Congratulate me! My husband bought a new old car yesterday--finally!
After looking for months at many different models, he decided on a '97 Lexus with 172,000 miles on it. The owner was asking $5,750. The Kelley Blue Book was $6,400, and my husband negotiated down to $5,000. Since this Lexus model was made by Toyota, we know that it'll last for several more years. I'm really surprised by how attractive the car looks, and our mechanic said that it's in great shape. It'll need rear brakes soon and a new battery and cables. What a deal!!
My husband did an abundant amount of research on each car that he considered. He test drove a few, too. It's amazing how many people just handed him their keys and let him take the car for a drive--alone--after meeting him only minutes before. Either they want the car to be stolen so that they'd be able to collect the insurance because it's a piece of junk or my husband looks like a totally trustworthy guy. I hope it's the latter.
After we drove the car home, I called my friend who had agreed to take the Toyota Camry off of our hands. She said that they'd just returned from buying a '95 Mercedes (not diesel) with 117,000 miles on it for $3,500. Her husband found it that day and bought it on the spot. We took months to find the right vehicle. They took one day, and got the better deal, apparently. I'm happy that we won't have to worry about her with a small child and our unreliable car. But I have to admit, I'm a little curious as to why it was so laborious for us and so easy and cheap for them.
Regardless, I'm thrilled that now the kids and I can go out whenever we want to. I love my property, but there were moments when it felt as if we were wearing prison ankle monitors for home confinement. Trapped? No. Just overwhelmed, at times, when I'm not able to complete my tasks by running important errands. Now I can experience the joy of taking all the kids shopping with me. The funny looks. Sarcastic comments. Pointing. We're a circus sideshow, you know. And the funny thing is that my children behave well in the stores. They are aware of the consequences if they don't. The next time I go shopping, the perpetrator will have to stay home with Daddy. No tastes. No surprises. No treats. For those who've experienced that type of confinement, it's enough to keep them in line.
Sometimes I see parents with one or two children having a difficult time. Oh, yes, I remember those days well. It's harder to have fewer kids--for me, anyway (except when it comes to sleep deprivation). People frequently stop me to ask about the children. I feel the constant stares. And I tell the kids that they speak volumes about big families, without ever saying a word.
Our outings have given me the opportunity to perform an odd scientific experiment, of sorts. Whether I have five, six, or all seven children with me, strangers seem incapable of counting to more than four. I take this as a direct reflection on the sorry state of education in this country. "So, you have four?" I'm frequently asked. "No, I have seven--see? Five boys and two girls--seven. Five plus two equals seven. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven."
When I was pregnant with my fifth, a cashier surveyed the boys and asked what I was having. When I told her it was another boy, she spat, "OH! I feel so sorry for you!" I took one look at the boys' crestfallen faces and said, "Please don't. I'm the luckiest person in the world with all of these boys!" We left with big smiles because, regardless of what anyone says, my kids only really care about what I think.
When I had six, I was in the Wal-Mart toy department looking for a birthday present for a friend. My oldest sons were off in the electronics department (because there's nothing more to life than complicated electrical gadgets), so there were only four with me. I turned a corner with two in the basket and the other two hanging off the sides. It was heavy, so I had a hard time stopping it and almost ran directly into an older lady, who proclaimed, "Oh no! Do you think you have enough children?" I immediately replied, "I don't think you can ever have enough children." I find it difficult to explain to my kids why people make comments in front of them as though they can't hear.
The question people ask almost every time I'm in public with six of the kids is also my favorite. Never fail, someone will look at us and say, "Are they all yours?" (Yes, it's also the most inane question.) To which I ask, "You mean are these all my children?" When they nod, I tell them "No . . ." (they smile and give a great sigh of relief--as though they have to care for them) " . . . we have another one in college." I'm tempted to take my camera out and snap a picture of their facial expressions . . . but I would never dream of being that rude.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Growing Pains
As you know, my husband and I started a promotional products company last year to help us overcome our real estate losses. We have been overwhelmed by the sheer amount of opportunity available to us. It's just a bit too much.
To get our feet wet, we took on many very small accounts here in Temecula. It's great to get to know these customers and work closely with them (that's my husband's job), but the profits from these have been small. Minuscule, to be exact. The work involved, on the other hand, in the development of the design and graphics, and the completion of the project, takes many hours. This has distracted us from the bigger accounts.
In two of the other areas that we've branched into, we have very large customers. However, they haven't been serviced by us in a timely manner because of all the work involved with the many small businesses clients. Now that most of the less profitable initial orders have been fulfilled (reorders are much easier), we've decided to pursue only large accounts and service fewer of them. For example, we can have 200 smaller customers or 25 big ones, which would net us about the same profit. Besides volume, of course, this is due to the fact that the products we order have steep discounts at higher quantities. Some of these big businesses order 1,000 or more of the same item with the same graphic, while our smaller clients may make 24-72 piece orders. The work is identical, the profit is more.
Our challenge now, as we suffer these growing pains, is to show our customers at the large accounts that the turn around time is much faster than previously estimated, and to start pumping out the products (there are numerous steps prior to the completion of one new order). By developing a good reputation in a close-nit industry or two, our business will grow by word of mouth and personal customer service. It has already, but with the less profitable companies. So we may have to turn down some new clients, who don't have the volume to satisfy our desired profit margin (unless they can combine orders with other business owners, which has happened in the past).
We're consulting with advisers and mentors about forming a strong foundation in order to start hiring contract employees. Without the proper internal structure to handle the training, management, payroll, and order fulfillment of a single employee (or more), our business would not be on solid ground. We would lose customers by having too many orders and either not being able to fulfill them, or completing them in an unsatisfactory manner.
So, I must be patient, as my ever-so-wise husband reminds me--on a daily (or sometimes hourly) basis. If I get too eager, I think I'll just blog about it instead of bugging him.
To get our feet wet, we took on many very small accounts here in Temecula. It's great to get to know these customers and work closely with them (that's my husband's job), but the profits from these have been small. Minuscule, to be exact. The work involved, on the other hand, in the development of the design and graphics, and the completion of the project, takes many hours. This has distracted us from the bigger accounts.
In two of the other areas that we've branched into, we have very large customers. However, they haven't been serviced by us in a timely manner because of all the work involved with the many small businesses clients. Now that most of the less profitable initial orders have been fulfilled (reorders are much easier), we've decided to pursue only large accounts and service fewer of them. For example, we can have 200 smaller customers or 25 big ones, which would net us about the same profit. Besides volume, of course, this is due to the fact that the products we order have steep discounts at higher quantities. Some of these big businesses order 1,000 or more of the same item with the same graphic, while our smaller clients may make 24-72 piece orders. The work is identical, the profit is more.
Our challenge now, as we suffer these growing pains, is to show our customers at the large accounts that the turn around time is much faster than previously estimated, and to start pumping out the products (there are numerous steps prior to the completion of one new order). By developing a good reputation in a close-nit industry or two, our business will grow by word of mouth and personal customer service. It has already, but with the less profitable companies. So we may have to turn down some new clients, who don't have the volume to satisfy our desired profit margin (unless they can combine orders with other business owners, which has happened in the past).
We're consulting with advisers and mentors about forming a strong foundation in order to start hiring contract employees. Without the proper internal structure to handle the training, management, payroll, and order fulfillment of a single employee (or more), our business would not be on solid ground. We would lose customers by having too many orders and either not being able to fulfill them, or completing them in an unsatisfactory manner.
So, I must be patient, as my ever-so-wise husband reminds me--on a daily (or sometimes hourly) basis. If I get too eager, I think I'll just blog about it instead of bugging him.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Foreclosure Auction
How would you like this job? Would it be worse than being an undertaker? It's kind of depressing to make the final decision as to when a person's home is taken away. It's true that the auctioneer wasn't the one who decided to borrow more than he could afford and then not make the payments. Yet I wouldn't have warm fuzzies at the end of every work day after officially taking kids' homes away from them. As an undertaker, at least you're doing something to comfort a family in mourning. You didn't kill the deceased. He came that way. It seems that, as a foreclosure auctioneer, your killing hopes and dreams, even though none of it was your fault.
I remember when my husband and I decided to thoroughly investigate the possibility of buying foreclosures. It was around 2003 or so and the first step I took was to buy a book on the subject and read it, front to back, in a matter of days. I took notes and researched at the library and on the Internet. We didn't want to be in the market of preforeclosures because of the work and competitiveness (remember all of the "We'll Buy Your Home in 3 Days!" signs?) involved in attempting to contact people who had fallen behind on their payments, and trying to convince them to sell their homes to us. We were attracted more to the process of purchasing foreclosures.
However, our analysis wouldn't be complete until we attended a foreclosure auction. We figured that we would talk to some pros there and get the scoop on how it worked--and whether or not there was any money to be made from it. When the appointed day arrived, we drove to downtown San Diego and saw the people waiting on the steps of the courthouse for the auctioneer. Several men carrying clipboards were milling around. We found a parking space (wheels crimped, less than 18 inches from the curb, and a full parking meter--because if you park illegally in downtown San Diego, you'll have a ticket from one of the gazillion meter readers in about 23 seconds flat). Then we bounced over to the small crowd.
We walked up to the closestvictim gentleman, smiled, said "Hello", introduced ourselves, and stuck our hands out for a nice, firm handshake. The guy looked away. No salutation. No smile. No shake. Just turned around. We figured that he was having a bad day (at 9:00 in the morning?). So we sprung over to the next person. Same thing.
At first, we didn't understand what was going on. We had been holding free seminars for our friends and others in order to show them how we were buying real estate. I simply gave away comprehensive lists of vendors, web site addresses, and areas that we had researched. I spent hours working on a form that highlighted all of the important aspects of investing that we had learned. The packet we compiled was full of useful information, lease samples, and an apartment association folder. We would counsel couples one-on-one, which took much of our time. I answered myriad questions over the phone--everyday. What good would it do me to keep all of that information to myself? I figured that there was enough real estate to go around for everyone.
It was obvious that the foreclosure regulars didn't have our same philosophy in the sharing of specialized knowledge. We approached each of the five or six men until we finally found someone who would talk to us. Unfortunately, he was one of us, so not very helpful. The auction started and that's when we figured out why these people acted as they did. Every single one of them were employees for large companies that were picking up San Diego foreclosures at the time. There were very few houses available, and many on the list were postponed or canceled due to payments being made at the last minute. These workers were afraid that we wanted them to tip their hats as to the amounts they were bidding and for the estimates of repairs needed on these properties. How sad.
We left feeling that we didn't want to take part in something so competitive. These employees were paid to spend their entire time researching each foreclosure and then hanging around the courthouse to try to acquire the best ones. With the responsibility that I had at home, I knew that I'd never be able to compete with that. I also didn't like their attitude. I figured that it may rub off on me if I spent time with them, and that wouldn't benefit anyone in my household.
So we crossed foreclosures off of our list and determined that, eventually, we'd find the right income-producing real estate investment vehicle for us. Unfortunately, two years later, we decided that apartments were the way to go, and the rest is history.
I remember when my husband and I decided to thoroughly investigate the possibility of buying foreclosures. It was around 2003 or so and the first step I took was to buy a book on the subject and read it, front to back, in a matter of days. I took notes and researched at the library and on the Internet. We didn't want to be in the market of preforeclosures because of the work and competitiveness (remember all of the "We'll Buy Your Home in 3 Days!" signs?) involved in attempting to contact people who had fallen behind on their payments, and trying to convince them to sell their homes to us. We were attracted more to the process of purchasing foreclosures.
However, our analysis wouldn't be complete until we attended a foreclosure auction. We figured that we would talk to some pros there and get the scoop on how it worked--and whether or not there was any money to be made from it. When the appointed day arrived, we drove to downtown San Diego and saw the people waiting on the steps of the courthouse for the auctioneer. Several men carrying clipboards were milling around. We found a parking space (wheels crimped, less than 18 inches from the curb, and a full parking meter--because if you park illegally in downtown San Diego, you'll have a ticket from one of the gazillion meter readers in about 23 seconds flat). Then we bounced over to the small crowd.
We walked up to the closest
At first, we didn't understand what was going on. We had been holding free seminars for our friends and others in order to show them how we were buying real estate. I simply gave away comprehensive lists of vendors, web site addresses, and areas that we had researched. I spent hours working on a form that highlighted all of the important aspects of investing that we had learned. The packet we compiled was full of useful information, lease samples, and an apartment association folder. We would counsel couples one-on-one, which took much of our time. I answered myriad questions over the phone--everyday. What good would it do me to keep all of that information to myself? I figured that there was enough real estate to go around for everyone.
It was obvious that the foreclosure regulars didn't have our same philosophy in the sharing of specialized knowledge. We approached each of the five or six men until we finally found someone who would talk to us. Unfortunately, he was one of us, so not very helpful. The auction started and that's when we figured out why these people acted as they did. Every single one of them were employees for large companies that were picking up San Diego foreclosures at the time. There were very few houses available, and many on the list were postponed or canceled due to payments being made at the last minute. These workers were afraid that we wanted them to tip their hats as to the amounts they were bidding and for the estimates of repairs needed on these properties. How sad.
We left feeling that we didn't want to take part in something so competitive. These employees were paid to spend their entire time researching each foreclosure and then hanging around the courthouse to try to acquire the best ones. With the responsibility that I had at home, I knew that I'd never be able to compete with that. I also didn't like their attitude. I figured that it may rub off on me if I spent time with them, and that wouldn't benefit anyone in my household.
So we crossed foreclosures off of our list and determined that, eventually, we'd find the right income-producing real estate investment vehicle for us. Unfortunately, two years later, we decided that apartments were the way to go, and the rest is history.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Neighbors, Part II
We moved to that old house by Jack Murphy Stadium after escrow closed and quickly learned that there were no "parents" at the home across the street. The men were independent and in their mid-twenties sharing a home--and they were anything but quiet. We got along very well with them, being in our twenties ourselves. However, it was a constant loud party atmosphere. One day they came over and invited us to their pajama party. How sweet, we thought. So we got the boys ready. We were still home when their guests started to arrive. We peeked out of the window and had to cover the boys' eyes. It was a pajama party alright, but not for kids.
Later, I pulled up to my house to find an undercover detective sitting in a car at my curb, staring intently at the house across the street. Way to be incognito. He knocked at my door and asked me a variety of questions about the men who lived there. I couldn't answer most of them, except to tell him that people came by night and day, and it was one big continuous party. He told me that they were being investigated for selling drugs. What a shock.
The lady who lived next door to the party house was older. She was the street gossip and I dreaded bumping into her when I left my house (we didn't have a garage, so we had to park in the one-car driveway and street). I was leaving with my then four-year-old son, when she cornered me. I had let my son in the car already and was about to buckle him in when she approached. I tried to say goodbye many times, but she would ignore me and continue to talk.
She went on relentlessly about everyone, especially the men who lived next door to her. As I intently watched her lips moving at warp speed, I noticed, through the corner of my eye, that my car starting to drift forward. At first I thought my eyeballs were just rolling to the back of my head, but as the car inched past me, I realized that I had to act quickly. I ran to the driver side door, opened it, and jumped in head first, pushing the brake pedal down with the palm of my hand. My son had been playing in the driver's seat and released the emergency brake. As I lay on my belly half way in and half way out of the car, blowing a piece of grass off my lips, my neighbor looked down at me and said, "You know, you really should watch him more closely when he's in the car." All I can say is that she was lucky my hands were busy.
We moved from there to the idyllic neighborhood of Sabre Springs (north county San Diego). The people on our street of 10 homes all moved in on the same week and we instantly bonded. All had children, except for one couple, two doors up from our house. They were very vocal about their disdain for kids. They were young, but had already decided that they were not going to spawn. Otherwise, we were very happy there until the developer opened up the street to a very pricey neighborhood above us (this was disclosed when we bought the home).
Unfortunately, the builder did not take precautions to ensure that the traffic did not exceed the speed limit when they flew down the hill passed our homes. We tried to reason with the developer to no avail, and the city wouldn't listen, either. This forced us to picket the grand opening and call the television stations so that there would be bad publicity associated with the ritzy development. The next day, a representative from the company called and explained that the city would be installing a stop sign within two weeks--and they did.
No one seemed to pay attention to the stop sign. This was a problem, as there were many kids on our block. Although we didn't allow our children to play in front unsupervised, other parents did. They also let them roam by themselves. We wanted a road bump (aka, speed bump). The city said that it would be impossible because it was a major inlet for emergency vehicles to access the new neighborhood. Also, the street was too wide. Both of these reasons completely precluded installation of a road bump. So I called our council member and had her representative attend a meeting at our house. I made sure that the neighbors would be present and vocal about our need to slow the traffic. There was only one household opposed to the bump--you guessed it. I guess her Corvette was too low to clear the bump, and they were worried about property values. However, because of the traffic on the street, I felt that it would improve property values (we had no trouble selling it years later).
When the time of the meeting came, I was surprised to find the Corvette owner at my door. I graciously let her in. In the middle of the meeting, she stood up and announced that they were opposed to the road bump because it would scrape the bottom of their car, regardless of the danger that the traffic posed to the children, and would fight it tooth and nail. The bump was approved and installed--and the Corvette cleared it by a mile.
Now for the winner of the "All Time Worst Neighbor" award. . .
In this same Sabre Springs neighborhood, as I've mentioned twice before on this blog, there was a man who lived four houses down from ours. He was a very nice guy and helpful neighbor. Everyone liked him. Unfortunately, he's on Death Row right now for kidnapping a child from her bed (six years ago this month), torturing, and brutally killing her. The family lived two doors down from us in the opposite direction of Corvette couple. Yep, a child-molesting killer, living a few houses away, pretty much takes the cake for worst neighbor ever. (D, we will always remember.)
I'm pleased to inform you that after being here in Whine Country for almost five years, we have had the most quiet and considerate neighbors of anywhere we've lived. Maybe it's due to the fact that our houses are hundreds of feet apart. There was a rooster next door to us that was somewhat annoying, but he's been long gone. Everyone here just tries to be considerate of others, and, with a little effort, we live in peace.
Later, I pulled up to my house to find an undercover detective sitting in a car at my curb, staring intently at the house across the street. Way to be incognito. He knocked at my door and asked me a variety of questions about the men who lived there. I couldn't answer most of them, except to tell him that people came by night and day, and it was one big continuous party. He told me that they were being investigated for selling drugs. What a shock.
The lady who lived next door to the party house was older. She was the street gossip and I dreaded bumping into her when I left my house (we didn't have a garage, so we had to park in the one-car driveway and street). I was leaving with my then four-year-old son, when she cornered me. I had let my son in the car already and was about to buckle him in when she approached. I tried to say goodbye many times, but she would ignore me and continue to talk.
She went on relentlessly about everyone, especially the men who lived next door to her. As I intently watched her lips moving at warp speed, I noticed, through the corner of my eye, that my car starting to drift forward. At first I thought my eyeballs were just rolling to the back of my head, but as the car inched past me, I realized that I had to act quickly. I ran to the driver side door, opened it, and jumped in head first, pushing the brake pedal down with the palm of my hand. My son had been playing in the driver's seat and released the emergency brake. As I lay on my belly half way in and half way out of the car, blowing a piece of grass off my lips, my neighbor looked down at me and said, "You know, you really should watch him more closely when he's in the car." All I can say is that she was lucky my hands were busy.
We moved from there to the idyllic neighborhood of Sabre Springs (north county San Diego). The people on our street of 10 homes all moved in on the same week and we instantly bonded. All had children, except for one couple, two doors up from our house. They were very vocal about their disdain for kids. They were young, but had already decided that they were not going to spawn. Otherwise, we were very happy there until the developer opened up the street to a very pricey neighborhood above us (this was disclosed when we bought the home).
Unfortunately, the builder did not take precautions to ensure that the traffic did not exceed the speed limit when they flew down the hill passed our homes. We tried to reason with the developer to no avail, and the city wouldn't listen, either. This forced us to picket the grand opening and call the television stations so that there would be bad publicity associated with the ritzy development. The next day, a representative from the company called and explained that the city would be installing a stop sign within two weeks--and they did.
No one seemed to pay attention to the stop sign. This was a problem, as there were many kids on our block. Although we didn't allow our children to play in front unsupervised, other parents did. They also let them roam by themselves. We wanted a road bump (aka, speed bump). The city said that it would be impossible because it was a major inlet for emergency vehicles to access the new neighborhood. Also, the street was too wide. Both of these reasons completely precluded installation of a road bump. So I called our council member and had her representative attend a meeting at our house. I made sure that the neighbors would be present and vocal about our need to slow the traffic. There was only one household opposed to the bump--you guessed it. I guess her Corvette was too low to clear the bump, and they were worried about property values. However, because of the traffic on the street, I felt that it would improve property values (we had no trouble selling it years later).
When the time of the meeting came, I was surprised to find the Corvette owner at my door. I graciously let her in. In the middle of the meeting, she stood up and announced that they were opposed to the road bump because it would scrape the bottom of their car, regardless of the danger that the traffic posed to the children, and would fight it tooth and nail. The bump was approved and installed--and the Corvette cleared it by a mile.
Now for the winner of the "All Time Worst Neighbor" award. . .
In this same Sabre Springs neighborhood, as I've mentioned twice before on this blog, there was a man who lived four houses down from ours. He was a very nice guy and helpful neighbor. Everyone liked him. Unfortunately, he's on Death Row right now for kidnapping a child from her bed (six years ago this month), torturing, and brutally killing her. The family lived two doors down from us in the opposite direction of Corvette couple. Yep, a child-molesting killer, living a few houses away, pretty much takes the cake for worst neighbor ever. (D, we will always remember.)
I'm pleased to inform you that after being here in Whine Country for almost five years, we have had the most quiet and considerate neighbors of anywhere we've lived. Maybe it's due to the fact that our houses are hundreds of feet apart. There was a rooster next door to us that was somewhat annoying, but he's been long gone. Everyone here just tries to be considerate of others, and, with a little effort, we live in peace.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Neighbors, Part I
Back in the day when houses actually cost money, the adage was that location was the determining factor in the value of real estate. I'd like to add that the type of neighbors also plays a role in whether or not a buyer finds your area attractive.
We've had our share of unique and interesting neighbors in the various places that we've lived. Most of the time, we don't know who we're going to get stuck with next door or on the same street. Even if we're happy with the personality make-up of our neighborhood, someone may sell and we still run the risk of a loon living within a stone's throw of our abode.
The second place we lived as a newly married couple was an apartment on Mesa College Road in Kearney Mesa (San Diego). (Just in case you were wondering, before that we lived downtown for six weeks, under the landing path of the San Diego Airport.) I walked to my classes at the junior college and my husband rode our tiny Vespa scooter all the way to the Navy Base in Point Loma (on the side of the road because it didn't go over 30 mph). We didn't know our neighbors there, but the lady next door had plenty of male company . . . day and night . . . one at a time. It seemed that she never left the apartment.
We moved out of there when we bought our condo in Point Loma (which was under the departure path of the airplanes). Our first son was 10 months old and we lived upstairs from a young couple. The guy was super uptight. Every time my son made a peep, the neighbor would be knocking on our door telling us to quiet down. A few years later, we had another son. It would bother the guy to no end when our children would run through the 800 square foot condo. He asked if we couldn't go to the library or park or somewhere when the boys wanted to play (mind you, I was working full time and we were rarely home). We were always polite until . . .
My son had had an accident and was released from the hospital just days before Christmas. It was a very traumatizing time in our lives and we were so happy to have him home (although much follow-up care was necessary). We were determined not to buy our Christmas tree until he could pick it out with us. Needless to say, we bought the biggest tree that we could find and my husband dragged it up the outdoor steps to our unit. We were overjoyed at the prospect of decorating the tree and having our son home for the holidays. However, just minutes after we walked in, Mr. Grumpy stomped up the stairs, pounded at our door, and irately stated that the tree dragging incident made too much noise. That sent me over the edge. I told him 1) he should seriously consider never living in a downstairs unit again, and 2) the next time we disturbed him, he should call the police and tell them that the people upstairs are walking around and decorating their Christmas tree. Otherwise, I expected that he never knock at our door again. And he never did.
Our condo complex of seven units was built on a lot that used to contain one house, so we were very close to the apartments next door. One apartment unit was a freestanding structure, like a house. This was directly under the balcony of our master bedroom. Unfortunately, it was occupied by two bachelor Navy seals. It was a party every weekend and we were tired of the noise lasting all night. We would call the owner at 2:00 AM (he was bright enough to have his home number painted on the perennial sign in the front yard). He was annoyed, but couldn't stop the seals from having a good time. We called the police. It would take them three hours to come out and break up the parties.
My husband, being in the Navy at the time, knew the power that the commanding officers had over the men in their division. We thought it might prove useful to videotape the party goers so that they could be identified by their superiors and be busted for disorderly conduct. So, one weekend evening, I stood on that balcony, with my giant camcorder (it was 1989), and called out to everyone who arrived at the party to wave at the camera. The night was over before it began. Within two weeks, the seals moved. It was just too easy.
Soon we were ready for a real house with a yard for the boys. We found one at an open house up the hill from Jack Murphy Stadium in a 50 year old neighborhood called Mission Village. When we went to view the home again, we noticed a few rowdy men in their late teens or early twenties directly across the street. Noticing our concern, the agent assured us that the parents were on vacation and the kids were home alone. Not to worry, she said, it was a very quiet street. We soon learned otherwise.
To be continued tomorrow, when I announce the winner of the "All Time Worst Neighbor" award. Stay tuned . . .
We've had our share of unique and interesting neighbors in the various places that we've lived. Most of the time, we don't know who we're going to get stuck with next door or on the same street. Even if we're happy with the personality make-up of our neighborhood, someone may sell and we still run the risk of a loon living within a stone's throw of our abode.
The second place we lived as a newly married couple was an apartment on Mesa College Road in Kearney Mesa (San Diego). (Just in case you were wondering, before that we lived downtown for six weeks, under the landing path of the San Diego Airport.) I walked to my classes at the junior college and my husband rode our tiny Vespa scooter all the way to the Navy Base in Point Loma (on the side of the road because it didn't go over 30 mph). We didn't know our neighbors there, but the lady next door had plenty of male company . . . day and night . . . one at a time. It seemed that she never left the apartment.
We moved out of there when we bought our condo in Point Loma (which was under the departure path of the airplanes). Our first son was 10 months old and we lived upstairs from a young couple. The guy was super uptight. Every time my son made a peep, the neighbor would be knocking on our door telling us to quiet down. A few years later, we had another son. It would bother the guy to no end when our children would run through the 800 square foot condo. He asked if we couldn't go to the library or park or somewhere when the boys wanted to play (mind you, I was working full time and we were rarely home). We were always polite until . . .
My son had had an accident and was released from the hospital just days before Christmas. It was a very traumatizing time in our lives and we were so happy to have him home (although much follow-up care was necessary). We were determined not to buy our Christmas tree until he could pick it out with us. Needless to say, we bought the biggest tree that we could find and my husband dragged it up the outdoor steps to our unit. We were overjoyed at the prospect of decorating the tree and having our son home for the holidays. However, just minutes after we walked in, Mr. Grumpy stomped up the stairs, pounded at our door, and irately stated that the tree dragging incident made too much noise. That sent me over the edge. I told him 1) he should seriously consider never living in a downstairs unit again, and 2) the next time we disturbed him, he should call the police and tell them that the people upstairs are walking around and decorating their Christmas tree. Otherwise, I expected that he never knock at our door again. And he never did.
Our condo complex of seven units was built on a lot that used to contain one house, so we were very close to the apartments next door. One apartment unit was a freestanding structure, like a house. This was directly under the balcony of our master bedroom. Unfortunately, it was occupied by two bachelor Navy seals. It was a party every weekend and we were tired of the noise lasting all night. We would call the owner at 2:00 AM (he was bright enough to have his home number painted on the perennial sign in the front yard). He was annoyed, but couldn't stop the seals from having a good time. We called the police. It would take them three hours to come out and break up the parties.
My husband, being in the Navy at the time, knew the power that the commanding officers had over the men in their division. We thought it might prove useful to videotape the party goers so that they could be identified by their superiors and be busted for disorderly conduct. So, one weekend evening, I stood on that balcony, with my giant camcorder (it was 1989), and called out to everyone who arrived at the party to wave at the camera. The night was over before it began. Within two weeks, the seals moved. It was just too easy.
Soon we were ready for a real house with a yard for the boys. We found one at an open house up the hill from Jack Murphy Stadium in a 50 year old neighborhood called Mission Village. When we went to view the home again, we noticed a few rowdy men in their late teens or early twenties directly across the street. Noticing our concern, the agent assured us that the parents were on vacation and the kids were home alone. Not to worry, she said, it was a very quiet street. We soon learned otherwise.
To be continued tomorrow, when I announce the winner of the "All Time Worst Neighbor" award. Stay tuned . . .
Friday, February 22, 2008
Owned By Credit
Coincidently, I found two news articles about credit cards yesterday. This one is about some of the bad card policies out there. While this story explains legislation that will provide consumer protection against unscrupulous credit card practices.
I think I'll go back to my college and professional employment days (do I even remember them?) to perform some analysis on these news stories. It's sounds boring, I know, but I'll do my best to hold yourincredibly short attention spans.
First, you must know that I do not have an objective perspective on this topic (surprise!). Back in the day of owning our albatross apartments and using our credit cards just to stay alive, we had a rate climb from 9% to 16% to 24% for no reason. We just got our bill one day and my husband almost fainted. He called the company and fought tooth and nail for them to reduce the rate, as we had been paying on time every month. The best they would do was drop it for one month because we didn't have advance warning (we were supposed to have received a letter that mysteriously never appeared). So, don't expect me to be too sympathetic toward the credit card companies. On the other hand, I also don't support the use of buying discretionary items on credit, either.
Notice in the first article, "The Worst Credit Card Deals in America," it's necessary to tie in the higher interest rates with mortgages:
"Just a few years ago, card companies were stumbling over each other to woo new accounts, offering all sorts of incentives, like zero-interest periods and lavish rewards programs, to get people to sign up.
Then again, so were mortgage brokers."
And . . .
"Of course, this is also playing out against a backdrop of declining spending and rising delinquencies. Bank profits have been hard-hit by subprime mortgage exposure."
These are true statements, and the economy, as a whole, is tanking, but to make that direct relationship an explicit given is unnecessary. The article could have stood alone without the reference to the loan fiasco. It's like saying, "These companies are so unreasonable because of subprime mortgages." I remember the problems with credit card providers going back many years. They've always tried to rip off the general public. This isn't new.
Surprisingly, the claim is made that there are only six major credit card providers (Citigroup, JPMorgan Chase, Bank of America, Capital One Financial, American Express, and Discover). Could this be the reason why they're getting away with highway robbery? And, if you want to stay with a smaller bank, the lengths that they go to make an extra buck rival that of the big companies. To have the benefits of a secured "credit" card, you pay a $59 annual fee plus $140 start up fee and 19.5% interest on the purchases you make--as soon as you make them. This is just to use your money, people. Obviously, the only reason to have a card like that is to build up your poor credit in order to buy something bigger with more borrowed money. Right?
Then there's the card with the 9.9% interest rate and $300 limit that charges you $256 in fees right off the bat. So you 1) use almost your entire limit before you even receive the card, and 2) not realizing this, will probably spend over your limit and be charged an extra fee and higher interest rate. What a deal. This card is rivaled only by the one with a $250 limit that charges $200 in initial fees and a 19.92% rate.
And make sure you check your mail faithfully because if you're on a business trip, miss the bill, and your payment's late, you can expect to pay 30% in interest on some cards. Couldn't I get a better deal in some back alley from a guy named Sal with a deviated septum wearing a trench coat? But, with profits down 35%, the banks need to recoup the costs somehow. With such a captive audience, it's an irresistible temptation that proves to be lucrative.
Don't despair. In the second article we have the government swooping in to save the day . . . or to save consumers from themselves, depending how you look at it. It would be ludicrous for Congress to attempt to legislate a ceiling to how much spending we do on credit. The world would cease to exist as we know it--literally.
"The Credit Cardholders’ Bill of Rights Act of 2008, known as H.R. 5244, would protect cardholders from arbitrary interest rate increases and unfair fees . . . (the) bill does not have any price controls. It does not cap rates or fees . . . (It) would prohibit credit card companies from arbitrarily changing their contract with a cardholder . . . The credit card company would also be required to give you 45 days notice in writing that your rate was going to change."
It will also limit "universal default" and "double-cycle billing," and give a longer grace period. Of course, the banks claim that this will only make credit "more expensive and less accessible." Hmmm. Is that a bad thing?
I say that, if your credit card company messes with you, pay off your balance with another cheaper card. But, before you sign on with any of these providers, read the fine print and be determined to pay off your purchases every month. After all, they can't scam you, if they don't own you.
I think I'll go back to my college and professional employment days (do I even remember them?) to perform some analysis on these news stories. It's sounds boring, I know, but I'll do my best to hold your
First, you must know that I do not have an objective perspective on this topic (surprise!). Back in the day of owning our albatross apartments and using our credit cards just to stay alive, we had a rate climb from 9% to 16% to 24% for no reason. We just got our bill one day and my husband almost fainted. He called the company and fought tooth and nail for them to reduce the rate, as we had been paying on time every month. The best they would do was drop it for one month because we didn't have advance warning (we were supposed to have received a letter that mysteriously never appeared). So, don't expect me to be too sympathetic toward the credit card companies. On the other hand, I also don't support the use of buying discretionary items on credit, either.
Notice in the first article, "The Worst Credit Card Deals in America," it's necessary to tie in the higher interest rates with mortgages:
"Just a few years ago, card companies were stumbling over each other to woo new accounts, offering all sorts of incentives, like zero-interest periods and lavish rewards programs, to get people to sign up.
Then again, so were mortgage brokers."
And . . .
"Of course, this is also playing out against a backdrop of declining spending and rising delinquencies. Bank profits have been hard-hit by subprime mortgage exposure."
These are true statements, and the economy, as a whole, is tanking, but to make that direct relationship an explicit given is unnecessary. The article could have stood alone without the reference to the loan fiasco. It's like saying, "These companies are so unreasonable because of subprime mortgages." I remember the problems with credit card providers going back many years. They've always tried to rip off the general public. This isn't new.
Surprisingly, the claim is made that there are only six major credit card providers (Citigroup, JPMorgan Chase, Bank of America, Capital One Financial, American Express, and Discover). Could this be the reason why they're getting away with highway robbery? And, if you want to stay with a smaller bank, the lengths that they go to make an extra buck rival that of the big companies. To have the benefits of a secured "credit" card, you pay a $59 annual fee plus $140 start up fee and 19.5% interest on the purchases you make--as soon as you make them. This is just to use your money, people. Obviously, the only reason to have a card like that is to build up your poor credit in order to buy something bigger with more borrowed money. Right?
Then there's the card with the 9.9% interest rate and $300 limit that charges you $256 in fees right off the bat. So you 1) use almost your entire limit before you even receive the card, and 2) not realizing this, will probably spend over your limit and be charged an extra fee and higher interest rate. What a deal. This card is rivaled only by the one with a $250 limit that charges $200 in initial fees and a 19.92% rate.
And make sure you check your mail faithfully because if you're on a business trip, miss the bill, and your payment's late, you can expect to pay 30% in interest on some cards. Couldn't I get a better deal in some back alley from a guy named Sal with a deviated septum wearing a trench coat? But, with profits down 35%, the banks need to recoup the costs somehow. With such a captive audience, it's an irresistible temptation that proves to be lucrative.
Don't despair. In the second article we have the government swooping in to save the day . . . or to save consumers from themselves, depending how you look at it. It would be ludicrous for Congress to attempt to legislate a ceiling to how much spending we do on credit. The world would cease to exist as we know it--literally.
"The Credit Cardholders’ Bill of Rights Act of 2008, known as H.R. 5244, would protect cardholders from arbitrary interest rate increases and unfair fees . . . (the) bill does not have any price controls. It does not cap rates or fees . . . (It) would prohibit credit card companies from arbitrarily changing their contract with a cardholder . . . The credit card company would also be required to give you 45 days notice in writing that your rate was going to change."
It will also limit "universal default" and "double-cycle billing," and give a longer grace period. Of course, the banks claim that this will only make credit "more expensive and less accessible." Hmmm. Is that a bad thing?
I say that, if your credit card company messes with you, pay off your balance with another cheaper card. But, before you sign on with any of these providers, read the fine print and be determined to pay off your purchases every month. After all, they can't scam you, if they don't own you.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Frugal Tips
A few weeks ago, I was asked by a reader to provide some frugal tips that I've found useful in my everyday life. I don't consider myself frugal. I'm just cheap. With all the money that we lost in real estate, I don't have the luxury of buying much of anything.
I'm allergic to spending money on stuff that I don't need. My children have taught me that shiny new merchandise in the store mysteriously turns into broken ugly junk when it passes through our front door. As I ogle an item that I'm tempted to buy, a vision of what it'll become flashes through my head, and I drop it like a hot potato. So my first tip is not to buy anything that won't last for at least 10 years.
Since I've grown quite attached to the children, I can't give any of them away (plus, some are old enough to find their way back). So I'm not going to say that the best money-saving tip is to have fewer kids. The more you have, the more use you get from the toys that the first one was given for various holidays, birthdays, and for just being born and burping all the time.
Now that we've established the fact that the kids stay, I'm forced to employ money-saving tips in my home. The best way to save on utility bills is to rip the thermostat from the wall the second escrow closes on your home. If you haven't done that yet, go now. Run, don't walk. Believe me, without heating or air conditioning, you'll save a fortune. You live in a state where the temperature drops below freezing? That's what fireplaces are for. Isn't it worth staying up all night to feed the hearth instead of wasting your hard-earned money on natural gas or electricity? Firewood is cheaper than propane. Take my word for it.
When the little ones are hungry, I just make a trip to Costco . . . during lunch. For free food samples. I save so much on our grocery bill that it more than makes up for the membership fee. If we stay long enough, we can have dinner, too. It's so great when Daddy can join us for a family supper and we all sit around the dining room table on display enjoying our plates full of tiny taste cups!
In addition to the tips above, we don't perform frivolous repairs on our vehicles. A hubcap is missing? Oh well. We tried to attach one that we found in the street, but it fell off, too. So what if the van, with gigantic tires, looks like Lucy Ball when she blacked out her front teeth. I can't see it when I'm driving. A door comes off when your teenage driver jolts forward while you're still getting in? Just wear a raincoat if you have to go somewhere when the weather is bad. Otherwise, enjoy the ambiance of cruising through Whine Country in an open sedan on a bright sunshiny day. Don't forget to buckle up!
We do see the dentist every six months because it's less expensive to prevent a cavity than to fill one. We travel to San Diego because that dentist is very nice and charges us a fraction of what others cost. However, we save by not seeing the optometrist regularly. I mean, literally, that we are unable to see him when we finally go in. We can't see the chart for that matter, either. I guess we've decided that having a sparkly smile is more important than reading a street sign.
And, last but not least, learn how to mend. The myriad holes that crop up in kids clothes may tempt you to buy more for them. But it's not necessary. It only takes a minute to thread a needle and close up that pesky eyesore. If you have to sew an item more than once, it may become cinched enough for the younger boy to wear it before his time. Socks, underwear, etc. all can be passed down from one child to the next (as long as they ignore the stains). An added benefit to learning how to use a needle is the money you save on ER visits for stitches. Do-it-yourself is the way to go!
I'm allergic to spending money on stuff that I don't need. My children have taught me that shiny new merchandise in the store mysteriously turns into broken ugly junk when it passes through our front door. As I ogle an item that I'm tempted to buy, a vision of what it'll become flashes through my head, and I drop it like a hot potato. So my first tip is not to buy anything that won't last for at least 10 years.
Since I've grown quite attached to the children, I can't give any of them away (plus, some are old enough to find their way back). So I'm not going to say that the best money-saving tip is to have fewer kids. The more you have, the more use you get from the toys that the first one was given for various holidays, birthdays, and for just being born and burping all the time.
Now that we've established the fact that the kids stay, I'm forced to employ money-saving tips in my home. The best way to save on utility bills is to rip the thermostat from the wall the second escrow closes on your home. If you haven't done that yet, go now. Run, don't walk. Believe me, without heating or air conditioning, you'll save a fortune. You live in a state where the temperature drops below freezing? That's what fireplaces are for. Isn't it worth staying up all night to feed the hearth instead of wasting your hard-earned money on natural gas or electricity? Firewood is cheaper than propane. Take my word for it.
When the little ones are hungry, I just make a trip to Costco . . . during lunch. For free food samples. I save so much on our grocery bill that it more than makes up for the membership fee. If we stay long enough, we can have dinner, too. It's so great when Daddy can join us for a family supper and we all sit around the dining room table on display enjoying our plates full of tiny taste cups!
In addition to the tips above, we don't perform frivolous repairs on our vehicles. A hubcap is missing? Oh well. We tried to attach one that we found in the street, but it fell off, too. So what if the van, with gigantic tires, looks like Lucy Ball when she blacked out her front teeth. I can't see it when I'm driving. A door comes off when your teenage driver jolts forward while you're still getting in? Just wear a raincoat if you have to go somewhere when the weather is bad. Otherwise, enjoy the ambiance of cruising through Whine Country in an open sedan on a bright sunshiny day. Don't forget to buckle up!
We do see the dentist every six months because it's less expensive to prevent a cavity than to fill one. We travel to San Diego because that dentist is very nice and charges us a fraction of what others cost. However, we save by not seeing the optometrist regularly. I mean, literally, that we are unable to see him when we finally go in. We can't see the chart for that matter, either. I guess we've decided that having a sparkly smile is more important than reading a street sign.
And, last but not least, learn how to mend. The myriad holes that crop up in kids clothes may tempt you to buy more for them. But it's not necessary. It only takes a minute to thread a needle and close up that pesky eyesore. If you have to sew an item more than once, it may become cinched enough for the younger boy to wear it before his time. Socks, underwear, etc. all can be passed down from one child to the next (as long as they ignore the stains). An added benefit to learning how to use a needle is the money you save on ER visits for stitches. Do-it-yourself is the way to go!
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