-top shape in order to refinance at the end of the three years.
The next several years had their share of challenges. Four months after we bought that home, we discovered that the house had a sinkhole. After a year and a half of wrestling with the insurance company, the sinkhole was fixed. We got the erroneous $43 charge removed my credit report and made sure every bill in our house was paid on time and our debt-to-income ratio was low, which made our credit scores jump. Our mortgage adjusted and we had to pay the additional $400 a month until we were able to get refinanced into a low, 30-year fixed loan – but we didn't complain, because we had prepared for that situation by squirreling away money to cover that increase. (We would have been able to refinance earlier but for the fact that we had tried to sell the house, and the lenders made us wait six months from the date we pulled it off the market.)
We have had three families in the home during that time. Last night, we had to say goodbye to the current tenants, both of whom lost their jobs and had to move in with friends because they had no way to feed their two small children. We knew they were having difficulty making ends meet and tried to help them by lowering their rent to below market value – all the while putting aside money in the likely event that they would have to break their lease and we would have an empty house until we found new tenants.
After weeks like today – my 16-year-old daughter was a passenger in a car accident on Monday and badly hurt her knees (we don't have health insurance – that's a story for another day), my tenants are leaving a house they loved, my husband is constantly sore from the grueling work he does – we often think about how nice it would be to go on a cruise. Or replace our 20-year-old mattress, so that he can get a restful sleep. Our teenage daughters would love to get their clothes at Hollister and Abercrombie like their Boomer-children friends. My oldest daughter watched as all her friends got $300 homecoming dresses and $80 hairdos as recently as last year – she borrowed her dress and I did her hair. We decided not to upgrade to a bigger vehicle, because the car we would have traded in is in great condition and will be paid off in two years. The entire family is conscious about our energy usage, and my teenage daughters can probably discuss the economy and credit better than many Americans.
So... we own three homes. Between them, we have earned more than $324,000 in equity. We had many offers and solicitations to tap into the equity in our homes, but knew that once the advertised teaser rates were up that we wouldn't be able to afford the loan, so we turned them all down. We will go on a vacation – when we can afford to pay for it and not charge it. We will buy that mattress when we have saved the money for it. The girls save the money the get for gifts and babysitting and buy clothes and trinkets when they can... unlike their friends' parents, we don't give them everything they ask for.
When and where do people who work hard and are fiscally responsible get rewarded?
We are not rich. We live within our means. We pay our taxes. (Can I just interject here and rant about the fact that Price does not have to pay his property taxes, which should be around $10,000 a year, because he is "disabled"... yet he lifts weights and runs 7 miles each day and works in one of the most difficult manual labor businesses in Florida – landscaping.)
Price is not the only one in my middle-class neighborhood who has lived foolishly and extravagantly. Is it an age thing? My husband and I are in our 30s. There are many other Boomers in my neighborhood who have done the same thing as Price. Every time the girls came home with a story about one of their friends at school who just got a new Blackberry or Hollister outfit or Louis Vuitton purse, we looked them up in public records and confirmed that their Boomer parents had pulled more money out of their homes.
Is this really true, folks? Are my taxpayer dollars really going to bail out the Prices of the world?
If so, I want out of this country. I want to go somewhere where my family is rewarded for busting our butts and being financially prudent and paying my bills and extending help where we can to people like our tenants. I don't want a golden parachute - I just want people to be held accountable for their decisions, as I am. I don't want to pay for everyone's party when I patiently toiled and waited for the playing field to be leveled after the free money was gone. I am not better than everyone because of the decisions and sacrifices we have made. We never felt that what we were doing was anything more than what people should be doing - working hard, not getting overextended in massive debt.
Or maybe the Price is right... and we were just too stupid to figure out how to game the system.
Friday
The Stick is in the Yard...
My oldest daughter thinks Laura is a battered wife. Whenever we see her, she's always alone, her tall, thin frame bent over in a permanent state of resignation. She never makes eye contact with anyone, preferring instead to look at the ground at the first hint that someone might want to say hello.
We used to see Rob, her husband, often, working out in his garage or washing his car. No one has seen him lately. Laura is the one who does the yard and walks the dogs.
I think the past few years have been difficult on the family. Their son Doug, a bright, handsome kid who could knock a baseball out of the park, was constantly in trouble at school and was eventually suspended when he got caught with marijuana. We had heard through other neighbors that Doug had tried to attack his dad when Rob was allegedly going after Laura (hence, the "battered wife" tag).
About two years ago, we ourselves had a run-in with the family. We came home one day to find the back window of our Jeep had been shot out by what appeared to be a paintball gun. It didn't take long for us to pin down the culprit – Doug and one of his friends – based both on eyewitness accounts and historical knowledge that they regularly shot at things (like trees) with a paintball gun. When confronted, Laura was adamant that her son would never have done such a thing – however, her son's friend 'fessed up to his dad and paid for the window to be replaced. (Doug continued to deny his involvement.)
There have other displays of odd behavior over the years. Once Rob blew up at the neighbor whose backyard bordered his, throwing things over the fence while screaming that they needed to stop throwing things at him. Other neighbors were hanging out at their house and the free-flowing alcohol was a lubricant for a good fight. Naturally, the cops were called. It was probably the highlight of their day.
Today there was a stick in the yard, a for sale sign that hung as forlornly as Laura's head. Sometimes when there are familial problems, just moving somewhere new is a breath of fresh air. But they may be trapped there for a while. The market keeps sinking. They probably won't get what they are asking. And worse – the beast of a house that was built practically on top of them is an immediate deterrant. Yes, the McMansion – the nearly three-story house that glares down on their backyard like Jack's beanstalk giant. There is no hope of privacy as there are at least eight windows in the McMansion that directly overlook their property.
One would think that there would be some regulation or at least consideration of what such a large building would do to its neighbors' property values. But it seems that for the McMansion residents, bigger is always better.
So the realtor.com listing just shows a picture of the inside of the house and its hardwood floors – probably because there was no way to take a snapshot of the front of the house without capturing the McMansion looming behind it.
Perhaps it's Laura's time to finally break free of the prison she's called home for nearly a decade.
We used to see Rob, her husband, often, working out in his garage or washing his car. No one has seen him lately. Laura is the one who does the yard and walks the dogs.
I think the past few years have been difficult on the family. Their son Doug, a bright, handsome kid who could knock a baseball out of the park, was constantly in trouble at school and was eventually suspended when he got caught with marijuana. We had heard through other neighbors that Doug had tried to attack his dad when Rob was allegedly going after Laura (hence, the "battered wife" tag).
About two years ago, we ourselves had a run-in with the family. We came home one day to find the back window of our Jeep had been shot out by what appeared to be a paintball gun. It didn't take long for us to pin down the culprit – Doug and one of his friends – based both on eyewitness accounts and historical knowledge that they regularly shot at things (like trees) with a paintball gun. When confronted, Laura was adamant that her son would never have done such a thing – however, her son's friend 'fessed up to his dad and paid for the window to be replaced. (Doug continued to deny his involvement.)
There have other displays of odd behavior over the years. Once Rob blew up at the neighbor whose backyard bordered his, throwing things over the fence while screaming that they needed to stop throwing things at him. Other neighbors were hanging out at their house and the free-flowing alcohol was a lubricant for a good fight. Naturally, the cops were called. It was probably the highlight of their day.
Today there was a stick in the yard, a for sale sign that hung as forlornly as Laura's head. Sometimes when there are familial problems, just moving somewhere new is a breath of fresh air. But they may be trapped there for a while. The market keeps sinking. They probably won't get what they are asking. And worse – the beast of a house that was built practically on top of them is an immediate deterrant. Yes, the McMansion – the nearly three-story house that glares down on their backyard like Jack's beanstalk giant. There is no hope of privacy as there are at least eight windows in the McMansion that directly overlook their property.
One would think that there would be some regulation or at least consideration of what such a large building would do to its neighbors' property values. But it seems that for the McMansion residents, bigger is always better.
So the realtor.com listing just shows a picture of the inside of the house and its hardwood floors – probably because there was no way to take a snapshot of the front of the house without capturing the McMansion looming behind it.
Perhaps it's Laura's time to finally break free of the prison she's called home for nearly a decade.
Thursday
I hate my HOA...
It's actually not the home owners association for the home I live in - it's the HOA for the home I USED to live in, which I converted to a rental after I moved to my house just a mile away.
In the short six months that I've been involved, this HOA has made me want to vomit, scream and publicly disparage all of the board members.
If you've ever been involved with an HOA, you know that in many cases, it all boils down to this: POWER.
I will be the first to agree that apathy is a common and terrible thing, and the fact that anyone is willing to donate their time to a community cause is commendable.
The key word being "donate."
Donating time is not something that our HOA board members do. In a number of ways, they are totally compensating themselves for their time... despite bylaws that state that board members are not to be compensated.
* Newsletter editor keeps all advertising revenue to compensate for his time in designing and preparing the newsletter for publication. Never mind that the ad revenue averages between $900-1,000 each issue, and I have quotes from other graphic designers that would do the same work for $400.
* Board member who coordinated the neighborhood's first big (and pathetically underpromoted) community event - Spring Fling - got "reimbursed" over $900 for "receipts" that had not been turned in at the time of my inquiry (which was approximately two months after the event). Oh, and supposedly the cost of the event was totally covered by sponsors - but they won't release the names of the sponsors or the amount collected.
Oh, I could go on and on. And maybe I will, in another post.
The latest example of idiocy: the board member who coordinated Spring Fling provided some content for the quarterly newsletter on alternative energy sources for home owners. It was suspiciously well-written, and the only attribution was "Forwarded by [board member]."' After a ridiculously short search on Google, I found the exact same article on a number of realtor blogs.
I advised the board member that any articles we copy from other sources must be properly attributed. After asking the board member for the source, he replied, "She says SHE penned the article."
My response? "Huh. Well, she may be concerned to know that her article is everywhere on the 'Net (none of which have proper attribution to her)." And included about 10 links I found to the exact same article.
My hunch is that it is an article available to all realtors for marketing to consumers. Cool! Great! Let's attribute properly and not give copyright lawyers unnecessary work. But let's not take credit for writing something that clearly isn't your work.
As I'm writing this, I feel a twinge of pettiness and bitchiness. But this is my blog, and I can be petty. It's just part of life on Peach Street.
In the short six months that I've been involved, this HOA has made me want to vomit, scream and publicly disparage all of the board members.
If you've ever been involved with an HOA, you know that in many cases, it all boils down to this: POWER.
I will be the first to agree that apathy is a common and terrible thing, and the fact that anyone is willing to donate their time to a community cause is commendable.
The key word being "donate."
Donating time is not something that our HOA board members do. In a number of ways, they are totally compensating themselves for their time... despite bylaws that state that board members are not to be compensated.
* Newsletter editor keeps all advertising revenue to compensate for his time in designing and preparing the newsletter for publication. Never mind that the ad revenue averages between $900-1,000 each issue, and I have quotes from other graphic designers that would do the same work for $400.
* Board member who coordinated the neighborhood's first big (and pathetically underpromoted) community event - Spring Fling - got "reimbursed" over $900 for "receipts" that had not been turned in at the time of my inquiry (which was approximately two months after the event). Oh, and supposedly the cost of the event was totally covered by sponsors - but they won't release the names of the sponsors or the amount collected.
Oh, I could go on and on. And maybe I will, in another post.
The latest example of idiocy: the board member who coordinated Spring Fling provided some content for the quarterly newsletter on alternative energy sources for home owners. It was suspiciously well-written, and the only attribution was "Forwarded by [board member]."' After a ridiculously short search on Google, I found the exact same article on a number of realtor blogs.
I advised the board member that any articles we copy from other sources must be properly attributed. After asking the board member for the source, he replied, "She says SHE penned the article."
My response? "Huh. Well, she may be concerned to know that her article is everywhere on the 'Net (none of which have proper attribution to her)." And included about 10 links I found to the exact same article.
My hunch is that it is an article available to all realtors for marketing to consumers. Cool! Great! Let's attribute properly and not give copyright lawyers unnecessary work. But let's not take credit for writing something that clearly isn't your work.
As I'm writing this, I feel a twinge of pettiness and bitchiness. But this is my blog, and I can be petty. It's just part of life on Peach Street.
Monday
Who is the Midnight Lurker?
It was just after midnight when I realized my husband and I had fallen asleep downstairs watching television, and I gently woke him up to head upstairs to bed. That's when I saw the car.
Small. Gray. And lurking outside my house.
Ever so slowly, the car drove around the bend to the end of the cul-de-sac. The snail's pace of the vehicle triggered both curiosity and alarm. Who is that? What are they doing?
The vehicle rounded the circle at the end of the cul-de-sac and backed into the driveway of the couple I call the Professor and Marianne. The headlights went out. Ah, I thought. Must be a guest.
Upstairs, as is my habit, I went to check on the children and glanced out the hall window. From that vantage point I can see the entire street. And there was the car again, now idling outside my house, driver's side door cracked open. And then through the darkness, I saw a bearded man emerge from the shadows of the McMansion, get into the car and quickly drive off.
My first thought was that he looked an awful like Mr. Drew. Ernie, as we called him. Except he was somewhat thinner. Could he have been spying on Mrs. Drew? Her house - the one he had put so much love into redesigning, with the marble floors and outdoor kitchen we referred to as "The Temple of the Grill" - was just on the other side of the McMansion.
I remembered the near-hysterical ramblings of Mrs. Drew when the divorce proceedings started... showing us arrest records for Ernie that implicated him in a past arson attempt. If it was indeed Ernie, and he was in fact skulking around his old house, was he planning to do something so dastardly?
I waited a few moments, pondering. There was no flickering flame or loud explosion... just my tired imagination worn out from being overworked so late at night.
Small. Gray. And lurking outside my house.
Ever so slowly, the car drove around the bend to the end of the cul-de-sac. The snail's pace of the vehicle triggered both curiosity and alarm. Who is that? What are they doing?
The vehicle rounded the circle at the end of the cul-de-sac and backed into the driveway of the couple I call the Professor and Marianne. The headlights went out. Ah, I thought. Must be a guest.
Upstairs, as is my habit, I went to check on the children and glanced out the hall window. From that vantage point I can see the entire street. And there was the car again, now idling outside my house, driver's side door cracked open. And then through the darkness, I saw a bearded man emerge from the shadows of the McMansion, get into the car and quickly drive off.
My first thought was that he looked an awful like Mr. Drew. Ernie, as we called him. Except he was somewhat thinner. Could he have been spying on Mrs. Drew? Her house - the one he had put so much love into redesigning, with the marble floors and outdoor kitchen we referred to as "The Temple of the Grill" - was just on the other side of the McMansion.
I remembered the near-hysterical ramblings of Mrs. Drew when the divorce proceedings started... showing us arrest records for Ernie that implicated him in a past arson attempt. If it was indeed Ernie, and he was in fact skulking around his old house, was he planning to do something so dastardly?
I waited a few moments, pondering. There was no flickering flame or loud explosion... just my tired imagination worn out from being overworked so late at night.
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