The Tooth Fairy

We have a unique relationship with the tooth fairy in our house.

The first time she came to our house, she took the tooth and left $5.

The second time she came to our house, as expected, she took the tooth and again left $5.

But unfortunately for M, who really behaved poorly the day she received the loot for the 2nd tooth, the tooth fairy came back. And she proved herself to be a vengeful tooth fairy. She put the tooth back and took the $5 back. Whoa.

M learned a hard lesson that day. The Tooth Fairy Does. Not. Play.

M has gone on to lose several teeth since Tooth-Gate, and she has yet to lose her next-morning loot from the Tooth Fairy a second time.

The other evening, M left the Tooth Fairy a note.

Dear Tooth Fairy, Thank you for giving us money every time we lose a tooth. By the way, what is it like being a tooth fairy?

Dear Tooth Fairy, Thank you for giving us money every time we lose a tooth. By the way, what is it like being a tooth fairy?

The Tooth Fairy responded!


I’m not decoding this. I know you can read it.

I’m not decoding this. I know you can read it.

M was very happy with this. She keeps the note from the Tooth Fairy next to her bed, and reads it every night. Last night I was in her room with her and she said, “I have another note I wrote the Tooth Fairy but I didn’t give it to her.”

Dear Tooth Fairy, I’m upset because of how I treated my family. So if you want, take all of my money.

Dear Tooth Fairy, I’m upset because of how I treated my family. So if you want, take all of my money.

Damn it. We are the worst!

Sometimes I wonder if we take things too far. I’m guessing no Tooth Fairy in the history of Tooth Fairies ever took money back and returned a tooth. I probably just cost my first born a few extra 50 minute hours on the couch. It’s reminiscent of that time the Elf on the Shelf and his buddies (Mr. Chocolate and Mr. Candy from Hershey Park, a.k.a. the Hershey Bar stuffie and the Reese’s stuffie) were all wearing frowns one morning. M cried.

Anyway, M said last night, “A girl in second grade told me that there is no Tooth Fairy, and that it’s really just your parents who take the tooth and put money under the pillow.” Who the hell is this second grade buzz-killington. Sorry that your parents suck so bad that they had to ruin your life, but losing a tooth is a right of passage. Unless it falls out from meth-mouth. Then it’s just sad.

Anyway, I was able to say with a totally straight face, and actually mean it, because I am a Terzis*, the following statement:

“M, if I was the Tooth Fairy, do you REALLY think I would give you $5? I’d give you a penny.”

She said, “Oh yeah, that’s true.”

*The Terzis cheapness trait is an exceptional inherited trait. It’s a constant battle to fight what’s flowing in my DNA. The Terzis cheapness is responsible for hundreds of rotten bananas eaten, many pennies spotted and retrieved in the middle of major highways, dozens of questionable motel stays in the 1970’s and 1980’s, a warped interpretation of the “free, take one” sign, a stint in Disney Jail (you didn’t even know such a thing existed, did you? I do, I lived it,) a decades-long secret way into NYC to avoid the tolls, the family mantra to “eat around the mold,” staying on a beach in Greece filled with cigarette butts in a hotel with a Pick Up Artist Convention, Nissan koozies, 417 TD Bank pens in your junk drawer, your father falling down the stairs at a hotel because he was avoiding handing his bag over to a bellhop, never setting foot in a NYC cab when you can just walk 40 miles, your spice cabinet containing 547 sugar packets from McDonalds, running the gas tank beyond empty because gas is cheaper over the Georgia line, being the only family in Connecticut to not have call-waiting, and almost sinking on a cruise ship in the Mediterranean.


Spring Break Week

The girls are off school this week, so unfortunately we have to parent more than the usual minimum wage work ethic. We’re at the beach, getting the condo, that I convinced Real Estate Dad we should buy, ready for the summer rentals.

The entire process of buying the condo was quite a saga. For anyone who doesn’t have my blog posts memorized, this was the property purchase where the listing agent went all Sybil-menopausal at the closing table because her commission was wrong. We sat there with our jaws on the floor, as she told anyone who would listen, how she gets 100% of her commission. We patiently waited for her to realize we didn’t have keys to the condo she just sold us. We waited in vain. She was too busy lamenting the woes of her commission check to give a rat’s tiny ass about anyone else. I really hate other Realtors® for giving us a bad name. I also hate having to put that stupid R in the circle, but if I don’t, the NAR will email me tomorrow saying that I’m improperly using their trademark. No, I’m not kidding.

The post script to the condo story is that at Christmas, I went to visit clients at the SW Waterfront with a little holiday gift and they asked me how my year had been. They knew from Facebook that I was in the path of the Logan Circle murder a few minutes prior to when the jogger was murdered last fall, and that it was about enough for me to pack everyone up and get out of dodge. I told them we had just bought a condo in Rehoboth, and that having an escape plan made me feel better. They said, “Oh our neighbors just sold a condo in Rehoboth. They don’t live here full time, they come down on weekends from Frederick.”

I said, “Their names don’t happen to be….” and sure enough, my clients live next door to the people who sold their condo to us in Rehoboth. It was even wilder for my clients since they already had all sorts of coincidental connections with their neighbors. DC and Rehoboth are both small towns it appears.

The other post script to the story is that anyone who has an Airbnb or rental property has to be insane. I’m convinced of it. I have pulled pillow after pillow out of the closets here, and they are all stained, half with blood, half with mysterious fluids. I suppose I’m a believer in my mother’s standard of cleaning: It’s not enough bleach until your hands crack.

Anyway, this week is shaping up to have some real interesting conversations with the girls. I’m not sure if these exchanges happen all the time or if maybe I should listen more.

M, to Real Estate Dad: Your dad was our best best Papou.

Real Estate Dad: You never met him. He died before you were born.

M: I know, but he was our best best Papou.

Me: Uh....how can he be better than the Papou you have that's ALIVE?

M: MOM!!!

My dad is gonna be pissed. I suppose that’s a repercussion of grandparenting solely via FaceTime.

Last night I forgot the Golden Rule with the girls - control the amount of sugar they ingest. They went off the rails crazy. Real Estate Dad and I finally had enough, so we told them they were being annoying and we were going to lock them up in the condo and go out for a drink.

M: You can’t leave us alone.

Me: Why not?

M: Someone could take us. You are parents, you should know that.

Real Estate Dad: No one is going to take you, all you have to do is act like you’re acting now and they will leave.

Me: Or they will take you but they will bring you back in a few minutes.

M: YOU CAN’T LEAVE US ALONE.

M starts to cry.

Me: Oh yeah we can!

Real Estate Dad: You better start behaving.

M, still crying: “NO DON’T LEAVE US!”

Me: Please, have we ever left you alone?

M: No.

Me: Exactly.

Chubs: You left me home alone.

Me: Well, err, I ONLY DID THAT ONCE AND I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE IN THE HOUSE!

Man. That was over a year ago and she’s still holding a grudge.

At least the corgis are having a good time.

Deeelicious treatz wash up right down there! Nom nom nom.

Deeelicious treatz wash up right down there! Nom nom nom.

Some Will Win, Some Will Lose

Don’t Stop Believin’ is forever ruined for me thanks to that dumbass Meadow Soprano. No one, and I mean no one, is that bad at parallel parking unless they are from Maryland.

Oh don’t cry, Maryland. I googled “state with worst parallel parkers.” After 4 YouTube videos, the 5th match was an article about how Maryland has dropped parallel parking from the driver’s test. So, see? It’s not your fault you suck at parallel parking. In the spirit of “everyone’s a winner,” the entire state just lowered the bar for you.

Anyway, it is no secret that my parallel parking skills and my ability to find ace parking are, well, ace. I inherited both of these parking skills from my dad. Every other weekend we drove from suburban Connecticut into New York City for some nonsense that we all coined, a “Mommy Fun Day.” The neighbors found it odd that we would drive and not take the train. My dad was always confident he would park right in front. And my mom always wanted to go to the Bowery to buy jewelry and it was oddly safer in the late 70’s / early 80’s to drive in New York City if you were coming home with loot.

Although now that I re-think that, it seems weird because I remember being parked on a sketchy street, waiting in the car for my mom who was spending her fun day eyeing a bracelet. Some man and his daughter (I assume) were walking down the sidewalk. The little girl was walking really slow while drinking a McDonald’s soda. The dad turned around and yelled at her for being slow. He snatched the drink from her hand, threw it at our car where it smashed on the window and he beat the girl’s butt. It was something you might call the police for now but back then we looked to our Dad for guidance. He just stared straight ahead and said, “Keep your mouth shut.”

For the record, I would have already been on the phone with the police once he threw a perfectly good fountain soda away because that is the real crime here.

So, parking. For various friends and clients who all remark on my ability to find a spot “right in front” and my knack for squeezing my car into the smallest spots, I started taking pictures of my coups. Don’t be jealous. We all have to be good at something. You can perform a heart transplant, I’m a good parker!

Here’s my car that day I thought, “I’d like to go to the Amazon Store but it’s 2 p.m. on a Saturday and Georgetown is going to be more of a zoo than the zoo.”

Amazon Prime Parking

Amazon Prime Parking

Or that day I said, “Let’s eat dinner at Clyde’s in Georgetown” and Real Estate Dad said, “But, parking.” And then I parked right in front. There’s my car! You can see it through the front door of Clyde’s!

“It’s cold out here Real Estate Mama, can I get a Molotov Cocktail with a match to go?”

“It’s cold out here Real Estate Mama, can I get a Molotov Cocktail with a match to go?”

Or when we went to Arcuri’s and drove because even though we live 3 blocks away, sometimes we’re lazy asses.

Anyone with a remote sense of shame wouldn’t post such a shitty picture, but alas, ‘tis me.

Anyone with a remote sense of shame wouldn’t post such a shitty picture, but alas, ‘tis me.

The other day I had the girls with me and we had to pick up something from the hardware store. There was not a spot in front. But, I was one illegal u-turn on Wisconsin Avenue away from a spot right across the street. I did my magic, and started backing into the spot.

Then I stopped paying attention. That happens sometimes.

And I heard a giant smash.

There was a man on a ladder cleaning the store window. M yelled, “MOM HOW DID YOU NOT SEE THE CAR ON THE CAMERA!” She’s right. I am actually so confident in my parking abilities that I don’t use the camera. Don’t ask. It’s one of my quirks. I can “feel” where all the cars are around me. Except for this day. My feels were off. The guy screamed “WHOA! YOU SMASHED THAT CAR!”

It wasn’t just any car I smashed. It was the top of the line Lexus truck. I mean, if you’re going, you may as well go big.

The guy on the ladder was now the guy off the ladder and I was momentarily distracted by the fact that he was talking out of a hole in his throat. I think. He sounded like a robot. I was mostly hoping the kids didn’t say anything.

We all gathered around the back of my car and the front of the Lexus and I didn’t see any actual damage. The guy is saying that he can’t believe it, he heard a smash, he expected the car to be wrecked. M and Chubs are like, “We can’t wait to tell Daddy!” (Traitors!) Then the owner came out and saw us milling around by her car. I told her “I hit your car when I was parking.”

She said, “Oh I do it all the time!”

I said, “But don’t you want to look? I think I busted your Lindsay Lexus license plate holder.”

She laughed, hopped in the car and took off. Of course then I realized she was actually parked illegally in a loading zone and jumped out to get herself a salad at Sweetgreens.

So I rewrote history* for the kids, and rewrote the future for me where they would tell Real Estate Dad. I said, “See, that’s not a legal parking spot. She shouldn’t have been there. If she parked somewhere legal, Mom wouldn’t have hit her car.” They didn’t figure that one out because duh. Of course if she wasn’t there I wouldn’t have hit her.

*If you need a course in “How to Rewrite History” or “Parallel Parking & the Associated Lab Course: Getting a Spot in Front,” both are taught at my parent’s house.

Kids, Corgis and Work... How Does She Do It?

You know how you guys ask how do I do it with kids, corgis and work? I did a little video for the rescue, and how I'm combining rescue, family and work.


Piper will be the fan favorite I'm sure. Yes, her tongue was hanging out.

First video, let me know what you think!!

Let's Play - "There's Nothing Sexier Than..."

Quick! Fill in the blank!

There is nothing sexier than waking up to _________

Okay okay, now me!

There is nothing sexier than waking up to the sound of your dog vomiting. If you have a dog you know that sound. It’s similar to the human dry-heave, except it’s a wet heave. You can actually hear the vomit in their stomach, gurgling and bubbling before it comes out. All over your new carpet.

But I’m not bitter.

There’s an upside. By the time I went to find and clean the vomit, one of our very efficient dogs had already taken care of it.

I get extra credit because that, my friends, is sexy.

Welcome to the Jungle

When people say “You should get out more” I’m pretty sure they aren’t talking to me. Because every time I go out, something stupid happens. Both days this weekend I woke up “early” and was surprised to leave behind a house of sleeping kids, dogs and husband, only to learn that the rest of the world was already out and at ‘em.

Sunday I was out early* to take an awesome Pilates class at Fuel Body Lab in Georgetown. I might be in love with that place. Anyway, the class was the only good part of my morning in Georgetown. Then, these things happened:

  1. I walked down M Street to return something and I bumped into Nancy Pelosi. Literally. Like, she was wandering aimlessly down the sidewalk, distracted at something shiny, and I had to dodge out of her way. For the record, her face is every bit as frozen as it appears on TV. For the record, she looked every bit as confused as she does on TV. For the record, I’m scared of her.

  2. I lost complete faith in my favorite rock band ever when I saw this nonsense.

Alice & Olivia.jpg

If you’re buying your Guns N Roses shirt at Alice & Olivia or at H&M, YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG. The edgy, “IDGAF” band of the 80’s that got signed for Appetite for Destruction and promptly went on a bender instead of actually recording - is gone. It’s like a sad, pathetic last-chance-money-grab.

I had fun at three of their concerts on this last never-ending tour, once with KFrat, once with the fam and once with my Newly-Minted 87% Ashkenazi Jew BFF.**

And! Unlike in 1988, I wasn’t grounded this time when they came to town!

3. Then, I passed this madness. What the hell is this? This is a thing?

Kittens.jpg

Pretty much no matter where you are, you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a bunch of stray cats, so I really just need to ask: why? You have a room. A bunch of cats. A bunch of crazy cat ladies in training. There’s cats that wander all over Hemingway’s house in Key West but at least you are at HEMINGWAY’S HOUSE! This is just an old space in Georgetown that used to be a secondhand store - you know it, where they sell raspberry beret’s.

I know Georgetown retail is hurting like hell for tenants but who the hell wakes up early on a Sunday (okay okay, 11:00) to go pet a bunch of cats? Dogs? Maybe. Piglets? Yeah! Goats? HELL YES. But cats?

Nope.

*I realize early is 6 a.m. for most of you. Early for me is 9:30. Don’t judge!

**She is really embracing this. Not that she didn’t already know, but she’s diving head first into this “discovery.” She’s picked up several dreidels to hone her craft. Should be interesting to see how this plays out.

DCPS Lottery ~ All Cleared Up For You!

Whenever there’s a question about DC Public Schools and their “clear as mud” lottery system, several people in my brokerage like to point to me. I mean, they point to me for a lot of stuff like “Who stole my space heater?” (sorry Lisa) “Who has the white out?” (I have a paper planner and I like to keep it ACCURATE) and “Who ordered this stinky cabbage from the Chinese Restaurant"?” (It’s me and work-wife. It’s always me and work-wife.)

“So, what is the DCPS lottery and what the hell do you mean my kid can’t go to the school I can see from our front door?”

Buckle up, mofo’s, you are in for a ride.

Here are some hard and fast rules that never change. Keep these in mind as we discuss.

1) Your child is never guaranteed a seat in public school anywhere in the city until Kindergarten.

2) Your child is always guaranteed a seat in public school from grades K - 12, at your in-boundary assigned school.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that Rules 1 and 2 seem perfectly logical and why even mention them. Well, about half of the people get stumped on Rule #1. All they hear is “free Pre-K” and they’ve sold their house in Maryland or Virginia, moved to DC, dropped their kid at the front door of the neighborhood school on day 1 and peeled out of the front circle. If you even bothered to look back, you would have seen this.

IMG_6544.JPG

Except that’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works!

No one is guaranteed shit until the age of 5. If your kid is 5 on or before September 30, they may enroll in Kindergarten at their in-boundary school.

You have a child in K-12 and you are going to send them to your in-bound school? Great. You’re done here. Go tell the Barista you want yours to go and get on out of here. The rest of you, listen up.

Anyone who wants to apply for PK-3, PK-4, a school that is not their assigned in-boundary no matter what grade, or a charter school IS OFFICIALLY PART OF THE LOTTERY.

Here’s what you need to know. This is the priority on which all DCPS lottery decisions are made:

  1. Child lives In Boundary, with a sibling already in the school.

  2. Child lives In Boundary, without a sibling already in the school.

  3. Child lives Out of Boundary, with a sibling already in the school.

  4. Child lives Out of Boundary, without a sibling already in the school.

This means that you could have scored a spot for your Sally, even though you live out of boundary, but Sally’s younger sister may not get a spot when it’s her turn, if a child who lives in boundary without another sibling in the school wants that school.

Here’s something else you need to know. The lottery is unequally equal. What the hell does that mean? It means you’re nothing, even when you sort of should be. A family who has never been on this continent can move here from 10,000 miles away for a one year job. They can fill out the lottery application without even living here, as long as they have their DC address, and can prove it by the start of school. Their child has just as much of a chance as yours does to that coveted Pre-K space. Yes, even if you were born here, even if you have been paying taxes here for your whole life, even if you went to that school as a child. DC does not have any system in place to prioritize the children of families who are domiciled here.

If you think you can dodge this order because you’re charming or you know people, take note. The powers that be at DCPS may be a colossal joke but they take the lottery very seriously. This city may run just as incompetently and corruptly as it always has, but the DCPS lottery is no joke. Case in point: Chancellor Antwan Wilson made it a whole year on the job before his resignation/termination. He had called in a favor to jump the lottery and get his daughter into a different high school. You can just keep clicking links to see the prior Chancellor, Kaya Henderson’s story. She lasted 6 years but she also played the jump the lottery game for various high ranking people in the Mayor’s Cabinet.

The history of the Chancellors before Henderson (pre-2007 they were called “Superintendents”) is spotty and varied. No real surprise that the whole school system is a disaster when you see the constant changes in leadership going back to the 1970’s. Thank your lucky stars for the parents and teachers who came before us to have accomplished what they have. But, that’s a post for another day.

So let’s finish up the lottery. The deadline for high school is February 1 every year, and the deadline for PK through 8th grade is March 1 every year. Results come out May 1.

When you get your results, here’s what you do next:

ENROLL YOUR CHILD; ENROLL YOUR CHILD; ENROLL YOUR CHILD!!!

Why am I yelling? Because you need to enroll your child. There are so many other people whose lives are hanging in the balance so I beg you to have some compassion for your neighbors, fellow parents and the school staff. Everyone is waiting on this information. There will inevitably be people who move to DC from another country the night before school starts, speak little to no English, who plop down in the school office on the first day.

This is where the school’s office staff shines. They scramble to complete paperwork and find the newbie a seat in a class - ever so careful to consider the current students in a class so as not to disrupt balance for the teacher. The arrival of a new student at the classroom door will surprise a teacher who forfeited the last 2 weeks of their summer to prepare a classroom for the children on their list. Now there’s a last minute addition for which they weren’t prepared.

The teacher smiles, and welcomes the child in, quickly making them feel at home as they gracefully glide around the room pulling a desk from here and a chair from there, not showing an ounce of the stress they suddenly feel. The addition of a child who woke up yesterday in their home country and is on the verge of tears is the equivalent of 3 children with the language barrier among other issues to overcome. If you’re watching, your eyes get misty because you realize, this teacher, loves their job so much. A ton more work just arrived in their lap and do they get more money?

Nope. But you will never notice the difference in their attitude because they won’t let you see. Not the good ones, anyway. And we’ve been amazingly lucky to have snagged some amazing teachers for our kids thus far. So when my ire at DCPS surfaces, it’s never about the teachers and staff who are on the ground, doing what they do every day. It’s about the f*ckery that happens “downtown” where the leadership is.

We’ve got a new Chancellor. We should all cross our fingers.

And I Didn't Puke This Time!

Guess who went on another field trip as a chaperone?

Yes, this glutton for punishment. As someone who gets car sick backing out of the driveway, you would think I would stop raising my hand for this stuff.

Here’s the good news: I can finally say I’ve been to and toured Dumbarton House!

Here’s the other good news, according to their website:

This is excellent marketing right here ^^^

This is excellent marketing right here ^^^

Here’s the bad n… What? You didn’t think there would be bad news? I threw you off with two pieces of good news. (Well, three pieces if you count the implication I made above about how I didn’t vomit.) Listen up because you should know by now that bad news is practically the underlying theme of this blog. So here it is:

The condition of the bus that delivered us to and from Dumbarton House should have been junked a decade ago. I’m not even sure my snark can capture the torture that was this bus, and I’m not sure my outrage could properly be contained should I actually choose to, gasp, complain.

Here’s the floor of the aisle, if you can even call it a floor. Parts under the rubber mat and duct tape were rusted through.

Here’s the floor of the aisle, if you can even call it a floor. Parts under the rubber mat and duct tape were rusted through.

Here’s a hole in the 2nd step, which I’m about to fall through as I exit the bus.

Here’s a hole in the 2nd step, which I’m about to fall through as I exit the bus.

Oh this looks safe. This is the emergency exit on the roof of the bus. You want to know how well the duct tape prevents the elements from entering the bus?

Oh this looks safe. This is the emergency exit on the roof of the bus. You want to know how well the duct tape prevents the elements from entering the bus?

Not well at all.

Not well at all.

I wish I wasn’t just screwing around here, there was a ton of water pouring through the emergency exit in the roof and I’m sorry people but this is not acceptable because my hair is keratined within an inch of its life and I can’t afford for it to get a ton of dirty rain-bus water on it and not have a hair dryer and sulfate-free shampoo close by. While my umbrella kept me and the cuties dry, the water was flying off the umbrella toward other people. There was no way to win this one.

In other news, f*ck you DCPS, for not bothering to require a minimum standard of safety. I almost want to be that mom who drives my kid to every off-campus happening.

Then I remembered:

1) They go to Fillmore for their arts education every single week.

2) I don't really like rocking the bus boat bus-boat.

3) I have a job and that job entails selling houses to people. I can't sell houses to people if I have to moonlight daylight as a school uber driver.

Next field trip, barf bag and roll of duct tape go in the bag. Because you just never know.

A Tale of Three Emails

It was the best of days, it was the worst of days, it was the Realtor® of wisdom, it was the Realtor® of foolishness, it was the new mom of belief, it was the new mom of incredulity, It was the Amish in light, it was the Amish in darkness, it was a corgi rescue with hope, it was a corgi rescue with despair…

I started my afternoon of Friday, the 25th of January, at a Committee Meeting at our local Real Estate Board. I’m on a committee responsible for slapping the hands of bad, foolish and incompetent Realturds. I’ve thankfully moved on from my three years of service on the Grievance Committee to the next level. How could anyone forget the Grievance Committee? That’s the one that turned my hair as gray as it is now.

Three of the most brain dead people in the world were on the committee last year. It was truly unbearable to be in the same room with them. They amused and infuriated me the most when they would announce that the entire time we were voting on a specific case - through 17 articles of our Code of Ethics and 100 some odd standards of practice, that they were voting on a different case than the rest of the room was voting on.

Here’s a photo from our last meeting.

130925-dumb-dumber-cheat_bwjdd5.jpg

Back to today’s meeting. Because today’s meeting and this year’s Committee will be nothing like last year.

When I walked into the room I was greeted by a few dozen unfamiliar faces, at least one of whom thought it was a good idea to swim in a pool of cologne this morning. I choked through two hours of legalities. When I got bored, I made the mistake of checking my phone where I quickly learned that all hell was breaking loose in various corners of my world.

In my work email, I found this gem, addressed to me:

We have several questions in regards to the building / condo association and are hoping that you can help. It is our understanding that you are very familiar with the building and unit itself. Any insight will be greatly appreciated. 

1. Is this unit is a condo or coop? What are the %'s for both in the building (can affect financing)?
2. What does the HOA/Condo Association cover?  
3. Any special assessments in the last 5 years?
4. Any information about why some units went condo, while others stayed coop?
5. Can the purchaser install a washer/dryer within the unit?
6. Does this unit come with storage?
7. Is there an underlying mortgage for the Coop portion of the building?
8. What entity covers the cost of new windows?
9. Are there any financing restrictions?
10. Are pets allowed?

We look forward to receiving your response. Thank you!

That email was from another agent. I had a whole lineup of possible replies, to include:

  • Why the f*ck are you asking me? Do your job and find out yourself!;

  • Do you see the guy who works at Burger King being pulled from the line at McDonalds, where he was just trying to get some fries, man, and the McDonald’s guy asking him to jump behind the counter and cook the burgers for them while they sit there and collect their paychecks for his work? No? Good, don’t ask me to do that either.

  • #Loser

I told her I thought she had the wrong person. I gave her a chance to back away slowly. But, nope.

Have you listed and sold units within the building? We were informed by another agent that you had and that you were very familiar with the building... 

Is this bitch serious? Yes, let me go find the answers to these questions about your listing. I can’t wait to do your job so you can collect your commission! This time I was a bit more clear in my response.

You need to get this information from the management company or your client. It is not appropriate to ask another Realtor for this information who has no official role with the condo

She thanked me and told me to make it a great day!

Moving right along. Next up we’ve got my Yahoo email where all my Rue La La and various email subscriptions land. In that inbox is a post to one of the neighborhood mom message boards.

I am a single mother and I just gave birth , before this decision I have taught a lot and the only solution is to get the child a good ,caring and God fearing home. The child deserves nothing but the best and I will do everything in my power to see that the child is adopted . I don't care if you are single or married. I really want to bless a home out there who had not had the cry of a baby. I will really prefer a home where they have not had the cry of a baby or a home with a maximum one child looking forward for a second child. I am really sorry about my preference but I have made a lot of research about this. if you are seriously seeking to adopt, please send me a direct email.

I wrote to her because I couldn’t not write to her. Scam or not, I needed to go to bed tonight with a clear conscience. She hasn’t written back. But I’d totally take the baby. I mean, it’s not every day your neighborhood message board is offering a free baby.

Then I went to the rescue email. And this is where I find an email a woman just sent 20 minutes prior, that there’s a corgi at an Amish Mill Farm in PA that they are giving up. Here’s the thing with the Amish. When they say they are giving up a dog, you have to fire up your buggy right-that-very-second don’t-stop-to-pee because they can change their mind faster than electricity travels.

Ha ha. Oops. Those jokes never get old.

In all these conversations about said corgi, who has been bred over and over for puppies, who has been living outside when it’s below freezing, someone told me to buy one of their pies when I get there. Absolutely not. They may have infected it and I’ll catch their “I don’t give one iota about animals except for the money they can make for me” disease.

So, after spending the rest of my afternoon on the phone trying to figure out how to get this dog off this farm asap, finally I arrived home. Real Estate Dad was outside with the corgis. I bust out of the car with “I’VE GOTTA GET A CORGI TOMORROW IN PENNSYLVANIA AND I’M PICKING UP SOME CORGS IN FREDERICKSBURG IN THE MORNING AND I’M GOING TO BE DRIVING ALL OVER FOR THESE DOGS ARGH.” He’s used to having a manic wife. I chatted with him for a second, then walked up the stairs to our house when someone drives by and screams out the window “NICE ASS!” Real Estate Dad looked at me and I said, “I think they were talking to you.”

Time for this day to be over.

She Was Caught in a Mudslide, Eaten By a Lion, Got Run Over by a Crappy Purple Scion

It’s no secret we’re in love with Summer Nanny. She came back last year to be Spring Nanny, and Summer Nanny again for 2018, and Fall Nanny and now she’s Winter Nanny. It seems though, Winter Nanny was offered a job which will make use of her MBA and her days with us are sadly winding down. She will not be Spring or Summer Nanny any longer. Sniff Sniff.

It’s wrong to have wished she would never get a job so she could always be our nanny. Didn’t stop me though. I suppose she can’t sit on the floor and play LOL Dolls with the girls forever - even though she really really appears to love it. I was lamenting my woes to Real Estate Dad about how I’m going to miss her because she really loves these crazy girls of ours.

But what I’m really going to miss? Her hilarious and extremely unique excuses for why she can’t come to work like 30% of the time. Most of the time it’s on Friday too. The reasons are never the same which is sort of amazing. I wish I kept track of all of them, but since summer, I can recall the following reasons why All-Season Nanny would call in sick.

  • Ex-boyfriend she shares custody of their pit bull with, let the pit bull go on hot pavement and his pads ripped off so she was taking him to the vet.

  • Said pit bull was attacked once by a chihuahua, that was also a vet visit.

  • Had to help her parents pack their house.

  • Texted one Thursday after she left to say she was rear ended on the beltway. The next morning she said she was dealing with insurance all day and couldn’t come in. Real Estate Dad said, “It’s always Friday. Why doesn’t she just ask for Fridays off?”

  • Job Interview

  • Migraine

  • Was walking to her car to drive to our house and vomited before she got into the car.

  • Forgot she was supposed to be the photographer for her cousin’s wedding at the courthouse.

  • Went to Urgent Care and they told her she had a lung infection and if she kept coming to work she could die.

  • Trampled by a giant corgi

Giant Corgi.jpg

Okay. Not that last one. That sounds like it would be my excuse for calling in sick, actually. And she gets extra credit for coming the day she woke up with purple fingers and was diagnosed with Raynauds Syndrome. That text only came to me though, and I ignored it because it wasn’t a good day for her to not come to work.

At first we were all out of sorts trying to adjust our schedules but now we’re just used to it. And the reasons are entertaining and impressive. Whenever we get the text and I’m at work, I hand the phone to my work-wife and we both laugh and then I confirm that Real Estate Dad is home and can get them.

I was telling Real Estate Dad now that she’s going back to a full time job I’ll look for other childcare options for the girls after school. Then I quickly followed up with the fact that I may wait until April or May to firm up the plan. If attendance is a requirement at the new job, Summer Nanny may not survive her probationary period.