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Let’s Ask The Dogs: Adventures In Real Estate

“Let’s ask the dogs” is about our recent adventures in real estate, which continue apace in the far northeastern sector of California, otherwise known as Modoc County.

Since moving here last November, we’ve managed to get some work done on the house and we tried to acquire another house in Gallup, NM. That’s almost as far from here as Florida, minus about a thousand miles. But we make up for that missing thousand miles by being north of there altogether. It’s no wonder we’re all confused.

We’ve been putting money into improving this house, and while we were at it, put in an offer on a house in New Mexico. It was slated to close next week, but we’re withdrawing from that house, in favor of a less complicated life.

We drove down to Vegas last month and tootled on to Gallup at the end of the week when hotel rates go up in Vegas to look at the house we hadn’t seen yet. Before anyone gets judgey about this–like we’re Russian mafia buying up houses across the nation so that Americanishki capitaleests can’t find a place to live–we haven’t done anything a few millennials aren’t doing in the present real estate market, ie: buying a pig in a poke.

(That means buying a house without seeing it first, for those who are younger than my teeth and don’t know from old sayings.)

Lets ask the dogs on chezgigi.com

I actually wasn’t sure what a “poke” is, but I knew it was something through which a pig cannot see, nor be seen. Like maybe he’s wearing a burka.

While we were down in Sin City, we filed against the buyer of the Vegas house. We’re all set now for court in July. Which means we have to drive down AGAIN and play baccarat at the Palace Station. This woman has a lot to answer for, especially if we lose- in court or at baccarat.

One of the woman’s accusations against us is that we only PRETENDED to move out in order to not pay a second month’s rent to her. That’s right, we paid for a motel room for all three of us, but did not check in just before 8pm that night. Because we wanted to fool her.

In the same breath (it’s in a letter) she says she has PROOF we still lived there because she went inside the house after midnight and took pictures and video. How very perverted of her, to take pics and video of a family sleeping on the floor. The family who only PRETENDED to move out.

I tried that ploy, and it’s kind of fun: I accuse everyone I see of only PRETENDING to be cooking, or dressing, or driving. In reality, they just want to fool me into thinking they are doing those things. Like playing an endless game of Charade.

In the course of all this I sent my friend, David Williams, an accounting of the letter I’d written on the MOTH’s behalf for the upcoming trial. Don the MOTH wasn’t happy with my “legalese” (which I picked up when I earned my Google law degree), as he’s of the opinion that the court doesn’t give a rap about my legal interpretation of this lying sack of poop’s actions.

David had his own opinion of my opinion, which is as follows:

“Your Honor, ‘Lying Sack Of Poop’ is a legal designation, as affirmed by Wilson v. Johnson, Nevada, 3rd District, 1893.  The facts of the case are that Wilson sold Johnson a wagon, which Johnson took possession of on a Friday. Johnson then said that Wilson, on Saturday, walked to Johnson’s farm, 8 miles away, to retrieve Wilson’s wife’s hat from the wagon, Johnson thus charging Wilson a day’s rent for the wagon. Wilson’s argument in his testimony, was,  “Johnson, you’re a lying sack of poop.  I don’t even have a wife.  I sleep with yours.”  The court ruled in favor of Wilson, based upon the well known public knowledge of the facts as stated by Wilson.  Your Honor, Keisha is a ‘Lying Sack Of Poop’.  Robert is too, but he can’t help it.”

Here is David’s scenario for the upcoming trial, with me giving testimony as to the Lyin’ Sack of Poop’s lies and videotape:

“The defendant did ingress the dwelling at or about 11 hundred hours on the morning of 13 April, using the Elm Street door without prior permission.  She proceeded via bipedal locomotion to my personal space and impacted my right occipital region with her closed hand, resulting in contusion.  I reacted in like fashion, producing in the defendant a desire to leave the premises, which she did with haste.  Your honor, my actions were thus in keeping with the common law definition of self defense, most recently affirmed by Watson v. Butler, Nevada, 3rd district, 1968.  I am sure the court is familiar with the case, but I can file a brief if necessary.  Thank you, your honor.”
Is this what’s meant by filing your briefs?
Don’s side of things without the “legalese”:
“Judge, yo, like the dude came right in off the street, right through the front door, you know what I’m sayin’, like it ain’t even noon, me still asleep on baby mamma’s couch.  Dude walks up and hits my ass upside the head, you know what I’m sayin’.  You can’t put up wi’ that shit, you know what I’m sayin’, so I got up and laid down on him.  Upside his head  like he done to me, you know what I’m sayin’.  Dude ran out like the p***y he is.  I was in my rights judge, you know dat, everybody know dat.  You can look it up somewhere.  S’all I got, judge.”
“I know where the bones are buried, y’know what I’m sayin’?
We also applied to refinance this house so we could get a little money ahead and fix some of its faults. One of its faults is that it is 112 years old. It’s getting some work done, no reason I shouldn’t either, amiright? I’m more than half its age.

It’s being painted bright white to improve its curb appeal. I didn’t think I’d like it, but it looks kind of cool. With a brown trim, it certainly stands out. White picket fence, white house, white people. Wow. Where else but in Modoc County?

The credit union responsible for giving us a line of credit called last week and offered Don 15 thousand less than what he wanted. That isn’t enough to finish fixing what he wants fixed, like the painting and the plumbing, plus pay some outstanding debt that makes a bit of a hole in our monthly income.

When those things are paid, we’ll look super duper in the eyes of most mortgage companies, and even people. He told them no, and they okayed the original amount. They were playing poker with us, hoping we’d blink. We’ve been watching James Garner in Bret Maverick, so we know how to play poker, too.

“We want the entire amount and we want it now. Oh, we need a checking account here? Okay. No problem.”

We both discovered during all this scheming and plotting that we don’t care that much whether we move to Gallup. One of the main objections Don has is that the acreage of the Gallup house is not all usable, so there’s not enough yard for four dogs. Some of the land in back goes right up Irving’s Incline. I know that sounds like a Jewish proctologist’s joke, but it isn’t. There really is an Irving and he lives up the hill above the house and that’s what he named the road going to his house. Very creative.

There are a few areas in Arizona near Vegas that have houses which meet our criteria, one of which is a second bathroom. Call us entitled (you can’t call us spoiled, because we’ve lived without a second bathroom for 15 years now), but bathrooms and lots of electrical outlets are the bomb, and so are closets, and we want them. We don’t want to use the closet as a bathroom, but you never know after a spicy meal what could happen.

Since we’ll be down in Vegas in July, it would be an excellent idea to investigate those towns and see how truly awful they might be at the height of summer. We’d like to find a more temperate climate than Vegas. The place we’re looking for probably does not exist, or if it does, it’s Marin County and only Spielberg can afford it.

The upshot of all this wheeling and dealing is that if we kept both houses, we’d sell both houses, and then find a place we think the dogs will like.

That inspired another email from David Williams, who thinks we rock, and therefore is easily impressed, or else he’d be shaking his head like everyone else at the insanity of us doing this at our age:

“I acquired the real estate on the Miami Beach corner by selling an option on my Atlantic Beach casino, then borrowed 100% of that plus the construction cost to put up the Miami casino. When that was halfway done I syndicated the two projects and sold the package to a group of venture capital firms, and used the proceeds as down payment to borrow the amount to buy this Palm Beach Tower. I converted all the rental units in it to condos, and used the proceeds to pay off half the loan. I live in the penthouse – the entire top floor, have a look around if you like – and have $1.3MM left over in the bank. Now the Saudis want the Tower, and I might sell it to them for $10MM more than the remaining note, provided they throw in a 20-year rent-free clause on the penthouse. I mean, its got a nice view, huh? Call room service if you like, order up some happy hour.”

“As long as the dogs like it, Ms. Wolf. Case dismissed.”
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5 thoughts on “Let’s Ask The Dogs: Adventures In Real Estate

  • May 3, 2022 at 9:36 am

    WoW! G, That was great!

    • May 4, 2022 at 7:32 pm

      I was going to tell you that David’s roommate in college went on to write for Frasier. Which means he’s funny. I don’t understand why he didn’t drag David with him to Hollywood.

  • May 3, 2022 at 7:38 pm

    You are having entirely too much fun! And hope all goes well in the courthouse.
    People sue for the weirdest things. So what if you were one day late moving? (Which you weren’t!) was she planning on moving in at midnight.
    Good luck looking for a place. Just seed your favorite one with dog bones, the dogs will love it no matter what it’s like.

  • May 4, 2022 at 12:29 am

    Ah, she found a way to keep our $2200, that’s why. We’re suing HER. She also refuses to sign off for $1000 “security” deposit. It is being held at Fidelity. It doesn’t do her any good either, though. AND she got a $500 non refundable cleaning deposit. She’s a gouger!


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