Christmas 2008

Well, another year has made us stronger.  I’m so strong this year, I can carry an extra 10 pounds (an inner-tube) around my mid-section!  We went on a Celebrity cruise in April of this year to the “non-third world Eastern Caribbean” with the kids and my parents to celebrate being on “our own” for two years, and John and I took a “Detox” seminar thinking that we needed to get healthy.  We ended up purchasing $1,400 worth of seaweed pills that didn’t work, and just made my urine brighter and ripe.  We also completely stopped drinking Diet Coke which has been super glued to my left hand since 1989.  Well, if I’m not drinking Diet Coke, I have to drink SOMETHING, and water is boring…I completely acknowledge that if I stopped consuming wine and Miller Lite by the case load, that I’d drop the pounds, but everyone has a coping strategy to deal with the trials and tribulations of their life, and I enjoy all of which I have acquired a taste.  Besides, I’m not boring and I’m thirsty.

The Montgomery “3” are at absolutely fantastic ages.  This has been my most enjoyable year as a mother so far, and if the kids were any tastier, I’d drink them too.  Jack is highly involved in third grade and extra-curricular activities of Tennis, Basketball, Cubscouts, Chess, and Baseball.  Ashton is chilling out in first grade and is into whatever Jack is signed up for, but would rather be playing Legos and Star Wars.  He also continues to not like girls to the point of which I’ve been spoken to by his teacher, Sunday school teacher, check out lady at the grocery store, and anyone else that has an interaction with him.  And then there is Princess M.  She’s my ballerina, ball playing, trash talking, and swimming artist.  Her favorite color is pink and she wears a customized couture line of dresses made by my mother on a daily basis.  Her favorite line is, “Keep a Lid on It, Butterscotch”, and she’s keeping her brothers in line with her high pitched, Dora the Explorer sounding voice.  Delightful and music to my ears like nails on a chalk board.  M is a sponge and has somehow taught herself to read, write, and do mathematical equations while none of us were paying attention to her.  She now makes grocery lists, ingredient lists, and recipes, as well as completes Ashton’s workbooks for him when he’s not interested in doing them himself.  She’s four.

Lille, the overweight schnauzer, is absolutely no use at all, and what doesn’t kill her makes us closer.  This year, her 10 year old pancreas has decided that consuming peanut butter sandwiches, popcorn, candy, bread, pizza, and food scraps thrown on the floor doesn’t work for its digestion anymore, so now whenever Lille has a taste of the ‘good stuff’, she goes into a pancreatic attack and has to be hospitalized ($800/pop) and given IV treatment to clear her system.  Trust me, she doesn’t learn her lessons, and it’s caused me no end of frustration.  Lille had a hell of a good time this summer on Daufuskie when she and the kids learned how to pop popcorn in the microwave – well, Daufuskie doesn’t have a hospital, let alone a vet, and there was no way I was going over to the mainland to cure her bender.  Daufuskie does have Internet access, and I did my online research and made a call to her vet in Atlanta.  If there is one thing I proudly share with the world this year, it’s that a Zantac 75mg. pill works the same as an $800IV system flush – cut it in half, pop it down her throat.  Lille and I continue to have an understanding – she doesn’t poop on the floor, and I’ll stick a pill down her throat when she goes on a food binge.  Don’t get Xanax confused with Zantac.  Zantac is for acid indigestion, Xanax is for anti-anxiety, which is also a beautiful thing.

Speaking of a beautiful thing, I continue to run on the Gerbil track of life with the goal of going to Daufuskie Island every summer.  I never thought that I’d be that person that truly wants to go live on an island where there is no grocery store, no cars, no movie theatre, no mall, but I am.  I’m still driving the duct-taped minivan and have no replacement desire on the horizon.  A new mini-van is just not something to look forward to, and so I live for my summer, when I’m cruising in a six seater golf cart, and don’t have to fill my gas tank until we have to come back for the drive to Atlanta.  I’m consistently playing the lottery, and have decided that I’ll build a private school and Catholic church (with priest) on the island when my numbers come in so that I never have to leave!  John says he’ll join me.  Harris Teeter already delivers the groceries ordered via fax, so that totally works for me, rather than toting three kids to the grocery store.  In the meantime, I spend my reality of the school year helping John with his company, dropping off kids at school, activities, and friends houses, volunteering at the school, and picking up the tens of thousands of Lego’s living in our basement.  I do laundry, I cook dinner, and because the economy is in the tanker and we help companies raise capital (which is hard to come by these days), I now also clean/scrub/ disinfect our house without the weekly assistance of “the ladies” in my spare time.   It’s been quite a year and I’m very motivated!     We hope that everyone has a great and healthy and PROSPEROUS 2009.  Everyone is welcome to visit us in 2009 – please bring wine.    Love, Sinclair

Blame it on the schnauzer cause she ain’t talking

The best thing about a dog is their loyalty.  Kids…not loyal!

I had it on my mind to make French Onion Soup.  Sweet Onions, sauted over medium heat with some butter for 90 minutes until they reached a nice deep brown.  I now know why French Onion Soup is expensive in restaurants.  It’s very labor intensive.  I chose the incorrect day to make soup.  Monday was a very busy day in our household, I spent the morning paying bills and doing laundry and then realized as the boys were coming home from school that it would be in the best interest of keeping to the schedule if I started chopping onions at 2:30.

John had his client calling from California just as the boys were walking in the front door, and I had to quell their typical excitement as John looked at me with this look of “can’t you keep them quiet” as he waved his hand for us to move along out of his earshot.  I did think briefly to myself that he could do a better time scheduling conference calls, but we need business so I keep my mouth shut and shimmy the kids out to the back porch to update me on their day.

Mignonne was swinging happily with her American Girl dolls sitting at the table under the swingset.  Lille was sunning herself in the perfect sunlit spot fitting for a freshly groomed minature schnauzer.  Ashton had a fresh batch of Pokemon cards, and Jack was giving the update on a new book he was going to read this week “Matilda”.  All quite interesting, but my onions were not sauting.  I got Jack started on his reading, and told Ashton and Mignonne to stay OUTSIDE until daddy was off the phone.

I went and tended to my onions for the next 30 minutes, then it was time to take Jack over to tennis.  I asked if either of the little ones wanted to come, but they said they wanted to play outside.  Turned off the onions, and left the two little ones, and the schnauzer in the back yard.

Five minutes later, I returned, lit back up the onions, and decided to turn on Oprah in my kitchen where I learned that I could have multiple TYPES of orgasms, and exactly where inside my vajayjay I could locate the “G Spot”. Note to self:  if you are ever feeling around in there, it feels like the tip of your nose.  Ashton and Mignonne kept coming inside and I kept telling them to go back out.  “Daddy is on the phone”.  My stress level was increasing and I realized that I hadn’t left the house to get the refill on my Xanax…and it was one pill from being “out”.

Sauting onions add another 45 minutes, almost over with Oprah and then I shall never look at that Iranian installed fence the same way ever again.

Ashton came rushing inside yet again, saying “Mommy, Mommy!  Lille pooped on the playground!”

“What?”

“Lille POOPED on the playground.  Come see!”

So I turn off the onions again…go outside and Ashton leads me to the playground and the table under the fort part of the playgroud.  Lille was really into eating something.

“Lille Pooped!”

And there it was.  A very thick tootsie roll shaped log was right under the picnic table, right next to Julie, the American Girl doll, resting comfortably on the pinestraw.  I gagged.  Then right at EYE level was an impaled turd right on the ladder going into the playhouse.  The turd must have first hit the ladder, made a point of impact, and then proceeded to fall to the ground.  Half of the turd was on the ladder, the rest was on the ground (which the dog was eating).

I gagged several times and headed towards the garage to get a shovel.

When I returned I saw two big flies munching away on the impaled ladder turd.  I heaved.

The dog was over under the lawn table.

Mignonne was gagging too at this point.

I just shoveled and chucked the turds into Mohammad’s yard (over the fence and into his weeds) without thinking.  I went and got the garden hose to rinse off the impaled poo off of the ladder, and headed inside to tend to my onions and tried to get my mind back on finding my G spot one day and making french onion soup.

But wait…

It was a thick turd.  It wasn’t a doglike turd.

Lille doesn’t typically eat her poo.  Does she?

“Ashton!!!!”

I went back outside and found my middle child.  “Ashton and Mignonne, come with me”.  I walked them over to the most recent Lille poo over in the side yard.  “This is dog poo.  What was that on the ladder?”

“Am I going to get in trouble?”

Seems that Mr. Ashton pooped off the fort thinking it would land in Mohammad’s yard but instead the bomb misfired and did some damage of the “friendly fire” variety.

So, I need to let me kids use the bathroom inside from now on if there is a conference call scheduled after school and it would probably be in everyone’s best interest not to make French Onion Soup on a weekday.

My Brilliant Career is Equivalent to the Stock Market

I’m figuring out a back up plan, and also praying for John’s clients to start paying.

We began to feel the pinch of this horrible economy around June with my husband’s consulting business taking a complete “strange quiet”.  It was so eerily quiet that we decided to postpone our 10 year wedding anniversary trip to London/Paris and concentrate on bringing in some business…of which there is none.  Our 8 month emergency fund is running low and I’m wearing layers in the house instead of putting on the heat (inside it’s a brisk 61 degrees, and my hands are a bit chilled)…outside 38.

June turned into July, July into August, August into September…. I’m a worrier, so I reached out to some of my old career cohorts to entertain the possibility of returning to my Brilliant Career, after convincing myself that if I did return to work, our house was equipped enough to hire an au pair to help with the Kids after school.  My responses were mildly depressing, to tell you the truth.  It was as if everyone was now admitting (because they had to) that their work had stalled as well and although my qualifications well exceeded their needs, and even with my desperation of “Hey, I haven’t been working for 6 years, I’ll give it a shot”, still, the world suffers.

I emailed my friends that had all made partner at their firms while I stayed at home breastfeeding and shooting out babies and potty-training.  All replied in various forms of politeness simply stating their firms were on a hiring freeze – and that the pipeline looked bleak through the end of 09 – so I’m not optimistic. I’ve taken everyones lack of interest as a polite lack of interest, so I think they are more worried about putting food on their own table, rather than giving me a job.

I had been working out as a way to pass the time and push away depressing thoughts, but my brother in law from NOLA came here for 3 weeks over Gustav, and because he’s over 300 lbs, he was pressured to work out around us, so he got on the treadmill and you guessed it…it broke. GREAT!

I’m running out of my anti-anxiety medication, and I’ve put a call into the Nanny Napper for a refill, however, she hasn’t returned my call. A very special part of my brain has been impacted by Oprah’s special shows with Suzy Orman and the Impact it has on Wall Street every time she has a guest appearance, and well, anti-anxiety medication does more wonders for my nighttime psyche than wine, and I function better driving during the day.  (I actually accidentally texted the Nanny Napper’s husband for the request…talk about patient/husband confidentiality).

Countless nights of Monster.com job hunting has lapsed to the point where I need to figure out something more entrepreneurial, and I think I’ve got just the idea – God, please forgive me, but when the world is depressed, our jobs are all outsourced so men buy donuts, surf the Internet, and watch …

I’m always moving forward, so maybe once I get the treadmill back up and running, I’ll be truly implementing my online exercise (cough cough) web cam business sooner than I’d get hired with a real job and abandon my kids with some Swedish Nanny…

I did get a call from a name brand bank- head of their online .com position…however…they want me to move to another state…Special!

Oh, and there was that headhunter that wanted me to be a staff position on a project for AT&T for 2 years…$40/hour…no benefits/no vacation…I kept saying “I don’t think that’s the right fit” and he kept saying, “How many years have you been programming HTML?”…I’d reply…”I managed those projects, and dot coms, but I’m not a programmer, although I know how to program, that’s just not the right fit for me”. I got off the phone with that guy and puked with the thought of a 9-5 drone position….so I’m working on my “wink wink” “NEW” “business”..wink wink… utilizing my experience as the COO/CTO of MyBossIsChargingHookersonthevisa.com when I learned that hookers take credit cards…Brilliant Career?  Should I mention that as a qualification on my resume?

I’ve already branded myself with my brilliant website name (ah, I can’t share that) and for the low low price of $9.99/month (take Pay Pal) I can entertain while walking on the treadmill, simultaneously hula hooping in my skivvies… Isn’t It BRILLIANT!!! Don’t laugh.. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

As for the treadmill though, I appear to not be the only owner of a treadmill that the control panel is shot, so it’s going to be another 6 weeks until the manufacturing is complete and shipped (how’s some of that off shore labor for you!!!) Gives me plenty of time to roll out the site, implement “Twitter” and get Skype conference going as well.  I’m going to use www.helpareporterout.com for my marketing.

I highly expect my target client to be online support personnel in Mumbai (I’m thinking about implementing a filter that they have to be in India so that my neighbors are not aware of my exercise…My cover is that I’m going to tell everyone “I’m dieting!” when REALLY my secret is hula hooping and walking 8 hours a day while the Swedish Nanny does the pick up, drop off, dinner making, laundry folding, bed making routine of my life….Visa now has penetrated India – and since they have so many people and so many jobs…well, my marketing plan is going to be specifically for them and my price point is PERFECT! With BILLIONS of people over there, I just need 10,000 subscribers to be A MILLIONAIRE and save for retirement on my beautiful island paradise!

Talk about Special!

So yeah, I’m still considering “my backup plan should the treadmill not get fixed”.  And I’m also praying that John’s client’s start to pay.

I guess I have to go run around the block or something and get some hair dye if I’m actually going to meet another living person besides my husband and three lovely children. When I started this journey, I had such a positive outlook, and now…I’m stuck in the deep deep abyss. My current look probably doesn’t cut it in the business office — you know, the deer in the headlights, haven’t bathed in a few days, and you don’t even care kind of look.

And you know what?  I’m not bathing today either.  It’s too damn cold to get naked.

Daddy Dumb

On Retrospect, my counsel was wasted.  She Divorced Him.

I think I have a career in marriage counseling.  Not in my own, but in others.  I just have to figure out how to monetize my advice – maybe my patients could buy me a nice bottle of wine?

Spent :53 on the phone helping out daddy daycare.  Gave him the his needs, her needs counsel, and when I asked him “what does SHE need?”, he went silent.  Sometimes I think we overlook what our loved ones need because we think it’s not “correct”..i.e. “That’s ridiculous!”

My counsel was very close to some “Insight” I learned from Oprah the other day…when we eliminate our “baggage”, our “noise”…we can very much live in the moment, and just enjoy that moment.

Daddy daycare has a beautiful wife.  She’s stunningly beautiful.  She needs adoration and love.  She needs “some frequent lovin!”  Daddy daycare is beat down and not feeling that he’s measuring up.  I remember that episode in Desperate Housewives where Lynette was working and Tom was at home with the kids (who were nightmares in their own right).  Tom just wasn’t able to perform to Lynette’s liking – and she was belittling him for that).  Well, my analysis is that Daddy’s not performing because she’s making him feel inferior.  He doesn’t feel like a “man”.  She tells him that “he’s not being the man that she married”.

“That’s Ridiculous”  she would say.

“I’m so sad”, he would say.

There is always an excuse not to have sex…on both sides.

My counsel was to implement a stroke, per se in that part of his brain, and make the moment, live in the moment, and put all the other baggage aside to satisfy that “need” of hers.

Break it down.

One step at a time.

One need at a time.

Four Kids and A Great Body…Find Out How

Welcome To Stepford, where the forehead is paralyzed and the packaging floats.

I’m not bitter.  I live to spend a few minutes escaping in free magazines and catalogs that appear in my mailbox on a daily basis.  I no longer go to the mailbox daily, as it’s either bills, or free catalogs and magazines.  No one sends letters anymore…it’s all Facebook and Evite.  So, I stack the magazines and catalogs on the counter and bring them to the bathroom where we keep the magazine rack…for our spare time during a daily ritual.

So, I have a bit of a cold and I’m really congested (in more areas than one) so I pick up one that has “Four Kids and A Great Body!  Find out how!” and think to myself, okay, I’ll look into that one for 5 minutes.  I flip to page 26.

Turns out she’s not at all like me…4 kids in 12 years.  I had 3 kids in three years.  She’s so not a gunner.

Read some more…she tried the ‘newest diets’ and exercise programs, but that wasn’t working so well, so she (and I quote) “started planing for the day when she could afford liposuction.”  Her husband, a local physician, didn’t really want her to have surgery (righhhhtttt), but he supported her “choice”.  She “had fat removed from her knees, her thighs, her upper arms, her tummy, and her flanks.”  Her clothes fit her much better now, she can wear “size fours and sixes again!”  She’s on the cover of the magazine with her bleached blonde southern hairdo, her four children playing on the swing set behind her.  Oh, and she’s smiling…barely.

The article went on to hype the city plastic surgery center and all of the wonderful things they can do to enhance women.  Why can’t we just accept the way our bodies are now?  I went to Bunco the other night and I swear I was the only woman there that could frown, not to mention had my original boobs.

Maybe I’m delusional.  Sure, I’d love to stick a pair of ta tas in my bra (but I use the chick’fila patties that stick on), and I’d certainly love to cut out the area between my belly button and my c-section scar (I wouldn’t feel that because all of the nerves have been cut, but I’m now believer and prophet of Spanx).  However, there comes a point when I am in sheer disgust of body enhancement and botox as the norm of what we are going to or expected to all become.  Especially when it makes the cover of a magazine.

Welcome to Stepford.

The Pope Don’t Vote. Remember That.

Please don’t tell me what box to check to get through the gates.

There is the most religious man over in Vatican City, and if anyone is in the front of the line, I would bet my equity remaining on my house that he’s the first across the great gates. But here is the thing – he doesn’t get to vote in our USA – we do. Mary didn’t get much of a vote either – she just rode on the back of the donkey and prayed that she wouldn’t be stoned to death, since she was with child by someone other than her husband…. Okay,so I get that. But I also strongly believe that politics and religious doctrine don’t mix.

Afghanistan, Iraq, Saudi Arabia…hey, if your face isn’t covered over there, their government will stone you, kill you, put you in jail…a mixture of government and religion! You betcha!

I believe that government should stay out of my bedroom, boardroom, closet, and doctor’s office. I also want them out of my church.

I also know that I probably wouldn’t make the choice that so many young women, older women, and women that don’t remember where they were last night may possibly make in regards to terminating a pregnancy. Their business is none of mine, and it’s certainly none of a divine from across oceans.

I take great offense to any person, man, religious figure, or otherwise, telling me, someone that is entitled to my own opinion, choices, and outcomes, that there is no other choice but for the ticket that lacks the ability to choose. I personally wouldn’t choose that outcome for my own, but I also have made the conscious effort in my life to stay out of tricky situations, I’ve stopped having children by the age of 35, and I’m planning on being honest about life with my own children when they are ready to know the truth.

Pro Life for me, but Choose it for yourself, and protect your children from making bad choices that inevitably create bad outcomes.

So please, Mr. Pope, stay out of our government, preach your beliefs from the pulpit, but don’t tell me what box to check in order for me to be right behind you when the gates open.

That’s not why I’m voting.

Great Managers Get the Unwilling To Accomplish Amazing Things

“Mommy, I’m writing a movie here…can’t you see?”

There is a difference between a great leader and a great manager. I, in my household, am both.

A great manager gets the unwilling to accomplish amazing things. A great leader sets the example for the unwilling to want to lift themselves up to join.

I love my family. I can say right now in this moment, I love them more than I did three years ago. It is truly at this point of my parental management career that I can say “I’m successful!”…however, the dark tunnel I’ve been in (and my leadership got me through it) has been a long and painful, and sometimes psychiatrically medicated one.  Everyone has a coping strategy, mine mixes relaxing medication with wine.

My children are no worse for the wear of my pain and anxiety. They can finally communicate to me all that they appreciate of what I do, and I finally feel secure in the knowledge that I did a great job (so far). That like George Washington leading the troops across the Potomac River, or Christopher Columbus taking the crew on the voyage of a lifetime, I know that my role as their mother is to lead them, and manage them, and most of all love and protect them.

I wouldn’t be telling the truth if I didn’t also say that I, as the leader and manager in my household am seriously overwhelmed. I just can’t keep up, get it all done, and keep it all going. Not only do I have to keep myself on task, and on schedule, but then try to make sure that the little ones are prepared for whatever their teacher has on her agenda (although I find it amazing that lesson plans aren’t shared with parents). My oldest son (3rd grade) has a literature project due…”Write a Mixed Up Fairy Tale.” He’s a smart kid, and has a wonderful vocabulary and imagination – he’s had two week to accomplish the task, and I think all in he’s spent about 12 hours on his story – writing the outline, writing his story map, and then he went to town on the story. Every hour or so, I’d ask him how it was coming along, and he’d read me some brilliant paragraph. I’d ask, “Is it done yet?”

“No. I’m about in the middle”.

Four days go by and my great author is busy in the pages of his story. The deadline is two days away and I say, “Okay, let’s work on editing this story and make sure the story meets the expectations of the Rubric”. I read the story. It doesn’t match the story map. No, it’s another story completely.

I ask, “Uh, where are we here?”

“Mommy, I’m writing a movie here. Can’t you see?”

“Baby, it needs to follow the story map!” And then, it all fell apart from there. My future screen writer bursts into tears, sobs, and says that “he’s just an idiot” as well as some other incoherent statements of ineptitude and failure that I didn’t focus on and just tried to figure out how we were going to turn this thing around in 24 hours so that his gunner of a teacher doesn’t circle the “not acceptable” portion of her evaluation of his work.

We wrote another story map – this time trying to meet what was in the plot of the fairy tale, that again, isn’t a fairy tale, but a tall tale of movie magnitude…

And then true creativity was destroyed.

My management sucked.

He was then so exhausted he finished the story with boring detail, and wrote in big letters “The End” and put it down on the kitchen table and went right to bed – a child that was truly excited for the story that he was telling was squashed by being confined inside of the box.

Great managers also need to learn to manage those in the way that allows them to be successful. I should have just let him go with it, and then filled out the story map when he was done.

Lesson learned.

I can’t cry anymore

I just needed a really good cry.  I’m done crying.

In all of it’s glory.

I can’t cry anymore.

The lyrics to me don’t articulate a breakup – but this disaster of my mommy dumb situation. I spent the better part of my morning today feeling sorry for myself, as I haven’t had five minutes to do that as I’m always distracted by my husband, children, and that pile of laundry that this morning I didn’t have the energy to fold.

This morning though – Princess M. just decided that the dress that Nana so lovingly handmade for her wasn’t the right shade of green and because there was no pink in it – well, she hated it. I however, had just laid out on the bed trying to push my tummy roll into my size 29 Seven for All Mankind jeans and did that side profile view of myself that looked like I was expecting, but as we are so very aware…I’m not. I didn’t breathe in deep enough though…I just keep short breaths as I pulled my shrunken tank top over my only bra that hasn’t made it through Mr. R’s dryer but is still too big since I lost any breast tissue breast feeding- I then caught a nice long view of the belly fat and stretch marks that looked like land mines on my muffin top.

I began to pant as my anxiety of this entire financial mess took over and I thought I had dis invited my brain from acknowledging the fantasy that I’d love to go on a “I’m no longer a size 6” shopping trip when my lack of consciousness was invaded when Miss M. begins her throwing a complete tantrum as we proceed out the door and into the minivan that is in such a mess that the radio turns itself on and off now for no apparent reason. She was screaming, and I just thought to myself, “she has no clue how truly lucky she is – her life is perfect”. Really. As my mother did for me, I’ve given her the life that I always wanted. It made me sad.

Really sad.

We arrive at her sanctuary of pre-school as the ladies take Princess M. out of the car and into her world of art, music, and reading books that rhyme and have happy endings. As they do, they say,

“How do you ever afford to dress her so beautifully?”

“She has the most exquisite wardrobe”

“Oh My Goodness…where ever do you shop?”

I triumphantly reply that my mother made them for her – as she does all of The Princess M’s clothing – and know that they probably think the contents of my book are reflective of the picture that the Princess takes. I then hit the minivan close button, release the break pedal and the tears start to flow.

I know I’m not the only one in the world that feels this way – and unfortunately there are people out there doing horrible things to escape their own issues – but that’s not me.

I just needed a really good cry.

I’m tired of crying.

And just like that…I have nothing left.

McCain’s Housing Plan? Spells —–DISASTER

Buy This House For No Money Down!!! WTF???

Dear America,

American Made Means American’s Are Paid

Forgive me, but am I the only Republican that thinks that John McCain sounded like an out of touch idiot last night. It was like we are truly admitting we live in a Confederacy of Dunces. John McCain’s “shoot from the hip” Maverick plan last night – “his recovery plan” – was for the government to buy back the houses from the people that bought them and financed them at a value that they could not afford – only to revalue them and then let them stay in their houses. Wake Up! This housing financial crisis was caused NOT because housing prices are too high – it was caused because financial institutions were loaning money (and large amounts of money) to people that could not afford to pay that amount of money back. How could someone finance a home’s for more than 2 1/2 times their annual income. Where in the heck were the financial calculators?

The housing price run up affected everyone. Not just the people that now can’t afford their homes. It was caused by the stars and producers of shows like “Flip This House” or “Flipping Out”. It was caused by infomercials running late at night that sell people up that late (the night shift) that they too can be millionaires by buying real estate for “No MONEY DOWN” and then selling it for a profit. It was caused by the mortgage broker that told people that they could finance their house for 110% percent of it’s value because he was in cahoots with the Appraisal Guy down the street that would be aggressive. It was caused by developers in Urban Areas building Condos (the snooty word in my mind for “apartment”) and speculative selling them for prices that far outweighed the value because Donald Trump’s name was attached – you know “his brand”. It was caused by the “MARKET” of California where people would bid up a house’s value and then got financing for the house over and above what the seller was originally asking. When houses go on the market in California – a “range” is displayed…not the sales price…what in the heck? As big as California is – how can a banker justify that a 1,500 square foot house is $1.499M? Granted, they put some nice floors and countertops in but $1.5M? That’s just insanity. You know to be as dillusional to pay $1.499M for a 2 Bedroom house, you’ve got to be qualified for a Sub-Prime Mortgage.

So, Now John McCain’s plan is to “reevaluate” the price of that house and then let the stressed out homeowner (with a “sub-prime) mortgage refinance the mortgage for a new value? Is that fair to me? No – it’s not. I’m also not going to pay $1.499M, let alone $200,000 to live in a “supposively breathtaking” 1,500 square foot 2 Bathroom/2 Bedroom House. The price is what’s breathtaking! Here’s the $1.499,000 house for sale – 1611 Benedict Canyon Drive, Beverly Hills, 90210. 2Br/2BA Gorgeous, but Really? If you are interested in this house, contact Connie DeGroot. She’s a hot agent with a good picture and I’m sure she’d pull up in her fabulous car with Premium Gasoline. Here’s another $1,500,000 house for sale – and if you say “Location, Location, Location”, then obviously you are truly thinking that one day you’ll be able to afford this beauty….$60,000,000 dollar house. People that can afford houses that are mortgaged for $200,000 need to make $80,000/year. Every $200K of value of a house has to have $80K/income. Therefore, someone that is living in a million dollar house needs to bring home $400K/year. $1.5M means…you betcha Sarah Palin…$600K. In Los Angeles, Santa Monica, and Beverly Hills alone there are over 2,000 houses for sale in excess of $1M.

So I’ve done a little research. Number of Houses for Sale in Major Metropolitan areas in excess of $1M

San Francisco 828

Austin 477

Denver 707

Aspen 483

Dallas 818

Houston 767

Atlanta 1,693

Beverly Hills 290

Santa Monica 213

Los Angeles 1,832

Chicago 1,489

New York City 1,258

If there are 100,000,000 households in the U.S. and 1% of the U.S. economy makes in excess of $400,000 per year….that means there is only capacity for 1,000,000 houses valued in excess of $1,000,000. According to an Article in Wall Street Week/Fortune in 2001, there were only 7,000 U.S. households that made in excess of $10,000,000 a year. That’s .00007% of the US households. Virtually nobody.

Realtor.com doesn’t allow me to get a number of the number of U.S. houses on the market valued in excess of $1,000,000, but what I was able to pull was alarming. There is a road that my husband and three children drive along on our way to mass each Sunday and the houses are DREAMY. Big, Stunning, Beautiful houses. Old oak trees, blooming gardens, and security systems. I would safely guestimate that there are 40 houses/estates along this one stretch of road that lasts about one mile. None we can afford – ever in our wildest dreams. This one that I highlight this post is for sale for $3.495 million dollars and sits on 1.5 acres. There are at least 30 houses for sale . This isn’t good. Even the Uber Rich can’t afford to be Uber Rich anymore that. Mr. R would need to bring home $1.2Million dollars PER YEAR to afford that payment? No thank you. If the weathy are taxed at 50% (let’s say) then he’d bring home $600K of that….That would make $50K/month. $20K/month would be going to the mortgage payment, taxes, and insurance on that beauty…with 20% down. Unimaginable for 99.99% of America.

American Made Means Americans Are Paid

Our Great Nation needs to stop thinking that we can make a quick buck by not working a honest hour. Our nation was built on the ability for our WORKERS to work an honest day for an honest wage. We now outsource all manufacturing and we’re all “managers”. Everyone “goes to college”. ..College graduates don’t work in factories, and now, since everyone has a divine right to go to college – guess what – China is manufacturing all of our products – and our country is running a $500B loan to them. We OWE CHINA OVER $500 Billion dollars! Their factory worker in the Wal-mart manufacturing facility gets paid – ARE YOU READY? – $3.00/PER WEEK. The boys in Jonesboro, Arkansas are all “managing” this – and our dresses and closets are overrun with cheap clothing that was manufactured in China….So then, when we’re done with it – we put it in a dump or we sell it on EBay.com (God forbid your neighborhood lets you have a Yard Sale – College educated neighborhoods don’t have Yard Sales – We donate to the Salvation Army.)

One thing I learned during by brilliant career (that neither of our candidates have a business background) was that clothing manufactured in a factory is typically made out of the same fabric, same pattern, same thread, same buttons. The corporation buys the “design” and then sews their brand label onto the item of clothing. A pair a Kacki pants sold at Dillard’s with the label “Savannah” are the exact same pair of pants that have the label “Duck Head” are the exact same pair of pants that say “Yves St. Laurent” and are sold at Needless Markup. The pricing is different – but regardless if the label says “Made in China” or “Made in Bangladesh” or “Made with Pride in the U.S.A” chances are it’s a non-college educated Rapunzel sitting at a sewing machine cranking out that pair of slacks….thousands of them a day. What makes them different is the label sewn on the ass or the embroidery stitched on the back pockets…We care about what people think we paid because that makes them think we’re “rich”.

We shouldn’t buy houses we can’t afford – A HOUSE IS A HOUSE – A PAID OFF HOUSE IS YOURS.

We shouldn’t charge items that we can’t afford.

Your Land Rover doesn’t really need Premium Gasoline. And why in the hell do you need to drive a Land Rover or Hummer anyway? My 2002 minivan is paid for and I’m solving my energy crisis by walking my kids to school and waiting for Michigan to build me an electric one. I’m not fond of American Made cars, but if I have to purchase one made in the U.S. in order to create homeland jobs, I think that’s an investment in my children’s future and not Hong Kong’s kids. I’m not buying a Suburban either. It’s a gas guzzler, and I’m sick of spending $100/week towards getting my kids food on the table instead of into their college fund.

We should look at where the item is MADE in order to create Jobs in the U.S. If Wal-mart’s cheap clothing made in China wasn’t making them billionaires – they wouldn’t manufacture it in China. I’m making a commitment to purchase my cars manufactured in the U.S. The rest of America should too. I’m looking in my clothing labels too. If American’s are too educated to make it, then lets let the Mexicans crossing the border work in our factories for a fair wage and tax them since we’re providing them health care anyway.

Wake up John McCain. Wake Up Barrack Obama. We can’t bail out the first to fail, and we can’t give everyone THE BIG FREE. Government needs to back off and stop spending money it’s not making.

If the $500Billion dollar loan is Due to China – that means every U.S. Citizen, man, woman, child owes $1500 to CHINA! China’s factory workers make $156/YEAR! How much did Wal-Mart profit from cheap labor and our “I want it cheap and I want it now so I’m charging it on my Wal-Mart credit card” mentality?

The $700Billion dollars the US just bailed the banks out with means that every U.S. citizen, man, woman, child just paid another $2000.00

The $5 Trillion dollar US deficit means that every U.S. citizen owes an additional $14,285

Stop buying crap to fill up your closet because you are too lazy to do the laundry.

Look at the labels and put your money into the U.S. economy and create U.S. jobs.

A family of 5 (mine) now owes $17,785.00 to get us out of this mess.

I can’t sell my house to do it because the guy next door couldn’t afford his in the first place and I don’t want John McCain to bail him out either and I don’t want Barrack Obama to regulate it…not to mention…The Fence Issue .Which is certainly the only thing that I’d like government to regulate….

Accept RESPONSIBILITY.

Be Happy With What You Have, Where You Are, With the Skin That You’re In

His Needs Her Needs. Peter Cook Spills His Guts and Christie is Pissed.

Of Course a 19 Year old is going to make an old dude feel like Superman!  His wife uses the same bathroom!

It’s not good to air your laundry on the front lawn, unless you are at the beach and it’s towels. I suppose living in the Hampton’s qualifies as living at the beach, so confusion sets in…. however, I take a deep sigh, and although I don’t agree with cheating on your spouse with a 19 year old when you’re marriage is in a lull, I wouldn’t be caught dead discussing it on national TV (it’s too Denise Richards for my taste and America’s pallet), and I’m totally against airing your dirt in a disgusting court room to fight over who gets to see the children more (or have more blame to screwing them up in the long run), I’m glad to hear that Peter Cook is admitting to what millions of married couples ignore every day… they are taking each other for granted and they were on a slow drive down the dead end road of Unsatisfied Street.

Peter Cook, a wealthy man, with a hot supermodel wife, had from the book cover what everyone wishes they had. However, I think that when he opens his book from his perspective, what the footnotes reveal is that it wasn’t that he was addicted to online porn or masturbation, or that he eventually ended up screwing a 19 year old, but although he was a Master of The Universe from the world’s perspective, he felt like he was just a means to an end…an accessory…to his spouses ideal lifestyle and he felt it was a thankless job. He didn’t feel needed.

The 19 year old just made him feel like “Superman”, and the “Supermodel” made him feel like a money tree.

I have friends that are going through a similar, yet less superfabulous, ordeal. They are the best of friends, and both stunningly gorgeous, but totally disconnected in terms of appreciation of one another and are both failing miserably in terms of making the other spouse happy. The husband is failing the wife in what she expects from him, and the wife is failing the husband because she can’t solve their financial crisis.

Financial crisis is self-engineered. They can’t sell any of their houses which they’ve mortgaged their financial shortfalls (both lifestyle and inherited parental behavior) over the past 10 years of their marriage…well, he’s been procrastinating putting anything on the market because the truth of being over mortgaged is just to revealing, and their credit is destroyed because he’s paid bills late so many times that they’d never re-qualify for another mortgage. So now they are over mortgaged, over credit carded, and over extended….Wachovia just put a call on their line of credit and they are cashless to pay it back and equity-less to finance it. Financial ruin.

To add icing to this meltdown pie, She wants sex. He wants a job that makes him feel like a master of the universe. She wants to come home from work with a picked up house and the kids under control. He wants her to tell him he’s amazing and he should have any job that he sees posted for twice as much as they want to pay – not just the job that get him in the door.

Last winter, she gets a bonus. He pays the bills, she gets a fresh set of titties, and he borrows money from a friend. They go lingerie shopping to get her new bras and matching panties. The houses sit – messy, with no for sale signs in the windows – and their children are a fantastic mess of chaos and uneasiness. They drop out of socializing with our family.

I’ve been a bystander for the past 15 months wondering how they are financing their lifestyle and she’s affording True Religion jeans.

Months go by. He handles all of the bills. Her credit card gets declined when she checking into a hotel on a business trip. He confesses to borrowing money from a friend. She’s mortified. She tells him that he’s disappointed her, and that he’s failing his family. He tells her he can’t imagine making love to her since she thinks that he’s such a disappointment. It’s October now, the last time he had sex with her was May. She buys sexy lingerie that she can’t afford to get his attention. Nothing. He tells my husband she’s gotten a Brazilian and he’s convinced she’s cheating. They get a loan on his car.

She wants him to cook dinner and do the laundry so that in the chaos of their world the house is a sanctuary. He’s ordered out and charged it because the three kids are exhausting and their home is overrun with dirty laundry, dishes, and trash bins.

He thinks she’s cheating on him – but she’s not – and on and on and on it goes. Candice Bushnell couldn’t write any more reality than this one.

They are at the end of their relationship before the financial crisis that all of America is facing truly tears it apart. Besides being bankrupt, She’s done and he’s clueless.

When John and I first got married I didn’t think that we’d make it two months. He came home with a book the week of Thanksgiving called, “His Needs, Her Needs” and told me that he’s like me to read it… I read it and was So pissed and we didn’t speak for the next week and I seriously considered annulling the marriage…

What in the hell was wrong with him? Couldn’t we just be married, happy, and best friends? But ten years later, I specifically remember some of those points that the book discusses that I counsel marriage after failing marriage in terms of fixing what’s wrong…It was the best book I could have ever read as an equal participant and owner in my marriage.

  1. 1.What do you need him to do? What does he need you to do?

  2. 2.How do you show him you love him? How does he show that he loves you?

  3. 3.How do you need him to show you that he loves you?

  4. 4.How does he need you to show him that you love him?

  5. 5.If he needs sex….give it to him, as often as he needs it.

  6. 6.If you need to be told that you’re gorgeous…make sure he knows that he needs to tell you that.  If you need sex….tell him. If your spouse needs dinner on the table and the house picked up after working all day to provide for the family, then do your part and provide for your spouse in return.

  7. 7.Thank you goes both ways. Say it. Say it often.

  8. 8.Know the expectations, and make sure you meet them.

  9. 9.If you don’t give your spouse what they need, you can’t expect that they won’t go elsewhere to get it… and you can’t act surprised or amazed if they finally decide to have someone else give it to them.

  10. 10.If you don’t know what they need, isn’t it time that you asked?