Sunday, June 30, 2013

Manager Manifesto

Dear tenants of 1313 Southport Drive:

I, your new property manager, would like to take this opportunity to clarify my position with regards to you and our interactions with each other.

First, I am NOT the owner of this property, I only work for the company that owns the property.  As such, my responsibilities are limited to two things: collecting rent and maintaining the property.  That's it.  I have no influence with the owners at all, I am just their employee.
With that in mind, let me clarify what I am not: 
I am not a mama.
I am not a babysitter.
I am not your woman.
I am not a mediator.
I am not a police officer.
I am not a repair person.
I am not your friend.
If something happens outside of these four units or with persons living or doing business outside of these four units, it is up to you to resolve it, not me.  
Repair requests: per the owners, they are moving to a different way of addressing repairs: for minor repairs, they ask that you keep a written list of repairs needed which will be collected every other month for the handyman to complete. I will send a written notice requesting the lists the week before the scheduled date for repairs and I will send a written notice of the date and time the handyman will come to make the repairs.
For any repair having to do with water: toilets not flushing or continually running, flooding of any kind, clogged drains, leaks, etc., please notify me immediately.
For any scheduled service or maintenance, you will receive written notice of the date, time, nature of the service and anything you may need to do for the service people to complete their task.
Finally, some additional clarification: per all of your lease agreements, your rent is due on the first of the month and is considered late after the 5th of the month.  If rent has not been received by then, written notice will be sent to you on the 6th detailing the legal and financial consequences of late rent payment.  

To sum up, I only manage this property: collect rent and maintain the building, i am not the owner.  You will receive written notification of repair days, scheduled maintenance and unpaid rent.  Contact me immediately if your repair issue involves water.
My phone hours are 9am to 6pm Monday through Friday.  I accept phone messages on the weekends and will return them during regular phone hours.  Otherwise, I ask that you respect my space as I respect yours.


Shannon, the manager

Sunday, June 16, 2013

1905 E. 18th St.

Six months before I left 1905 E. 18th St. was for sale for $165,000, making the monthly payment right at $1000/mo. It's a 2 bedroom, 1 bath - 864 square feet of front porched cuteness in the part of town where you now buy rundown places and empty lots for upwards of $250,000 just to build some half-million dollar monstrosity.  It is barnhouse red with dark blue trim and there's a sunroom off the back and a long, narrow backyard.  Down the street are two cemeteries, a 24 hour coffee shop on the corner and the new college football stadium that can fit 93,000 people in one spot is less than a quarter of a mile away. 

I put an offer in on this place and talked myself out of it.  I remember a hyperventilating conversation with Lou just before.  Scared of commitment (still), scared of putting down roots, scared of doing that by myself because doing that is something people do together just like drinking is something I don't do alone.
The person who owns the house now has a fan page for it and rents it out for $1500/mo.

Lately (this weekend) I've been thinking about what would have happened if I went through with it.  I would have walls and a bed to sleep in right now.  Walls that appreciated greatly in value in a short amount of time.  I probably would have gone out on some dates with someone I wondered about for 5 years, someone I still wonder about (he asked weeks before I left and I blew him off because I knew I was going).  It wouldn't have worked out because I'm still scared of commitment and, honestly, that much fucked up in one small part of the universe would have caused some sort of combustion.  I would have had a full house (I LOVE having a full house) at least twice a year, each year, since then, hosting friends for SXSW and ACL because that's what I do.  I would have been doing the same thing I am now, but at a different place.  I wouldn't have ever been on a real vacation.  I still kind of haven't been.

I wouldn't have gotten rid of something that really needed to go.  I wouldn't have known DD, Ireland or that teddy bear of a cop in Cork.  The Dutch girls, magners or Utrecht.  I would have, so wrongly, kept thinking that I really wouldn't like Paris.  There would have been no Colin or Shakespeare's or that Italian guy who stuck his tongue in my ear at sacre coeur.  There wouldn't have been jdg at the paradiso in Amsterdam.  There wouldn't have been that long stretch of gray in some European town that I can't remember right now (maybe maastricht? I can't get in to the mind palace right now) but feels very very real right now.  There wouldn't have been the timely grace of an unsuspecting friend.  No crazy camp, beautiful art or Jakie in New Mexico.  No smell of sawdust and real gorditas in Juarez, without fear. There would have been no office wife, no G (or only virtual G), and no finding that I can tolerate my job as long as the people are right.  I wouldn't have gone on my first (and only thus far) camping as an adult adventure (just say no to the fireball). I wouldn't be evicting a person.  I wouldn't be on my 77th day of living in my car.  My car with no air conditioning.  

It's been a big circle.  And I don't feel like I'm in a better place than when I left for drastically different reasons.  I'm exhausted: emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually. Neko Case is singing my song and Paris sounds really really perfect right now.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013


in the 3 hours of sleep i got last night, the following came out of my subconscious:

it was set in a fairly large ornate room, probably in a palace, with a wide hallway just off of it. there was a stage where the following lineup was set to perform that evening: Don Rickles and Mike Doughty. however, before Don Rickles came on, a tiny woman - maybe three feet tall - came on stage with a ukulele and started stacking empty Yoplait yogurt containers in a pyramid to the left of the mic: pyramid base four. no one paid her any attention until she adjusted the mic to accommodate her tiny frame and started playing and singing.

she was three songs in when she started doing a front to back sway that lifted her dress a little higher than one woman liked. i was watching from the corner of the room and the hallway when a fuller framed woman, in what looked like a cross between a prom dress and a bridesmaid disaster (strapless, stiff, taffeta, above the knee) stomped in front of me, red-faced and arms akimbo, "this is unacceptable! don't you know that the princess of genovia is here??! this creature is being vulgar before royalty!" i stared back at her and pointed to the end of the hallway where a deep bench with Steve Poltz and Heather Armstrong (in this dream her last name was Rhodes for some reason) of were sitting and giggling with each other.

"she's security, you should take that up with her." and off she huffed toward Heather and Steve.

Steve had a very tight buzz cut that was soft like a teddy bear.

then i woke up.

i feel like that was my last bit of silly leaving my subconscious.

please interpret.