Danger UXBarbecue Sauce

Los Angeles, California


Yes, there's been lots of fun this summer. But it hasn't all been fun. There have been a couple of breaks in the force: the situation with my mom, of course; the freakin' economy and stock market (at this rate, we may never be able to retire. I mean, who knows?); and, last but not least . . . the renter.


Billy and I own a rental property, which was the first home we bought the year after we were married. We kept this house as a rental, in spite of the fact that Billy did not want to do this. I did. So, when we moved away after purchasing our second home, we put the house on the market with the understanding that if it sold, it sold. If it did not sell, we would rent it. Billy set the price a bit higher than was recommended, and it was a soft market (ha! We now know what soft markets really are, eh?), so I was pretty much assured that we would have it as an income property. And, being in business for ourselves, it made sense to do this. Diversification for retirement purposes, I loftily thought. And, in retrospect, it has been a very smart thing. Until this year, when the renter who has lived there for over a decade conned us on his rent (check is in the mail . . . check is lost in the mail . . . someone cashed check that was lost . . . bank will make good on check in 45 to 60 days . . .). Now I, with my impeccable bulls^#* detector, did not believe any of this. But Billy and our property manager went with the half-full glass theory and waited this out. At the point where he owed two full months of rent, we proceeded with eviction.


This is where owning a rental property turned into a worst-case scenario. He fought the eviction, then filed bankruptcy just before our court date. By the time we actually got him out, he owed us a lot. And, let me say (in case I sound as if I am lacking in compassion), this guy was always a nightmare. He fought us over maintaining the yard and lawn, his ex-wife got a restraining order against him for emotional cruelty, he harassed our gardener, and, last but not least, he virtually destroyed the house. So, since mid-July, we have been in the process of setting it straight. This involves: bringing in our contractor to do painting; much of Billy's free weekend time to do repairs; a lot of cold, hard cash; and requisite amounts of regret, anger, and fatigue.


So, on Monday, after we ran around in close to triple digit heat all day buying a dishwasher, a garbage disposal, a hose, a broom, and a ton of bedding soil at Lowe's -- which, incidentally, was a welcome change from the many trips to Home Depot we have made over the last month (carpeting, toilets, plumbing fixtures), we ran a couple more errands then took ourselves out to happy hour at Kate Mantilini's. We are not usually happy hour people, though I suppose we could be, if the timing worked out a little better. But on Mondays, this can work. We each had a pretty good-sized martini, and split a roasted artichoke, some oxymoronic jumbo shrimp, a small order of ribs, and a Caesar salad. The ribs came with a ramekin of barbecue sauce, which we did not use. When the waitress cleared, she tipped the plate, and the sauce fell off the plate, hitting the floor in a manner which caused it to arc up in a spray that more or less covered me in red spots like instantaneous chicken pox. I was wearing a strappy little dress with my shoulders exposed (red spots), just a little bit of make-up (more red spots), and my hair half pulled up into a ponytail (and again, some more red spots). It was all over my dress from my lap up. And all over my arms. I was still finding barbecue sauce on me when I got ready for bed that night. Of course the server was mortified, but we pretty much laughed about it (did I mention BIG martinis?) and reassured her that accidents happen . . . but so does dry cleaning. The manager gave me a card to bring back with my dry cleaning bill. I look forward to another martini when we come back. And an artichoke, and maybe some shrimp. Not so much with the ribs, though. Think this is the cosmos way of telling me I should be a vegetarian? Nah.


And, by the way, with the debacle at the rental property, do I regret that we kept the house as a rental? Not for one nanosecond. There is little that can be done to a house that can't be repaired, and in the long run solid investments always make sense. Especially in an uncertain world of flying barbecue sauce. My only word of caution would be to screen prospective renters carefully. Oh yeah, and on that other front, don't forget to duck. "Spotty" thanks you for reading her blog!