I’ve had a twitch in my left eye for two weeks. I’ve vowed to abstain from drinking, but am indulging not only with wild abandon, but with renewed vigor. If you’ve been reading this post, you’ll have an inkling of what’s going on but let’s fill in a few gaps.

I have a four year old. And, like most parents, I really adore her. Beyond that, I can’t believe such a perfect, balanced being was spawned from the likes of Husband and myself. I reflect on that often, in a detached, “watching-the-other-woman’s-kid-at-the-park” sort of way, on how she not only looks nothing like me, but is sooooo much nicer, more likeable, and simply NOT LIKE ME, she is. And the coup de gras, I believe her perfection has very little to do with me. That is to say, from the nuture point of view. And that is to say, if you subscribe to the parenting tactics of most of my peers.

I don’t know when it happened, but sometime between my generation and the one before, everyone decided to be a “SUPER-PARENT”. My girlfriends, who had previously concerned themselves with 1. higher education 2. Company ownership/directorship 3. Prowess at a sport,  have now gone on to have children with the same dedication to a “higher standard” with which they have pursued the rest of the things on the list.

Now, relating back to previous posts, I am absolutely at peace with how much I suck. I had a baby because I wanted one and because I really wanted to give my parents grandchildren and I gave it little thought beyond that. When I did finally get pregnant, (no small feat in and of itself), I was informed that my father had less that a year to live. I spent the balance of the pregnancy in utter disbelief and grieving only to have my father die six weeks after my daughter was born. Having my daughter was the best thing I’ve ever done.

That alone would sculpt and shade the way my daughter has been raised. Throw in starting a new business, a peak and then a tremendous valley in the real estate market, you’d expect my daughter to behave as though she were raised by wolves.

Not the case. The highest compliment I’ve received to date was from a friend of my husbands, someone whom I’d describe as a “perfect father” type. He had nothing but praise for my daughter. In all the right areas, to boot. Speech, manners, maturity.

But back to the “super mommies”. Ladies, stop with the worry, the judgement, the fanatical concern. Let Johnny play in dirt, get licked in the face by the dog, pee on the lawn, eat the cookie off the floor and play with bugs. Get something new in your repitoire to talk about, (because I haven’t read the latest parenting book – and in fact am completely absorbed by the latest works of David Sedaris), swear a little more, have two drinks instead of one and for God’s sake, be a PERSON  again for a change. Our kids are going to grow up thinking their moms were perfect robots who only cared about one thing – THEM. Never again in their lives will anyone give that much of a shit about them. And they should know that too.

In case you haven’t heard, the real estate market simply sucks right now. It sucks so badly that people are killing themselves. First thing Monday morning, I get the news that over the weekend, a local developer did himself in in his bedroom. Doesn’t help that it was in the home I’d shown my client two weeks earlier. 

“Did he do it because we didn’t buy the house” she asks, her voice catching slightly.

How do you answer that?! I don’t know, maybe. Maybe it was the last straw. I don’t know.

“No,” I answer, “there were far bigger problems than that, I’m sure.” 

I went on to say that perhaps now was the time for a little more compassion and understanding for everyone we encounter. I’m making myself nauseated with the syrupy-ness, but I do believe that.

The funny thing is that in tough times like these, the wheat really does separate from the chaff. I mean that while I’ve encountered some real nutters, I’ve also become close to some people I really admire.

Let’s start with the nutters. I interviewed for a job today. Now, in case you don’t know, most real estate brokers PAY ALOT OF MONEY to the company they work with for the privilege of working there. I have no judgement for that because, hey, THIS IS A BUSINESS. Yes, it’s a business WITH ALOT OF LIABILITY ATTACHED TO IT.

So, I arrive for my 11 am with Mr. Brown, the principal at company X. He asks me to start and I give my spiel. 

“…been doing this for eight years, blah, blah, creating a niche for myself, blah, blah, need a team to work with, blah, blah, blah.” 

I MEAN everything I say. I HAVE to do what I’m doing. I don’t have a choice. What’s more, I actually like it.

Then he starts. And the more he talked, the more I kept hoping he couldn’t tell that my eyes kept losing focus and that I was wondering when class would let out.

 ”I’m looking for PRO-DUC-ERS. I’ve seen just how much you done in the past year. I want to see a break down of your daily activity and a business plan. We’re not here just to support you, it’s a give and take. And, I want smiles, don’t come in here being Miss-negative. I’m a positive person and I want those people around me. Now you can come into my office anytime and cry and we’ll work through your problems, but once you get past that door, its ALL SMILES.” And on, and on, and on.

And for the pleasure of doing business with them it’ll cost me a minimum of $30,000/per year. Whether I make money or not.

Now, when I left, being open to the suggestion that I really do SUCK, I felt quite small. Then I started thinking, I can’t believe I’m the only real estate lady right now that sucks. Well sure enough, I have lots of company in the sucking department. Which makes me feel much better.

Now I appreciate and admire, my super-energetic and hard working compatriots. They are the “wheat” I referred to earlier. I know the nicest, smartest brokers in town. But you know, ultimately, this is a numbers game. Lots of houses, few buyers, many of us are going to be zero producers. I need to add that I will be closing on a million dollar home next week. It took a year of HARD work, tenacity, groveling and abuse to get there but I will be there. Still, there are some who will make the numbers and many who won’t. Even with that sale, I won’t.

I won’t be taking the job, even if it’s offered to me. I guess I’m too old (41) and have had my own business(es) for too long to feel that, well, patronized and condescended to. Just ego speaking, what’s left of it, of course, but when logic is SCREAMING one thing and Mr. Brown of company X is screaming another, I have to whisper, “uncle.” Maybe I’ll just be true to whatever “self” I have left, and see what the future holds.

It’s 6pm Friday evening and weak, cold, mexican beer in hand (it’s 88º and it just goes down nicely – ordinarily, I’m far stuffier in my tastes). Fridays are odd to me now that I’m a Real Estate Lady. While everyone else is closing up shop for the weekend, I’m feeling like the shutters are coming up and we’re opening for business. Which is why, next to my cold one, lies my eternal friend/lifeline/nemesis, my cell phone. It could ring at any moment. Broker Jones with a client in from Dallas who has seen my home online and wishes to show it tomorrow between 10 and 5. Ah Fridays. Ripe with possibilities.

The trap had caught the poor thing squarely across the head. The rest of the body was so unblemished, the mouse looked like it could be alive, except for the severely flattened skull, the result being that it was almost unrecognizable at all. I did have to look twice, but on the realization that I’m “it” and that noone would be back in the house save a potential buyer, I took up the charge to remove the offending rodent from the premesis.

Aaaahhhh! The things you do for love….or money. Here I am, at one of my listings, a very nice home, fully furnished, great views, all with a price tag approximately $100K over what it should be. I know it is overpriced, as do all of my collegues, whom by now have seen it and made the appropriate mental note (the kiss of death in this market). And while the owner has, on numerous occasions, been apprised of the fact that his home is too expensive, he is as yet unwilling to make any sort of “downward adjustment”. 

“Consensus is that the home should be priced at about $900K.” I say, feeling apologetic, resigned and decidedly “flappable”.

Mr. Seller replies, sounding confident, cool and UN-flappable. ”Look, if someone likes the house, they’ll make an offer. I just can’t help feeling everyone’s playing games over there.”

Playing games?! Is he serious?! I think to myself. Wow, wouldn’t it be great if this was just a game and we could all call it a day and go home.

“As you wish. I will continue to market the home to the utmost of my ability. I’ll keep you posted.” I say and sign off.

He thinks this is a game. Wow. Every week, I hear a story about someone else going bankrupt as a result of our “market slowdown”. Big, established developers are giving fancy houses back to the bank, little-guy contractors are bidding jobs tens of thousands of dollars below cost just to “keep the wheels moving”, and real estate brokers are getting second jobs at Costco.

Sub-prime lending, looming recessions, and all other factors aside, one of the big culprits in our declining housing market is “SELLER OVERCONFIDENCE”. Mr. Seller has decided to go to market with his home yet, while he has heard all of the news about the market being “soft”, it hasn’t clicked that it means its “soft” for everyone, including him. He wants to market his home at a top-of-the-market price, even though that’s a ship that sailed two years ago. In fact, with things as uncertain as they are, many brokers tell clients to go to market at a price reflecting any further decrease the market may have in, say, 90 days.

Buyers today are shrewd at best and mercenary at worst, but they all know that they can afford to be picky. Some go so far as to pre-qualify most initial showings as I’ve detailed in previous entries. They have lots of inventory to choose from, including that of builders and developers who are undercutting the market by hundreds of thousands of dollars just to get out from under expired construction loans.

And now, Mr. Seller has created a stand-off between his unrealistic expectations and a buying public that feels taken advantage of. And I, like our poor little rodent friend, am stuck in the middle and will meet a similar fate because as sure as sure, at the end of our contract if not before, Mr. Seller will become frustrated with my efforts (or lack thereof in his mind) and list his home with Mrs. Busy-Broker…..for $100K less.